Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) (38 page)

 
          
DEAR
JOAN, I shall be at the mouth of Coyote Canyon about three today. I must see
you. Don’t fail me.

 
          
YOUR
JEFF.

 
          
Not
very romantic, perhaps, but what young girl ever criticized her first
love-letter? She read it three times, tucked it into the pocket of her
shirt-waist, and turned towards the rendezvous.

 
          
“Joan
Keith, you are an idiot,” she assured herself with mock severity. “Sugar’s
hoof-beats are not saying `Your Jeff.’ “

 
          
She
reached the spot in good time, but it appeared to be deserted. After waiting a
little while, it occurred to her that she might be seen by one of the Double K
riders, and not wishing this, she rode a short way up the ravine, where the
undergrowth would screen her from view. No sooner had she taken up this new
position than she became aware of movement and five horsemen burst from the
bushes and encircled her. A look sufficed to show that she was in the hands of
Satan’s infamous “Imps.” That she had been trapped was not at first clear to
her.

 
          
“What
does this mean?” she asked indignantly.

 
          
The
leader, whom she now recognized as the brute who had insulted her at Black
Sam’s, rode forward, a smirk on his disfigured countenance.

 
          
“Jeff,
the Chief, that is, couldn’t
come
hisself so he sent
us to take you to him,” he explained.

 
          
The
statement almost stunned her. So the treasured letter was no more than a bait
to lure her into the clutches of the Boss of Hell City. Furtively she crushed
and let it fall; she could not keep such a vile thing. Then the horror of her
position swept over her, and, spurring her pony, she made a desperate bid to
break through, hoping they would not dare to pursue into the open. But ere she
had gone a few feet, two of them grabbed the reins and jerked her horse back on
its haunches.

 
          
“None
o’ that,” Scar said savagely. “Come quiet an’ you’ll be treated decent; if you
don’t, I’ll hawg-tie you.” The girl gave in; black despair descended upon her.
Roden issued an
order,
they closed round her, and set
off along the canyon. The roughness of the trail made speed out of the
question, but presently they climbed out of the dismal gorge into the hills.
There was a certain fierce grandeur in the peaks and precipices, tree-clad
slopes, rocky defiles, and cascading torrents, but Joan—lover of Nature as she
was—had no eye for them; fear for the future was all-absorbing.

 
          
Her
escort took no notice of her, but chatted in low tones among themselves. Once
she caught a fragment of the conversation.

 
          
“The
Chief’ll have a couple of ‘em now,” one said. “Yeah, safety in numbers,”
chuckled another.

 
          
“
That rule don’t
work with women. No, sir,” Scar contributed.
At which they all laughed.

 
          
They
entered Hell City by the western gate, and despite her danger, the girl could
not but be interested in the place which the country-side held in awe. In the
afternoon sunlight, it appeared innocent enough. At first, seeing so few
buildings, she wondered where the inhabitants lived, and then she noticed the
tunnelled openings in the rock walls, and understood. The people who stopped
and stared as she passed seemed no different from those of any frontier
settlement. But a shock awaited her at the whipping-post. Hanging slackly from
it by his bound wrists was an oldish man, his bared back raw and bloody, and
round him, a dozen or more loungers. Scar asked a question.

 
          
“Ol’
Benjy,” he told the others. “So that was why he warn’t on the gate. Well, here
we are.”

 
          
He
got down and turned to help the girl, but she had already dismounted, and
obeying his gesture, proceeded along the passage. Silver opened the door, and
his brutelike appearance made her recoil. Scar chuckled.

 
          
“Go
ahead,” he said. “He won’t bite yer.”

 
          
She
stepped into the room and again paused, this time in astonishment at the
bizarre yet costly furnishings. But from these her gaze went almost at once to
the owner, devouring her triumphantly through the slits in his mask. He made a
too elaborate bow and pushed forward a chair.

 
          
“Good
of you to come, Joan,” he greeted, and the irony of the remark stung her.

 
          
“I
had no choice,” she replied hotly. “That—beast threatened to hog-tie me.”

 
          
“She
tried to break away,” the “beast” said sullenly.

 
          
“My
fault,” Satan explained. “I was so eager to see you that I promised to hang the
poor fellow if he failed.” He smiled at Roden. “It appears we had a difference
last night, and that you wounded me and I killed you.”

 
          
Scar
looked at him dubiously. “I don’t get you,” he said. “I’m feelin’ middlin’
healthy for a dead man. Who put it around?”

 
          
“Sudden,
and on the plea that he was going to Red Rock for a doctor, the fool at the
gate let him pass, against my express orders.”

 
          
“So—that
was it?”

 
          
“Yes.
I don’t—think—he’ll do it—again,” Satan said slowly. He tossed over some bills.
“Your men will be thirsty.”

 
          
Having
thus dismissed the man, he turned to the girl. “Sorry I couldn’t meet you
myself, Joan, but a little matter prevented me.”

 
          
“The
thrashing of that unhappy wretch outside?” she asked.

 
          
“Oh,
that,” he replied carelessly.
“Just a question of discipline.
They are a rough lot, these people of mine, and need an object lesson from time
to time.”

 
          
“You
mentioned `Sudden.’ Was that the cowboy who came to the Double K?”

 
          
“Yes,
and you are well quit of him; an arrant rascal.” Perilous as her position was,
she could not keep back the retort: “He should have suited you.”

 
          
She
saw his mouth harden, and then he laughed. “You still have your tongue. Well, a
woman without brains, however pretty, is no more than a doll.”

 
          
She
was silent, considering him. Though she knew the truth, the impersonation was
so complete that, but for having recently seen the real Simon Pure, she might
still have doubted; a warm-blooded youth, harshly treated—as he believed—by the
world, might well have become such a man as this. He fell to pacing up and
down, hands behind his back, an old habit of Jeff’s, she remembered, when he
wished to talk.

 
          
“Fine
to see you here, Joan; I have much to say.”

 
          
“Then
please say it and let me go home,” she replied. “I have been absent too long
already.”

 
          
“You
are not going. Where I am will be `home’ for you from now on,” he told her.
“You are to be my wife, or my woman, which you will, but—one or the other.”

 
          
She
sprang to her feet. “Are you mad?” she cried.

 
          
“Yes,
about you,” he smiled. “Once, I let you go; this time, I hold you until
eternity.”

 
          
The
note of finality in his voice left no room for doubt; the fate she had feared
from the moment of her capture had become a hideous reality. Sick with horror,
she sank back in her seat and strove to rally her scattered senses. She must
fight this monster, and above all, never let him suspect that she knew his
secret. She too had a part to play.

 
          
“I
never thought you would use me so, Jeff,” she said quietly. “If you really care
for me, you will let me return to the ranch; the Colonel will be anxious.”

 
          
His
astonishment was real.
“The Colonel?
Why, he’s dead.”

 
          
“No,”
she corrected. “There was an accident, and he was badly hurt, but he still
lives, and needs all the care and attention I can give him. I beg you to let me
go.”

 
          
“No,
I need you, too.”

 
          
“The
shock of my disappearance may prove fatal to—your father,” she pleaded.

 
          
“A
convincing reason for keeping you,” he replied brutally.

 
          
He
called Silver and gave him an order which Joan could not hear. In a while, the
dwarf ushered in Miss Dalroy. The bandit spoke brusquely.

 
          
“Belle,
this is Miss Keith; she will share your room for a time. I want you to take
good care of her.”

 
          
The
adventuress had expected to find a contemptuous adversary, but she found only a
distraught and despairing girl. The sight aroused no compassion in her selfish
soul; willing or
unwilling,
Joan Keith was a
formidable rival.

 
          
“I
understand, Jeff; she will be safe with me,” she said. “Come, Miss Keith.”

 
          
Joan
did not move, and Satan’s lips tightened. Stepping to her side, he said
savagely, “Go, before I repent of my weakness. Remember, I am master here.”

 
          
With
a heart heavy as lead, she
obeyed,
conscious that she
was completely in his power. It was but a few steps, for Belle’s abode was next
the Chief’s, a similar cave, though not so large or luxuriously fitted. But it
was comfortable.

 
          
“Well,
here we are,” Belle said, “and let me tell you, Hell City has worse prisons.”
She looked curiously at her guest, sitting limply, staring with arid eyes at
the carpeted floor. “You were fond of Jeff one time, weren’t you? I expect he’s
altered.”

 
          
The
girl was on her guard. “Yes, into a beast,” she replied.

 
          
“All
men have a lot of beast in them,” Belle shrugged. “Civilization smothers and
keeps it under, but out here in the wilds it comes to the surface.”

 
          
Joan
changed the subject. “Is there no way out of this awful place?”

 
          
“Three,”
was the cynical reply. “Jump through the hole behind that curtain and you’ll
land on the rocks eighty feet below. The other two are the gates of the town:
the cowboy, Sudden, went that way last night, and the man who let him pass was
beaten to death this afternoon. You can reckon your chances.”

 
          
“What
had Sudden done?”

 
          
“I
don’t know, but if he hadn’t escaped—well, judge for
yourself
,”
Belle said, and gave an account of the gunman’s arrest and subsequent torture.
The listener’s ashen face rather amused her; she had purposely painted the
bandit leader as black as possible.

 
          
“Diabolical!”

 
          
“Oh,
Jeff’s all that; sometimes I think he really is—possessed. I was glad Sudden
got away—he saved my life, and yet, I fear him.”

 
          
“I
would say he is not the type to harm a woman.”

 
          
“It
is not for
myself
,” the other admitted, and laughed.
“One gets these foolish fancies; probably he is fifty miles away by now.”

 
          
Joan
was speculating about her companion. What dire distress had driven her, young,
beautiful, to this sink of iniquity? At the risk of a rebuff, she asked the
question.