Sudden (1933) Page 9

  "I'll get yu for this, kin or no kin," he snarled. "As for that girl, keep away from her; she's goin' to be mine."

  "I'd rather die than marry a Burdette," Nan flashed.

  King grinned hatefully."Did I mention marriage?" he asked. "Well, it don't matter. Marchin' orders for the both of us Luce."

  "Yo're takin' 'em from me," the young man rasped. "I'll leave yore belt at `The Lucky Chance.' If yu pester Miss Purdie again yu'll not get off so easy."

  With a laugh of disdain King rode out of the glade, turning at the entrance to wave an insolent farewell. They watched him go, and for some moments there was an awkward silence. Then the girl stretched out an impulsive hand.

  "Thank you, Luce," she said. "I never in my life was so pleased to see anyone."

  The boy flushed. "He didn't hurt yu?" he asked, and she thrilled at the anxiety in his voice.

  "No, I was scared--he sprang at me like a tiger," she explained. "He had lost his temper completely. You are so different from your brothers that it is difficult to believe you belong to the same family."

  "I wish to God we didn't," Luce said bitterly. "Nan, did yu mean what yu said about--the Burdettes?"

  He put the question haltingly, and it required all her courage to meet his pleading look; but Nan Purdie was no shirker; subterfuge or evasion played no part in her straightforward nature.

  "I am sorry, Luce, but--yes, I meant it," she said gently. "I like you, and I will always be your friend, but it would break Dad's heart to learn I was even that, and so --there can never be anything more. You understand, don't you?"

  He nodded miserably. "Yo're dad's right. What man would care to see his daughter linked up with a crowd like ours? Time was when I was proud o' bein' a Burdette; now, I'm ashamed."

  "You must go away, Luce; leave the country," she urged, and the thought that she cared what happened to him was sweet.

  "I ain't runnin'," he told her. "Yu'll let me see yu sometimes, Nan?"

  "We are sure to meet, Luce," she said, and he had to be content with that.

  When she had gone he loped his horse past the spot where King's belt lay, and without dismounting, leant over, scooped it up, and headed the animal for Windy. Despite the girl's statement that nothing could come of their friendship, now that he had seen her again he would not despair; hope is a hardy growth in a young heart. King's attack he regarded as an attempt to frighten her, with the object of provoking her father to a reprisal.

  Meanwhile the man who had been so ingloriously bested was spurring savagely for the Circle B, his whole being full of a black rage. As he flung himself from the lathered horse and strode towards the ranch-house he met Whitey.

  "'Lo, King, some fella stole yore belt off'n yu?" the gunman greeted curiously.

  "Mind yore own damn business," snapped the other. "Yu can get Green as soon as yu like."

  The killer's eyes grew harder. "Better heel yoreself before yu take that tone with me, King; I ain't nobody's dawg," he warned. "Yu had trouble with Green?"

  Burdette realized that he had gone too far--this man would not stand for bullying. "Sorry, Whitey, but I'm all het up," he said. "No, I ain't seen Green, but I've had an argument with Luce." His anger flamed anew at the recollection of how one-sided that "argument" had been. "I gave the young fool another chance to pull his freight an' he won't go. Well, I want him outa the way."

  Whitey understood. "He's a Burdette," he objected.

  "He ain't a Burdette--for yu," King replied meaningly. "When yu've settled with that damned foreman..."

  The gunman nodded. "A thousand bucks would shorely be more use than five hundred," he suggested.

  "Earn 'em, then," King said shortly. "But remember, with Luce, it's gotta be entirely a personal matter 'tween yu an' him, an' don't be in too much of a hurry; it mustn't look like a frame-up."

  "I get yu," Whitey said. "I don't overlook no bets."

  King Burdette's sinister gaze followed him as he slouched away. "Yu ain't nobody's dawg--just a plain damn fool," he muttered. "When yu bump off Luce, his brothers--though they've disowned him--have just naturally gotta get yu to even the score. I don't overlook bets neither."

  Chapter X

  BUSINESS in "The Lucky Chance" was booming that night. Goldy Evans, burrowing like a human mole in the hillside, had struck a "pocket". The news had soon spread, and men flocked to the saloon to share in the celebration they knew would follow. The man himself was there, half drunk, and displaying a heavy Colt's revolver which had been the first thing bought with his newly-acquired wealth.

  "An' I reckon it was comin' to me, boys, after the dirty way I got trimmed," he said. "Any son-of-a-bitch who tries that trick agin'll git blowed sky-high, yu betcha."

  Which sentiment, especially amongst the mining fraternity, was whole-heartedly applauded. Gold was hard to get, windfalls like the present one few and far between, and to endure the toil and hardship only to benefit a thief was not to any man's liking. As the liquor circulated, inflaming the men's passions, threats were freely uttered, and it might have gone ill with Luce Burdette had he entered the place just then, for some still believed he had robbed the prospector.

  "Nex' time we won't worry the marshal," a burly miner said, and there was a sneer in the last three words. "A rope or a slug is the on'y cure, an' I guess we can 'tend to that, ourselves."

  "Shore thing, an' interferin' outsiders c'n have a dose o' the same," growled another, with a drunken glare at Green, who, with one elbow on the bar, was chatting with the saloon-keeper and watching the scene amusedly. The marshal, standing not far away, heard sundry far from complimentary criticisms of himself with an expression of surly contempt; he had a poor opinion of "dirt-washers," as he termed them.

  "Feelin' plenty brash, ain't they?" he sneered. "Give 'em two pinches o' yaller dust to buy licker with an' they're gory heroes right off."

  His comment was addressed to Magee, but before that worthy could reply, even had he intended doing so, the door swung open and Whitey entered. At the sight of that blood-drained face Sudden rubbed the back of his head, and in so doing, tilted his hat forward to hide his own features. He recognized the fellow--there could be no two men in the South-west like that--yet he asked a whispered question.

  "Who's yore friend?"

  Magee looked at him. "Shure an' I'm not so careless pickin' me frinds," he replied. "They call him `Whitey' -- niver heard any other name. He rides for the Circle B, an' 'tis said he has twelve notches on his guns."

  "Reg'lar undertaker's help, huh?" the puncher replied lightly. "Shucks! Notches ain't so much; where's the sense in whittlin' yore hardware all to bits thataway?"

  He faced around, thus presenting his back to the newcomer, hut he did not lose sight of him; mirrors behind a bar are meant to be useful as well as ornamental, so Sudden was able to watch the gunman unobserved.

  With a curt nod here and there, Whitey walked to the bar and called for liquor. Sudden noted that he helped himself sparingly from the bottle pushed forward. Also, save for one fleeting glance, he appeared uninterested in the puncher; there had been no gleam of recognition in that look. "He don't know me," Sudden reflected. "Guess I've altered some since we met. Well, I ain't remindin' him." At the same time, that singular sixth sense which men who tread dangerous paths somehow acquire, was warning him to be on his guard. Presently he became aware that the gunman had moved nearer and was now looking directly at him.

  "I guess yu're Green--the new C P foreman," he said in a flat voice. "Take a drink?"

  "Yu guess pretty good," the puncher replied, and pointed to his almost untouched glass. "I'm all fixed; like yore-self, I ain't much on liquor."

  Whitey's slit of a mouth twisted sneeringly. "What about a li'l game? But mebbe yu ain't much on kyards neither?"

  "Like I said, yo're a good guesser," the foreman agreed. He was alert, wary, suspecting the fellow was intent on forcing a quarrel. His reply brought no expression to that corpse-like mask, but the pupils of the pale eyes narrow
ed to pin-points.

  "Is there anythin' yu are much on?" came the contemptuous inquiry.

  "I'm reckoned good at mindin' my own business," drawled the puncher.

  The snub apparently left the gunman unmoved, but it advised the rest of the company that something unusual was taking place. The rattle of poker chips, slither of dealt cards, and murmur of conversation ceased. An atmosphere of menace seemed to envelope the gathering, and every man there, save only the puncher lounging lightly against the bar, seemed to sense what was coming. Magee made an effort to avert the storm. Thrusting forward a bottle, he said placatingly, "Whist now, Whitey, don't be after makin' throuble. Have one on the house--both av ye."

  The gunman glared at him. "Better take a lesson from this fella an' mind yore own business," he snarled, and turned on Sudden. "Yu come here, a stranger, glom on to a good job, an' git too uppity to drink or play with us. Who the hell are yu to put on frills?"

  Sudden smiled tolerantly; he knew now that his suspicions had been correct--the man was there to kill him, perhaps at the instigation of King Burdette. He determined to let Whitey force the issue.

  "Didn't just look at it thataway," he admitted. "Seein' yo're sot on 'em, we'll have the drink an' the li'l game."

  He saw the look of chagrin in the killer's eyes; it was not the reply he had played for. In fact, Whitey was disgusted; matters had been going just right for him, and now the fellow had crawfished. He emptied his glass, his right arm dropping to his side. A bitter jeer was in his voice when he replied, "Thought better of it, huh? Well, that won't help yu none. I ain't takin' favours from yu, yu son-of-a --"

  The epithet was one which only an accompanying smile could excuse. Whitey was not smiling, and, as he uttered the word his body fell in to a crouch, while his right hand snapped back to his gun. There was a hurried scuffle as men in the vicinity got themselves out of the way and then--a breath-stopping silence.

  "Flash it, yu white-livered sneak," croaked the killer.

  For an instant he thought his prey would escape after all, for the puncher half turned as though about to decline the challenge. Then recollection came; he saw a picture from the past, and the clammy fingers of fear clutched at his heart. He knew that movement, knew too that he was about to suffer the same fate as those he had himself wantonly destroyed. It was too late to retract; even as the thought darted through his brain he was dragging at his gun with the desperation of despair. He got it clear of the holster...

  All the nearest spectator could afterwards say was that, following a bang and spurt of flame from the puncher's left hip, he saw Whitey stagger, double up at the knees, and sink slowly down to lie grotesquely sprawled on the sanded floor, his weapon clattering beside him. "Never see Green go for his gun a-tall, but he musta done, o' course," he added. "An' fast? I'm tellin' yu, I believe he could make lightnin' hump itself."

  The crash of the shot ended the tension. Forgetful of their games, the gamblers crowded round the bar, jostling one another to get a glimpse of the dead man. One of them picked up the dropped revolver and ran a finger along the nicks in the butt.

  "Kept his tally--six of 'em," he remarked. "If there's the same number on the twin, he's sent twelve fellas to wait for him on the other side."

  "He tried for one too many," was Weldon's comment. "Me, I'm sooperstitious thataway; when I've bumped off a dozen, I'm stoppin'."

  The remark, despite the presence of death, raised a laugh. Men who made it their business to kill received small sympathy when they paid the penalty. In Western idiom, Whitey had "got what was comin' to him," and there was no more to be said.

  Sudden went to the marshal, who was looking curiously at the body. "Yu know where I'm to be found if yu want me," he said.

  "This hombre asked for it," the officer replied. "I ain't wantin' yu, but--others may," he added meaningly.

  The cow-puncher shrugged his shoulders and went out. Gradually the players returned to their games, the corpse was removed, and the episode, for the time being, was ended. When, a little later, Mart Burdette came in, there was nothing to show that a man had but just died. Standing near the door, the newcomer looked the room over.

  "Know where Whitey is?" he asked the blacksmith.

  "Well, I dunno how long it takes to get to hell, but I guess he's there by now; he started half an hour back," was the grim reply.

  Mart stared at him. "Yu mean he's--dead?" he asked incredulously.

  "Shore I do," Weldon told him. "He's most awful dead, that Whitey fella."

  The Circle B man's breath whistled as he drew it in. "How come?" he inquired.

  "He got to domineerin' that stranger--the one what fetched in Kit Purdie," the smith explained.

  "An' he beat him to it?" the other cried amazedly.

  "Yu might call it that," Weldon grinned. He was enjoying himself--he did not like the Burdettes. "Green let him get his gun out an' then--well, Whitey sorta lost interest, as a fella will with a slug between his eyes."

  Mart turned away, and his informant, with a sardonic smile, watched him go.

  "He seems quite astonished--an' upset," he remarked to his neighbours. "Didn't know the Circle B was that fond o' their riders."

  Mart went straight to where Slype was sitting. "I hear Green has shot Whitey. What yu goin' to do about it?" he asked truculently.

  "Bury the body," the marshal said. "Whitey would have it, an' he drawed first."

  Mart frowned. "Is that what I'm to tell King?"

  "Shore an' yu can add that Whitey warn't good enough," Slippery said meaningly, and there was a gleam of satisfaction in his foxy eyes.

  Burdette gulped a drink and went in search of his elder brother. He found him in "The Plaza," exchanging pleasantries with its fair owner. Drawing him aside, Mart told what he had learned and delivered the marshal's message. King's eyebrows grew black as he listened.

  "Whitey's gun musta snagged," he suggested.

  "Nary a snag," Mart assured him. "He had it out afore the other fella made a move, an' Whitey could pump lead quicker'n anyone I ever see, not exceptin' yu."

  "If Green's as good as that we gotta try somethin' else," King said musingly.

  "Get Luce to plug him from behind like he did Kit," Mart proposed jocularly.

  To his surprise his brother took him seriously. "That's an idea," he said.

  "Shucks, I was jokin'," the big man protested. "Why, him an' Green are friendly."

  "An' yu are a chump, Mart," King grinned, slapping a genial hand on his shoulder. "It's a good thing the Bur-dette family has me to do the thinkin'."

  With a smile on his face he went back to his philandering. He had staked, lost, and must stake again; that was all there was to it. But, next time, he would see to it that the deck was stacked.

  "Honey," he said. "Do yu think it possible to bring down two birds with one stone?"

  "It must be difficult unless the birds are close together," Lu Lavigne laughed.

  "In the case I have in mind, they would be some distance apart, which shorely adds to the merit o' the performance." Burdette chuckled, and would tell her no more.

  Chapter XI

  MRS. LAVIGNE tripped daintily along the clumsy board sidewalk, not in the least unconscious of the admiration she aroused. The wide, floppy straw hat she wore shaded her face from the searching rays of the sun, but in no way concealed its attractiveness, and from every citizen she encountered came a smiling greeting or a respectful salutation, for the owner of "The Plaza" was not only a pretty woman but--among the sterner sex, at least--a popular one. So that it was a shock when a man she knew, head hunched and hatbrim pulled low, endeavoured to pass without a word. Impulsively she caught his arm.

  "Luce Burdette!" she cried. "Which have you lost--your eyesight or your manners?"

  The boy stopped instantly, dragging his hat from his head. "Folks ain't anxious to know me these days, Lu," he excused. "It mightn't do yu any good to be seen speakin' to me. King..."

  She snapped her fingers. "
That, for King. I choose my own friends," she said, and shrugged her shoulders. "For the rest, well, my reputation is beyond repair, you know," she laughed, albeit a trifle bitterly.

  Her kind, quizzical eyes studied him, noted the newborn lines in the young face, and divined the deep-seated misery which possessed him.

  "Yo're a good fella, Lu, an' if ever I hear a man say different I'll make him wish he'd been born dumb," Luce told her.

  "Thank you, Luce, but you won't hear much from the men," she replied. The acid touch in her tone deepened. "It takes a woman to damn a woman."

  "An' a man to damn a man," he said with a wry smile. "Well, it's shore good to know I got one friend, Lu, an' I'm thankin' yu."

  "You have more than that, boy. I'm guessing there's another across the street right now and--I'm sorry I stopped you."

  On the other side of the churned-up, dusty strip which separated the buildings Nan Purdie had just climbed to her saddle and was riding slowly away. To all appearances, she did not see Luce and his companion. Mrs. Lavigne's shrewd eyes read the young man's face.

  "I don't think she saw you," she said, well aware that this was not the truth. "If you want to speak to her, don't mind me."

  Luce shook his head. "Miss Purdie ain't got no use for a Burdette," he said, also meaning to mislead.

  The lady laughed. "You are terribly young, Luce," she told him. "Some day you'll learn that a woman has a use for the Devil himself if she cares for him. There, I'm getting sentimental in my old age, and forgetting one of the reasons for stopping you. Tell your friend Green that a certain outfit is rather peeved at losing its star gun-fighter, and will take any chance to even the score."

  "I'll give him the message, but if King knew yu sent it..."

  "Oh, shucks," she responded. "Your big brother may have this town buffaloed, but I'm not scared of him."

  "That's mighty interestin'," drawled a harsh voice behind her, and King Burdette stepped from the store outside which they were standing. How long he had been there they had no means of knowing. He did not appear to be in a pleasant humour, but his scowling face did not daunt the lady. Her shapely head lifted and she faced him unflinchingly.