Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (31 page)

 
          
Jeff
waited there impatiently, having already given orders for the cows to be
hustled along. Soon the leaders appeared, at a lumbering, clumsy trot, bellowing
a protest against the unusual exertion. Hurriedly they were hazed into the
gully as they arrived and left to their own devices. This took time, and the
foreman cast many anxious glances up the trail. When, at length, the wagon and
remuda followed the last of the cattle, he breathed more freely, and telling
the outfit to hunt cover, sought his employer. He found him fuming.

 
          
“Ain’t
I the owner o’ this herd no more, or are yu takin’ orders from Green?” was his
first question.

 
          
“Shore
yo’re the owner, an’ I’m doin’ my best to keep yu that,” Jeff said tartly. “Yu
gotta remember this, Sam, they may be yore cows, but the boys’ lives are their
own.”

 
          
“Yu
think that fella was talkin’ straight?” Eden demanded.

 
          
“Yeah,
an’ so would yu if yu weren’t as prejudiced as hell,” was the blunt reply.

 
          
“Anyways,
we’ll know soon. The Injuns will have heard the cattle an’ be wonderin’ why we
ain’t turnin’
up ”

 
          
“Bah!
I don’t believe—”

 
          
The
crack of a rifle cut him short and the foreman dashed to the entrance of the
gully.

 
          
The
Infant, kneeling behind a ridge, was disgustedly reloading. He had, he claimed,
seen a feathered top-knot above a bush some two hundred yards up the trail.
Jeff returned to report.-

 
          
“That
scout’ll spill the beans,” he said. “They’ll be along plenty soon.”

 
          
“Help
me outa this an’ reach my gun,” the old man ordered. “Boss, yu ain’t fit,” the
foreman protested.

 
          
“I
can sit behind a rock just as well as in that blasted hell on wheels,” Eden
snorted.

 
          
“Gimme a hand.”

 
          
With
Jeff’s assistance he climbed out, walked weakly to the line of defence, and
ensconced himself behind a boulder. The outfit cheered him lustily. As one of
them put it, the Old Man might be short on temper, but he had grit enough for
ten. As Jeff turned away, Judy had a last word:

 
          
“Tell
that ornery man o’ mine not to git hisself shot, ‘cause I’m dependin’ on him,”
she said.

 
          
But
Peg-leg never got the message, for when the bearer emerged into the open, it
was driven from his mind; the enemy had grown tired of waiting. Down the trail
from the east came a long line of mounted savages, their paint-smeared,
copper-coloured bodies gleaming in the bright light. Each warrior carried the
circular shield of buffalo hide, a bow, and a sheaf of arrows. Here and there
came the flash of a gun-barrel—old fashioned muzzle-loaders, bartered for
skins, or gained in a raid on some solitary settlement. Save for an occasional
shrill cry, the advance was made in silence.

 
          
“‘Paches,”
the foreman decided. “Comanches would ‘a’ bin screamin’ their dirty throats
out.” With the quick eye of one accustomed to count cattle he made a
calculation.
“Over fifty.

 
          
Gosh!
I’m hopin’ Rogue don’t dawdle any.” He surveyed his slim line of defence
anxiously. “Lie close, lads,” he warned, “an’ don’t let loose’ till I give the
word; we can’t afford to miss.”

 
          
Baudry,
rifle in hand, had joined the cattleman. No one, looking at his passive,
unconcerned features, would have guessed that
all his
carefully planned scheme depended upon the defeat of the redskins. With narrowed
eyes he watched the far end of the line swing round until, with one screeching
yell, the riders flogged their ponies into a dead run and charged full at the
mouth of the gully. Like a wave of destruction the savages surged on and it
seemed that the handful of whites must be swept away. Silent, grim-faced, with
levelled weapons, they waited for the word. It did not come until the
foe were
less than a hundred paces distant, and then:

 
          
“Give
‘em hell, boys,” the foreman rasped.

 
          
The
crash of the rifles was followed by exultant shouts from the marksmen as they
saw bronze bodies go down before their bullets. The stream of lead disrupted
the wave in the centre and the two halves curved left and right, replying to
the rifles with a cloud of arrows, some of which sang past the ears of the
white men. Out on the trail a half-dozen dead or wounded were stretched, and as
many horses.

 
          
The
redskins were soon on the move again. Strung out in a line they headed west and
then whirled and raced their ponies across the gully mouth, each horseman, as
he arrived opposite the opening, vanishing from sight.

 
          
“Where
in hell they got to?” the Infant queried.

 
          
“Lyin’
alongside the hoss, with a foot through the bellyband,” Jeff explained, and
added grimly, “Down the hosses, son, an’ watch out for arrers.”

 
          
The
caution was needed, for from under the necks of the galloping ponies the red
riders sent a succession of the deadly shafts, which whistled through the air
and searched the cover.

 
          
The
defenders replied with their rifles, but the moving single marks were difficult
to hit, and they did not meet with much success. The braves who had
successfully crossed the firing-line swung up into their seats again and
circled round to repeat the manoeuvre. From the far side of the trail two
rifles crashed and the same number of ponies became riderless. The foreman
chuckled.

 
          
“Jim
an’ Sandy
is
gettin’ interested,” he said.

 
          
His
satisfaction was short-lived. From a clump of thorn ten paces distant
came
a gasping gurgle and the rattle of a dropped weapon. At
the risk of his life, Jeff sprang to the spot, only to find he could do
nothing. Crumpled up on the ground, an arrow through his
throat,
lay Silent.

 
          
The
foreman straightened the body, placed the hat over the face, and swore
savagely. As he turned away, the Infant called:

 
          
“Hey,
Jeff, pull this damn stick out—it hurts like blazes.” An arrow had transfixed
the boy’s forearm. Snapping the shaft, the foreman drew out the barbed end,
inspecting the edges of the wound closely. Then he nodded, and tied it up with
a handkerchief.

 
          
“Mighta
bin wuss,” he said. “Keep down; they’ve got Silent.”

 
          
The
procession of seemingly masterless mustangs had passed and a respite from the
rain of arrows ensued. The Apaches were bunched together farther down the
trail. The intermittent bark of two guns from the rear of the attackers
indicated that Jim and Sandy were still interested.

 
          
At
the other end of the firing-line Jed was wrinkling his brow.

 
          
“Say,
Dumpy, how many d’yu figure we’ve knocked over?” he asked.

 
          
“Well,
yu ain’t got any, but the rest of us has downed ‘bout ten,” was the answer.

 
          
For
once his friend ignored an insult. “There’s more’n twice that number
layin’
out there an’ some of ‘em is movin’,” Jed asserted.

 
          
“Creased
an’ tryin’ to crawl clear,” Dumpy suggested.

 
          
“They
wouldn’t come this way,” Jed objected. “No, sir, dropped off’n their broncs an’
playin’ dead so’s they can sneak in an’ rush us, that’s what. The jigger with
the eagle feather in his top-knot is five yards nearer than when I spotted him.
I’m savin’ him the trouble o’ pertendin’.”

 
          
Raising
his rifle he pulled the trigger and they saw the brown body jerk convulsively,
struggle, and flop back.

 
          
“Who
fired?” Jeff asked sharply.
“Wanta kill ‘em twice over?”

 
          
Ere
Jed could explain, the supposed corpses did it for him, seven or eight of the
nearest scrambling to their feet and sprinting for their lives, zigzagging to
escape the bullets the cowboys sent after them. Several were bowled over but
the others regained their comrades.

 
          
“Good
for yu, Jed,” Eden called out. “I’m rememberin’ it. I reckon they won’t try
that trick again.”

 
          
As
though they had been awaiting the result of this ruse, the Apaches began to
show signs of fresh activity, massing together in readiness for another charge.
Two rifles spoke from the opposing side of the trail and a brave toppled to
the ,
;round, while another jumped clear of his staggering
pony.

 
          
“Well
done, Jim an’ Sandy,” the foreman cried.

 
          
“Yu
figure it’s them?” the cattleman asked.

 
          
“I’m
damn shore,” Jeff said stoutly. “If we git clear o’ this it’s them yu gotta
thank, like it or not.”

 
          
The
savages were
hesitating,
the attack from the rear
seemed to be bothering them. They were now galloping to and Fro, jabbering,
gesturing,
apparently
discussing what action they
should take. The matter was to be decided for them. From behind a hillock up
the trail a band of more than a dozen riders emerged, spurring their mounts
madly, and firing as they came.

 
          
At
the sight of this reinforcement, the Indians, already discouraged by the
resistance of the cowboys and the toll the two hidden marksmen were taking,
broke and fled. With shouts and wild oaths the newcomers followed, ruthlessly
shooting down the runaways. Their leader only did not join in the pursuit.
Wheeling his horse, he rode to where the rancher was standing, and got down.

 
          
“Well,
Eden, I reckon we didn’t come any too soon,” he said.

 
          
“I’d
lie fer yu hadn’t come a-tall—we could ‘a’ beat ‘em off without yu,” the old
man ungraciously retorted. “If yo’re lookin’ for thanks yo’re liable to be
disappointed.”

 
          
“I
ain’t,” Rogue returned dryly. “But if yu
warn’t needin’
me, why send?”

 
          
“I
never did. If Sands came to yu—”

 
          
“It
warn’t Sands,” the outlaw interposed. “A little runt of a
fella,
dressed in deerskin an’ wearin’ moccasins; looked like a forest-runner.”

 
          
“Ain’t
seen him,” the rancher snapped. “I naturally figured Green would use his
sidekick.”

 
          
“So
it was his idea, huh?” Rogue said reflectively, and chuckled. “It would be, o’
course. Where is he?”

 
          
“I
dunno, an’ I care less,” Eden told him. “I set ‘em adrift when I learned they
belong to yu.”

 
          
“They
don’t—I wish they did,” Rogue admitted. “I could use ‘em, but it looks like
they’re still workin’ for the S E.”

 
          
“Waitin’
for a chance to carry out yore orders an’ drill me again, I s’pose?” the
cattleman sneered.

 
          
“I’d
no hand in that, Eden; it’s not my way,” the outlaw said sternly. His face
hardened. “I could take yore herd right now if I wanted.”

 
          
“Yu
could take a slug through the gizzard now if I wanted,” the old man growled,
gripping his rifle suggestively.

 
          
Rogue
looked at him in grim amusement. “An’ what would that buy yu? My men, mebbe,
ain’t got my respect for youth an’ beauty.”