Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) (32 page)

 
          
It
did not take her long to reach the place; one glance told her no one was there,
and her feeling of disappointment frightened her; life without Luce was going
to be harder than she had feared. Trying to account for his absence, she
remembered that no time had been specified. Also, the writer could not have
foreseen that his messenger would meet her on the way, thus enabling her to
reach the glade earlier than he might expect. She decided to wait; that such an
act might be unmaidenly did not occur to her frank, open nature.

 
          
Seated
upon the fallen tree, she took out the note again; it was the nearest approach
to a love-letter she had ever received, and a sad little smile trembled upon
her lips as she read and re-read it. So absorbed was she that a faint rustling
of the bushes behind failed to attract her attention —until too late. She turned
only to encounter a blackness which blotted out the sunshine, and the
suffocating folds of a blanket which was being drawn around her head. At the
same moment her wrists were gripped, forced together, and tied. Then, despite
her resistance, she was dragged along the ground, lifted to the back of a
horse, which, following a gruff
command,
began to
move.

 
          
With
a sinking heart she divined that she had fallen into a trap, baited by a letter
which was not from Luce. Who were the abductors? A sudden chill came over her
as she remembered that only one man knew of their meetings in the glade. King
Burdette! She recalled his threats and his hatred for her father; it could be
no other. One grain of comfort presented itself—her lover was not leaving the
country.

 
          
She
had no means of ascertaining where she was being taken, but the fact that her
mount swished through long grass, slipped and slithered down stony declivities,
and that branches brushed against her body, indicated that they were travelling
a new or little-used route.

 
          
Occasionally,
when a mis-step on the part of her steed caused her to sway in the saddle, a
hand gripped her arm. She gathered that there were several in her escort, but
they spoke little, and then only in low tones so that words and voices were
indistinguishable.

 
          
Nearly
choked by the stifling folds of the blanket and wearied by the constant effort
to stay in the saddle, the ride proved exhausting enough to the prisoner. At
length, however, it came to an end. Lifted down, she was led into a building,
up some stairs, and, following a curt order, subsided upon a seat of sorts.
Then the blanket was removed and she looked into the grinning, triumphant face
of King Burdette. He bowed mockingly.

 
          
“Welcome
to the Circle B, Miss Purdie,” he said. “The invite was a trifle pressin’
mebbe, but it shows how eager we were to have yu.”

 
          
The
girl faced him with stormy, undaunted eyes. “What do you expect to gain by this
outrage?” she asked.

 
          
“Just
everythin’ I want, honey,” he replied. “An’ that, o’ course, includes yu.”

 
          
Her
gesture was contemptuous. “You must be mad,” she told him. “How long do you
think you can keep me here without it being known, and what will the men in
town do to you when they hear?”

 
          
He
smiled. “I ain’t aimin’ to make a secret of it, an’ the fellas won’t do a thing
when they hear that yu came of yore own accord,” he said.

 
          
“Do
you imagine they’ll believe that lie?”

 
          
“Why not?
Yu won’t be able to tell ‘em any different. When
yo’re my wife
Her
scornful, incredulous laugh moved
him, but his face showed no sign of it. His insolent, appraising eyes travelled
over her from head to foot, taking in the supple slimness of her rounded form,
the youthful beauty of her
features,
weighing her up
as he might have done a horse he contemplated buying. Under that searching
scrutiny Nan felt the hot blood flame in her cheeks; she could not know that
beneath his cold exterior the man’s heart was pounding with passion, and that
she had never been in greater danger. Burdette nodded slowly as he
continued :

 
          
“That
is, o’ course, if I decide to concede yu a ceremony,” he said carelessly. “So
far, it hasn’t been my custom, but in yore case it may suit me, even though yu
are a Purdie.”

 
          
If
he expected this outrageous insult to cow the girl he was woefully mistaken.
Nan came of a fighting stock—the daughter of a woman who had dared the dangers
of the wilderness and fought Indians side by side with her man, was not of the
breed to scare easily.

 
          
“You
unspeakable beast,” she cried, and the disgust in voice and look roused a demon
of rage in him.

 
          
“Yu
said it,” he snarled. “I’ll make that good.”

 
          
With
the speed of a striking snake his arms shot out, clutching her round the waist,
raising and drawing her writhing form to his. In that grip of steel she was
well-nigh powerless, but as the leering, lustful face neared her own she lifted
her bound fists and brought them down full upon it. She expected he would kill
her, but King Burdette only laughed in savage glee.

 
          
“That’s
the spirit,” he cried. “Fight, my beauty, fight; I love yu for it. I don’t give
a damn for woman or hoss without some devil.”

 
          
A
quick snatch with his left hand imprisoned her wrists, forced them down, and
she was helpless. Sick with horror, she felt his hot lips bruising her own, and
then, as her body went limp in his grasp, he flung her from him so violently
that she staggered and fell. For some seconds he stood over her, his hands
clenched convulsively, battling with the desire which turned his blood to
liquid fire. Then he laughed again, contentedly.

 
          
“That’ll
do—for now,” he told her. His hand went to his face, wiping away a little smear
of red. “Yu ain’t begun to pay for that yet, but yu will; no man or woman ever
struck King Burdette an’ got away with it.”

 
          
He
went out, and she heard the key turn in the lock. Then despair claimed her and
for long she lay sobbing on the floor.

 
          
It
made a charming picture, the shadowy dell with its green carpet gaily spangled
with flowers and slashed with golden light where the sunbeams penetrated the
leafy branches overhead; the saddled pony, reins trailing, contentedly nibbling
the grass, and the seated girl, arranging a lap-full of blossoms and crooning
an old Mexican love-song. It was her voice that had drawn the C P foreman from
the trail, and for a little he sat watching her, before riding forward. Not
until he reached her did she look up, and then she was prettily surprised.

 
          
“Why,
it ees my so brave deliverer of distressed damsels,” she cried. “But thees
time, senor, my pony no run away.”

 
          
The
puncher grinned. “Yu look a heap younger out here, but that ain’t
no
reason for the baby-talk,” he said.

 
          
“But,
how ungallant,” she reproached, “to accuse a lady of speaking childishly.
Senor, I thought better of you.”

 
          
“It’s
somethin’ that yu thought of me a-tall,” he retorted, and brought a tinge of
colour into her softly-brown cheeks. “Yu have some right pretty blooms there.”

 
          
“I
love flowers,” she said. “I think they’re so—pure.” She held up a Spanish
bayonet, with its sheaf of creamy, waxen blossoms. “Doesn’t look dangerous,
does it? Yet see what I got when I gathered it.” She pointed to a scratch on
her slender wrist.

 
          
“I
reckon every livin’ thing has to fight some way orother for existence,” Sudden
smiled.

 
          
“An’
Nature provides the weapons accordin’. Roses has thorns, cats has claws”

 
          
“And
poor woman?” she queried.

 
          
“Has
a tongue—an’ it’s aplenty,” he finished.

 
          
She
stood up, letting the flowers fall, and regarded him in mock displeasure. “I don’t
think you are a bit nice,” she decided. “As a punishment I shall inflict my
company on you for a while.”

 
          
Before
he could get down to help her she was in the saddle, moving with a swift, easy
grace, and sat there smiling.

 
          
“Li’l
Miss Tenderfoot is shore learnin’,” she said, copying his own slow drawl, and
set her pony moving.

 
          
“Shore
is,” he agreed, and swung Nigger beside her.

 
          
Silence
held them for a time, the girl covertly studying this long, supple young man
with the spare, bronzed face and smiling eyes which, on occasion, could become
ice-cold and deadly in menace. She admired the careless confidence with which
he sat his mount, reins hanging loosely, the slightest pressure of a knee
seeming sufficient to guide the animal. His eyes too were busy. She rode well,
her body swaying in rhythm with her pony’s movements. She caught one of his
admiring glances, and again the red blood stained her cheeks. She spoke
hastily:

 
          
“I
hope you haven’t been swimming again?”

 
          
The
corners of his mouth puckered up. “I’m game to try anythin’ once, but I ain’t a
hawg,” he replied. “As a bathin’-pool the Sluice is certainly over-rated.”

 
          
“I
went to see it—a horrible place,” she said, and shivered. “I can’t understand
how you ever got out.”

 
          
“I
had a good friend,” Sudden said simply.

 
          
“Yes,
Mister Yago, wasn’t it? I think it was fine of him. Some men would have left
you there in the hope of getting your job.”

 
          
“Bill
can have that, or anythin’ else I got—there’s no limit,” was the calm reply.

 
          
She
knew he meant exactly that; his life even was included in the sweeping
statement; it was no mere figure of speech. Though the words were spoken
casually there was an undercurrent of feeling which carried conviction.

 
          
“Yet
you haven’t known him long,” she mused.

 
          
He
shot a sharp look at her, wondering if there was anything behind the remark.
“Yu don’t have to,” was his noncommittal reply.

 
          
Again
the conversation halted. She was considering him, curious to know something of
his past. The long stirrup-leathers, which left the rider nearly standing, told
of California, while the braided rawhide lariat and heavy Visaliatree’d,
single-cinch saddle spoke eloquently of Texas. He talked like a Texan too, but
there were times when his voice dropped to a low, indolent drawl, reminding her
of a man from Virginia whom she had known. Impatiently she shook her head; she
could not place him. Watching her eyes, he had divined what was in her mind.

 
          
“I
was raised in Texas an’ used to ride ‘Pache fashion, knees up,” he offered. “I
reckon this is more comfortable.”

 
          
Mrs.
Lavigne put a blunt question. “What brought you here?”

 
          
“A
restless nature an’ this black lump of iniquity I’m a-top of,” he answered
lightly, patting the neck of his mount.

 
          
She
saw that he was not to be drawn, but she tried again.

 
          
“The
handsome stranger falls in love with his employer’s daughter, rescues her from
deadly peril, marries her and lives happy ever after,” she bantered.

 
          
The
picture drew unrestrained merriment from her companion. “This ain’t no dime
novel,” he pointed out. “The lady ain’t liable to be in deadly
peril,
an’ her affections unless I’m mistook—is already
corralled. As for the ‘handsome stranger’ “—he grinned joyously as he repeated
the phrase—“he’s got a job that’ll keep him driftin’ mebbe for years.” The
mirth died out, his face grew hard as granite, and his next words were spoken
more to himself than to her, “I gotta find two men before I think of—one
woman.”