Sudden--Strikes Back (A Sudden Western #1) (22 page)

‘
Oh, which one was Morley?’ asked Sudden brightly. ‘The one who
took the slug in Thunder Ravine?’

‘
Morley’s dead, damn yore eyes,’ snarled Pardoe, ‘but yo’re
goin’ to be meetin’ him shortly?

‘
Don’t lose yore temper, Bull,’ Sudden advised, coolly.
‘Remember that Linkham will want to decide what do with
me.’

‘
I reckon Linkham will decide to blow yore head off, which is
what I aim to do anyway,’ snapped Pardoe. ‘What do yu say,
boys?’

A chorus
of agreement arose from the outlaws.

‘
Why waste a bullet on him,’ hissed Ray. ‘String him up. Give
him a dose o’ what Tate was goin’ to get.’

‘
Good idea,’ enjoined a lanky man on the right. ‘Get a
rope.’

The
subject of these deliberations stood unmoved by the threatening
atmosphere about him, not a muscle of his face betraying the
churning thoughts flashing through his mind. Mentally he put names
to the men in front of him. Ray he knew. The guard, Pardoe had
revealed, had been Smith. The tall lanky man, with the slight Irish
burr in his voice would be Callaghan. Morley was dead. That meant
the short, bearded man in the center and the fourth man, the one
with the horse were Roberts and MacAlmon. Which of these was which
Pardoe resolved with his next words, addressed to the man with the
horse.

‘
Mac,’ he grated. ‘Give me yore rope.’ Once again he prodded
Sudden with the rifle barrel. ‘Mebbe yu won’t act so cool when yu
start dancin’ on air, hero!’ he jeered. Prod. ‘What-d’yu say,
hero?’

‘
I say that tryin’ to hang an old man an’ hidin’ behind a gun
are about all yo’re fit for, Pardoe. No wonder yu didn’t have the
guts to face George Tate. Bushwackin’s more in yore
line.’

Pardoe
smiled a slow, evil smile. ‘Wrong again, hero!’ he said. ‘It don’t
hurt to tell yu now. Linkham beefed the old man, but he was really
after yore scalp. In fact, he used this Remington. That’s why I’m
so shore he ain’t gonna mind if we have a little fun with yu, since
yu’ve been so charmin’ as to come an’ see us alone. Eh, hero?’ Once
again he poked the rifle barrel into Sudden’s ribs, but this time
Sudden was ready. Imperceptibly he had been shifting his position,
inch by inch, during Pardoe’s diatribe, and now, with a fluid,
lightning movement, he grabbed the rifle barrel and yanked it
forward, pulling Pardoe off balance towards him. With a curse,
Pardoe lurched forward, and Sudden locked an arm like iron about
the outlaw’s bull neck, and in the same movement whipped Pardoe’s
six-gun from it’s a holster. Before any of the others had time to
even move, they were ‘covered by the unwavering bore of the .45,
and they had looked into those deadly slitted eyes once before.
They froze.

‘
That’s better, gents,’ said Sudden. His voice was like
shifting ice in some polar sea. ‘Now—suppose yu all very gently
unbuckle yore gun belts an’ step away from them.’

During
this speech he did not relax one ounce of the pressure of the arm
locked about Pardoe’s neck, but kept the wheezing outlaw bent
backwards like a bow, the pig eyes bulging as the man struggled for
air. The four outlaws faced Sudden, and for a moment they
hesitated; then an imperious flick of the revolver in Green’s hand
convinced them that hesitation might prove fatal, and their hands
flew to their belt buckles. It was in this moment that Pardoe
acted.

Without
warning, the big outlaw simply let his entire body go slack, and
folded his knees. His weight slumped against Sudden and for a
moment pulled Sudden slightly off balance. In the same second,
Pardoe struck blindly backwards at the Slash 8 man with his elbows
and roared, ‘Get him, boys!’

Sudden,
pulled forward into the wicked blows of Pardoe’s ham-like arms,
reeled to one side as the broken-nosed outlaw rolled clear of him
to allow his fellows an unimpeded shot. He was immediately sent
spinning by Sudden’s first shot, which caught him high on the left
shoulder and knocked him into a sitting position against the porch
of the cabin, half-unconscious, but still able to see the
unbelievable tableau before him.

Pardoe
saw Ray yank his gun from its holster as the other three dived for
cover, clutching their guns. He saw Sudden through a cloud of dust
as the Slash 8 man hit the dirt and kept rolling, heard Ray’s gun
boom, saw Ray suddenly wilt as Green’s second shot took the outlaw
clean between the eyes; saw Callaghan plucked off his feet, while
still running, by Green’s third shot; saw MacAlmon stop, turn, and
fire at Green, missing him. Green’s fourth shot drove MacAlmon back
against the rails of the corral, where he lay unmoving, and Green
was now out of sight behind a water trough in the yard. Pardoe
cursed and tried to move, but the pain in his shattered shoulder
kept him pinned where he was like a collector’s butterfly. And he
watched in agonized disbelief as Bob Roberts, who had skittered
into the barn, came thrashing out on horseback, firing as he came,
driving diagonally away from Green’s hiding place and trying to pin
the Slash 8 man down until he was out of range.

Green
remained unmoving behind the stone trough as Roberts’ bullets
whined off it and thunked huge sprays of water upwards. Within a
few moments Roberts was clear of the yard and heading for the
trail. Pardoe cursed again, feebly, watching impotently as Green
vaulted nimbly over the trough, scooped up the Remington which
Pardoe had dropped, and in one movement swept it to the shoulder
and fired. Pardoe watched Roberts tumble from the saddle as though
reluctant; there was a small pull of dust as the man’s body hit the
ground. The riderless horse careered on for a few yards and then
stopped, ground hitched by the trailing reins.

Pardoe
shrank back against the porch steps as the dust-smeared, slit-eyed
Slash 8 man came across the yard and stood looking down at him in
disgust.

‘
All right Pardoe—yore war’s over!’ he grated.

Pardoe
tried to speak, but found that his voice was gone. He had been
around most of the trail towns of the West, and he had seen some
good men with a gun. What could he say to this ice-cold devil,
whose six-gun wizardry had in one unbelievably fast battle left him
the only man out of six still on his feet? Pardoe looked vainly for
some indication that Green had been hit, and finding none, resorted
finally to a weak round of cursing. His self-indulgence was
interrupted rudely by a kick in the ribs that set whorls of
pain-fire dancing before his eyes.

‘
Pardoe, yo’re faced with a choice: I want some information. If
yu give it to me, I’ll promise yu a fair trial. If yu don’t, I’ll
kill yu now. An’ I ain’t shore that killin’ yu wouldn’t be the best
thing.’

Pardoe
nodded; he did not dare argue with this menacing figure.

‘
I want to know where Linkham is, and when he’s due here
again.’

‘
What time is it?’ Pardoe asked, weakly.

‘
About six o’clock.’

‘
Link oughta be on his way here now, in that case.’

Sudden
smiled, a cold smile that sent no answering warmth into Pardoe’s
face; he looks like a wolf thinkin’ o’ deer meat, was the outlaw’s
unspoken thought. ·

‘
Then let’s wait for him,’ said Sudden cheerfully. ‘Maybe he’s
got good news for yu.’

Without
seeming effort, he bent, pulled Pardoe’s good arm around his neck,
and half dragged, half lifted that worthy into the house. When he
got the burly outlaw inside, he threw him down on one of the rough
straw mattresses in the bunks that lined the wall. Pardoe fell like
a sack of potatoes.

‘
Out like a light,’ Sudden told himself. ‘He shore ain’t as
tough as he thinks he is.’

So
saying, he tore Pardoe’s shirt open, and using strips from it,
bound the man’s wound roughly. Having made the man comfortable, he
then proceeded to bind and gag Pardoe efficiently in the bunk.
Pardoe lay unconscious, a slight snore escaping his slack
lips.

‘
Sleepin’ beauty,’ commented Sudden. ‘One day yore prince will
ride up on his charger. I’m bettin’ he don’t kiss yu.’

So
saying, he hurried out into the yard to the gory task of removing
the huddled bodies lying there. Having dragged the bodies into the
bam, he returned to the cabin and settled by one of the windows.
Cradling the Remington across his knees, he settled down to watch
the trail.

Burley
Linkham was in a foul mood. just over three hours previously, he
had been in Jasper de Witt’s office, and once more that jaggedly
sarcastic voice had played his ego.

‘
So, you gave Parr a pistol-whipping and let him go, Burley?’
de Witt had said. ‘Is that what you’re telling me?’

Linkham
had nodded. He realized from the banker’s tone that he had made a
mistake. Exactly how, he did not know; but de Witt’s anger was
unmistakable.

‘
It seems I cannot rely on you to do anything right, Burley,’
the banker said silkily. ‘First, you kill Tate instead of Green.
Then, to compound your stupidity, you set Parr free with in
formation which could hang you. You oaf! You lumbering, brainless
dolt! Do I have to think of everything for you? Don’t you know that
Parr will tell what he knows to any fool who asks him a question?
Do you think I have spent all these years perfecting this scheme to
have it ruined by some liver-mouthed fool who wouldn’t know which
way was ahead if he wasn’t pointed?’ De Witt jumped to his feet,
waving aside Linkham’s stammering excuses and denials. ‘Be quiet,
you fool! Let me think for a moment.’

Linkham
lapsed into a surly silence, scowling malevolently at the pacing
banker, who, if he noticed his underling’s looks, remained
oblivious of their import.

‘
Where would Parr have gone?’ the banker asked
suddenly.

‘
I—I dunno, I—uh −’ faltered Linkham. ‘I just told him to
start ridin’ an’ not to stop. The way he looked, I never figgered
he’d do anything else.’ Then, in a surge of self-justification, ‘I
don’t think he would have dared to, neither. I scared the livin’
daylights outa him.’

‘
He knows about the Hideout, of course? Linkham nodded
dumbly.

‘
And he knows you and the others?’ It was a statement, not a
question. Without giving Linkham time to reply, even had the man
wanted to, de Witt went on, ‘Yu’d better find him, Burley. If he’s
walking around free, you’re in jeopardy. If you are the slightest
danger to me I shall jettison you. Your life is in Parr’s hands,
Burley. You had better find him. Quickly, do you hear? And do not
come back here unless you can—without proof that Parr is dead I
shall have no further use for you. Do you understand
me?’

His
baleful eyes fixed Linkham with a glare so evil that the roughneck,
case-hardened to violence as he was, recoiled in alarm. Hastily
mumbling that he would find Parr, Linkham lurched to his
feet.

‘
What about—everythin’ else?’ he ventured.

‘
Everything else, as you put it, is under control, Burley. I
can go ahead now with you or without you. It is a matter of supreme
indifference to me one way or the other. Tomorrow Brady will
auction the Slash 8. The girl will not be able to raise the money,
and Barclay will buy the ranch from the bank. The girl will
probably return East. You will then take your men and ensure that
the other employees of the Slash 8 are—taken care of. If, however,
you are unable, for one reason or another, to take care of it, I am
sure I shall be able to find someone to replace you.’

‘
Yu wouldn’t,’ breathed Linkham.

‘
I would, my dear Burley, and I shall—unless you find Parr in
twenty-four hours and bring me proof that he is dead. If you do
that, our deal will be consummated. You shall have the Box B to
run; we shall own the valley. So go, you have no time to waste.
Afterwards, we shall settle our score.’

Linkham
nodded, and settling his sweat-stained hat more firmly upon his
bullet head, left the office. De Witt leaned back in his chair,
making a steeple of his fingers, and reflecting upon his last words
with Linkham. Beautifully phrased, he told himself. You and I shall
certainly settle our score, Burley. It will be a pleasure. He
smiled.