Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) (32 page)

 
          
“Missed
him, my God!” swore the disappointed killer. “An’ he damn near got me too.” He
wiped the blood from his face and swore again at the smart. “Have to let Seth
handle it, after all,” he went on. “But I ain’t startin’ yet; he’ll mebbe wait
for me.”

 
          
The
marshal had no intention of doing so; he was pushing for Lawless at the best
speed the big, knotted muscles of the black could produce. He knew what his
chances were against a hidden adversary and was not disposed to take them.

 
          
“It
ain’t often I play safe, Nig,” he told his horse, “but this is one time, I
reckon, when I gotta copper a bet.”

 
          
Some
two hours after the marshal, Pardoe
effected
an
inconspicuous return to Lawless and made his way to the Red Ace. He was tired,
for he had not dared to keep to the trail, and a devious route had proved
exhausting. Having first peeped in and ascertained that Green was not present,
he entered the bar.

 
          
“Where’s
the boss?” he asked.

 
          
“In
his room, an’, if yore business ain’t pressin’, I’d postpone it,” Jude told him.
“He’s ‘bout as sociable as a grizzly b’ar with the bellyache.”

 
          
Pardoe
stepped to the door of the office, opened it, and walked in. The saloonkeeper
was sitting in the chair behind the desk, chin on his chest. Beneath his
frowning brows his narrowed eyes shot a look of anger at the intruder.

 
          
“What
the hell du yu want?” he growled. “I told that fool out there—”

 
          
“Jude
tried to head me off, but I had to see you,” Pardoe replied.

 
          
“Come
to pay back that five hundred?” Raven asked sneeringly.

 
          
The
taunt did not have the effect he intended, for the gambler achieved the nearest
he could to a smile. “Yeah,” he said. “What I gotta tell yu oughta be worth
that—an’ more.”

 
          
“I’m
the judge o’ that,” was the retort. “Spill it.”

 
          
Pardoe
placed his hat on the desk, sat down, and helped himself to a cigar. When he
had lighted it to his satisfaction he said coolly:

 
          
“The
marshal ain’t
no
particular pet o’ yores, is he?”

 
          
“I
hate him,” the half-breed hissed.

 
          
“Seen
him visitin’ the sheriff in Sweetwater to-day,” Pardoe went on. “Yu send him
there?”

 
          
“No,”
snapped the other. “But I’m goin’ to send him to visit the Devil one day.”

 
          
The
gambler grinned. “Odd that. I had the same idea—waited for him on the back
trail, but I missed him. He’s shore lucky.”

 
          
“Lucky?
You musta been drunk,” Raven said angrily. And then, as another phase of the
incident struck him, “What yu wanta plug him for?”

 
          
“Don’t
like the jigger, for one thing, an’ yu can add to that he’s holdin’ down a job
I could fill pretty comfortable my own self,” Pardoe explained.

 
          
“It
ain’t one for folk as miss,” the half-breed sneered. “An’ seein’ yu did,
there’s no vacancy.”

 
          
The
biting tone left the other unmoved; he was sure of his triumph. “There will be
soon,” he said quietly. “See here, Seth; the whole blame’ country will have the
laugh on Lawless when what I’ve found out in Sweetwater to-day gets around; the
marshal has shore run a raw blazer on yu an’ this township. Do I git his job if
I wise yu up?” Raven nodded, and the gambler went on:

 
          
“Do
yu know what they call yore marshal over to Texas?”

 
          
“How
the hell should I?” Raven enquired.

 
          
Pardoe
laughed maliciously. “Yu wouldn’t, o’ course. Well, he’s known there as
‘Sudden,’ the outlaw.”

 
          
The
half-breed sprang to his feet. “What?” he cried, and, with an incredulous
shrug, “Yu been feedin’ on loco-weed, ain’t yu?”

 
          
“It’s
true enough,” Pardoe assured him, and told how he had come by the information.

 
          
“Mebbe
she’s mistook,” Raven doubted, but his eyes glistened with satisfaction.

 
          
The
gambler shook his head. “She ain’t; I remember him myself now. Knowed I’d seen
him afore, but couldn’t fix him. No, sir, he’s the one an’ only original
Sudden, an’ yu may lay to it.”

 
          
The
phrase brought a half-grin to Raven’s face, and a point to decide. Pardoe did
not know that since the marshal was undoubtedly in Lawless when the stage was
robbed there must be a second “Sudden” in the field. This was the reason for
his enmity—he believed Green had stolen his money, and it suited the
saloonkeeper that he should go on thinking so.

 
          
“We’ve
got him—cold,” the saloonkeeper exulted. “Thisyer town will stand up on its
hindlegs an’ howl when it learns how he’s razzle-dazzled it, an’ it’ll howl for
blood too.”

 
          
“One
thing, he couldn’t ‘a’ done the bank job,” Pardoe said.

 
          
Raven
laughed aloud. “He could, an’, by God! I believe he did,” he cried. “If not,
why didn’t he stay with the rest of ‘em at the Box B that night?”

 
          
“It’ll
be a shock for Strade.”

 
          
“Yo’re
shoutin’—an’ for some others. I reckon Lawless will take notice when I speak,
after this.”

 
          
“Yu’ll
be a big man, Seth,” the gambler offered, a shade of envy in his tone.

 
          
“Yu
betcha,” the saloonkeeper agreed. “Things
is
comin’ my
way, Pardoe, an’ I shan’t forget anyone what helped me.
Now
yu keep this strictly behind yore teeth for now.
We’re holdin’ a winnin’
hand; I gotta think out the best way to play it.”

 
          
“I
reckon yo’re just as pleased I missed him, Seth?”

 
          
“Pleased,
Parson?” Raven repeated. “If yu’d wiped him out I’d never ‘a’ forgiven yu.
Death thataway ain’t nothin’.
It’s when yo’re young an’
strong, full o’ the lust of life, an’ yu have to wait for the moment yu know
it’ll be taken from you… An’ that ain’t no dream—now,” Seth returned. “But keep
yore face closed.
Sabe?”

 
          
The
Parson nodded and went out. When the door had closed behind him the
saloonkeeper gave free rein to his exultation.

 
          
“Yu
were the one card I wanted to fill my hand, Mister Sudden, or Green, or
whatever yore damn name is,” he cried.

 
          
“With
yu cinched, I’ve got the rest of ‘em like this.” He spread out his hand,
closing the talon-like fingers slowly. “Gotta get busy,” he went on. “To start
with, we’ll
sent
for Strade; I’ll enjoy givin’ him a
jolt.” He scribbled a note to the sheriff and went in search of a messenger.

 
          
In
the middle of the night the marshal and his deputy suddenly awakened to find
the room full of men. By the light of a lantern someone was holding aloft, they
could see that the intruders were Raven, The Parson, and a number of the
“hardest” denizens of the town. Every man of them, save the saloonkeeper, had
his gun out, and the expressions on the scowling faces showed that the threat
was no vain one. Green sat up, making no attempt to reach his weapons.

 
          
“What’s
the trouble, Raven? Yu wantin’ me?” he asked coolly.

 
          
“Not
now—we got yu,” the half-breed jeered. “Reach for the roof, both o’ yu, an’
keep on doin’ it.”

 
          
Realizing
that they had no option, the two men obeyed. The marshal had no idea what it
all meant, but he saw that, for the moment, he was powerless; Seth Raven held
the cards. “If this is a joke—” he began.

 
          
The
harsh merriment of the other stopped him. “Yu got it,” Raven said. “Just a
little joke to square off for the one yu plastered on this town; on’y the last
laugh is the best, an’ we’re goin’ to have that. Git their guns an’ search out
that damn redskin.”
This to his followers.

 
          
“That’s
no way to speak o’ yore relations,” Pete put in.

 
          
For
an instant Raven’s eyes glared murder, and then, with a tremendous effort of
will, he regained control of himself.

 
          
“An’
hang him when yu find him,” he ordered.

 
          
Two
of the men searched the place and returned with the news that the Indian was
not to be found. Raven turned savagely on Pete.

 
          
“Where
is he?”

 
          
The
plump little puncher grinned cheerfully as he replied, “Yore guess is as good
as mine, brother; he was in the shack when we turned in, so he musta lit out
when yu come. P’r’aps he don’t like mongrels any more’n we do.”

 
          
This
second reminder of his ignoble origin brought the fury back into the
half-breed’s face, and his voice was pregnant with it:

 
          
“Yu’ll
pay for that tomorrow—pay in full. I’ll make yu wish yu’d never been born.”

 
          
“Shucks!
that’s
somethin’ you can’t do,” the deputy returned
easily. “Whatever happens tomorrow, I’ve had a middlin’ good time up to now.”

 
          
Raven
stalked to the door.

 
          
“Watch
the place all round, an’ if they try to git out shoot ‘em down,” he ordered.

 
          
When
they were alone again, Pete rolled and lighted a smoke. “What’s at the back o’
this caper, Jim?” he asked.

 
          
“Haven’t
a notion,” the marshal replied. “Whyfor must yu go baitin’ him an’ get yoreself
in bad? It’s my hair he’s after.”

 
          
“Hell,
I ain’t takin’
no
backwash from trash like him,” the
little man responded. “An’ when I throw in with a fella it’s to the finish.”

 
          
“Yo’re
several sorts o’ a damn fool, but—I’m thankin’ yu,” Green told him.

 
          
“Yu
reckon they’re goin’ to hang us?” the deputy asked.

 
          
“Well,
Raven’s natural instincts would suggest somethin’ more lingerin’, but I doubt
if even the roughnecks o’ Lawless would stand for torture, so he’ll string us
up the stupidest way,”

 
          
Green
said, and added: “Well, I’m a-goin’ to hit the hay; looks like we’re in for a
busy day.”

 
          
In
a little while his steady breathing showed that he was asleep. Pete was not so
fortunate; for an hour he lay staring into the darkness, thinking of what was
to come.

 
          
“He’s
the coolest cuss I ever met up with,” he muttered. “Wonder where than damn
Injun slid to? Bet he’s workin’ sixty minits to the hour; he
don’t
like Raven neither.”

 
          
He
stole to the window and peered out. In the faint, diffused light of the stars
he could see the blurred form of a man, carrying a rifle, pacing slowly to and
fro. Presently another joined him.

 
          
Pete
knew the men: toughs, both of them, belonging to that mysterious portion of the
community the members of which never appeared to work but always had money for
drink and cards.