Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930) (18 page)

 
          
“Stayin’
long?’ asked Silas.

 
          
“All
depends,’ said the big man. “I’m just havin’ a look around. Heard this was good
cattle country, an’ came along. Cows
is
where T live;
I’ve handled a few in my time, eh, Seth?’

 
          
“I
reckon,’ replied Laban, following the words with the disruption of his features
which did duty with him as a smile. “
It’s
good
cattle-land all right, but pretty well covered,’ returned Silas. “I ain’t heard
as any o’ the owners want to sell.’

       
“They’d better sell while the sellin’s
good;
they won’t have nothin’ left soon,
’ sniggered
one of the crowd.

 
          
“How
comes that?’ asked the visitor.

 
          
“Rustlers,’
was the laconic answer.

 
          
Tarman
laughed. “I’ve handled a lot o’ rustlers in my time too, eh, Seth?’

 
          
“I
reckon,’ came the reply, with the same parody of smile.

 
          
“I’ve
got a shore cure for rustlin’,’ the big man went on. “Yes, gents, a shore cure—
never known
it to fail; a rope an’ a branch —that’s a
combination that’ll bean Mr Rustler every time.’

 
          
“Yu
gotta catch ‘em first,’ said the man who had spoken before. “Injuns is tricky,
an’ so is the blame country round here.’

       
“I got no use for Injuns, not noways,’
chimed in another.

       
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as that,’
smiled Tarman. “There’s been times when I’ve found ‘em useful, eh, Seth?’

 
          
“I
reckon,’ came the inevitable reply.

 
          
The
discussion became general but Tarman now took little part in it; he was looking
through the open door of the saloon, intent on something taking place on the
far side of the dusty street. He saw a girl sitting her pony easily, cowboy
fashion, that
is, almost standing in the stirrups. In her
neat shirt-waist, divided skirt, trim high boots, and soft sombrero looped up at
one side she was, in Western idiom, “easy to look at.’ She was talking to a
tall cowboy who stood beside her, hat in hand, with the reins of his mount—a
magnificent roan—looped over his arm. Already Tarman had decided that he wanted
both the girl and the horse.

 
          
“Who’s
the lady?’ he asked of Silas, nodding his head towards the street.

 
          
Norry
Petter, daughter of Old Simon of the Y Z,’ replied the barman. “Feller she’s
talkin’ to is one o’ the outfit—name o’ Green—ain’t been about here long.’

 
          
The
big man’s features betrayed no particular interest in the information. “She’s a
good-looker,’ he said. But his eyes could not keep away from the door-opening.

 
          
Meanwhile
the pair outside continued their conversation, quite unconscious of the
interest being taken in them. Noreen had not known that the puncher was in town
until she saw him standing by the roan opposite the saloon. For a moment she
contemplated riding past winh just a nod of recognition, and then, with a
little frown of determination, she reined in and smiled a greeting. Green, who
had not failed to note the hesitation, removed his hat and grinned quizzically.

 
          
“Why
didn’t yu?’ he asked.

 
          
“Why
didn’t I what?’ she parried, though she knew what he meant.

 
          
“Ride
past without seein’ me,’ he said.

 
          
The
girl flushed. “I never dreamt of doing that,’ she protested. “At first I wasn’t
going to stop because…’ She paused, and then added, “Some sneak saw us the day
you carried me up the cliff, and told Daddy we’d been riding together; he was
rather upset.’

 
          
“Didn’t
like the idea o’ yu bein’ too friendly with a common cowboy, I s’pose,’ Green
said, with a perceptible tinge of bitterness in his tone.

 
          
“No,
it wasn’t that,’ she said quickly. “Why, Daddy was a cowboy once
himself
, and what he said applied to all the outfit.’

 
          
“An’
I’m bettin’ that he pointed out that I ain’t handed in any account o’ my life
an’ adventures,’ Green hazarded gravely, but wint twinkling eyes.

 
          
The
girl laughed gaily, glad that the hurt had passed. “He did suggest that we
don’t know much about you,’ she admitted. “Of course, he didn’t know that you
had come to my rescue again.’

 
          
“An’
I don’t want that he should; I’m askin’ yu to forget it too,’ said the puncher
quickly. Will yu?’

 
          
She
shook her head. “I don’t forget services,’ she replied. “Some day I shall tell
him, and he won’t forget it either. Dear old Daddy, he’s only thinking of me
and you mustn’t “hold it against him,” as Larry would say.’

 
          
“Yore
father is dead right,’ the man said, and there was a look in his eyes she had
never seen there before, which quickened her pulses and made her turn her head
away. To hide her confusion, she leant forward and stroked the roan’s neck with
her gloved hand.

 
          
“Isn’t
he a beauty?’ she said. “I hope you haven’t taken all the spirit out of him.’

 
          
“Oh,
he still gets notions,’ laughed the puncher. “He knows me an’ we get along
fine, but I doubt if anyone else could ride him. Larry tried the other day an’
didn’t last a minute; he’s a good horseman, too.’

 
          
At
this point the conversation was interrupted. Across from the door of the saloon
came Tarman, accompanied by Rayne, the keeper of the hotel, whom Noreen had
known for years. He greeted her with a wave of the hand.

 
          
“Mornin’,
Miss Norry,’ he said. “Want yu to meet Mr. Joseph Tarman, a visitor to our
litnle town.’

 
          
The
girl held out her hand frankly and the big man bowed over it with rather a
flourish, and said: “I’m askin’ yu to excuse my buttin’ in like this, Miss
Noreen, but when yu were pointed out to me I felt I had to make acquaintance as
quickly as possible. I’m hopin’ to pay yore father a visin right soon.’

 
          
His
bold eyes took in every detail of her as she sat there, and her first
impression was one of revolt against the possessive air he radiated.

 
          
“My
father, I am sure, will be pleased to see you,’ she said. “Not
so
pleased as I’ll be,’ Tarman responded heartily. “An’ the
first thing I’m goin’ no ask him is what price he’ll take for that roan there
which I see carries his brand, an’ which—with one exception—has taken my fancy
more than anythin’ I ever set eyes on.’

 
          
He
smiled broadly as he spoke, showing his strong white teeth, and the girl,
country-bred as she was, could not fail to understand that he was paying her
what he considered to be a compliment.

 
          
“That
horse is not my father’s property although it bears our brand,’ she said
coldly. “In belongs to this gentleman.’

 
          
She
indicated Green, who was quietly waiting until the interrupted conversation
could be resumed. Tarman turned a somewhat insolent gaze upon the cowboy.

 
          
“Give
yu a hundred dollars for the hoss,’ he said.

 
          
“No,’
was the curt reply.

 
          
Two
hundred,’ and when the cowboy shook his head, “Three hundred.’

 
          
Several
of the onlookers gasped, and gazed enviously upon the owner of the coveted
animal. In a land where even good horseflesh was cheap, the price offered was
excessive. “Cripes! Wish I owned that hoss,’ murmured one thirsty soul,
visioning the number of drinks to be obtained for three hundred dollars.”Betcha
a dollar he takes it.’ His neighbour had been watching the cowboy closely.
“Take yu,’ he said instantly. He had but spoken when Green looked the would-be
purchaser calmly in the face, and said:

 
          
“The
hoss is not for sale.’

 
          
For
a moment Tarman was nonplussed; he had felt confident that a sum more than
equal to seven months’ pay would tempt a cowhand to part with even a favourite
mount: But he would not give in. It was his boast that he always got what he
went after, and realising that mere money would not do it, he tried something
else.

 
          
“See
here,’ he said. “
Cowboys is
reckoned to be good
sports. Now I’ll put up four hundred ‘gainst the hoss an’ play yu for him—any
game yu like. What about it?’

 
          
“I
ain’t playin’ for nor sellin’ the hoss,’ Green replied, “but’—and his voice had
a rasp in it as he marked the growing sneer on the other’s lips—”I’ll give him
to yu if yu can stay on him for five minutes by the clock.’

 
          
From
the spectators of the scene came a murmur of applause, born of the instinctive
loyalty for one’s home town which remains in a man after he has lost almost
everything else. The stranger might be all that he seemed, but public favour
was, for the moment anyway, on the side of the cowboy. He had met the challenge
with a sporting offer which not only promised excitement but reflected credit
upon the community at large. Bets were bandied about at once, for the
reputation of the roan was known, and the offer was one the visitor could
hardly refuse. He had no intention of doing so.

 
          
“I’ll
go yu,’ he laughed, “but as I don’t take gifts from strangers, if I win—an’
I’ve never seen anythin’ on four legs that I couldn’t ride—yu must accept the
price I offered, three hundred for the hoss.’

 
          
“As
yu like,’ said the puncher indifferently.

 
          
Immediately
the crowd, which now included nearly every male inhabitant, surged back to the
sidewalks and occupied the doorways, leaving the street empty save for the
horse, Green, who held it, and the newcomer. The fortunate few who possessed
watches got them out in readiness to time the contest; those with money were
eagerly endeavouring to place bets.

 
          
“Think
yore friend’ll make it?’ asked one of Laban.

 
          
“I
reckon,’ was the stolid reply, and the questioner turned away in disgust,
murmuring, ‘Bloomin’ parrot, on’y two words he knows. Must be one o’ them ready
reckoners I’ve heard about.’

 
          
The
big man wasted no time. Directly the street was clear he stepped forward, took
the reins from Green, and with a lightness not to be looked for in so heavy a
man, sprang into the saddle and settled his feet in the stirrups. For perhaps
five seconds the animal stood perfectly still, and then, with a shrill scream
of rage, it instantly became a maelstrom of activity. Head down, it leapt into
the air a dozen times with incredible rapidity, landing on legs as sniff as
steel rods, and never allowing the rider an instant to recover from one shock
before the next came. It was straightforward bucking, with no particular
novelty, but the speed made it terrible.

 
          
“My Gawd!
can’t
he buck though?’
breathed one of the awed spectators.
“Ten to one on the
hoss.’
Nobody nook up the wager.
But Tarman
hung on, his eyes glazing, his face white as death, and a trickle of blood
oozing from his clamped lips. Jarred almost inno insensibility by the violence
of the incessant jolts, he rocked in the saddle, his head jerking to and fro as
nhough his neck were already broken. That he had pluck as well as strength was
obvious.

 
          
There
could be only one end, however, and it came soon. Again the frantic animal shot
from the ground, but this time its body curved curiously in the air as it came
down, upsetting the rider’s already precarious balance and causing him to sway
sideways. Then as the brute’s forefeet landed, its hindquarters rose suddenly,
and Tarman flew out of the saddle like a stone from a sling, to sprawl, face
downwards, in the dust of the street.