Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (8 page)

 
          
Sudden
shook his head, grinned, and repeated the reply he had given the girl. “I’m
from the south; havin’ a look at the country.”

 
          
The
explanation satisfied the cattleman; he was aware that the range rider was a
restless animal, liable to fork his horse and set out, at short notice or none
at all, in search of fresh fields.

 
          
He
liked the look of this loose-limbed, competent appearing stranger.

 
          
At
the meal to which they sat down later, Eden reverted to the momentous step he
was contemplating, asking the cow boy if he had any experience of
trail-driving?

 
          
“On’y
short distances,” Sudden told him. “Never been north; but I hear it ain’t no
picnic.”

 
          
The
rancher nodded grimly. “Others have done it, an’ I’m gain’ to,” he said.
“Like to come along?
I can do with a couple more men.” He
saw the hesitation, and added, “Think —we won’t be ready yet awhile.”

 
          
Sudden
promised he would do so, and asked the probable size of the herd.

 
          
“I’m
hopin’ for three thousand head,” Eden said. “Take some handlin’ but I got a
good outfit. The pay is thirty a month an’ every man gets a share when we sell
the cattle.”

 
          
The
cowboy nodded. He liked the rancher, recognized him as a good specimen of the
bluff, straightforward frontiersmen ho, penetrating and settling in the wildest
parts of the country, were preparing the way for the civilization which would
inevitably follow. Baudry he did not take to, instinct telling him that under
the smooth exterior lurked passions by no means in keeping with it. Once or
twice he caught him looking at the girl, plain desire in his eyes.

 
          
“Miss
Carol, of course, will remain here,” the gambler said.

 
          
“Miss
Carol, of course, will—not,” the lady promptly stated.

 
          
Her
father looked at her in astonishment. “Don’t talk foolish, girl,” he said. “There’s
no place for a lone woman on a trail drive.”

 
          
Carol’s
reply appeared to be irrelevant. “Aren’t you taking Peg-leg?”

 
          
“Shore
I am; we’d do fine without a cook, wouldn’t we?”

 
          
“Then
you’ll have to take his wife—Judy won’t let him go without her—so I shan’t be à
lone woman,’ you see.” The rancher’s face was clouding up, but she did not wait
for the storm to burst. “Can’t I ride, rope, and drive cattle as well as the
boys?” she asked, and when he nodded a grudging assent, she added triumphantly,
“Well then, you get a top-hand for nothing, and you grumble. But of course, you
were only teasing; you meant I should go all the time. I must tell Judy.”

 
          
She
jumped up, blew him a kiss, and danced away. Her parent opened his lips to call
her back, but was too late. He turned to his guests with a droll expression of
hopelessness.

 
          
“I
can handle the savagest steer or woolliest cowboy that ever forked a pony, but
when it comes to what some funny fella called the weaker sex,’ I’m beat,” he
confessed. “That bit o’ impudence does what she likes with me.”

 
          
Sudden
left soon after the meal, returning the way he had come. The body of the dead
Indian had vanished; his companion must have returned. The circumstance was to
bear
a significance
later, but now he gave it no
thought. His brain was busy with the offer he had jus received. It seemed to
present a means of getting out of the mire into which chance had so
unceremoniously thrown him; and moreover, the very enterprise itself appealed
to his adventurous nature. The task of shepherding three thousand wild cattle
through eight or nine hundred miles of fierce, untamed country seemed worthy of
a man, and there was the added incentive that, in the lawless cowtowns of the
north, he might find the fellows he was seeking.

 
          
But
he would not decide yet, for though, when necessity demanded, he could think
and act with lightning speed, he was a deliberate person. And because of that,
he would not mention his afternoon’s experience—even to Sandy.

 
          
“I’m
bettin’ he’s straight,” he told himself. “But our friendship is some recent.”

 
          
When
he reached the valley hg found the men loafing outside the large cabin, smoking
and yarning. Having disposed of his horse, he joined them. Rogue had apparently
not yet returned. They watched him curiously as he seated himself on a bench
next to Sandy, who was looking uneasy.

 
          
“Supper’s
through,” that young man remarked, and then, in a whisper, “Suthin’s up, dunno
what, but watch out.”

 
          
“I’ve
fed,” Sudden replied.

 
          
He
had already sensed the air of expectancy with which his arrival had been
greeted, and guessed that some attempt to “try him out” might be made.

 
          
Navajo
and Ropey, standing six or seven yards away, were engaged in an argument, their
voices rising. Sudden noticed that the other men were watching them. Presently
Ropey, who was rolling a cigarette, snapped out an oath, and cried:

 
          
“Texas?
I can tell yu what I think of it right now. When a Texan dies an’ goes to
hell—as they all do—he shore figures he’s in heaven.”

 
          
He
had turned as he spoke and his narrowed eyes were glaring at the visitor. It
was a direct challenge, as all knew, and the chatter ceased. Sudden, lounging
on the bench, took no notice, and Ropey, with a grin of contempt, struck a
match. Ere he could apply it to the cigarette between his lips, a gun flamed
from the lounger’s hip and the light was extinguished.

 
          
“What
th’ hell
! ”
the man gasped. “I’m from Texas,” Sudden
quietly stated, and waited.

 
          
But
Ropey had nothing to say; the fragment of wood remaining in his fingers
appeared to hypnotize him. Sudden addressed himself to the others generally:

 
          
“Any
fella is free to damn Texas,” he said, “but if he looks at me while he’s doin’
it, I take it as personal.”

 
          
Ropey
made a desperate attempt to save his face. “I was on’y joshin’,” he
expostulated.

 
          
“Same
here,” Sudden told him, with a cold smile. “If I hadn’t been, I could ‘a’ put
yore light out pretty permanent.”

 
          
This
raised a laugh, in which, however, neither Navajo nor the victim of the “joke”
joined. Later on, when the visitor and Sandy had retired, the incident was
again discussed. It was Navajo who brought it up.

 
          
“Didn’t
think yu’d be scared by a bit o’ trick-shootin’, Ropey,” he sneered. “Anybody
knows it’s the wind o’ the bullet puts the flame out.”

 
          
“Trick-shootin’
my eye,” Ropey retorted. “That match-tick was cut clean in half, a left-hand
shot, an’ him sittin’ down. He’s a born gunfighter, that fella; he’d have to
try—to miss.”

 
          
And because the speaker was deemed only second to Navajo in that
gang of expert gunmen his word carried weight.
One only still expressed
scornful doubt, and Ropey did not let it pass.

 
          
“Take
him on yoreself, Navajo,” he challenged. “He’s all yores—hide, horns, an’
taller—an’ I’m bettin’ two to one agin yu.”

 
          
The
half-breed shrugged impatiently. “Kid’s talk,” he said. “C’mon, boys; time to
hit the hay; we got a stiff job in the morning’.”

 
          
Meanwhile,
in the little cabin they were to share, Sudden and Sandy also referred to the
incident; the latter was full of admiration for his new friend’s marksmanship.

 
          
“My
Gawd, I never seen anythin’ like it,” he remarked. “I ain’t a mite surprised
they named yù Sudden.”

 
          
“My
friends call mè Jim,”
came
the meaning reminder.
“Shore, whatever yu say goes with me— Jim,” was the ready reply. “Ropey didn’t
think o’ that play—though he might be feelin’ sore over yore bluffin’ him when
yu came in. Navajo put him up to it—he
don’t
like
yu—much.”

 
          
“I
got the edge on him there—I don’t like him a-tall.”

 
          
“See
many folks on yore ride?” Sandy asked presently.

 
          
“Well,
I wouldn’t say the country was thickly-populated,” was the smiling reply.
“What’s doin’ tomorrow?”

 
          
“Like
I told yu, brandin’, damn it. They fetched in ‘bout three score mavericks this
afternoon an’ we gotta put the 8 B iron on ‘em.”

 
          
“Who
owns that brand?”

 
          
“Couldn’t say.
There ain’t
no
8 B
ranch around here that I know of, but Rogue gets four dollars a head for all he
can turn over.”

 
          
Sudden
was surprised; this was legitimate enterprise, for in those days of free range,
unbranded cattle were the property of the finder unless the real owner could
prove a claim.

 
          
The
explanation was to come in the morning, when the valley presented a scene of
animation. A few hundred yards from the pool, a fire had been lighted, and to
this each steer had to be dragged or driven, thrown and tied, while the hot
iron was applied. This was no easy task, for the cattle were scattered and full
of fight. Sudden found that he had been assigned the ticklish job of hog-tying
the victims. As he had not yet joined the band, he might have declined to share
the work, but the idea never occurred to him; he was there, and it was the
natural thing to help.

 
          
He
had tied the first brute before he noticed the branded letters, S E.

 
          
“Hey,
this critter’s got a label a’ready,” he said to Ropey, who came up swinging a
long iron with a curved, red-hot end.

 
          
That
individual grinned maliciously. “Well, well, fancy that,” he said. “Say,
Navajo, the boys brought in one o’ Sam Eden’s cows yestiddy; what we goin’ to
do about it?”

 
          
The
half-breed slouched over. “S’pose we oughta take her back an’ ‘pologize, but I
guess we won’t,” he replied, and grabbing the iron he added a few deft touches
to the old brand, joining the ends of the S and the horizontal strokes of the
E. “There, she’s an honest-to-Gawd 8 B now, an’ as cows can’t talk, nobody’ll
know any different.” He gave Sudden an ugly grin. “Mistakes will happen, an’ I
wouldn’t be s’prised if there’s a few more.”

 
          
The
tie-man knew he was being chaffed, but he was not foolish enough to show
resentment. Instead, he returned the grin.

 
          
“Eden
oughta make his brand bigger—he’s got all the side o’ the animal,” he said.

 
          
They
laughed at this, but he fancied he could detect disappointment in their
expressions.

 
          
The arrival of another steer.
hauled
by the ropes of two perspiring, blasphemous riders.
ended
the incident. From then on the man from Crawling Creek was kept busy, and, as
he now expected, four out of every five of the beasts he handled bore the S E
brand. So it was plain rustling.

 
          
Nevertheless,
he did his work with a thoroughness which earned reluctant approval even from
Navajo.

 
          
“That
hombre knows his job,” he admitted to Ropey. “Shore does,” that worthy agreed.