Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (20 page)

 
          
“So
yu ain’t drowned?” he said fatuously.

 
          
“Course
I am, yu chump,” Jed retorted. “My
insides is
, anyway.
Damn this country, there ain’t no reasonableness in it; yu either gits too much
or none a-tall o’ most things.
yu
needn’t look so glad
I ain’t gone neither.”

 
          
Dumpy,
fearing he had shown too much so licitude, promptly went to the other extreme.

 
          
“I
mighta knowed yu couldn’t drown’d a fella born to have his neck stretched,” he
retorted.

 
          
“Well,
yo’re safe thataway, seein’ yu ain’t got no neck,” his friend grinned. He stood
up and held out a hand to Sudden. “Jim, I’m rememberin’ it,” he said. “When yu
pitched yore rope I was wonderin’ if playin’ a harp was difficult.”

 
          
“Huh!”
Dumpy grunted. “Shovellin’ coal is what yu wanta practise.”

 
          
This
restored the normal atmosphere of a cow-camp and made them all feel more
comfortable,
The
foreman answered Jed’s question:

 
          
“Yeah,
we lost the cows an’ yore bronc an’ got off light at that. Wonder if this
cussed country has any more surprises for us?”

 
          
The
“cussed country” had, as they were to discover ere long.

 
          
THE
days that followed seemed like a dream after the rude experience of the desert.
The character of the country had changed; there were still stretches of
grass-covered prairie but they were not so extensive, and varied by hills and
dales, some of them thickly wooded. Creeks were frequent, and with abundant
feed and water, the cattle quickly recovered, and, being thoroughly
“trail-broke,” gave little trouble. Beyond the certainty that they were still
in Indian
territory
and were heading north, they had
no knowledge of their position. This did not trouble them; in their own phrase,
“Time to ford a river is when yu come to it.” Sandy shared in the general
optimism.

 
          
“That
little of desert done us a good turn after all,” he remarked, as he paused for
a moment beside his friend. They were rounding up tHe herd for the day’s drive.
The slanting rays of the rising sun were dispersing the haze over the
bedding-ground, a little savannah of rich grass entirely shut in by timber and
brush. The camp was at the far end, some half-mile distant. “We’ve shook off
Mister Rogue.”

 
          
“Someone’s
been smilin’ at yu,” Sudden replied, with gentle sarcasm, and then, “Rogue
knows where we’re makin’ for—he
don’t
have to follow
us. What’s worryin’ me is not seein’ any Injuns.”

 
          
“Well,
that’s a misfortune I can bear easy,” the boy returned lightly. “Mebbe we’ve
just been lucky.”

 
          
Sudden
declined to accept this view. “I’ve a hunch we’re bein’ watched,” he said.

 
          
“Yu’ve
been rubbin’ noses with Jed,” Sandy chaffed. “The war-whoops
is
all busy chasin’ the festive buffalo.”

 
          
Sudden
started to grin, changed his mind, and gripped a gun instead. “Here’s some that
ain’t,” he said quietly.

 
          
Out
of the brush a line of horsemen had silently emerged, pulling up in the form of
a half-circle about two hundred yards from the herd. They were Indians, big,
well-built fellows, sitting their mettlesome little ponies like bronze statues.
Each brave carried a long lance, bow and arrows, and on the left arm a round
shield of buffalo hide, hair inwards, stretched on hickory, with pictures of
the moon, stars, serpents, and other symbolic devices painted on the front.
Their fierce faces, and their chests, were daubed with colour.

 
          
At
the sight of them the cowboys pulled out their rifles, but the Indians showed
no hostility. Only one advanced, a tall oldish man, gaily bedecked with eagle
plumes, and bearing on his shield the presentment of a black bear. His right
hand was raised, palm outwards, in token that he came on a peaceful mission.
Despite the cruel, crafty expression on his face he was an imposing figure. He
rode straight to the foreman—having doubtless observed him giving
orders—uttered a guttural “How!” and began to speak. Jeff listened for a moment
and shook his head.

 
          
“No
savvy,” he said, and beckoned to Sudden. “Mebbe yu can find out what he’s
after.”

 
          
The
redskin repeated his statement and the cowboy was able to gather the gist of
it.

 
          
“He
says he is Black Bear, a great chief, that this is Commanche country, an’ we
got no right to take cattle through it,” he translated. “He wants tribute in
cows.”

 
          
The
foreman’s face grew bleak. “How many?” he asked. Sudden put the question and
the Indian, resting his lance across his knees, pointed first to himself, then
to Sudden, and raised both hands. The cowboy explained:

 
          
“Redskins
reckon thisaway: one is a finger, five a hand, ten, two hands, twenty,
a
man. Yu can figure it yoreself.”

 
          
Jeff,
who had been watching the chief’s movements closely, did so, and swore. “Give
him fifty steers?” he snarled. “Tell him to go to hell.”

 
          
“Don’t
know enough o’ the lingo,” Sudden said. “I’ll offer him five—Injuns is like
Jews,
allus ask more’n they expect to get.”

 
          
Black
Bear listened gravely to the white man’s explanation, haltingly told in a
mixture of Indian tongues, and ending with the raising of one hand only. Then
he drew himself up haughtily, flashed a meaning glance at his followers, and
fixed his savage eyes on this paleface who had insulted him with so paltry an
offer. Sudden met the stare with one equally steady. For one long moment the
black eyes battled with the blue and then the redskin wrenched his pony round
and trotted back to his band. The cowboys, who had allowed the herd to drift
towards the other end of the valley, waited, rifles ready, for the expected
charge. They saw Black Bear rejoin his men and face about but he gave no
signal.

 
          
“What’s
the game, Jim?” the foreman asked, anxiously scanning the line of silent
savages.

 
          
“Damned
if I know,” Sudden replied.
“Looks like they’re waitin’ for
somethin’.”

 
          
The
crash of a gun, followed by the fainter report of a pistol, came from where the
camp lay and instantly a rider whirled his mount and spurred in that direction;
it was Sandy. The Indians were gesticulating, waving their weapons, and reining
in their eager ponies. Sudden turned to the foreman.

 
          
“They’re
attackin’ the camp—that’s why these devils were holdin’ back. I’ll follow
Sandy; yu can handle this bunch.”

 
          
A
pressure of his knees and he was off, threading his way through the scared
cattle. He had covered but a short distance when a burst of yells, mingled with
the spiteful crack of exploding powder, told him that the enemy had charged.

 
          
Sandy
reached ‘the camping-ground just in time to see a tall, lithe warrior, with a
limp form draped over his shoulder, disappear in the brush, and oblivious to
everything else, dashed in pursuit. He knew that his friend was just behind
him, for he had seen the big black pounding down the valley. The trees hampered
him and he arrived in the open only to see the abductor sling his burden like a
sack of meal across the backof a waiting pony, spring up behind it, and dart
away. The cowboy dared not risk a shot lest he hit the girl; he could but try
to run the redskin down.

 
          
Sudden
arrived on the heels of Sandy, saw him vanish, and turned his attention to what
was happening. A dead Indian—his head half blown away—sprawled in his path, and
another lay huddled by the wagon, from which a steady string of curses issued.
Near the fire, Peg-leg was
outstretched,
a smudge of blood
on his face, and over his body Aunt Judy was struggling desperately with a
squat, bow-legged savage, whose paint-smeared features she had further
decorated with several vivid red streaks. Fighting like a
wildcat,
and spitting oaths of which a cowboy might well have been proud, she was giving
the Comanche brave plenty to think about.

 
          
Try
as he might, he could not clutch those long bony arms with their fearsome
claws.

 
          
“Knock
my man over, huh, ye Gawd-damned, misbegotten, copper-coloured heathen,” she
yelled, and with a quick stoop, snatched a skillet from the fire and whanged
him across the face.

 
          
Driven
back by the blow, the redskin, evidently despairing of capturing a white squaw
for
himself
, drew his knife. His hand swung up and
then a bullet from Sudden’s gun toppled him to the ground. Aunt Judy staggered
weakly to her husband, flinging herself on her knees beside him. As she wiped
away the blood, the cook opened his eyes and sat up.

 
          
“I’m
awright,” he said. “One o’ these bastards got me with the butt of his lance an’
I took the count.” His eyes roamed round the little clearing. “There was four
of ‘em. Where’s the other?”

 
          
“Got
away, takin’ Miss Carol,” Aunt Judy told him, adding a venomous hope concerning
the redskin’s future state.

 
          
“Shucks,
cussin’
don’t
help,” Peg-leg said, and his better-half
stared at him; Satan reproving sin would have astonished her less.

 
          
“Yu
just found that out?” she asked acidly.

 
          
Sudden
interrupted the squabble by putting a question. It appeared the raiders had
approached the camp on foot. Peg-leg had seen one stepping to the wagon and
laid him out with a shotgun. Then he had been struck down from behind. His wife
took up the tale. The women had been in the tent and when Peg-leg fired, the
girl ran out, to be immediately seized, overpowered, and tied. Aunt Judy
following,
was attacked by a third savage, while a fourth
attempted to climb into the wagon.

 
          
“Sam
blowed his light out an’ he’s liable to do the same to as if he ain’t attended
to,” she finished.

 
          
They
found the cattleman propped up on one elbow, a six-shooter gripped in his right
hand.
The fury in his rugged face save way to fear when he
heard of Carol’s capture, and he cursed anew the man whose bullet had laid him
low.
Sudden tried to soothe him by pointing out that Sandy was in
pursuit, but the effort failed.

 
          
“They’ll
get him too—damn the crooked luck,” he dejectedly replied. “How’s Jeff makin’
it?”

 
          
Hammering
hoofs brought the answer and the Infant pulled his panting pony to a sliding
stop by the wagon.

 
          
“We
druv ‘em off,” he announced triumphantly.
“Got six at the
first rattle.
That discouraged ‘em some, an’ they started circlin’. It
didn’t help ‘em none for we got two-three more.

 
          
When
the chief lets out a whoop an’ they scoops up their dead an’ vanishes—complete.
Jeff said for to tell yu the herd ain’t scattered much an’ we’ll be ready to
start in ‘bout an hour.”

 
          
Sudden
explained why this would not be possible and the youth’s face lengthened.

 
          
“Hell,
that’s bad,” he said. “Sandy went after her?”

 
          
“Yeah,
an’ as he ain’t back, it’s possible they got him too.”

 
          
The
rancher’s querulous voice came from the wagon: “Get Jeff an’ the boys an’ go
after these damned women-stealers.”