Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) (17 page)

 
          
“Why,
yu ain’t been here no time,” one of the older men commented. “How’d yu work it,
Green?”

 
          
“Held
a gun on the 01’ Man, I should think,” Turvey sneered.

 
          
“Yeah,
that’s yore trouble, Turvey,” Sudden retorted. “Yu should, but yu don’t.
I just asked, that’s all.”

 
          
“Ken
must be drunk or loco; strike while the iron’s hot is my motto,” Frosty
grinned, as he made for the door. “I’d like to go with yu, Jim.”

 
          
He
was back in ten minutes, still wearing the grin, but hisred face told a
different story. A dozen eager voices put the same question.

 
          
Frosty
shook his head. “Said he was mighty sorry, but he couldn’t have two of his best
men absent at the same time, which shows he’s in his senses all right. 0’
course, that don’t shut out all o’ yu.”

 
          
A
yelp of ironical mirth greeted this modest explanation and in the midst of it,
Lagley entered. He shot a sour look at Sudden.

 
          
“Why
didn’t yu come to me if yu wanted to
lay
off?”

 
          
“Thought
I’d save yu the trouble of askin’ the boss,” was the careless reply.

 
          
The
implication that he had not the power to give permission only deepened the
foreman’s frown, but it was Turvey who spoke.

 
          
“Allus
did hate a ranch where the owner keeps pets,” he said viciously.

 
          
“Well,
yu ain’t tied to it, are yu?” Sudden enquired acidly.

 
          
Lagley
averted a possible storm by calling the new hand outside.

 
          
“Keith
said yu were goin’ to Red Rock. How long d’yu aim to stay away?” he asked.

 
          
“Two-three
days, mebbe.”

 
          
“Have
yu told—him?” He jerked a thumb towards the hills.

 
          
“Lord,
no. I ain’t sold him my soul.”

 
          
“Wait
an’ see,” was the reply, and the puncher could have sworn there was a tinge of
bitterness in the tone. “D’yu figure that he won’t know?”

 
          
“I
ain’t carin’, but shore he will,” Sudden said. “Why, yonder goes Turvey, takin’
the glad tidin’s.”

 
          
Even
as he spoke, a hunched-up little horseman shot away from the corral, heading
through the gloom towards the hills. The foreman swore.

 
          
“Damnation,
yo’re way
off the target, Green. That hombre has to
night-herd the bunch o’ three-year-olds yu an’ Frosty have rousted out’n the
brush.”

 
          
Sudden
accepted the explanation but did not believe it. “A fella can’t allus hit the
mark,” he said. “Got anythin’ else to tell me?”

 
          
“On’y
this,” Lagley replied. “Yo’re sittin’ in a bigger game than yu savvy; don’t over-value
yore hand.”

 
          
“Oh,
I’m growed up an’ got all my teeth,” the puncher returned lightly.
“Any messages for Red Rock?”

 
          
He
got no answer to this flippant enquiry. Seated on the bench outside the
bunkhouse, he smoked, and turned things over. Despite the fact that they were
supposed to be working together, the foreman did not like him. That he had
guessed correctly as to Turvey’s errand he felt positive.

 
          
“Steve
don’t
want me in neither camp,” he reflected.
“Probably he’s plannin’ to play me some scurvy trick right now. Wonder if that
little rat is goin’ on to Red Rock to make arrangements?”

 
          
The
possibility sent him to bed chuckling.

 
          
Sudden’s
reception in the morning at Black Sam’s was not the one he had expected, for
though the
negro
professed to be glad to see him, it
was very evidently untrue. His hands shook as he supplied the drink ordered,
and his anxious gaze was never off the door. A blunt enquiry elicited that
nothing had been seen of Scar and his friends, but that other denizens of the
bandit stronghold had visited Dugout and behaved themselves decorously.

 
          
“Then
what’s yore trouble, ol’-timer?” the puncher demanded. “Why treat me like I had
a catchin’ complaint?”

 
          
The
saloon-keeper furtively pushed a piece of paper the bar. “Done foun’ it dis
mawnin’, shove undeh de do’, quavered. “I silo’ gotta leave heah.”

 
          
Clumsily
scrawled in pencil on the soiled scrap were the
words :
“One more offense an’ you dekorate a tree.

 
          
SATAN.”

 
          
Sudden
laughed as he read it. “I wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry, Sam,” he advised.
“Why, yu numskull, don’t yu reckon Jeff Keith can write an’ spell better’n
that?”

 
          
The
negro’s
gloomy features lightened. “Yo’re sho’ly
right, ser,” he agreed. “Dis niggeh got no savvy. Massa Jeff he done went to
college.”

 
          
“It’s
friend Scar, o’ course, tryin’ to frighten yu. Lemme have the message, an’ next
time I meet the gent I’ll make him eat it.”

 
          
He
pocketed the warning and casually mentioning that he was bound for Red Rock,
departed. Climbing the long slope to Hell City, an idea occurred to him which
brought a mischievous grin to his hard face. The custodian of the gate opened
without question or comment, though it was not the man he had seen before.
Evidently he was expected. The bandit chief received him without any sign of
surprise and his first remark told that Turvey’s time had not been entirely
devoted to night-herding.

 
          
“Aren’t
you rather wide of the route to Red Rock?” Sudden affected astonishment he did
not feel. “Yu are well served,” he said.

 
          
“As
a man should be who serves himself,” was the reply. “Did the girl ask you to be
silent?”

 
          
“It
was a good guess.”

 
          
The
masked man grimaced. “Well, call it that. Now I’ll tell you another thing—you
never had any intention of visiting Red Rock.”

 
          
“Me
bein’ here, it shore looks thataway,” the puncher countered. “Mebbe yu know
about this too.” He produced the scrap of paper and told where he had obtained
it. “Not quite yore style, I’d say, threatin’ an old darkie who musta been
pretty good to yu as a kid,” he added sarcastically.

 
          
The
effect was volcanic. Through shut lips the bandit barked an order which sent
Silver
scuttering. His master paced to and fro, his fists
bunched till the knuckle-bones showed white beneath the skin, obviously
seething with anger. In a few minutes the dwarf returned, with Roden slouching
behind. With a furious gesture, Satan flung the paper at his feet.

 
          
“What’s
the meaning of that?” he snarled.

 
          
The
man picked it up. “I
dunno ”
he began, and stopped as
he saw the gun levelled at his breast.

 
          
“One
lie and you’ll never speak again.”

 
          
The
rascal did not doubt it. In those pale eyes shone a lust to take his life, and
he knew that the finger on the trigger was itching to press it. His tanned skin
turned to a sickly yellow.

 
          
“Aw,
Chief, I didn’t mean
no
harm,” he muttered. “The
nigger’s bin gittin’ uppity—you know what he done to some of us a bit back, an’
I wanted to give him a bad moment, that’s all.”

 
          
“All?
You dared to act without permission, and use my name? One more
break
like that, you damned dog, and I’ll feed you to the
buzzards. Get out, and remember, that warning now applies to you.”

 
          
Only
when the fellow had crept, utterly cowed, from the room did Satan replace his
revolver and turn again to his visitor. The storm had passed.

 
          
“I
am obliged to you,” he said. “These brutes must learn that there is only one
head.”

 
          
“Would
you have shot him?” the cowboy asked curiously. “Certainly, and he knew it,”
the bandit replied, and with a cold smile
, ”
You dont
believe that. Well, I have another case to deal with—a worse one. You shall
see.”

 
          
He
nodded to his satellite,
who
went and opened the door.
Two men entered, gripping the arms of a third; behind them came some half-dozen
others.
Ragged, ill-favoured fellows, all of them, who found
in the lawless West a haven where they might keep their freedom.

 
          
The
prisoner was a half-breed, with more Mexican than Indian blood in him the
cowboy conjectured, for he displayed none of the red man’s stoicism in
misfortune, and his spare frame shook as with an ague when his guards halted
him in front of the masked judge. The poor wretch did not know that by his own
cowardice he was condemning himself. Satan wasted no time.

 
          
“In
the Big Bend affair you were one of the men who entered and cleaned up the
bank?”

 
          
“Si,
senor,” was the reply, almost in a whisper.

 
          
“And
you kept back five hundred dollars in gold, thereby adding to your share and
lessening ours,” the cold voice continued.

 
          
The
man’s lips writhed. “Sefior, eet ees a meestak,” he cried. “Dere was one beeg
haste—I no theenk—”

 
          
“That
I would find out,” the other concluded. “
Fool !
All
that happens is revealed to me by powers you could not comprehend. Listen: you
gave one of the gold pieces to your woman, Anita; the others are buried beneath
your blankets. You see, I know all. You have broken your oath to me, and robbed
your comrades. The penalty for either is—death.”

 
          
The
accused tried to speak but his trembling lips were incapable of forming words.
Save for the support of the two who held him he would have fallen to the floor.
His judge contemplated him with contempt.

 
          
“I
shall be merciful,” he said, “but you must be punished.”

 
          
He
paused, and the cowboy saw a gleam of hope in the dark, fearful eyes. “You will
receive—fifty lashes.”

 
          
The
gleam died instantly and stark terror took its place.

 
          
Speech
came again in a shrill cry: “Not the wheep, senor; keel me, but not the wheep.”
He would have dropped on his knees but the guards rudely jerked him upright,
and at a sign from their master, dragged him away, still mouthing wild,
incoherent entreaties.

 
          
Satan
motioned to his servant. “See to it, and let me know when all is ready,” he
said, and to Sudden, “Well, what do you think?”

 
          
“It
will kill him.”

 
          
“Of
course, but it will save me from slaying others for the same offence,” was the
callous reply. “That is civilization’s excuse for hanging a murderer—he dies
that the rest may live, so even this contemptible coward will have served the
community.” From without, the muffled, brazen voice of a bell came to them.
“Have you ever seen a man thrashed, Sudden? Come, it is an interesting sight.”