Sudden--Strikes Back (A Sudden Western #1) (11 page)
Read Sudden--Strikes Back (A Sudden Western #1) Online
Authors: Frederick H. Christian
Tags: #cowboys, #western fiction, #range war, #the old west, #piccadilly publishing, #frederick h christian, #oliver strange, #sudden, #the wild west
‘
In private,’ Brady told him. The Slash 8 man’s face grew cold
at these words, and his voice was icy when he spoke. ‘If yu got
anythin’ to say to me, yu can say it in front o’ Dave an’ Gimpy,’
he told the perspiring lawman. ‘Speak yore piece or forget it-—I
ain’t carin’ which.’
Brady’s mouth opened and closed, and then he
regained the use of his voice and croaked, ‘I just want to warn
yu—don’t try takin’ the law into yore own hands. Yo’re supposed to
report any incident such as them
hombres
threatenin’ the old man to me
personal. So in future, yu see that I’m kept informed, yu
hear?’
Sudden’s
eyes bored into the pudgy man. ‘Yu fat frog,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t
know what’s wrong with this town that it had to pin the star on a
pizen toad like yu, but that’s Hangin’ Rock’s affair. I’ll give yu
some information, an’ yu better listen good: yu come around givin’
the Slash 8 trouble an’ yo’re liable to get tamped down with a
shovel.’ He paused to let the words sink in through Brady’s thick
hide. ‘The Slash 8 buries its own dead, Brady, an’ that’s whatever.
Fade!’
Amid
jeers from one or two bystanders who had overheard the exchange,
the lawman beat a hasty retreat, throwing a glance of malevolent
hatred over his shoulder at the Slash 8 man. Sudden watched his
departure with distaste, and turned to Gimpy and Dave once
more.
‘
I can shore see why that Patches feller don’t like Brady,’ he
remarked.
‘
Patches don’t like anybody much,’ was Gimpy’s reply, ‘but he
ain’t skeered to speak his mind, which is more than most o’ the
folk in this town do. He says what he thinks—every
time.’
Sudden
nodded, and then, acting upon an impulse, walked over to the bar
and joined the doctor. On closer inspection it was evident that
Patches’ decrepit appearance was largely due to neglect of his
clothes and personal hygiene; Sudden put the man’s age at no more
than forty-five.
‘
I’d admire to buy yu a drink, seh,’ he offered, ‘an’ thank yu
for backin’ me up before.’
‘
Brady is quite detestable, Mr. Green,’ replied Patches, ‘but I
spoke up because I am a believer in the truth, and not because of
any feeling of sympathy for you or for the Slash 8. I have no time
to waste upon sympathy.’
‘
Men with a quest rarely do have,’ said Sudden. The effect of
this upon the doctor was electric. He stood upright, his drink
slopping over the rim of the glass and on to the bar, while his
eyes fastened upon Green’s with a terrible intensity. His shaking
left hand grabbed Sudden’s shirt front, and in a croak, he said,
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘
Shucks, yo’re not a drunk, an’ yo’re not a bum,’ Sudden told
him. ‘That means yo’re either disguised or else yu got side-tracked
by the drink. I did myself, one time. Yu just have to quit
drinkin’, doctor.’
The man
looked at the cowboy for a long, long moment, but then his eyes
fell, and he shook his head violently, a shudder racking the bony
frame.
‘
Changin’ the subject,’ Green said, as though none of this had
taken place, ‘Did the bank cashier say anything afore he
died?’
‘
Nothing.’ Patches spoke from some far off place, a light
gradually coming back into his eyes as he seemed to focus properly
upon Green again.
‘
He didn’t speak?’
‘
Not at all. Why do you ask?’
‘
To tell yu the truth, I had a hunch that he might have held
the key to who these Shadow hombres are. He must have recognized
one o’ them. I Egger he was shot to keep him quiet?
‘
You are unusually perspicacious, Mr. Green. Have you any other
theories?’
‘
A few,’ Sudden grinned. ‘I’ll tell yu about them some
time.’
Patches
nodded. ‘Do that, Mr. Green, do that. And while you are theorizing,
ask yourself this question: how did banker de Witt know that Tate’s
ranch had been visited by the Shadows?’
‘
I been askin’ myself that already,’ Green told him with a
grin.
‘
And so have I, Mr. Green. Good day, sir.’ With a courteous
bow, the doctor pushed his way out of the saloon, leaving Sudden to
rejoin his men. Tate’s body had been loaded back into the wagon for
its last journey back to the Slash 8. The men were ready to
leave.
‘
Yu get anythin’ out of old Patches? Dave asked.
‘
Some advice,’ Sudden told him. ‘He said get to bed early an'
stay away from people who ask fool questions, an’ I’ll probably
live till I die.’
Dave
gave his foreman some implicit instructions and directions for his
immediate future and recommended route. Sudden smiled and said
nothing. But when Gimpy asked him, ‘What yu make of Patches, Jim?’
the new ramrod of the Slash 8 neither smiled nor made
reply.
Seven
Every
second Thursday, weather and road-agents permitting, the stagecoach
between Santa Fe and Las Cruces rolled into Hanging Rock on its way
south. The driver, known locally as ‘Rye’ Johnson because of his
predilection for that particular brand of painkiller, cursed his
team up the street shortly after two o’clock on the Thursday
following the funeral of George Tate. Pulling the horses to a
sweating halt in a huge cloud of dust, Johnson slammed on the long
handbrake, leaped down from his perch high up on top of the coach,
and threw open the door nearest to the boardwalk.
‘
Hangin’ Rock, an’ right on time!’ he yelled. ‘Thirty minnits
stop for grub an’ a change o’ horses!’
‘
Rye’ Johnson was not a man to let ceremony stand in the way of
his own thirst, and so, without another word, he left his
passengers to unload themselves and their luggage and tramped
heavily into the welcome shade of Dutchy’s, outside whose saloon
the stage always stopped. The passengers began to alight from the
stage with that timid reluctance mixed with relief which
characterizes people who have travelled long distances in acute
discomfort. The first man off was obviously a drummer, sample case
clutched in his sweaty hand. He reached up to the luggage rail,
pulled down his carpetbag, and followed in Rye’s dusty wake,
mopping his shining brow. Behind him was a dark-suited businessman
who alighted and walked briskly off down the street with every
appearance of a man in town to conduct some business and then make
the fastest possible departure. The usual crowd hanging around the
verandah of Dutchy’s to watch the arrival of the stage wasted
little time watching him, however. Their attention was fixed now
upon the man getting out of the coach, which swayed beneath his
solid weight. A powerfully-built man, dressed in somber black
relieved only by the soft-collared silk shirt and flowing black
tie, he might have been dismissed by a chance onlooker as a
moderately successful gambler had it not been for the certain
arrogance which marked his carriage. Closer inspection would have
shown that his clothes, though dusty, were of the finest
broadcloth, and that his boots, even beneath the film of desert
grit, shone dully with the sheen that many polishings will impart
only to fine leather. The man’s face was floridly handsome, with
only a hint of weakness about the mouth to indicate that, if this
’man had money, it might not always be wisely spent. All in all, he
gave the appearance of wealth and power combined with a
forcefulness which was enhanced by his sheer size. His dark-browed
face was now, however, smiling fulsomely for the benefit of a
small, pretty blonde girl to whom he had turned in order to help
gallantly from the stagecoach. She looked to be in her early
twenties, and her smile, as she thanked the big man, made slaves of
the bystanders in an instant.
‘
Thank you,’ she said, smiling, ‘for all your kindness. It
would have been a dull journey without your company, Mr.
Barclay.’
‘
Pleasure’s all mine, Miss Tate,’ replied Barclay with a deep
bow. ‘I’m hoping you’ll call me Zack, an’ that I’ll see a lot more
of yu while yo’re here.’
The girl
flushed slightly at the eager warmth in the big man’s voice, a
pleasant sight which Barclay missed completely having turned to a
bystander. Snapping his fingers he rapped, ‘You! Take the lady’s
bags across to the hotel!’ The habit of commanding and of instant
obedience being its effect were natural to this man, and had it
been another to whom he had spoken, no doubt his command would have
been as naturally obeyed.
Unfortunately for Barclay, however, the man he addressed so
contemptuously was none other than the ramrod of the Slash 8, who
had ridden into town with Dave Haynes upon receiving Grace Tate’s
telegraphic communication that she would be arriving on the stage.
Barclay was apprised of his mistake when a cold voice cut in upon
his gallant attentions towards the young woman.
‘
Yu may think yo’re king- o’ the valley, mister, but I ain’t
one o’ yore serfs!’
Barclay
wheeled in amazement upon hearing this cutting remark, and, since
he had never seen Sudden before, ejaculated, ‘Who the devil are
yu?’
‘
Well, I’ll give you a hint: I ain’t one o’ yore admirers,’
came the reply. Without another word, the Slash 8 man shouldered
past Barclay and presented himself, hat in hand, to the young
woman.
‘
Ma’am, my name’s Jim Green. I’m runnin’ the Slash 8. I brung
out a buckboard to take yu back to the ranch as soon as yo’re
ready, but I figgered yu’d probably want to eat first, an’ freshen
up some, so I made arrangements at the hotel.’ He pointed with his
chin across the street, and finished with a smile, ‘Anyway, yu call
the shots.’
Grace
Tate regarded him coolly for a long moment, and then over his
shoulder caught sight of the smoldering visage of Zachary Barclay,
who looked as though at any moment he might erupt into violence.
Not wishing to commence her acquaintance with Hanging Rock by being
involved in a street brawl, Grace Tate sought to pour oil on the
waters by laying a hand on Sudden’s arm and saying, ‘Thank you, Mr.
Green, but I did promise Mr. Barclay that we would lunch together.
Perhaps you would call for me later at the hotel?’
‘
Why, shore, ma’am.’ Sudden was puzzled by the coolness of the
girl’s tone, and her intention to spend more time with Barclay, but
he said nothing. As Sudden turned to go, Barclay thrust forward,
facing him for a moment.
‘
So yo’re Green,’ he said, rocking a little on his heels. ‘I’ve
heard of yu.’
‘
That makes us even,’ replied the cowboy. The flat tone did
nothing to soothe Barclay’s ruffled feelings, and as Sudden made
again to walk away, the rancher laid a detaining hand on Sudden’s
arm.
‘
Just a minute, you!’ he snapped.
‘
Take yore paw off me,’ warned Sudden, and the ice in his voice
made Barclay snatch away his hand as if the cowboy’s arm had
suddenly produced a charge of electricity. Involuntarily, he backed
away from the wicked gaze that the Slash 8 man bent upon him, and
before he could gather his wits to say something, Sudden had pushed
through the crowd and into Dutchy’s saloon.
For a
moment, the watchers thought that the big man might have an
apoplectic fit, so suffused with rage did his face become. The huge
frame shook with suppressed rage. The drummer who had arrived on
the stage watched this performance through the window of the
saloon, and turning to another watcher, remarked, ‘I’d guess that
yon gent ain’t too used to being spoken to thataway.’
‘
Yu ain’t whistlin’ Dixie,’ grunted the man. ‘That there’s Zack
Barclay, an’ mostly around here, when he says “Jump, frog!” every
toad in three counties twitches. Mark the day, pilgrim: it ain’t
often yu’ll see someone talk like that to Zack Barclay an’ walk
away in one piece?
The
drummer gazed reflectively at the width of Zack Barclay’s shoulders
as the Box B man escorted Grace Tate across the dusty street to the
Traveler’s Rest. ‘I sure wouldn’t want to tangle with him,’ he
breathed.
‘
Don’t yu—ever!’ was the salty advice. ‘If I was that feller
Green, I’d be takin’ out some life insurance.’
The
drummer’s gaze now swung towards the ramrod of the Slash 8, who was
leaning against the bar talking quietly with Dave Haynes and
Dutchy. Noting the two low-tied guns, the slim hips, the broad
shoulders and whipcord build of the man, the drummer shook his
head.
‘
Now what?’ asked his neighbor.
The
drummer nodded towards where Sudden stood. ‘Just thinkin’,’ he
said. ‘I wouldn’t want to tangle with him, neither.’
Later
that afternoon, Dave and Sudden dismounted in front of the hotel
and walked into the neat hallway, where a small handbell stood on a
counter. Dave lifted the bell and its tinkle elicited a response
from the rear of the house, where an Irish brogue shrilled the news
that Mrs. Mulvaney was on her way out, indeed.
‘
David,’ she beamed, when she saw her visitors. ‘Shure an’
you’ve been neglectin’ me lately. Why didn’t you come in for
lunch?’
‘
He kinda lost his appetite, ma’am,’ suggested
Green.
‘
An’ we’ve had our troubles, Mrs. M.,’ added Dave.
The good
lady’s face saddened. ‘Shure an’ it’s sad I was to hear of George
Tate’s murder,’ she told them. ‘Twas a sad day for this town when
that happened.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Nor did I think I’d live
to see the day when a Tate broke bread with a Barclay—beggin’ your
pardon, David, an’ that of your friend.' She looked inquiringly at
Dave, who hastened to introduce Sudden.
‘
This yere plug—ugly derelict’s named Jim Green, Mrs.
M.,’
Dave
told the landlady. ‘He claims to be neighbor ramroddin’ the Slash
8, but I give yu fair warnin’—cards make him reckless, liquor
drives him mad, an’ if yu give him credit he’ll leave town the next
mornin’
‘
Right,’ snapped the widow, with mock severity, ‘I’ll treat him
just the same as the rest of you Slash 8 boys an’ it’s not far
wrong I’ll be goin’.’
They
shook hands warmly; by this time, Sudden had divined that the
widow’s attitude was often the direct opposite of her true
feelings, and he said, ‘Shure an’ I’ll pay cash-on the barrel-head
iv’ry time, mum.’
Mrs.
Mulvaney smiled at his attempt to reproduce her Galway
brogue.
‘
Och, a lovely lad, David. .Puts me fair in mind of the late
Mr. M., God rest his soul. But you didn’t come here to chatter to
an old woman. I’ll call your Miss Tate the now.’
She
bustled away into the rear, leaving the two men exchanging glances
of amusement. A few moments later, Grace Tate appeared in the
doorway of the hotel dining room, Zachary Barclay close behind her.
Bidding her goodbye, the big man bent low over her hand and
murmured something.
‘
Thank you again, Mr. Barclay,’ Grace Tate said. ‘You have been
most kind and helpful, and I shall not forget it.’
With a
ferocious glare at the two Slash 8 men, Barclay pushed past and
went out into the street. Grace Tate came forward and held out her
hand to Dave.
‘
You must be David Haynes,’ she exclaimed. ‘My father wrote so
much about everyone at the ranch that I feel I know you
already.’
Dave’s
honest face grew fiery red, and he mumbled something as he took her
hand and shook it as though it might bite. Grace Tate then
half-turned to face Sudden.
‘
And you are James Green. I am told that you are a gun-fighter,
Mr. Green.’ Sudden, who had not missed the fact that Grace Tate had
not extended her hand to him, shrugged, regarding her
quizzically.
‘
I’d say that would depend on who was tellin’, yu, Ma’am,’ he
said quietly.
The girl
lost her poise for a moment, then, regaining control, said, ‘I do
not imagine, on the basis of what I have heard, that your
association with the Slash 8 will continue much longer, Mr.
Green.’
To this
Sudden made no reply, but Dave stared at the girl
dumbfoundedly.
‘
Yu—yu can’t mean that, ma’am?’ he managed to say.
‘
I both can and do,’ asserted Grace Tate.
‘
But Jim here—’ began Dave, when the girl cut off his protests
by saying, ‘We can discuss it later at the ranch. I would like to
go there immediately if that is possible. I have been informed
about the situation in the valley, and of the circumstances of my
father’s death. I don’t want your sympathy—’
She held
up her hand as Dave opened his mouth. ‘I’ve been prepared for the
possibility of my father’s death for some time.
Now it
has happened. I never could understand what made him think that a
country like this was worth living in, much less dying for. The
only thing I regret is that I was not here for the
funeral.’
‘
I’m surprised yu got here this quick,’ Sudden
remarked.
‘
So am I,’ was the cold reply. ‘Communications in this
God-forsaken land seem to be even more primitive than I remember.
However, my main reason for being here is to put an end to all this
trouble over Sweetwater Valley.’
‘
How yu proposin’ to do that, ma’am?’ asked Dave, with some
wonder in his voice.
‘
I intend to sell the ranch, of course—as soon as I can arrange
it.’
Dave
looked at the girl before him like a cave man looking at a railroad
engine, but before he could speak, Sudden suggested that they go
and bring the buckboard so that Miss Tate could ride out to the
ranch.
‘
Bring a saddled horse,’ she told them. ‘I haven’t forgotten
how to ride. Just give me few minutes or so to change my
clothes.’
Sudden
nodded, while his companion, still regarding the girl with awe,
gulped noisily. Wordlessly the two men headed for the door. As soon
as they were outside, Dave threw his Stetson violently to the
ground and, swearing horribly the while, jumped up and down on it
several times.
‘
Yu shore ain’t doin’ that hat a bit o’ good,’ observed Sudden
laconically.
‘
Huh? … What? … Why … of all the pizen-mean, sharp-tongued,
hatchet-faced, evil-eyed harpies that I ever seen, of all the . .
.’
‘
Take it easy,’ Sudden advised him. ‘It ain’t her
fault.’
‘
Ain’t her fault? Ain’t her fault? She as good as calls yu a
saddle tramp, as good as fires yu, tells me she aims to sell off
the ranch—’
‘
She can’t,’ Sudden told him flatly. ‘Cool down?’
‘
I can’t!’ fumed Dave. ‘That … woman! If they had a contest for
pretty Gila Monsters, she’d come in last.’ He continued in this
vein for a while, during which time his companion watched mildly,
rolled a cigarette, lit it, and said nothing. Eventually, Dave
quietened down somewhat, and commenced to punch his battered
Stetson back into shape. Green grinned at his friend’s morose
expression.
‘
Aw, don’t yu worry none, Li’l Breeches,’ he told Dave. ‘Just
keep in mind she’s had Barclay fillin’ her ear with pizen all the
way from the capital, and he ain’t a man to let the daisies grow
under his feet. I’m shore surprised he ain’t awready bought the
Slash 8, Hired us all, an’ married Miss Tate into the
bargain.’
Dave
grinned. ‘Yeah, that’s true,’ he mumbled.
‘
Shore it is. I’m bettin’ she’s got some o’ her Paw’s blood in
her, which is why her dander is up. When she knows the full story,
she’ll be a mighty different gal. Now why don’t you head for the
livery stable an’ rustle up a hoss. I’ll meet yu over at
Dutchy’s.’
Dave
nodded again. ‘Jim,’ he began, ‘I’m sorry I blew my stack. Yo’re
right, o’ course. I forgot Barclay. An’ now that yu mention it, she
is kinda pretty, ain’t she?’
‘
Not that I recall mentionin’ it,’ Sudden grinned
mischievously, ‘but she is.’
He
grinned hugely as Dave flushed a deep scarlet and hurried away
towards the livery stable, while Sudden descended from the hotel
porch to where his horse stood at the hitching rail.
‘
Looks like he’s smitten, Night,’ he told the horse. ‘Or is it
smote? Anyway she shore was purty, all that fire an’ ice. She shore
put a name to everythin’ in the house, boy. Looks like Barclay told
her that her Pa woulda done better hirin’ Jesse James.’
The
black stallion bent a graceful head and nipped playfully at the
foot in the stirrups.
‘
Yu, too?’ grinned Sudden. ‘I shore am friendless
today.’