Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) (27 page)

 
          
Led
by the Indian, they descended from the crater rim by a longer but easier route,
the one he himself had used. As Green had surmised, Black Feather had known that
there was a way up and through the rock, and had guessed that if the fight went
against him the guerrilla leader would make a bolt for it, leaving his
followers to shift for themselves. When they reached the cabin again the
fighting was finished. Renton, his left arm in a sling, hailed their appearance
with a shout and hurried forward to greet his young mistress.

 
          
“Shore
am
glad to see yu again, Miss Tonia,” he said, and to
the marshal, “Where’d yu find her? We’ve looked all over.”

 
          
Green
gave a brief account of what had happened; the foreman looked wonderingly at
the Indian for a moment and then stepped up to him.

 
          
“If
yu ever want anythin’, any time, come to the Double S an’ yu get it,” he said.
“Shake.”

 
          
The
red man took the proffered hand. “Black Feather a chief, yellow dog
have
him whipped,” he said, as though that explained all,
and, from his point of view, it did.

 
          
“Well,
I reckon yu’ve done squared the ‘count,” Renton replied, and turned to the
marshal.

 
          
“We’ve
cleaned up here pretty complete, but a few got
clear,
an’ I’ve a hunch we oughta be on our way.”

 
          
“The
Indian was saying the same. What’s wrong with yore arm?”

 
          
“Fella
tried to hide a knife in me an’ got my wing. ‘Bout half a dozen of us is
damaged, nothin’ serious. Soon as we’ve fed we better point for the hosses, an’
go back the way we come, huh?”

 
          
The
marshal agreed. The known dangers and hardships of the lava desert were
preferable to the possibility of bumping into another bunch of bandits.

 
          
The
journey back to Lawless was uneventful. The cowboys, elated by the success of
the expedition, endured discomfort with cheerful curses. The grave face of
their guide alone gave no sign of satisfaction, though there was a deep content
in his heart. He spoke seldom, a wave of the hand serving for words.

 
          
“Like
a bloomin’ image, ain’t he?” Rusty said. “But I’ll risk a stack he’s more
pleased than any of us; Injuns is plenty deep thataways.”

 
          
But
Rusty was wrong—there was a more contented man in the party than even Black
Feather. For Andy Bordene, to be riding side by side with the girl he loved and
had so nearly lost, turned even the terrible lava desert into a paradise.
Together they watched the sun, a blaze of golden flame, drop behind the misty
purple hills, and when its red rim peeped above the horizon they were in the
saddle again on their way—home. And home—Andy told himself—was soon going to
mean very much more to him than it had ever done, now that he had got his ranch
back and was free to speak. Nevertheless, though he had plenty of
opportunities—for the others, with knowing smiles, left them much to
themselves—Andy could not screw up his courage, until they had crossed the
Border and were nearing the Box B. They had lagged behind—a not infrequent
occurrence—and a bend in the trail hid the rest of the party. Andy suddenly
pulled up, and when the girl’s mount instinctively did the same, the young man
leaned forward, a look in his eyes which sent the warm blood to her cheeks.

 
          
“Tonia,
do yu remember my sayin’ I’d be comin’ to yu for a job some day?” he began, and
when she nodded, “the day’s
here,
an’ I’m askin’.
Honey, the job I want is to look after, work for, an’ make Life good for yu
always.”

 
          
His
voice was low, husky, and revealed a depth of feeling she had never suspected
in this gay, irresponsible playmate of her youth. A wave of happiness swept
through her; she had long known the answer she must make, but, woman-like, she
had to ask a question:

 
          
“Was
that the job you were thinking of then, Andy?”

 
          
“Shore
thing, Tonia; but I was in a money mess an’ hadn’t the right to speak. Now it’s
different. Do yu reckon yu could learn to love me, Tonia?”

 
          
The
girl flashed a tremulous little smile at him. “You could have had that job
then, Andy—for the asking,” she whispered.

 
          
They
were still missing when the rescue party rode up to the ranch-house of the Box
B, where, as it was late, they had decided to spend the night. To their
surprise, they were greeted by Reuben Sarel, who had ridden over in search of
news. He had a jaded, worried expression, which increased when he saw that his
niece was not with them.

 
          
“Ain’t
yu got her?” he asked.

 
          
“Well,
we took her away from Moraga all right, but on the trip back somebody else done
stole her again,” Green said solemnly.

 
          
The
fat man’s face flushed with anger. “Pretty fine lot o’ fellas yu must be—” he
began, and then the errant pair, trotting leisurely, came in sight, and he
understood. “Well, I’m damned!

 
          
All
right, marshal, that’s a score to yu,” he grinned.

 
          
At
the sight of the waiting group, the young couple raced for the ranch-house.
Tonia won, and jumping from her saddle, flung her arms impulsively round her
uncle’s neck.

 
          
“Well,
well, burn me if bein’ stole don’t seem to suit yu,” he said shyly. “I
never seen
yu look so bonny.”

 
          
“Guess
it depends on who does the Stealm’,” Green put in, whereupon the girl got
rosier than ever and retreated precipitately to “clean-up.”

 
          
“Come
an’ eat, folks,” Sarel suggested. “I wanta hear all about it.”

 
          
In
the big living-room the story was told, and Reuben’s eyes lighted when he
learned how the guerrilla chief had died.

 
          
“Served
the skunk right,” he commented. “I’ve allus regarded Injuns as pizen, but I’m
a-goin’ to make an exception; thisyer Black Feather can have my shirt if he
wants it.”

 
          
“Which
would make two for him and then leave plenty for patching,” Tonia said merrily.

 
          
Her
glance rested affectionately on her bulky relation, and she suddenly sobered.
“Uncle, you’re not looking well; what’s troubling you?”

 
          
Reuben
lifted his hands in surrender and turned to the marshal. “Fact is, I am
bothered,” he admitted. “We’re losin’ a lot o’ cows; somebody’s took advantage
of our bein’ short-handed to steal us blind, an’ we can’t figure it. Mebbe yu
can help us?”

 
          
“If
Andy’ll lend me a hoss I’ll look into it to-night,” Green said; and when they
protested, he explained: “Waitin’ means losin’ a chance; soon as they know
we’re all back, the rustlers will lay over for a spell.” He shook his head at
his deputy. “I’m on’y goin’ to snoop around; it’s a one-man job, ol’-timer.”

 
          
The
following morning found Andy, Pete, and the Indian—the latter with Nigger on a
lead-rope—covering the trail to Lawless, the rancher’s presence being due to an
eagerness to conclude his business with the banker. The journey did not add to
Pete’s entertainment, for Andy was riding in a world of his own, and Black
Feather—for conversational purposes—was a hopeless dawn.

 
          
“I’ll
have to get me a parrot,” the deputy said, and then raised a whoop when he saw
the marshal waiting for them.

 
          
The
newcomer did nothing to add to the gaiety of the party. He looked tired, and
having greeted them and transferred his saddle to Nigger, he relapsed into a
moody silence, from which he emerged only once, when he noticed Pete peering
anxiously around and asked him what he was looking for.

 
          
“The
body,” the deputy told him. “Thisyer’s a funeral procession, ain’t it?”

 
          
Their
arrival in town brought Seth Raven quick-foot to the marshal’s office. He
halted at the door for an instant when he saw Andy, and then came in. His face
apeared strained, and there was
an eagerness
in his
tone.

 
          
“Yu
got the girl—an’ Moraga?” he blurted out.

 
          
“Miss
Sarel is on her way to the Double S an’ the Mexican won’t trouble us again,”
the marshal replied, and gave a bald recital of the rescue.

 
          
“Yu
done a good job; but why waste a cartridge on that coyote? I’d ‘a’ left him
there for the buzzards to finish,” Seth said savagely. “What I promised holds
good
, marshal.”

 
          
“Forget
it,” Green replied. “All in the day’s work, Raven. Town behaved itself while we
been away?”

 
          
“Middlin’,
till last night, an’ then”—he looked at Andy—“the bank was robbed. First we
know of it the clerk can’t get in this mornin’. We
busts
the door an’ find Potter on the floor of his office an’ the place cleaned to a
fare-yu-well. Potter has been shot in the head, an’ is as near dead as don’t
matter. Looks like Mister Sudden
has
turned another
trick.”

 
          
“Anythin’ to show that?”
Green asked.

 
          
“No,
‘cept that I saw a fella on a black hoss tricklin’ outa town mighty early this
mornin’,” the saloonkeeper said. “There wasn’t much light, an’ I took it yu
were back again, marshal. It’s shore tough luck for yu, Andy.”

 
          
The
young rancher, rudely awakened from his dream of happiness, shook himself like
a dog. Fate had dealt him another bitter blow, but he was not yet beaten.
Nevertheless, there was a tremor in his voice as he said:

 
          
“It’s
tougher still on Potter. S’pose the thief didn’t take my mortgage, huh?”

 
          
“It
warn’t there, Andy,” Raven said slowly. “As a matter o’ fact, Potter came to me
for money an’ made over yore mortgage as security, askin’ me not to say
anythin’ till he’d explained to yu. O’ course, I ain’t pressin’ yu, though the
bank robbery has hit me considerable.”

 
          
The
words did not ring true; try as he might, he could not keep the note of
exultation out of his voice. The marshal sensed it, and a bitter smile on the
rancher’s lips showed that he too was not deceived. The half-breed turned to
Green:

 
          
“Yu
bein’ away, I sent to Strade, an’ I hear he’s just come. Reckon you’ll find him
at the bank. ‘Pills’ is lookin’ after Potter.”

 
          
“Pills”—known
by no other name—was the local medico. A small grey-haired man of perhaps
twoscore, with a deeply lined face, he possessed a sharp tongue, which he did
not scruple to use. When the saloonkeeper had gone, the marshal turned to
Bordene.

 
          
“Keep
a stiff upper-lip, Andy,” he said. “Hills ain’t never
so
steep as they look when you come to climb ‘em. I’m a-goin’ down to see Strade.”

 
          
The
Sweetwater sheriff opened the bank door himself. “Come right in, marshal,” he
invited. “I hear yu got that Greaser.”

 
          
“Yeah.
What do yu make o’ this?”

 
          
“Just nothin’.
It’s like when the Sweetwater bank was looted
four-five months ago, on’y no one was hurt then, the premises bein’ unoccupied.
Yu heard of it?”

 
          
“It
fetched me here, bein’ put to my account, though I dunno why.”