Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (33 page)

 
          
What
was the word yu took from that man”—he pointed to Dutt—“to Navajo?”

 
          
The
nearness of death had shattered the ruffian’s nerves. With trembling lips he
mumbled the message: “Rogue is sellin’ yu; get busy with the boys an’ strike
quickly.”

 
          
“That’s
a” Dutt began, and promptly subsided when he saw Sudden’s eye upon him; he did
not relish the cowboy’s method of dealing with liars.

 
          
“Well,
Sam, are you taking the word of this gunman with a price on his head against
me, Jethro Baudry, a respected citizen, and your friend?” the gambler asked
coolly.

 
          
Before
the rancher could reply another voice chimed in, and the little Indian-hunter
thrust himself forward.

 
          
“Jethro
Baudry, huh?” he piped. “When I see yu in Kansas City not so far back yu was
Monte Jack, a card-cheat who skipped outa town two-three jumps ahead o’ the Vigilantes,
wanted for killin’ a sucker yu’d trimmed—shot him under the table, didn’t yu?”

 
          
Save
that it was a shade more
pallid,
the gambler’s face
did not alter. “
you
are mistaken, my friend,” he said.

 
          
“No
friend o’ your’n—
never
did cotton to coyotes, nohow,”
Tyson said bluntly. “Monte had a scar runnin’ up his right arm from wrist to
elbow, where a Mexican had tried to slipa knife into him. All red an’ puckered
it was, like the edges had been sewed up clumsy.”

 
          
“Roll
up yore right sleeve.”

 
          
It
was Sudden who gave the order, and his gun was again out. Baudry’s face was
livid; he knew the game was up—for the moment.

 
          
“No
need—the scar’s there,” he admitted, and turned to Eden. “You win—for now, but
don’t forget I hold your paper.” The rancher, whose rage had been steadily
rising as the revelation of how he had been duped proceeded, boiled over at
this.

 
          
“Yu
dirty thief,” he cried, and gripped his gun.

 
          
The
threatened man jeered. “It would be a good way of paying your debt, wouldn’t
it?”

 
          
Eden’s
fingers released the weapon as though it had been red-hot. He glared at the
scoundrel who had gauged him so correctly.

 
          
“Yu’ll
get yore money—every cent of it—when I sell the herd,” he promised. “Yu needn’t
worry.”

 
          
Baudry’s
lips curled in a wolfish snarl. “I don’t propose to,” he replied. “I’ll have
the money, the S E, and—anything else I want of yours.” His eyes went to Carol
as he made the insolent boast and the contempt with which she received the look
swept away the barrier of his self-control. “You damned old fool,” he gritted.
“I’ll make you curse the hour you quarrelled with me. I’ll break you and grind
your face in the dust. When Rogue has done with you”

 
          
“Rogue
can speak for himself, Mister,”
came
a quiet voice.
The outlaw was standing there. So absorbed had everyone been in what was taking
place that they had not seen him ride in and dismount. He addressed the
cattleman:

 
          
“Far
as I’m concerned, Eden, yore herd is safe,” he began. “I can’t speak for my
men; that toad there has poisoned ‘em an’ they’ve named a new leader.”

 
          
“So
you sneaked off here to save your hide?” Baudry sneered.

 
          
The
outlaw’s eyes flashed. “Best take care o’ yore own,” he said. “I don’t owe yu
money.”

 
          
He
looked at Eden. “Jim has given yu the straight of it,” he went on. “What yu
aimin’ to do with these rats?”

 
          
The
cattleman gestured angrily to his foreman. “Clear ‘em out,” he ordered, and to
Sudden, “Green, I’m takin’ yore word, but yu ain’t told who drilled me.”

 
          
Sudden
looked at Rogue, who’ shook his head. “I don’t know, seh,” he replied. “But it
warn’t Sandy.”

 
          
The
rancher turned his hard eyes on that young man. “I ain’t convinced,” he said
stubbornly, “but I’m willin’ to be.”

 
          
And
with this grudging admission Sandy had to be content, but there was a welcome
elsewhere which more than compensated; Carol’s eyes were friendly.

 
          
A
word from the foreman sent the other men about their tasks, leaving the boss
and the outlaw alone. An awkward silence ensued, broken at length by the
visitor:

 
          
“Studying
why I’m here, Eden?” he asked. “If yu think it’s because o’ that scum over
there yu got another guess comin’. I’d ‘a’ stayed an’ shot it out with ‘em, but
I thought I could undo some o’ the harm I done yu.”

 
          
The
rancher’s expression was frankly sceptical.

 
          
“Don’t
believe me?” the outlaw went on. “Dunno as I blame yu, but it’s a fact. Ain’t
yu wondered why I let yu get so far after that fandango with the ‘Paches? Well,
I’ve been tryin’ to persuade the boys that it would be a better play to let yu
sell the cows an’ then lift the dollars, trustin’ yu could find a safe place
for ‘em. That cardsharp put a crimp in that an’ here I am. What yu gotta say?”
A The
rancher hesitated; he was not in the frame of mind to
trust anyone, and this man had threatened to steal his cattle.

 
          
“Yu
can stay, but my men’ll have orders to shoot yu at the first sign o’ crooked
work,” he decided.

 
          
“That’s
on’y fair,” Rogue said, and walked away.

 
          
THE
country stretched before them, flat, brown, uninteresting, but the
trail-drivers found it satisfactory, since no danger could approach unseen. The
herd, spread out fan-wise, moved slowly forward and Sam Eden—able to sit in a
saddle again —pulling up his pony to watch the beasts pass, exulted as he noted
their fine condition. Then he frowned as he remembered that catastrophe might
yet overtake them. Behind the drag, Rogue was riding alone. The rancher joined
him.

 
          
“What
d’yu figure
them coyotes will do?” he asked bluntly.

 
          
“We
talked it over,” the outlaw replied. “To attack on the march would shorely mean
stampeding the steers; we’d have to gather ‘em again an’ might lose quite a
number—not all my men knows cattle. The other way was to wait till the herd was
bedded down an’ rush yore camp after dark; the nightriders could be easy dealt
with later. I’d say that’s what they’ll try, an’ it’ll be soon, mebbe tonight.”

 
          
The
rancher was silent for a while, furtively studying the hard face of this
desperado who had striven for his ruin and was now, apparently, eager to help
him. He could not understand it, and still suspected double-dealing.

 
          
“What
yu know o’ that fella Sands?” he asked.

 
          
“Mighty
little,” was the reply. “He drifted in one day, a piece before I met up with
Green, and hung around. Didn’t mix well with the rest—too clean, I reckon.” He
smiled and shook his head. “No harm to him; just a boy gone a bit wild.”

 
          
The
cattleman grunted, his eyes travelling ahead to where the subject of their
conversation was riding gaily by the side of the girl. Whatever his thoughts
were he did not express them.

 
          
Hour
after hour under the scorching sun the herd drifted on but evening brought them
good fortune in the shape of a disrupted strip of plain, with a camp site which
could be defended.

 
          
The
bare wall of a small bluff protected the rear, thick scrub shadowed by pines
and cottonwoods, the two sides, leaving only the front open. Across this, after
the wagon had been driven in, they dragged a couple of tall trees, felled for
the purpose, the branches of which formed a leafy screen. Just past the bluff
was a pool of water, residue of the last rain, and when the herd had satisfied
its thirst, it was driven to a plateau nearby and bedded down, two men only
being left in charge. A few horses, ready for instant use, were in a rope
corral by the pond; the others were turned loose.

 
          
Supper
was eaten almost in silence, and hurriedly, each man with his rifle beside him;
at any moment he might have to jump up and fight for his life. Then the women
were sent to lie down in the wagon and Eden posted his men, with a grim word of
warning:

 
          
“Don’t
shoot till yo’re shore,” he said. “Then—get ‘em.”

 
          
Sandy,
squatting beside his friend, voiced a complaint: “Hell! Don’t yu want a smoke,
Jim?” he asked.

 
          
“Didn’t
till yu mentioned it, damn yu,” was the disgusted reply.

 
          
“I
hope they show up—we won’t find such a good place in a hundred miles.”

 
          
“I’m
bettin’ they do—it’s pretty near their last chance, an’ with no moon, they’ll
figure on a surprise.”

 
          
“They’ll
get it too,” Sandy chuckled. “Where’s Tyson?”

 
          
“Saw
him siftin’ into the brush,” Sudden replied. “Gone to smell ‘em out for us;
he’s a four-eyed wonder in the woods.”

 
          
The
cowboy’s guess was a good one. As soon as he had eaten, the forest-runner, with
a word to Eden, had faded into the shadows, leaving his beloved Betsy behind.
Now, prostrate on his belly, he wriggled a way through the brush, ears
attentive to the slightest sound. For an hour or more he heard nothing but the
scuttling of some disturbed denizen of the undergrowth, the hoot of an owl, and
an occasional faint bellow from the herd.

 
          
Then
came a new noise, one he had been expecting—the crack of a snapped dry twig,
directly in front. Rising to his knees he drew the long, keen blade from his
belt and waited. The bush beside him shook and a man on all fours appeared,
pushing his rifle ahead of him. Swiftly, silently as a striking snake, the
knife flashed and the victim, without even a groan, flattened out like a
pricked bladder. Rollitt would rob no more.

 
          
The
slayer callously jerked his weapon from the throat, wiped it on the dead man’s
shirt-sleeve, and thrust it into his belt. A muffled curse away to his left and
another cracking of dried wood on his right told him that the marauders were
getting close; he must warn the camp.

 
          
With
infinite caution he retraced his path; no one of the watching outfit saw him
return, but the word was passed along.

 
          
Tense
moments ticked by and from behind a cactus a shadowy, indistinct form appeared
to gradually grow out of the ground. It saw what it expected—the glow of a
fire, and round it, dark shapes of sleeping men. A low whistle brought other
shadows, and then a dozen guns shattered the silence of the night, driving
bullets into the artfully arranged blankets. To the attackers’ surprise, no
reply came.

 
          
“We
must ‘a’ got most of ‘em—there’d be several with
th
’
herd,” Navajo reasoned. “Come on, fellas.”

 
          
Confident
of success the outlaws emerged from concealment and dashed forward. This was
the moment for which Eden had been waiting.

 
          
“Now,”
he called sharply.

 
          
From
behind the barricade guns spat in a spiteful chorus and in the advancing line
men dropped silently, or stumbled and cursed as they fell.
Their
leader, realizing that they had walked into a trap, turned and raced for cover
again, calling to his men to do the same.
A number succeeded, but
motionless black blotches on the ground told that the attacking force had
suffered.