Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930) (20 page)

 
          
Tarman
was pleased—evidently the girl was not interested in that quarter. ‘Talkin’ of
Injuns,’ he said. “I hear they’ve been pesterin’ yu some.’

 
          
“We’ve
all been losin’ cattle,’ Simon replied, and let it go at that. He was not the
man to tell all his business to a stranger. The conversation drifted from the Y
Z to the country around it, and then further afield to other towns and
territories. Tarman had travelled much, both East and West, and he spoke well.
When he chose he could be very entertaining, and the girl found herself
listening to him with an interest she had not expected to feel. Seth Laban,
chewing on a cigar, spoke only when appealed to by the bigger man, but his
cunning eyes missed nothing.

 
          
Down
at the bunkhouse the visitors were the chief topic of conversation, and the
story of what had happened in town was told over again as each member of the
outfit drifted in. Dirty was the proud purveyor of the news, for happening to
find himself but a few miles from Hatchett’s he could not resist the temptation
to ride in and take a “smile’ with Silas. That worthy was not, however, to be
lured into expressing any opinion on the newcomers; they seemed likely to be
good customers.

 
          
The
younger men made no secret of their delight over the roan’s victory; they knew
nothing to the discredit of Tarman, but he was a stranger, and had, they
considered, tried to “run a blazer’ on the Y Z. For the first time in its life
the outlaw horse was popular on the ranch.

 
          
“I’d
give a month’s pay to ‘a’ bin there,’ said Simple, regretfully, “an’ I ain’t
goin’ to cuss that hoss no more, though he did damn near turn me inside out
when I rid him.’

 
          
“When
yu what?’ asked Ginger sarcastically.

 
          
“Well,
I stayed with him as long as yu did anyways,’ defended Simple. “
Though I’m admittin’ that ain’t much to say.’

 
          
The
foreman, who with some of the older hands had taken no part in the discussions,
now looked up and said, “By all accounts, this feller stayed in the saddle
longer than any o’ yu.’

 
          
“Any
of us, yu mean, Rattler,’ corrected Larry. “Don’t be so damn modest.’

 
          
“Awright,
have it yore own way, on’y I ain’t claimin’ to have rid the boss at all,’
retorted the foreman. “I was goin’ to say it might not pay to be too fresh
about this stranger—he may be yore boss yet, if he buys the range.’

 
          
“Buyin’
the range
don’t
mean buyin’ the outfit,’ said Ginger.

 
          
“Me,
I don’t work for a feller who’d shoot a hoss because it throwed him.’

 
          
“
Huh !
What’s he wantta buy the range for when he can marry
Miss Norry an’ get it for nothin’?’ asked
Dirty
disgustedly. “Lo, Green.’

 
          
The
owner of the roan had entered the bunkhouse just in time to hear Dirty’s
remark, and to catch an extraordinary expression of alarm and anger which it
produced on the face of Blaynes.

 
          
“Marry
hell,’ the foreman exploded. “Where’d yu hear that fine tale?’

 
          
“Didn’t
hear it nowhere—thought it all out for myself,’ retorted Dirty. “Why, it’s as
plain as yore face.’

 
          
Rattler
ignored the insult and the almost general snigger which followed it; his mind
was full of another problem altogether, one that promised to give him plenty to
think about. Meanwhile, Green was receiving the congratulations of his friends,
and trying to answer a dozen questions at once.

 
          
“Say,
Green, what would yu ‘a’ done if he’d shot the hoss?’ inquired one.

 
          
“Sent
him chasin’ it,’
came
the quiet reply.

 
          
A
sneering laugh came from Blaynes, but he said nothing, and the entry of the
cook with a huge dish of fried steaks diverted the interest of all into a more
personal direction. Ginger, having forked a slab of meat to his plate, added
three or four potatoes, grabbed a hunk of bread and set to work like a famished
man.

 
          
“
Cripes !
My appetite’s that keen I could shave with it,’ he
mumbled.

 
          
“Pity
yu didn’t,’ said Dirty, with a meaning glance at the stubble on the other’s
chin.

 
          
“Would
have if yu hadn’t used all the soap, yu mud-heap,’ renorted Ginger, at the
imminent risk of choking himself. “Shove over the sweetenin’ if yu can spare
any; don’t yu like coffee with yore sugar?’

 
          
Dirty
did not reply; he was too busy. He knew perfectly well that the man who dallied
over his meal at the Y Z was liable to miss something. He was also aware that
on this particular evening there was pie to follow, and he was aiming to be
ready for it when it arrived, for the boys were fonder of eating pie than
cookie was of making it.

 
          
The
meal over, Green drifted outside, where he was soon joined by Ginger.
Though usually his cheerful self, the redheaded one, since the
passing of Bud, had suffered from occasional brooding spells, when no word
could be got out of him.

 
          
“Yu
still tellin’ me not to start for the Reservation?’ he said abruptly.

 
          
“I
reckon I am,’ Green replied. “Know anybody round here that used one o’ these?’

 
          
He
produced the cigarette-maker and passed it to the cowboy, who examined it
curiously, and shook his head. “Never seen anythin’ like it afore,’ he said.
“Where’d yu get her?’

 
          
“Found
it in the grass beside Bud,’ replied Green.

 
          
“It
warn’t his, an’ I guess an Injun wouldn’t have no use for it,’ said Ginger.
“What’s yore idea?’

 
          
“I’m
tellin’ yu, but yu gotta keep it all behind yore teeth,’ Green said, and
proceeded to explain his theory as to the identity of the rustlers. “Now,’ he
added, “I asked Higgs, the storekeeper, if he sold contraptions o’ this kind
an’ he said he never had. That was a bit ago. I was in his place this mornin’
buyin’ the makin’s, an’ he told me he’d had an inquiry for a cigarette-makin’
machine, feller called Mex, who rides for Dexter. Know anythin’ about him?’

 
          
Ginger
swore luridly between his clenched teeth and his face hardened. “That dirty
coyote,’ he said. “Funny, but I thought of him when we found Bud, but I
couldn’t connect him up nohow. Him an’ Bud had a little argument ‘bout three
months ago, an’ Bud beat him no the draw an’ whanged him over the head with his
gun ‘stead o’ beefin’ him proper. He claims to be white, but I reckon he’s
nhree parts Greaser an’ the other part dog. He’s lived in the East—I’ve heard
him braggin’ about it—an’ he likely picked up that affair there. Me, I’m ridin’
into town now; he may be there.’

 
          
“I’ll
go along,’ Green said.

 
          
The
redheaded puncher slipped the tell-tale little machine into the pocket of his
chaps and led the way to the corral. It did not take long to saddle the horses,
and soon they were trotting side by side along the trail to the town. All the
youth had gone out of Ginger’s face, which was set with determination. Green
did not talk. He knew that a tragedy impended but he would not lift a finger to
prevent it; he had come merely to see that his friend got fair play. They had
not gone more than a mile when they heard the thud of hoofs from behind, and in
a moment another rider joined them. It was Snap.

 
          
“Yu
fellers mind if I trail along to town with yu?’ he asked. “I gotta see a man
about a dog. What’s takin’ yu in, Ginger?’

 
          
“I
want to see a dog about a man,’ the redhead replied grimly, and there was no
smile on his lips.

 
          
The
gunman made no comment and the ride was continued in silence. When they reached
the town, the evening festivities were in full swing. From the dance-hall next
to the hotel came the wail of a fiddle, and outside the Folly at least a dozen
ponies were hitched, several bearing the Double X brand. The three men added
theirs to the number and walked into the saloon.

 
          
Green
led the way to the bar, and returning the greeting of Silas, ordered a round of
drinks. Then he took a general survey of the room. It was fairly full; a few
men were lounging against the bar, but the majority of those present were
grouped around the several tables at which cards were being played. At one of
these Tarman, his satellite Laban, Poker Pete, and Rayne were engaged in a game
of poker. The gambler gave Green one swift look and then became studiously
interested in his hand.

 
          
Green
saw that the attention of both his companions was centred upon a nearer table,
occupied by five men, two of whom he recognised as Snub, and Nugget, the
prospector. One of the others, a short, squat fellow, moved his right arm with
difficulty, and Snap grinned as he noted the fact.

 
          
“Reckon
Dutch is cussin’ me for that,’ he said, in a low voice to Green. “They don’t
guess yu was in it, an’ if they thought I knew it was them, they’d bust up the
game pronto. Yes, that’s Post, the skinny feller sittin’ opposite Snub, who
don’t
look so happy since we come in.’

 
          
Green
did not need to ask who the fifth man was—Ginger’s expression of cold hatred
had already told him. Mex might claim to be a white man, but the sallow skin,
beady eyes, thin cruel lips, and lank black hair told another story. He had
evidently lost his money and his temper, and a savage imprecation escaped him
as he flung his cards in for the third time in succession and began to roll a
cigarette.
Either from anger or inexpertness he made poor
work of it, the paper broke, and
he swore again.

 
          
“What’s
come o’ yore dude pill-maker, Mex?’ asked Nugget. “Lost it,’ snapped the other.

 
          
“Where?’

 
          
Like
a pistol shot the word rang through the room. It was Ginger who had spoken. No
longer leaning carelessly against the bar, he had stepped forward and was
facing his man with blazing eyes. For a moment Mex was too surprised to answer,
and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he
sneered :

 
          
“I
dunno as it’s any o’ yore beesness.’

 
          
For
all his care in speaking the white man’s tongue, the last word tripped him up,
and Ginger’s lips wreathed in contempt.

 
          
“I’m
makin’ it my beesness,’ he said, and flung the little machine on the table.
“That’s yore toy, ain’t it?’

 
          
The
other man’s eyes
wavered
a fraction as they rested on
the familiar shining object, and his pasty face went a shade paler.
The men beside and behind him edged a little further away.
Mex rose and picked up the cigarette-maker, examining it as though to make sure
it was his property. Then he answered the
question :

 
          
“S’pose
it is, what’s it gotta do with yu? I lose it an’ yu find it. Me, I’m obleege.
Yu claimin’ a reeward?’

 
          
One
of the Double X men sniggered at this, but most of the onlookers realised that
the Y Z puncher was in deadly earnest. The two men were now alone, standing
with the deserted card-table between them; all play had ceased, and there was
an ominous silence. Ginger took no notice of the taunt. Crouching slightly, his
right hand hanging straight by his side, his narrowed eyes bored into the man
facing him.

 
          
“I’m
askin’ yu when an’ where yu lost it?’ he graned.

 
          
“An’
I’m tellin’ yu to go to hell an’ find out,’ snarled the other. “I don’t need to
go that far,’ replied Ginger, his tone cold and even. “This was found beside
Bud’s body, an’ yu dropped it there when yu murdered him, yu dirty
cattle-thief.’