Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (35 page)

 
          
“Marshal,
I’m a li’I woolly lamb long as folks treat me right,” the cowboy assured him.

 
          
Having
absorbed his liquor, the keeper of the peace went in search of another, and
presently Sudden saw him in converse with two men whose entrance he had not
noticed-Baudry and Dutt. Even as he caught sight of them they were moving
towards him. The gambler opened the ball:

 
          
“Yes,
marshal, that’s the man,” he said. “Known as `Sudden’ in Texas, and wanted for
cold-blooded murder and robbery.”

 
          
“An’
that fella, marshal,” parodied the cowboy, “is Monte Jack, a tinhorn who was
run outa Kansas City for shootin’ a pilgrim he had cheated.”

 
          
Baudry
drew himself up. “That’s not true,” he protested. “This is,” Sudden rasped, his
open hand striking the gambler on the cheek with a crack like a pistol-shot.

 
          
Staggering
back under the force of the blow, his face livid with passion, Baudry clawed at
his shoulder-holster. Dutt flung his arms round him.

 
          
“Don’t
be a fool, Monte, he’ll get yu,” he cried.

 
          
At
the name unwittingly used the marshal’s pig-like eyes widened. He snatched out
his own gun.

 
          
“If
there’s any shootin’ here, gents, I’m doin’ it,” he announced. “Settle yore
differences outside.”

 
          
“Good
enough,” Sudden said, and looked at Baudry. “At eight tomorrow mornin’ I’m
walkin’ down the street; if yu ain’t lost yore nerve an’ skipped by then, yu
can come an’ meet me.”

 
          
“I’ll
be there,” Baudry spat out.

 
          
Followed
by curious glances—for the fracas had attracted attention—Sudden left the
saloon. At the hotel he found Eden and told him only that the gambler was in
town.

 
          
“Glad
of it,” the rancher said. “I can square my account with the dirty sneak an’ be
a free man again.”

 
          
Abilene,
on the following morning, presented an unwonted appearance of emptiness, save
on the sidewalks of the principal street where a number of daring souls had
lined up; others, whose courage did not equal their curiosity, contented
themselves with the windows and doors of the buildings. For the news of the
challenge had quickly spread and a crowd had come to see one man kill another,
and to wager on the result.

 
          
An
excited whisper ran through the throng when, on the stroke of eight, the cowboy
walked from the hotel to the middle of the street. That he was a famous gunman
from the south was already known to all. For an instant he stood there, his
arms hanging down, fingers almost touching the butts of his guns. Silence
seized the spectators as, a hundred yards
away,
another man was seen to be unhurriedly approaching. So the gambler had not
gone. Sudden’s lips tightened.

 
          
The
seconds ticked on, each bringing one of the men, or both, nearer eternity. The
onlookers gazed breathlessly as the gap between the combatants lessened. Then
the angry bark of a pistol smashed into the silence and Sudden’s hat was swept
from his head. Almost without looking, the cowboy drew and fired, and a man who
had stepped into view round the corner of a store reeled and went down, his smoking
gun clattering on the boards, It was David Dutt, and a howl of disgust came
from the nearest.
spectators
when they realized the
treachery he had attempted. Sudden himself, bareheaded and swinging the
revolver loosely in his fingers, paced steadily on. He had eyes only for the
man he was going to meet.

 
          
To
Jethro Baudry, the failure of the plot was a crushing blow; it had seemed so
sure and easy to explain: an unknown enemy, seizing the opportunity to pay a
debt. Why had Dutt let himself be seen, and above all, why had he missed?
Savagely he cursed the man who had died for him, and gazed with anxious,
haggard eyes at the advancing figure.

 
          
Step
by step the cowboy came on, relentless, inevitable as death itself. A cold
sweat oozed from the gambler’s forehead and his heart seemed to become a lump
of ice. He had killed, and was no novice in gunfights, but they had been quick
affairs, over in a moment or two, allowing no time for thought; the
deliberation of this encounter called for a courage he did not possess. Forty
yards—thirty—twenty—damnation, would the fellow never stop? He felt like a
condemned criminal. awaiting execution, and watching the leaden hours creep by,
but in his case they were moments, seconds, and at that thought he pulled up.

 
          
“Can’t
miss at this distance,” he muttered, and wondered who had spoken.

 
          
He
tried to raise the gun he was carrying but found he could not; it seemed to
weigh a ton. His antagonist was now only a dozen paces away and he could see
the grim, grey face and narrowed ice-cold eyes. A shiver shook him as he
realized that he was nothing more than a target. Already he seemed to feel the
scorching, blinding pain of lead tearing through his body.

 
          
Desperately
he made another effort to fire but his paralysed muscles refused to act, and in
a panic of frenzied fear, he dropped the weapon, flung up his arms, and bolted.
Staggering, slipping in the loose dust, expecting every instant the numbing jar
of a bullet in his back, he did not hear the yell of derision which followed him
as he vanished behind a convenient building.

 
          
The
cowboy watched him go, a mingled expression of contempt and doubt on his face.

 
          
“I
figured him right,” he said to himself. “Allasame, I’d oughta got him.”

 
          
Men
crowded round the victor, patted him on the back, invited him to drink, and
hailed him as a good fellow. Dutt, they told him, was dead, with a bullet
between the eyes, and all agreed that it was less than he deserved. Sudden had
hard work to get away from his admirers, but he pleaded that he had a job, and
his boss was waiting for him.
Which was no more than the
truth, for on returning to the hotel, he found Eden and the buyer ready to ride
out and inspect the herd.

 
          
“I’m
glad yu didn’t kill him, Jim,” the rancher said. “It would ‘a’ looked like yu
were payin’ my debt.”

 
          
“It
may come to that yet,” Sudden told him.

 
          
“Yu
don’t think he’s finished?” Eden asked.

 
          
“There’s
on’y one way to keep a rattler from bitin’,” was the meaning reply.

 
          
Karson
was evidently of the same opinion, for as they passed the scene of the
gambler’s humiliation, he said:

 
          
“Yu
oughta
rubbed
that fella out like a dirty mark, which
is what he is; it was a plain frame-up.”

 
          
“I
expect yo’re right, seh,” Sudden agreed.

 
          
When
they reached the camp, Eden had the cattle lined out and driven past, he and
the buyer counting independently. Their figures nearly tallied.

 
          
“Call
it two thousand, two hundred,” the rancher offered. “Good enough,” Karson
nodded. “They’re a likely lot an’ in fair fettle, but I on’y want four-year-olds—twenty-five
a head.”

 
          
Eden’s
face fell; this meant taking the pick of his herd and leaving him with the less
saleable residue.

 
          
“That
ain’t a square offer an’ yu know it, Karson,” he said bluntly. “Gimme an
all-over price of twenty an’ take the lot. With the northern ranches yelpin’
for stock, yu can’t lese.”

 
          
The
buyer took one look at the cattleman’s stubborn jaw. “Yu know yore business,”
he smiled. “I was hopin’ yu’d let ‘em go for fifteen.”

 
          
“I’ve
been lookin’ at cows’ rumps since I was weaned,” Eden grinned. “Well, what do
yu say?”

 
          
“It’s
a deal,” Karson replied, aware that he had made a good bargain. “Of course,
yore boys’ll hold the herd here till I can arrange for shippin’? Good.”

 
          
The
news that the steers they had safeguarded through so many vicissitudes were
actually sold caused great jubilation among the cowboys, and the difficulties
of the trail were made light of in a way which vastly amused the buyer.

 
          
“Trouble?”
Jed echoed in answer to his question. “Why,
nothin’ to notice. O’ course, cows git contrary an’ thinks they
knows
a better road than the one yo’re takin’ ‘em, but yu
expect that.”

 
          
I
heard somethin’ about Indians,” Karson smiled.

 
          
Jed’s
bony face was sardonic. “Mebbe we had to flap a blanket now an’ then to scare
them critters off,” he confessed.

 
          
And
Karson, who had been told much of the real story, grinned delightedly and
distributed cigars all round.

 
          
“Yu’ll
do,” he said. “If ever I want a herd o’ real classy liars I’ll come to Texas.”

 
          
They
saw nothing of Rogue. He had, the foreman said, ridden off the previous
afternoon and had not re-appeared. The news brought a frown to the rancher’s
face; he still distrusted the outlaw.

 
          
When
the party returned to town, Sandy—at Sudden’s suggestion—went with them. Eden
was to receive payment for his cattle at once, and had announced his intention
of taking charge of the money himself. Banks were few and far between in Texas
and he had little faith in such institutions. So he tucked the big roll of
bills into an inside pocket and tapped the butt of his gun meaningly.

 
          
“Any
fella
who tries to lift those off’n me will shorely
get a shock,” he boasted.

 
          
From
this resolution he could not be turned, even by his daughter, who was obviously
apprehensive of the risk he was running.

 
          
In
the back room of a Mexican dive at the other end of the town, Navajo, with
contemptuous amusement on his thin lips, listened to the stumbling excuses of
the man before him.

 
          
“Can’t
think what came over me, but I couldn’t have raised my gun for a million dollars,”

 
          
Baudry
said. “Never felt like it before; I must have been sick.”

 
          
“Yu
shore looked it, but for a sick man yu ran almighty well,” the half-breed
sneered.

 
          
The
gambler’s eyes grew malevolent. “I’m not sick now, Navajo,” he warned.

 
          
“Glad
to know it,” was the reply. “Yu’ll be better able to bear the shock o’ hearin’
that Eden has sold his herd an’ got the mazuma. To put it plain, we’re beat”

 
          
If
he meant to anger his companion he did not succeed; Baudry was regaining his
habitual veneer of imperturbability.

 
          
“Quite
a slice of that money is mine,” he said, “and, do you know, I believe the old
fool would pay up.”

 
          
“Better
ask him, but mind Mister Sudden ain’t around or yu’ll be meetin’ Dutt mighty
soon.”

 
          
“So
it was Davy?” the gambler mused. “I suspected it. Well, he was always fond of
me.

 
          
How
many would do a thing like that for you, Navajo?”

 
          
“Not
one, even if I asked,” the half-breed replied, with an incredulous laugh; he
was not deceived. “I do my own dirty work.”

 
          
“But
you got Lasker to shoot his employer,” came the reminder.