Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) (28 page)

 
          
“Stranger
on a black hoss with a white face was seen sneakin’ outa town, that’s why.”

 
          
“Huh!
Raven says he saw the same thing this mornin’—heard the hoof-beats an’ got up
to look: he figured it was me.”

 
          
“Sorta
suggests our friend is still busy,
don’t
it?” Strade
mused. ” ‘Lo, doc, how’s yore patient?”

 
          
“Couldn’t
be worse, and live,” said the doctor, who had just come from the bedroom at the
back to which the injured man had been removed.

 
          
“No chance o’ gettin’ a word out of him, I s’pose?”

 
          
“Don’t
talk like a fool, Strade,” Pills snapped. “The shot fractured the back of the
skull and it will be a miracle if he opens his eyes again, much less his mouth.
If you are looking to him for help, you’d better forget it.”

 
          
He
bustled away, and the sheriff’s eyes followed him. “Peppery little beggar, but
he knows what he’s talkin’ about,” he said, and added what few facts he had
gleaned: Potter had been seen entering the bank soon after ten o’clock; the
safe had been opened with the banker’s own keys; a few strangers had visited
the town, but their movements were known; no one had noticed the shot, which
was not unlikely in Lawless. “In fact, there ain’t a smidgin’ o’ evidence to go
on,” Strade concluded.

 
          
The
marshal nodded; but his eyes were busy. Slowly they travelled from the ominous
stain on the board floor to the books flung hastily from the rifled safe, and
back to the desk in the centre of the room. Stooping, he raked beneath this
with a ruler, bringing to light a little brass cylinder; it was a used shell, a
Colt’s .45, and along one side ran a horizontal scratch.

 
          
“On’y
this,” Green said.

 
          
The
sheriff whistled. “That cinches it,” he said; “but don’t bring us no nearer;
seems to me yu gotta catch this hombre in the act; he’s too damn clever. Got a
wad this time too; Raven reckons he’s shy ten thousand hisself. Well, seein’
yo’re in the saddle agin, I’ll be gettin’ back to my lambs. Come over soon an’
have a pow-wow.”

 
          
When
the sheriff had gone, Green sat in the banker’s own chair pondering over this
latest development. The robbery of the bank was another blow at Bordene, and
again the saloonkeeper benefited, if, as the marshal more than suspected, he
was scheming to obtain the Box B. A big ledger lying on the floor gave him an
idea. He turned up Raven’s account, only to find a credit balance of nearly ten
thousand dollars. So that was true. His mind reverted to the envelope Potter
had left with him. Had the man feared the visit of the mysterious outlaw who
had laid him low, or—He wished he could open it, but Potter was still alive,
and his word bound him.

 
          
When
he saw Raven later in the evening he made no mention of the empty cartridge he
had found. “She’s a blind trail,” he said, “but me an’ Pete’ll have a scout
round tomorrow an’ see if we can pick up anythin’.”

 
          
He
noted that the half-breed seemed to be in unusually good spirits for a man who
had just lost a large sum of money, and the point puzzled him. Andy was not
visible, having returned to his ranch.

 
          
The
next day was but just born when the marshal, after giving certain instructions
to Black Feather, set out with Pete along the western trail. There was a slight
breeze and the air, as yet untempered by the rising sun, was like wine. For a
mile or so they followed the trail, and then the marshal swung off to the
right, heading for Tepee Mountain. His deputy, who had not yet been told the
object of the expedition, now put the question.

 
          
“I
want to ask the black hoss if he’s been rid lately,” the marshal informed him.

 
          
They
found the hidden valley as silent and undisturbed as on the day Green had first
seen it. The black horse was there, wild and skittish, but after a short chase
they got their ropes on it, permitting a close examination. Both of them noted
the absence of saddle-marks.

 
          
“Fat
as butter—ain’t been used for weeks,” was Pete’s comment. “What’s that mean?”

 
          
“One
o’ two things: either that murderin’ thief has another black hoss cached
somewheres, an’ that ain’t likely, or he didn’t need one for the bank play.”

 
          
“Which
last makes
Raven
a plain liar. But why—”

 
          
“The
damn business is all ‘whys?’” the marshal interrupted. “P’r’aps we’ll have an
answer to one of ‘em tomorrow.”

 
          
Pete
waited for an explanation of this remark, but it was not forthcoming.

 
          
The
arrival of Andy Bordene at the marshal’s office next morning was followed by
that of Renton and two of his men. With Green and his deputy they called at the
Red Ace. Raven’s eyebrows went up when he saw them.

 
          
“Climb
a cayuse an’ come along,” Green said.
“Got somethin’ to show
yu.”

 
          
The
saloonkeeper hesitated for a moment, looking from one to the other. Then he
shrugged his shoulders and went for his mount. Five minutes later he was riding
beside Bordene, his glance resting speculatively on the leading couple, the
marshal and his man. Into his mind a spasm of uneasiness obtruded.

 
          
“Where
we goin’, Andy?” he enquired.

 
          
“I
know as much as yu do,” the young man replied. “Green sent word yestiddy for me
to come along. As a shot in the dark I’d say he’s mebbe located the rustlers.”

 
          
“Rustlers?”
Raven repeated. “Who’s been losin’ steers?”

 
          
“The
Double S—so Reub was sayin’,” Andy told him.

 
          
Raven
rode in silence, his face indifferent, but inwardly he was damning the marshal
for interfering. As their course took them farther away from the 88 ranch his
suspicions evaporated.

 
          
By
casual but skilful questioning he got from Andy a more detailed account of the
rescue of Tonia, and also a pretty accurate idea of how matters stood with the
young couple. Moraga had served him a dirty trick there, he reflected, but it
had compensations; the loss of his herd money had utterly crippled the owner of
the Box B, putting him in the power of his rival.

 
          
The
marshal and his deputy covered the first few miles in silence, and then Pete’s
patience was at an end. “Why don’t yu chatter some?” he burst out. “Yu might
put a fella wise to what’s doin’.”

 
          
“We’re
goin’ to catch a cow-thief or two,” Green replied, and told of a discovery he
had made on the night they returned from the Border.

 
          
“What’ll
friend Raven say when he sees his men workin’ over the Double S brand?” Pete
queried.

 
          
“I’m
a heap more interested in what they’re goin’ to say,” the other smiled. “He’s
gotta turn ‘em down—cold.”

 
          
The
little man slapped his knee in delight. “Somebody’ll have to do some tall
lyin’,” he said. “Hope they ain’t takin’ a day off.”

 
          
He
was not to be disappointed, for when—less than two hours later—they reached the
hidden corral the marshal had happened upon before, the bawl of an enraged
steer greeted them.

 
          
From
the cover of the brush rimming the basin the visitors watched Jevons and Leeson
throw and tie a cow, and then the former took a running iron from the fire and
bent over the prostrate beast.

 
          
The
pungent smell of burning hair and hide assailed their nostrils. The
marshal, watching the half-breed, saw his face pale and then flush
.

 
          
“Damnation,
Jevons, what’s the meanin’ o’ this?” he shouted, and spurred his horse down the
slope.

 
          
Like
a flash the two men turned to face him, their hands going to their guns, but
they fell away when they saw the rest of the party and stood sullenly waiting.
The foreman of the Double S rode forward and looked at the hog-tied steer. His
expression was not pretty; that the stolen stock was not his property made no
difference; it was in his charge.

 
          
“Don’t
need no explanation far as
they’s
concerned, I
reckon,” he said, nodding grimly at the two rustlers. “Mebbe yu got somethin’
to say, Raven?”

 
          
The
boss of the 88 whirled upon him. “Why, damn yore eyes, Renton, yu tryin’ to say
I know anythin’ ‘bout this?” he asked.

 
          
“They’re
yore men, an’ that’s yore brand ourn is bein’ changed to,” the Double S man
returned doggedly.

 
          
The
marshal interposed. “Take their guns,” he said, and when this was done, “Yu got
anythin’ to say, Leeson?”

 
          
“I
was obeyin’ orders—my foreman’s,” came the sulky reply.

 
          
“An’
were yu obeyin’ orders too, Jevons?” the marshal asked.

 
          
The
man did not reply; his narrowed eyes were fixedly studying Raven, and there was
a threat in them. The saloonkeeper was doing some rapid thinking. The only
explanation he could make would expose Reuben Sarel as a thief, himself as a
receiver of stolen property, and put an end to his hope of gaining Tonia.
Moreover, these cows had been taken without Sarel’s knowledge. With callous
indifference, he decided that the men must be sacrificed.

 
          
“Yu
want to ask these fellas anythin’, Raven?” Green said.

 
          
The
half-breed shook his head. “No,” he replied. “When men workin’ for me put my
brand on other folks’ cattle, I’m through. Yu can take ‘em in, marshal.”

 
          
“Take
‘em in, hell,” Renton said roughly. “We got ‘em with the goods, Raven, an’ they
swing here an’ now; they’s plenty trees.”

 
          
Raven’s
shifty glance turned to Green. “Yu can’t allow that, marshal,” he urged. “These
men are entitled to trial, anyways.”

 
          
Green
detected the design. The accused men were keeping quiet because they relied
upon Raven to get them out of the trouble. Taken to Lawless they would be
assisted to escape from the flimsy gaol, or acquitted by a packed jury. He
determined to force the issue.

 
          
“The
case is open an’ shut, Raven,” he said sternly. “There ain’t no doubt whatever.
Allasame, I’ll put it to the vote; there’s five of yu—me an’ Pete, bein’
officers, don’t take a hand.”

 
          
The
voting was a mere farce, as the marshal knew it would be—all except the
saloonkeeper being in favour of the culprits being hanged forthwith. Green
directed Pete and Renton to tie the hands of the rustlers behind their backs, a
proceeding which brought a look of fear into Leeson’s eyes, and loosened
Jevons’s tongue. Convinced that his employer was prepared to let him go to his
death he was anxious only to bite back.

 
          
“Raven,”
he called sharply, “yu standin’ for this?”

 
          
The
saloonkeeper’s face was wooden. “I’ve done all I can,” he said. “Yu know the
penalty when yu started stealin’ beef.”

 
          
“Good
enough,” the foreman snarled, and turned his mean eves on the marshal. “Yu
asked just now if I was doin’ this under orders? Well, I was—orders from my
boss, that low-down sneak standin’ there, an’ I can tell you somethin’ else
about him too—”