Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) (42 page)

 
          
“Purdie
figures yu’ve gone for good,” he said. “I hear he’s givin’ the Circle B to
Green.”

 
          
King
straightened up, his careless, cynical expression changing to one of fierce
surprise. “An’ Green
don’t
aim to be lonely up there
on the Butte—he’s bin at `The Plaza’ most all day,” Slype supplemented. “Betcha
he’s there now.”

 
          
The
poisoned shaft bit deep. Burdette was cruel, heartless, incapable of real
affection, but he had his pride. The muscles of his jaw tightened, his lips
curled back to uncover the clenched teeth, one hand went to his gun as he
leaned forward.

 
          
“Yu
lie,” he hissed.

 
          
The
marshal’s puny soul shrivelled within him; he saw death itself staring out of
those narrowed, flaming eyes. One moment of weakness would be the end—for him.
His statement regarding the Circle B and Green was a deliberate invention, made
to inflame the visitor, and despite the latter’s fierce denial, Slype knew it
had succeeded. He fought down his fears and answered steadily:

 
          
“I’m
givin’ yu the straight goods. Actin’ friendly to yu
don’t
buy a fella much, King.”

 
          
The
other ignored the reproach, but relaxed the tenseness of his attitude. The
marshal’s heart skipped a beat when King pulled out a gun, spun the cylinder,
and replaced it carefully in the holster. He ventured a question.

 
          
“Yu
didn’t come in alone, King, did yu?”

 
          
The
tall man looked down at him disdainfully. “Yeah, why not?” he retorted. “Do yu
s’pose I’m scared o’ this rabbit-warren? If anybody wants to argue with me I’ll
he right pleased, but I got a little business to ‘tend to first.”

 
          
“What
yu aim to do?”

 
          
“I’m
goin’ to make shore that Mister Green don’t get what belongs to me,” was the
reply.

 
          
“See
yu later.”

 
          
Slype
tried hard to keep the exultation out of his voice. “Well, a fella has a right
to protect his own property, I reckon,” he said. “Good huntin’.” And when he
was sure his visitor had gone, added venomously, “I hope yu get him an’ that he
gets yu, blast yu both.”

 
          
Sitting
slackly in his chair, he waited hopefully for the sound he wanted to hear—the
crack of exploding cartridges. With these two men out of the way his path would
be easy.

 
          
Burdette’s
return was going to prove a godsend after all, though he was still trembling
with the fright it had given him.

 
          
“Mebbe
yu ain’t
so
plucky as some, Sam,” he told himself,
“but yu got the savvy to plan big, an’ the guts to put it through. If Riley has
searched out Cal’s secret, there’ll on’y be Purdie to deal with
… .”

 
          
Had
Burdette heard the conclusion of the marshal’s valediction it would probably
have aroused only amused contempt; to him the fellow was a mere tool, and he
would have ridiculed the suggestion that he might be dangerous. At the moment
he had forgotten Slype entirely. Full of his fell purpose, he paced slowly down
the street, sitting carelessly in the saddle, head thrown back, and insolent
eyes challenging the curious glances of the few men he met. No one accosted
him, and the sneer on his tight lips grew more pronounced as he proceeded.
Rabbits! They believed he had run away, and that was one reason why he had
returned to ride, unconcerned and unattended, in broad daylight, through the
town. He had dared them, and they had done—nothing.

 
          
The
prestige of the Black Burdettes was still powerful.

 
          
He
pulled up outside “The Plaza,” got down, and trailed the reins. He did not
enter immediately, though the presence of the big black horse at the hitch-rail
indicated that the man he sought was within. A peep through the window
confirmed this and supplied what else he needed to know. Only five men were in
the place, four of them playing poker at a table on the left of the entrance,
and the other, Green, leaning against the bar chatting with Lu Lavigne. She was
smiling at something the puncher had just said, and Burdette gritted his teeth
at this apparent substantiation of what the marshal had told him. The shapely
head, with its coils of shining black hair, sparkling eyes, and
delicately-tinted cheeks, seemed more desirable than ever, and jealousy fanned
the flame of his hatred to a white heat. For a few seconds he stood glaring
like a wild beast, and then, pulling both guns, he kicked open the swing-door
and stepped in.

 
          
“Reach
for the roof—all o’ yu!” he spat out. “I’m on’y sayin’ it once.”

 
          
Almost
before they looked up the men at the card-table were obeying the command—they
recognized the voice; they knew too that when King Burdette threatened lie was
apt’ to keep his word. Sudden followed suit; already covered by the gun of a
man who was killing-mad, he had no choice. The girl only disregarded the order,
stepping calmly from her place behind the bar, and facing the newcomer
unflinchingly. Her low-cut, short-skirted dress showing her white shoulders and
slim, silk-clad
ankles,
brought a savage gibe to
King’s lips.

 
          
“All
prinked up for yore new lover, huh? Yu ain’t lost any time, have yu?”

 
          
“I
have no new lover, King,” she told him quietly. “And no old one either it
seems.”

 
          
There
was a touch of bitterness in her tone as she went on, “Perhaps I thought I had,
but not being heiress to a ranch …”

 
          
“So
that’s the tale that lyin’ houn’ has been tellin’ yu?” Burdette burst in
angrily.

 
          
“I
haven’t discussed you with anyone,” she replied. “I didn’t need telling, King;
it was plain enough.”

 
          
She
was playing for time, hoping that some interruption might occur to prevent him
carrying out his deadly purpose, for the moment he came in she knew he was
there to kill Green.

 
          
Standing
half-crouched, alert for every movement, his levelled guns dominated the room.

 
          
Murderous
hate blazed in his slitted eyes, his mouth was twisted in a feral snarl.
The sight of the man who had beaten him at every point of the game,
and—as he believed—stolen the woman for whom he at least lusted, had turned him
into a fiend indeed.
He was on the point of pulling the trigger when the
girl’s cool voice intervened.

 
          
“You
must be mad or drunk, King, to come back to a town where every man’s hand is
against you.”

 
          
“Hell,
I’m King Burdette, an’ there ain’t one of ‘em dare face me,” he sneered.

 
          
His
swift glare at the card-players provoked no response; they knew what he could
do with a six-shooter; a movement would mean instant death to two or three of
them. They sat in their places as though petrified.

 
          
“Except
the man who is facing you now, and from whom you ran away when it was a
question of an even break,” she said scathingly.

 
          
The
words cut him like a knife. “Shut yore cursed mouth, yu Jezebel, or I’ll send
yu along with him,” he raved.

 
          
“Keep
outa this, Mrs. Lavigne,” the puncher urged. “Yu might get hurt. He’s loco, an’
may shoot wild.”

 
          
His
voice was steady and his grave eyes stressed the request. He did not for an
instant believe what he had said, but he wanted her to. Burdette was a master
of his weapon, and even in the grip of passion could not miss at that short
range, and shooting at one who was, in effect, unarmed. Lu Lavigne looked at
him wonderingly. With the shadow of Death hovering over him his one concern was
for her safety. She had never met a man like this, and her heart told her she
must save him—at any cost.

 
          
“Don’t
do this thing, King,” she cried impulsively. “Go away now and I will come with
you. I’ll do anything you ask; be your slave—your toy …”

 
          
A
hideous laugh cut her short. “Hark to her,” King jeered. “Willin’ to buy yore
triflin’ life with her beautiful body, Green—there’s devotion. But the price
ain’t nearly high enough. Yu die.”

 
          
Sudden
drew himself up and looked coolly at the menacing muzzle. He had faced death
before, had dealt it to others, and was not afraid.

 
          
“Shoot
an’ be damned, yu coward,” he said.

 
          
Watching
the killer’s eyes, alight with the lust to slay, he knew that the moment had
come, and prepared to fling
himself
forward in a
desperate effort to beat the bullet. It was one chance in a thousand against a
good gunman. Burdette’s finger was actually squeezing the trigger when Lu
Lavigne, with a cry of “No, no, you shall not kill him,” stepped swiftly in
front of the threatened man. The crash of the report was followed by a tiny
slap as of a drivenrain-drop on a window-pane, and the horrified spectators saw
the girl drop limply into Sudden’s arms.

 
          
King
Burdette stood as if turned to stone, stunned by the crime he had committed. A
growl of rage from the card-table apprised him of his own danger—the men were
reaching for their guns. The noise of the shot would bring others. If he wished
to live he must move quickly.

 
          
With
lightning swiftness he sent two bullets at the card-players, and without
waiting to see the result, darted to the door, hurled himself on his horse, and
raced down the trail.

 
          
In
the saloon Sudden was kneeling beside the girl who had given her life for his,
one arm supporting her head. The bullet had struck her just above the heart,
and he knew there was no hope. Her eyes opened.

 
          
“I
always knew it would be King,” she whispered. “Don’t be too sorry for li’l Miss
Tenderfoot.” Her voice faltered, and then, “you are a good man—Jeem”—her brave
attempt to smile was heartbreaking—“but women are fools and don’t always find
it out—in time. Would you
… ?”

 
          
Sudden
read the request in the big dark eyes and bent his lips to hers.

 
          
“Tell
the boys good-bye,” she murmured, and that was the end.

 
          
When
the foreman stood up his face was a mask of bronze, his voice sounded strange
and unnatural. ” ‘Tend to her,” he said. “I gotta ‘tend to him,” and stepped
swiftly from the saloon.

 
          
“An’
I hope he gets him,” growled one, whose right arm hung useless. “If he hadn’t
been so blame’ quick I’d ‘a’ nailed the skunk my own self.”

 
          
“Green’ll
get him, yu betcha,” another said grimly. “Did yu see his face? If Burdette
owed me money I’d call it a total loss right now.”

 
          
Sudden
swung into his saddle, gave one look at a distant cloud of dust on the trail
through the valley, and sent Nigger charging after it. Behind him the town was
in
a ferment
; from every building men popped out,
asked one excited question, and raced for “The Plaza.” Soon after the puncher
had left, an armed band of dour-faced riders followed him; Lu Lavigne had been
well liked.

 
          
Sudden
rode like a man whose brain has been numbed; the completeness of the
catastrophe had overwhelmed him. His mind slid back into the past, to an
incident of his boyhood, when he had seen another lad slashing beautiful wild
blooms with a stick for the selfish pleasure of seeing them fall, bruised and
broken, at his feet. Without quite knowing why, save that it had seemed a
pitiful, wanton waste, he had thrashed that boy. And now—he must catch the man
in front.