Shoot-out at Split Rock (18 page)

Sudden regarded him gravely. "That so? What am I s'posed to do—throw a fit—or somethin'?" he enquired.

The marshal's bloated face got redder. "I can tell you what you ain't s'posed to do an' that's wear them guns," he snapped. "It's agin the law. I'll trouble you to hand 'em to me."

Sudden's eyes narrowed. "I hate trouble," he said. His gaze swept over the room, noting that nearly every man in it wore a weapon. "Why start on me? Clean up on them others an'—I'll think about it."

"Yo're a newcomer; I know them fellas," was the lame reply.

"Yeah, that's where the rope rubs—I don't know 'em," the cowboy said quietly. "See here. Marshal, I'm attached to my guns an' they're attached to me,"—he smiled— "partin' would be—difficult."

The keeper of the peace went in search of another, and presently Sudden saw him in converse with two men whose entrance he had not noticed—Baudry and Dutt. Even as he caught sight of them they were moving toward him. The gambler opened the ball:

"Yes, Marshal, that's the man," he said. "Known as 'Sudden' in Texas, and wanted for cold-blooded murder and robbery."

"An' that fella. Marshal," parodied the cowboy, "is Monte Jack, a tinhorn who was run outa Kansas City for shootin' a pilgrim he had cheated."

Baudry drew himself up. "That's not true," he protested.

"This is," Sudden rasped, his open band striking the gambler on the cheek with a crack like a pistol shot. Staggering back under the force of the blow, his face hvid with passion, Baudry clawed at his shoulder-holster, Dutt flung his arms round him.

"Don't be a fool, Monte, he'll get you," he cried.

At the name unwittingly used the marshal's piglike eyes widened. He snatched out his own gun.

"If there's any shootin' here, gents, I'm doin' it," he announced. "Settle yore differences outside."

"Good enough," Sudden said, and looked at Baudry. "At eight tomorrow momin' I'm walkin' down the street; if you ain't lost yore nerve an' skipped by then, you can come an' meet me."

"I'll be there," Baudry spat out.

Followed by curious glances—for the fracas had at-_ tracted attention—Sudden left the saloon. At the hotel he found Eden and told him only that the gambler was in town.

"Glad of it," the rancher said. "I can square my account with the dirty sneak an' be a free man again."

Abilene, on the following morning, presented an tm-wonted appearance of emptiness, save on the sidewalks of the principal street where a number of daring souls had Uned up. For the news of the challenge had quickly spread and a crowd had come to see one man kill another, and to wager on the result.

An excited whisper ran through the throng when, on the stroke of eight, the cowboy walked from the hotel to the middle of the street. That he was a famous gunman from the South was already known to all. For an instant he stood there, his arms hanging down, fingers almost touching the butts of his guns. Silence seized the spectators as, a hundreds yards away, another man was seen to be unhurriedly approaching. So the gambler had not gone. Sudden's hps tightened.

The seconds ticked on, each brining one of the men, or both, nearer eternity. The onlookers gazed breathlessly as the gap between tiie combatants lessened. Then the angry bark of a pistol smashed into the silence and Sudden's hat was swept from his head. Almost without looking, the cowboy drew and fired, and a man who had stepped into view round the comer of a store reeled and went down, his smoking gun clattering on the boards. It was David Dutt, and a howl of disgust came from the nearest spectators when they realized the treachery he had attempted. Sudden himself, bareheaded and swinging the revolver loosely in his fingers, paced steadily on. He had eyes only for the man he was going to meet.

To Jethro Baudry, the failure of the dastardly plot was a crushing blow; it had seemed so sure and easy to explain; an unknown enemy, seizing the opportunity to pay a debt. Why had Dutt let himself be seen, and above all, why had he missed? Savagely he cursed the man who had died for him.

Step by step the cowboy came on, relentless, inevitable 128

as death itself. Forty yards—thirty—twenty—damnation, would the fellow never stop? He felt Like a condemned criminal, awaiting execution, and watching the leaden hours creep by, but in his case they were moments, seconds, and at that thought he pulled up.

"Can't miss at this distance," he muttered.

He tried to raise the gun he was carrying but found he could not; it seemed to weigh a ton. His antagonist was now only a dozen paces away. Desperately he made an effort to fire but his paralysed muscles refused to act, and in a panic of frenzied fear, he dropped the weapon, flung up his arms, and bolted. Staggering, shppmg in the loose dust, expecting every instant the numbing jar of a bullet in his back, he did not hear the yell of derision which followed him as he vanished behind a convenient building.

The cowboy watched him go, a mingled expression of contempt and doubt on his face.

"I figured him right," he said to himself. "Allasame, I'd oughta got him." On returning to the hotel, he found Eden and the buyer ready to ride out and inspect the herd.

"I'm glad you didn't kill him, Jim," the rancher said. "It would 'a' looked Uke you were payin' my debt."

"It may come to that yet," Sudden told him.

"You don't think he's finished?" Eden asked.

"There's on'y one way to keep a rattler from bitin',** was the meaning reply.

When they reached the camp, Eden had the cattle lined out and driven past, he and the buyer counting independently. Their figures nearly taUied.

"Call it two thousand, two hundred," the rancher offered.

"Good enough," Karson nodded. They're a likely lot an' in fair fettle, but I on'y want four-year-olds—twenty-five a head."

Eden's face fell; this meant taking the pick of his herd and leaving him with the less salable residue.

"That ain't a square offer an' you know it, Karson," he said bluntly. "Gimme an all over price of twenty an' take the lot. With the northern ranches yelpin' for stock, you can't lose."

"It's a deal," Karson replied, aware that he had made a good bargain. "Of course, yore boys'll hold the herd here till I can arrange for shippin'? Good."

The news that the steers were actually sold caused great jubilation among the cowboys.

They saw nothing of Rogue. He had, the foreman said, ridden off the previous afternoon and had not reappeared. The news brought a frown to the rancher's face; he still distrusted the outlaw.

When the party returned to town, Sandy—at Sudden's suggestion—went with them. Eden was to receive payment for his cattle at once, and had announced his intention of taking charge of the money himself. Banks were few and far between in Texas and he had Mttle faith in such institutions. So he tucked the big roU of bills into an inside pocket and tapped the butt of his gun meaningly.

"Any fella who tries to lift those off'n me will shorely get a shock," he boasted.

In the back room of a Mexican dive at the other end of the town, Navajo, with contemptuous amusement on his thin hps, hstened to the stumbling excuses of the man before him.

"Can't think what came over me, but I couldn't have raised my gun for a million dollars," Baudry said. "Never felt Uke it before; I must have been sick."

"You shore looked it, but for a sick man, you ran almighty well," the half-breed sneered.

The gambler's eyes grew malevolent. "I'm not sick now, Navajo," he warned.

"Glad to know it," was the reply. "You'll be better able to bear the shock o' hearin' that Eden has sold his herd an' got the mazuma. To put it plain, we're beat."

"Quite a slice of that money is mine," he said, "and, do you know, I beheve the old fool will pay up."

"Better ask him, but mind Mister Sudden ain't around or you'll be meetin' Dutt mighty soon."

"So it was Davy?" the gambler mused. "I suspected it. Well, he was always fond of me. How many would do a thing like that for you, Navajo?"

"Not one, even if I asked," the half-breed replied. "I do my own dirty work."

130

"But you got Lasker to shoot his employer," came the reminder.

"I offered him a price—same as you did me," Navajo said sullenly.

Baudry's brows went up. "You are in error, my friend," he pointed out. "I made a bet with you—quite a different thing, and you look like you're losing it. I shall deduct the amount from your share of the herd money."

The outlaw straightened up. "You are goin' to get it?"

"What else did you think?" the gambler retorted. "Yes, I am going to get it—the money, the ranch, the gjrl, trample Eden in the dirt, and kill that damned gunman."

"Oh, yeah," the half-breed gibed. "You'll do some swingin' if you show yore face in town; that frameup ain't made you one bit popular. WeU, let's hear yore plan."

For some tim.e Baudry talked earnestly, and when he had finished, sat back and looked triumphandy at his confederate.

Navajo nodded. "You can count me in," he said short-

His malignant gaze followed the gambler as he went out. "Yellow-beUied coyote," he muttered. "You'd sell yore own sister for ten cents, an' right now yo're figurin* to doublecross me. That's a game more'n one can play at, an' when I pull a gun, runnin' won't save you."

Fourteen

Soon after dark that same evening, a Mexican lad slid into the Palace Saloon and made his way to where Eden and Sandy were watching a game of poker in which Kar-son was taking part. Twitching the rancher's sleeve, the boy whispered:

"Meestair Green wantin' you, pronto —outside.'*

Eden started for the door, and Sandy stepped after.

"No need to drag you away, boy," the cattleman said.

"I'm comin'," Sandy rephed. "Jim's word was to stick to you hke yore shadow."

"Shucks, I've had too much nussin' lately," Eden

laughed, and as he stepped into the street and looked round, "Where in blazes is he?"

A blurred shape detached itself from the gloom, an arm snapped viciously down and the rancher dropped hke a pole-axed steer. Sandy grabbed at his gun but before he could get it out, three men sprang upon him. Uttering a yell for help, he flung his fists right and left. His shout brought other citizens and these hurled themselves enthusiastically into the battle. Since they knew neither the cause nor tiie combatants, they were soon fighting each other, and were of no use to those they had come to assist.

Standing astride his employer's body, Sandy struggled on, wrenching himself free from clutching hands and driving his fist vengefully into indistinct faces. But it could not last. Almost spent with incessant effort, he was rapidly weakening. From behind came a bitter oath in a voice he remembered, and ere he could turn, a sweeping blow with the barrel of a pistol sent him down.

It was at this moment that Sudden heard that there was trouble at the Palace, and came to investigate. He found an excited group outside, many bearing marks of the conflict, gathered about two senseless men.

"What happened?" he asked a bystander.

"Dumed if I know," was the reply. "There was a shindy, so I sat in—never could keep outn' a scrap, nohow. Then three-four fellas ran away an' I found I was fightin' a friend. Do you know them hombresT'

The fight of a match confirmed the cowboy's fears. "Hell, yes, one of 'em is my boss," he said, and made a hurried examination. "They ain't cashed, anyways."

Karson was found, and the injured men carried to the hotel.

"This is a bad business. Green," the cattle buyer said. "I s'pose they got the money?"

"Reckon so—it's gone."

"He was askin' for it; you can't keep anythin 'quiet in this place. It was known he'd sold his herd an' these scallywags took the chance he'd have a fat wallet. I oughta stayed with him but poker's a fair curse with me."

Sudden did not undeceive him. His own mind was full of conflicting conjectures. Baudry, Navajo, or even Rogue might have planned this latest development, and that it was

one or more of them he was convinced. Bitterly he reproached himself for allowing the gambler to escape.

Sudden returned to the sick room. Eden was still unconscious but breathing easily. Sandy was in a fever to see his friend.

"Jim," he cried, "Navajo was there—I heard his voice. Damnation, they've got Carol. What we goin' to do?"

"You'll stay here," Sudden repUed. "I've got a line on the girl an' I'm goin' after her, right now."

He told hhn that Aunt Judy said a woman called Lily Gold called for Carol and they left together.

He found the house, a two-storied, ramshackle frame building. The door was opened by a stout, middle-aged negress.

"Mis' Gold is upstairs but she ain't seein' nobuddy," she told them.

"She'll see us," Sudden said, and shpping a coin to the woman's hand, pushed past.

They found Miss Gold smoking a cigarette and lolliug in an armchair. Not yet thirty, she still had charm of a kind, but her once pretty face had become hard, predatory, and her yellow hair was obviously dyed. She greeted her imannounced guests with a stare of surprise.

"And who the hell may you be?" she asked belligerently.

"That don't matter," the cowboy said. "We want to know what you've done with Miss Eden?"

"Don't know the lady," the girl replied insolently, but there was a flicker of fear in her eyes.

"Lyia' won't help you," Sudden said evenly. "We know that you called on her an' that she left the hotel with you."

"Oh, that kid," she said. "I showed her roimd a bit and then she said she wanted to do some shopping. I expect she had a fella to meet."

The girl was shaking when she saw Sudden's grim expression.

Then the story came tumbling out. She had been paid to lure the victim to a certain Mexican dive, the bait being that a cowboy named Sandy had been badly hurt in a brawl. Two men had met them there, seized Miss Eden and ridden away. One of the men was Baudry; the other a stranger.

"Where have they taken her?" Sudden barked.

"How the hell do I know?" the woman snapped, and then shrieked as a knife gleamed before her eyes.

"There's an old shack out on the plain, about two miles due north," she gasped. "I heard them mention it. That's all I know. Get out, damn you! Get out!"