Sudden Page 9

  “So yu—travelled?” King said, with almost a jeer.

  The other appeared not to notice it. “I took the trail,” he admitted. “I ain’t seen him since, an’ dunno as I’d reckernize him—a few years make a big difference in a young chap, an’ there warn’t nothin’ special ‘bout him —just a ordinary puncher to look at. But I’ve heard tell of him.”

  “What was his name?” Sim asked.

  “Never knowed it, but they was beginnin’ to call him `Sudden’ down there, an’, by God! they got him right,” Whitey replied.

  Sudden! Even to this far corner of Arizona the young gunman’s reputation for cold courage and marvellous marksmanship had penetrated. The faint satirical smiles which their companion’s recital of his discomfiture had produced faded from the faces of his hearers. Mart expressed the feelings of all when, with a low whistle, he said :

  “Sudden. Huh? Whitey, I reckon yu did right to—travel.”

  Despite the fact that matters between the two ranches had apparently reached a crisis, a week passed without anything happening, and Windy wondered. Old-timers wagged their heads significantly and spoke of the proverbial calm before the storm. For Luce Burdette the period was one of growing discomfort. The attitude of his family, supported by the known facts, caused many to believe he had slain Kit Purdie, and though Sudden’s quick-wittedness should have cleared him, in the minds of reasonable men, of robbing Evans, there were some who still doubted. Also, King Burdette had made it plain that friendship with his discarded brother would mean enmity with him, and the displeasure of the Circle B, with its band of hard, unscrupulous riders, was not to be incurred lightly.

  Entirely ignored by most of the citizens, and avoided as much as possible by others he had deemed his friends, the young man grew daily more despondent. Several times he had ridden to the little glade in the hope of seeing Nan Purdie, only to be disappointed. Bitterly he concluded that, like the rest, she had come to believe in his guilt. In this he wronged her. More than once Nan had found herself heading for the meeting-place, and had spurred her pony in another direction. There came a morning, however, when, obeying an impulse which brought the blood to her cheeks, she rode resolutely along the old trail and through the opening into the glade. Her heart leapt when she saw someone sitting on the fallen trunk, head bent, elbows on knees, apparently deep in thought. Lest he should deem her there on purpose, she rode with face averted, pretending not to have seen him. Then came a voice which shocked the gladness out of her.

  “Shorely the gods are good to me since they send the very person my mind was full of,”

  King Burdette said, swinging his hat in a wide sweep. “The spot was pretty before; now, it is beautiful.”

  The girl’s proud little head came up, the blue eyes regarded him coldly, and she rode on.

  King Burdette stepped towards her.

  “Come now, Nan, you gotta talk with me,” he urged. “I’ve somethin’ important to say ‘bout somebody yo’re interested in; it’ll go hard with him if yu don’t listen.”

  “If you’re threatening my father” she began stormily.

  “Yu got me wrong,” he replied. “It ain’t him—it’s Luce.”

  He saw her flush, and smothered a curse. “I am not interested in any of your family, Mister Burdette,” she said, and shook her reins.

  The man laughed. “No use runnin’ away, girl,” he pointed out. “I can catch yu in two-three minutes.”

  She looked at the big, rangy roan standing with drooping head but a few yards distant and knew it was no vain boast; her mount—game as it was—could not keep ahead of that powerful, long-striding animal. What a fool she had been not to notice the horse! Luce always rode Silver, his grey. She pulled in her pony.

  “What have you to say?” she asked.

  “Aw, Nan, get down an’ be sociable,” King smiled.

  “I prefer to stay where I am,” she replied. “And there is no need for you to come nearer—my hearing is quite good.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Suspicious, ain’t yu?” he said. “Well, have it yore own way; someday yo’re goin’ to know me better. Now, see here, Nan”

  “You are not to call me that,” she interrupted.

  “Awright, if yu’d rather I made it—sweetheart,” he retorted, and laughed when he saw her eyes flash. “My, yo’re awfully pretty when yu rear up—Nan.”

  The girl’s scornful expression showed him that he was on the wrong track and, dropping his bantering air, he said seriously, “I got a proposal to make.”

  Her look of surprise made him grin. “No, it ain’t what yu guessed—yet.” His face sobered again. “I want peace; I was in dead earnest when I come to the C P that time, but yore father wouldn’t listen; he holds the Burdettes is pizen, seemin’ly.”

  “Can you wonder, with poor Kit scarcely cold in his grave?” she said, a break in her voice.

  “But yu don’t lay that to Luce,” he countered.

  “No, but I do lay it to the Circle B,” she told him.

  “Yo’re wrong, Nan,” he said. “The Circle B has condemned it. We’ve disowned Luce—done with him.”

  “Thereby showing yourselves to be curs,” she cried. “Why, if Kit had committed a crime, even murder, I’d have stood by and shielded him to the last, if I knew he was guilty. But you…”

  The contempt in her tone flailed him, and the open avowal of interest in the suspected man brought his brows together in a heavy frown. He realized that she meant just what she said; that was her creed; for one she loved there was no limit, and—he bit back an oath—she loved Luce. The knowledge stirred his brigand nature, but he kept an iron hand on himself; only his eyes betrayed the fires flaming within.

  “If yu think thataway, yu oughta be willin’ to talk to yore dad,” he said. “He’s got his head down an’ is runnin’ hell-bent for trouble like an angry steer.”

  “That’s not true, and if it were, I couldn’t stop him,” the girl replied. “Dad is not the sort of man to be dictated to; I thought he made that plain to you.”

  Despite his self-control, the blood stained King Burdette’s cheeks as he recalled his ignominious dismissal from the C P. He was of the type to whom opposition is a spur to anger.

  His proffer of peace had been a mere pretext, but its rejection, coupled with the girl’s beauty and disdain, were rousing the worst in him. Jeering at him, huh? Well, she needed a lesson, and once he got hold of her, he’d make those pretty lips pay for what they had uttered. During the conversation he had been gradually edging nearer, and now he suddenly sprang forward, his long arms clutching her waist in an effort to drag her from the saddle. Nan saw the movement too late to avoid it, but King swore as the lash of her quirt seared his cheek.

  “Yu damn little wildcat,” he gritted. “I’ll learn yu.”

  He had almost succeeded in unseating her when a silver streak flashed across the clearing and the shoulder of a grey horse sent him spinning to the ground. He was up again in an instant, his right hand darting to his hip, when a warning voice reached him.

  “Stick ‘em up, yu skunk, or I’ll drill yu.”

  King Burdette looked into the levelled gun and furious eyes of the newcomer, and impudently folded his arms.

  “Blaze away, brother,” he mocked, and to the girl, “Yu will now see the Bible story of Cain an’ Abel brought right up to date.”

  “Brother! ” Luce retorted. “Yu’ve taken mighty good care to show me I ain’t that—till it saves yore hide. Unbuckle that belt an’ step away from it, or I’ll break a leg for yu.” For a bare moment the other hesitated, but he knew Luce, saw the boy’s jaw harden, and obeyed; he had no wish to be crippled. “Now climb yore bronc an’ fade,” came the further order, and again he had no choice.

  “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. “D
id 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 ranchhouse 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 yoreself, 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 narrowed 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.