Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (11 page)

 
          
“Yu
look like yu was all lit up from inside,” he said.
“Havin’ a
good time, huh?”

 
          
“Never
had a better,”
came
the sober reply.

 
          
“It
would do Rogue’s heart good to see that bunch over there,” Sudden said
meaningly, nodding in the direction of the gathered cattle.

 
          
“Yeah,”
Sandy snarled, whirled his pony, and was gone, leaving his friend in a
thoughtful frame of mind.

 
          
Days
passed, days made up of long hours filled with incessant, monotonous toil in
the blistering heat, and steadily the herd increased. The weather remained
fine, feed was plentiful on the plain, and the branded cattle gave no trouble.

 
          
“For
which, thank the Lawd,” Jeff said fervently. “If
them
critters took it into their fool heads to stampede, it’d be just merry hell.”

 
          
Even
when the herd was complete, much remained to be done. The big covered wagon,
with its team of six mules, had to be overhauled and loaded with provisions,
flour, bacon, coffee, New Orleans molasses—familiarly known as
“blackstrap”—pickles, and a limited supply of dried fruits. The remuda had to
be selected—five horses for each man—weapons and ammunition prepared.

 
          
Twelve
men, including the rancher and the cook, were to accompany the
herd,
two older members of the outfit remain ing behind to
“hold down the ranch.” These preparations entailed constant effort, for Eden
was eager to start.

 
          
Sudden
had little chance of converse with his friend during these days of stress, for
the brief hours of rest were too precious to be wasted, but he got more or less
acquainted with the other members of the outfit and decided that Sam Eden was a
good judge of a man. Rough, reckless, and shabby-looking, they were
nevertheless capable. Only one he did not approve of—a newcomer like himself—a
big, dark, be-whiskered fellow named Lasker, who was in charge of the remuda, a
position which was poorly-regarded in a cow-camp. He knew nothing against the
man but instinctively distrusted him.

 
          
“He’s
got mean eyes,” he explained to Sandy.

 
          
“Well,
I dessay the hosses won’t mind,” was the indifferent reply.

 
          
Sudden
looked at him thoughtfully. The boy had changed since they had joined the S E;
his gay impudence had gone, to be replaced by a moody irritability. “He’s
pretty near played out, like the rest of us,” was his unspoken reflection, but
he knew it was not a satisfactory solution, for bone-weary as all the men were,
enthusiasm prevailed, whereas Sandy appeared disgruntled, sick of the whole
business.

 
          
“Jeff
tells me we’re all set for an early start tomorrow,” Sudden offered.

 
          
“It’ll
be a relief to get away from this blasted plain,” was all Sandy had to say.

 
          
When
the rancher and his daughter made their appearance in the morning they were
accompanied by Baudry. Together they inspected the herd.

 
          
“They
look good to me, but surely you have some oldish stuff amongst them,” the
gambler commented.

 
          
“Oh,
I reckon they’ll pass with the rest,” Eden said. “Yu remember what the foreman
o’ one o’ the early drives told the buyer who made the same complaint?
‘Strangers,’ he says, ‘if yu’d bin through half what them critters has, yu’d
look twice yore age.’ ”

 
          
Baudry
laughed. “Well, you know your business, Sam, and I wish you all the luck there
is,” he rejoined. “I’ll be coming north myself and shall expect to see you.
Hear of the killing at Littleton?”

 
          
This
was a settlement some thirty miles distant, and the ranch having had no
visitors was without news. Eden said as much.

 
          
“Coolest
thing ever,” Baudry went on. “A stranger steps into
Greggs
saloon just after dusk, shoots the dealer at the monte table, collects all the
cash in sight and backs out. When the company comes to life again, he’s clean
away.”

 
          
“Another
o’ Rogue’s capers, I s’pose?” the rancher said.

 
          
“They
say not, unless he’s got a new hand,” Baudry replied. “From his looks, and a
remark he made, he was Sudden, the Fourways and San Antonio killer.” A rider on
a big black horse, waiting to assist in starting the herd, caught his eye.
“Why, that might be the fellow, by the description,” he finished.

 
          
“What,
Green?” the cattleman grinned. “He’s been tied to this camp pretty tight the
last two-three weeks. No, Jethro, there ain’t no murderers in his outfit; Jim’s
all right.”

 
          
The
young man heard the words, but they brought him no satisfaction; the gambler’s
harsh voice had also carried to where he sat and the bitterness he had been
trying to blot out of his life had overwhelmed him again. Another crime had
been unjustly placed to his discredit.

 
          
The
world was determined that he should be an outlaw.
Very well,
since there was no other way…

 
          
He
carne out of his dark musing to find that the word had been given and the herd
was already on the move, the point riders leading the way, the swing and flank
men stringing the cattle out into a long line. Two men looked after the “drag,”
and behind came the remuda, in charge of the horse-wrangler, and the wagon. The
Great Adventure had begun.

 
          
Under
the blazing sun the herd tramped steadily on. No great difficulty was
anticipated until they crossed the Colorado River, the country south of that
being familiar to most of the men. Nightfall found them camped near a little
creek. From where the cattle were settling down came a somewhat cracked voice
wailing the interminable verses of “The Cowboy’s Lament” and one of the men
squatting at the fireside laughed.

 
          
“Lucky
cows ain’t got
no
ear for music,” he said. “The
Infant’s screech would start a stampede.”

 
          
For
Sudden, riding moodily round the herd, watching first one and then another sink
down to sleep, the night brought only the opportunity to brood over his own
troubles. Little more than half a mile away he could see the gleam of the
campfire; if the men sitting round it knew who he was, they would hang him
before dawn. And for this he had to thank Rogue, whom he was there to serve.
Idly he wondered what the outlaw was doing, or about to do, and then swore
savagely that he did not care.
Which was not the truth.

 
          
Having
watched the herd depart and waved an ironical farewell, Baudry turned his
horse’s head towards San Antonio. Five miles along the trail, squatting with
his back against a spreading cedar, a man was waiting. Baudry got down, glad to
avail himself of the shade.

 
          
“Well,
Navajo, the S E drive has started,” he said. “What are Rogue’s plans?”

 
          
The
half-breed grinned unpleasantly. “Yu better ask him,” he retorted. “His word
was that he’d do the job—his own way.”

 
          
The
gambler’s face reddened but he summoned a smile. “Suits me, so long as it’s
done,” he replied. “Sam seems pretty confident.”

 
          
“He
ain’t got a chanct,” the other stated.

 
          
“I
think he has,” Baudry said coolly. “In fact, I have so strong a belief in my
friend Eden’s courage and determination that I’d be willing to wager that he’ll
take his cattle through and return safely to his ranch.”

 
          
The
ruffian laughed evilly. “Shore yu would,” he sneered.
“How
much?”

 
          
“One thousand dollars.”

 
          
“I’m
takin’ yore bet. Give it me in writin’—I got a shockin’ memory.” The jeer in
the man’s voice was insulting but Baudry chose to ignore it.

 
          
“You
needn’t worry, I always pay my debts,” he said. Nevertheless, he wrote a few
words in a
notebook,
tore out the page and passed it
to the other. Navajo grinned as he tucked it away in a pocket.

 
          
“Money
from home,” he chuckled.
“This ain’t nothin’ to do with Rogue,
yu savvy?
So long.”

 
          
The
gambler stood watching his receding form, his thick lips set in grim threat.

 
          
“There’s
more than one way of paying a debt, you scum,” he snarled. “When you’ve served
your purpose …”

 
          
THE
Colorado River had been reached without any untoward incident, and the S E
drive was camped on the south bank waiting for daylight to make the crossing.
So far, everything had gone well, and, with perfect weather, the herd had made
good time. Supper was over, and ‘the foreman, Sudden, and several others were
smoking beside the fire, for, though the days were hot, the evenings were
chill. There was a thicket to the right of the camp—the first timber they had
seen for days—and the cook was busy chopping wood and loading it into the
rawhide slung beneath the wagon, for his store of buffalo “chips”—the only fuel
to be found on the plains—was getting low.

 
          
“Well,
trail-drivin’ suits me. Why, it won’t be
no
trick
a-tall to push the bunch into Kansas.”

 
          
This from the gangling youth known as “Infant.”
The foreman
surveyed him sardonically.

 
          
“Bein’
a kid I s’pose yu gotta talk like one,” he said. “If yu think it’s all goin’ to
be like this yu got another guess comin’. An’ that kind o’ yap is shore
unlucky. 01’ Man Trouble allus camps on the tail of a trail-herd, an’ we’ll
hear from him soon enough without askin’ for it.”

 
          
“That’s
so,” agreed another, who, being reputed to be the biggest liar in Texas, was
called

 
          
“Truthful.”

 
          
“I
remember once—”

 
          
“Forget
it twice,” Jeff snapped. “What’s come o’ Sands? He ain’t with the herd.”

 
          
No
one seemed to know. He had eaten with the rest of them and then slipped away.

 
          
Sudden
had seen him go and smothered an impulse to follow because he had a feeling
that the boy had avoided him of late. He glanced round the camp, but there was
no sign of the missing man. Against the dark background of the trees the little
tent used by the women gleamed whitely.

 
          
A
few yards away from it, Sam Eden leaned on the wagon-tongue and chatted with
the cook.

 
          
Then,
out of a thick tangle of bushes some forty paces from the wagon
came
a spurt of flame, followed by the vicious crack of a
gun, and the sturdy figure of the rancher staggered and fell.

 
          
“Hell’s
bells!” Jeff cried, and ran to the stricken man.

 
          
The
others followed, ail save Sudden, who raced tor the spot whence the shot had
come.

 
          
Noiselessly
he searched, peering into the gloomy depths of the brush, listening for the
snap of a breaking twig which would tell of a stealthy retreat, but he saw and
heard nothing. Then
came
a careless footstep, a
slouching figure swung into view and halted at Sudden’s curt command.

 
          
“‘Lo, Jim.
What’s the bright idea, stickin’ up yore
friends?” asked a familiar voice.