Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (13 page)

 
          
A
chorus of exclamations and questions followed the announcement, and in the
midst of in came the clangour of a beaten tin pan which was Jonah’s intimation
that supper was awaiting their attention.

 
          
“Come
on, boys, Linley will give us the straight of it while we eat,” Severn said,
and led the way to the bunkhouse.

 
          
The
story, shorn of extraneous matter in the shape of comment and surmise, was as
follows :
Not long after noon—colloquially known as “third
drink-time”—three strangers rode into Hope and pulled up at the bank, which was
situated at the eastern end of the street not far from the bridge over the
creek. They were dressed in cowboy rig, with hat-brims slouched down to conceal
the eyes, and each wore a kind of white muffler which hid the lower part of the
face. They were well armed and mounted. The two who had entered the building
wasted no time. The moment they were inside they pulled their white chokers
above their noses a levelled their guns on the startled manager, who was alone
, ‘s
assistant having gone to lunch.

 
          
“What
do you want?’ he stammered.

 
          
“All
yu got,” retorted one of the bandits.
“An’ pronto.”

 
          
The
savage tone and the menacing weapon told the manager that there was nothing for
it but to obey, and he opened the safe. The other robber had found a leathern
satchel and this was soon stuffed with all the currency in the bank. Rapson,
white and trembling, had to look on while his ruin was accomplished. The
thought drove him to desperation. In a drawer beneath the cashier’s counter he
knew there was a loaded pistol: if he could contrive to fire that someone might
hear.

 
          
The
thieves, doubtless out of contempt, were not watching him very closely. Still
holding his hands above his head he backed cautiously towards the counter. One
of the ruffians was making a final search of the safe and the other, having
apparently heard a sound outside, was listening and looking away. This was his
chance, and with a sudden snatch he had the drawer open, clutched the pistol
and pulled the trigger. He did not attempt to aim, his only thought being to
give the alarm. The man whose attention had been distracted whirled upon him.

 
          
“Damn
yu for a sneakin’ hound,” he cried, and fired pointblank.

 
          
With
a hollow groan Rapson slipped to the floor, and the bandits jumped for the
exit. At the sound of the shots the man outside had promptly drawn his rifle,
and when an inquisitive citizen stuck his head out of a window some fifty yards
up the street, a bullet which burned his cheek effectually checked his
curiosity. The succession of shots roused the town, but men reached the open
only in time to see two men emerge from the bank on the run, one carrying a
bulging satchel. They jumped into their saddles, wheeled their horses and
spurred across the bridge on the eastern trail before the spectators had
grasped what was happening.

 
          
“An’
yu can bet yore Sunday shirt that Hope is ‘bout the maddest town this side o’
the Rockies,” Linley concluded. “No, Rapson ain’t cashed but he’s hurt oad—how
bad they dunno till the doc comes from Desert Edge.”

 
          
“Was
Bartholomew in town?” asked Severn.

 
          
“He
rode in ‘bout half an hour
later,
an’ he went on the
prod immediate—bawled Tyler out for not roundin’ up the White Masks till Hen
almost blubbered. Bart claims they got five thousand o’ his money, paid in
yestiddy. He was organisin’ a posse when I left an’ threatenin’ to flay them
bandits alive when he catches ‘em.”

 
          
Amid
the chatter and excitement the foreman sat silent, seeking some clue as to the
identity of his mysterious correspondent. Clearly the unknown was aware that
the robbery was to take place. Who could it be? He went to his own quarters,
and was wrestling with the problem when Barton entered.

 
          
“The
boys have bin indulgin’ in a chin-wag,” he began, “an’ I’m here to say that if
the loss o’ the herd-money cramps yu any they all are willin’ to wait for their
wages till yu can pay ‘em.”

 
          
The
foreman smiled, but his expression showed that he was touched. “They are shore
white,” he said. “But I drew that mazuma out this mornin’.”

 
          
“Yu
drew it out?” repeated Larry in amaze. “Well, of all the lucky old—”

 
          
“No,
it warn’t luck,” Severn chipped in. “Look at these.”

 
          
He
produced the two warnings he had received, and explained how they had come to
him. Larry gave vent to a whistle.

 
          
“Odd
number,
ain’t it?” he queried. “Yu must have a
guardian angel somewheres, Jim, an’ Gawd knows, yu need one. Any idea
who
it may be?”

 
          
The
foreman mentioned his suspicions of Darby, but his friend did not agree.

 
          
“S’pose
he is pryin’ for Bart, that don’t connect him up with the White Masks,” he
pointed out. “An’ it was Darby first suggested the boys should wait for their
pay.”

 
          
“Well,
I shore owe him somethin’, whoever it is,” Severn admitted. “An’ I like to pay
my debts.”

 
          
“Mebbe
yu’ll get a chance,” said the other. “Meantime, don’t push yore luck too
hard—this guardian angel may be human an’ want a nap now an’ again.”

 
          
“I
gotta play the hands what’s dealt me—win or lose,” the foreman told him. “Yu
can say to the boys that I’m shore obliged an’ that I ain’t forgettin’ it.”

 
          
ON
the following morning Bartholomew, riding a weary horse, made his appearance at
the Lazy M. The posse, of which he was the virtual leader, had gone back to
town. As Darby had surmised, they had lost the trail on the Stony River bed,
and after hours of search, had failed to pick it up again. The big man looked
tired, untidy and sullen. As he walked towards the ranch-house he met Darby and
stopped.

 
          
“Ain’t
seen yu at the Bar B lately,” he said. “There’s some dollars due yu.”

 
          
“I
don’t aim to collect ‘em, Bart,” was the reply.

 
          
The
Bar B owner raised his eyebrows. “How come?” he asked
sharply.
”I
ain’t proposin’ to earn ‘em,” Darby explained.

 
          
“Goin’
to renig, huh? Roundin’ on me, are yu?” sneered the rancher.

 
          
“No,
that was never my way—what I know I’ll keep under my hat,” the cowboy said
quietly. “I’m just droppin’ a job I never liked, an’ from now on I’m playin’
square with the man who pays me.”

 
          
“Meanin’
Severn?”

 
          
Darby
nodded. His face was pale and his lips set. He knew perfectly well that he was
risking his life in thus defying his late employer, but he had no hesitation,
and Black Bart, though he did not want to lose the man, realised that he could
not persuade him. His face settled into a savage sneer.

 
          
“All
right, Darby,” he said. “It’s a free country, but freeze on to this—fellas as
ain’t for me are agin me, an’ take their chances.”

 
          
“Anythin’
yu put over lets me out an’ I talk, Bart,” the man retorted.

 
          
With
a laugh at the threat the rancher went on to the house. Phil met him on the
veranda and her big eyes softened when she saw how jaded he looked. With a
grunt of satisfaction he dropped into one of the roomy chairs, and then turned
to her with a grin.

 
          
“Phil,
I’m about all in, an’ it’s a long way to the `Come Again’,” he suggested.

 
          
The
girl laughed, vanished inside, and reappeared bearing a bottle and glass. The
man’s eyes took in the daintiness of her, the desirableness of her
surroundings—mentally comparing the place to his own—and his jaw firmed with
decision :
he would have her, come hell or high water, was
his unspoken vow. He poured himself a drink, raising the glass in salutation.

 
          
“Here’s
how,” he said, and
then :
“Gosh ! I wanted that.
Huntin’ needles in a haystack’s easy compared with findin’ thieves in this
man’s country. Yu heard about the bank hold-up, o’ course?”

 
          
“Yes,
it was the White Masks, I suppose?”

 
          
“Well,
I reckon it was, but the question is, who are the White Masks? There’s
somethin’ queer about this robbery; two or three fellas drew all their money
out just before it happened an’ Severn was one of ‘em. O’ course, it might be
it just happened so, an’ then again, it might not.”

 
          
“Is
Rapson much hurt?”

 
          
“He
looked pretty desperate. He was just able to say what I told yu, an’ that the
fellas’ faces were too muffled for him to know ‘em again, an’ then he fainted.
Yu got any news, Phil?”

 
          
She
told him of the finding of her father’s gun and Severn’s explanation;
Bartholomew’s lips twisted into an incredulous sneer as he listened. At once he
saw how the story could be used for his own advantage.

 
          
“Yu
ain’t swallowin’ that, are yu, Phil?” he asked sardonically. “Shucks, I gave
the fella credit for more savvy. He’ll have to produce the Greaser’s body to
make that tale stick, an’ that’s somethin’ I’m bettin’ high he can’t do, for I
happen to know Ignacio has left the country. Now see here, don’t tell
no
one else about this; we’ll lay low an’ let him run his
own silly head into the noose.”

 
          
“Yu
think he killed daddy?” the girl asked, a break in her voice.

 
          
“I
ain’t any doubt myself, but we gotta get more proof,” he returned. “An’ we
gotta find out if I’m right about Embley bein’ in with him. Then there’s this
White Mask business. Was Severn about the ranch when the bank was cleaned?”

 
          
“No,
he came in just before supper,” she replied. “I chanced to see him.”

 
          
“Huh,
an’ he left town in plenty time to meet his pals an’ circle back,” Bartholomew
said. “Far as I can gather, the fella that downed Rapson was about Severn’s
build. But that’s all guess-work, an’ we gotta be shore before we move.” He
stood up and patted her shoulder. “Don’t yu trouble, Phil,” he added. “Once
things is
straightened out I’ll have something to say that I
hope yu’ll be glad to hear.”

 
          
The
gesture and the look which accompanied it made the girl flush; she knew what he
meant, but she was aware that there was no answering thrill in her heart.
Somehow, though she could not account for it, Bartholomew seemed to have lost
in attractiveness. She was not sorry when her visitor went, and she put it down
to worry. Bart himself divined nothing of this; he rode away from the Lazy M in
a pleasanter frame of mind than he had been in for weeks. Things were looking
brighter for him.

 
          
Severn
did not see the Bar B owner, having left early in the morning with several of
the outfit for the southern part of the range, where a miniature round-up was
taking, the foreman being desirous of getting an approximate idea of the number
of cattle the ranch was running. It was late in the afternoon when he returned
to his hut, and his sharp eye immediately told him he had had a visitor. Little
displacements of various articles showed that the room had been subjected to a
search, and in several spots small holes had been m de in the earthen floor, as
though someone had thrust in a rodor stick. Nothing had been taken, and the
foreman grinned as he looked around. Then he went down to the bunkhouse.

 
          
“Anybody
been a-visitin’ to-day, Jonah?” he inquired. “Yessah, dat no ‘count punchah,
Geevor, come pesterin’roun’ dis afternoon,” replied the grinning darky. “Went
up to yo shack an’ was an almighty long time findin’ I done tole him de trufe
when I say yu wasn’t to home.”