Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (16 page)

 
          
“The
wisdom o’ the ages in three words,” commented the captive lightly.

 
          
The
guide only grunted and led the way through a thicket of spruce and aspen to the
right of the canyon, after which they plunged into some of the wildest country
Severn had ever seen. The trail, a mere pathway, had been little used, and the
prisoner guessed that this was not the direct route to the robbers’ roost.

 
          
Throughout
the journey they had been gradually climbing, and presently they reached the
lower slopes of the mountains and rode amidst the serried ranks of a pine
forest. The air was cooler, for the sunlight only penetrated the thick foliage
overhead in shafts; on the soft carpet of pine needles the hoofs of the horses
made no sound. Glancing back, Severn saw two masked riders, rifles in readiness
across their knees. Evidently they had closed up, for although he had heard,
this was the first time he had caught sight of them. Gradually the trees grew
scantier and more stunted until presently they left the pine-belt behind and
headed along the side of the rnountain. Above them loomed one of the giant
teeth of the Pinnacles, towering in solemn majesty. A long, slight descent
brought them to the edge of a cup-like depression in the side of the range. It
was perhaps a mile in length and half as wide, and the whole expanse, save the
rock-rimmed, brush-cluttered walls, was covered with luxuriant grass. In the
centre was a small lake, fed by numerous streamlets from the heights above.
Cattle and horses were dotted about, grazing.

 
          
At first sight there appeared to be no entrance to the valley, but
the guide did not hesitate.
Sliding his horse down a sharp incline, he
circled some bushes, and came to where a break in the rock formation afforded a
natural gateway. Passing through this they came to a rude corral.

 
          
“Turn
yore hoss in there, we gotta walk some,” the captor commanded, setting the
example himself.

 
          
Severn
complied, and then followed the other up a narrow, stony path which climbed up
and along the steep face of the mountain. At a height of about a hundred feet
above the floor of the valley the path broadened out into a ledge, and here
were several openings in the rock face. Severn knew it for an old Hopi Indian
haunt, and smiled sarcastically at the thought that the present inhabitants
were probably considerably more savage than the first of the cave-dwellers.
Several of the caves had rude doors fitted, and into one of these the prisoner
was directed.

 
          
“Stay
there till yo’re wanted,” his captor said. “Hungry?”

 
          
“Well,
breakfast shore seems a long time back,” the Lazy M man replied, and then,
fishing out a five-dollar bill, “D’yu reckon yu could find a bottle o’ whisky?
I’m feelin’ sorta shaky.”

 
          
“Dutch
courage, eh?” chuckled the other. “See what I can do.”

 
          
He
went away, padlocking the door
first,
and presently
returned with meat, bread and a flask of spirit.

 
          
“Go
light on that hooch,” he warned. “It’s wuss’n dynamite if yu ain’t used to it.”

 
          
Severn
nodded; he knew the stuff. When the man had gone he examined his place of
confinement. It was a mere hole in the rock, entirely dependent for light and
air upon the filtrations through the ill-fitting door. He made his meal, took a
mouthful of spirit and spat it out, poured two-thirds of the remainder on the
ground and placed the bottle beside him.

 
          
Squatting
with his back against the wall and a cigarette between his lips he calmly
awaited the next development. That he had been brought there with his eyes
unbandaged and his hands at liberty was an ominous sign; they were sure of him
and did not mean that he should leave the place alive. He wondered where Larry
was. His first task was to find him.

 
          
Two
hours passed and then a step outside sent his head slumping down, hat pushed
back, figure sprawled as though in a drunken stupor. The man who had brought
him swore when he looked at the bottle.

 
          
“Yu
damn fool—I told yu to be careful,” he said.

 
          
“I’m
aw ri’,” Severn mumbled. “Whadye wan’?”

 
          
Helped
by the bandit, he got to his feet. Still gripping his arm, his conductor led
him, not without difficulty, to a larger cave with a high, domed roof. Numerous
other caves apparently opened upon this, and into one of these near the
entrance he was thrust. It was a biggish place, lighted by a hole in the rock
face, and in it seven men were lolling in rough chairs; all were masked, only
their eyes showing through slits in the dirty whine kerchiefs.

 
          
“Why
for didn’t yu tie him up?” asked one, whose figure seemed somehow familiar to
Severn.

 
          
“Huh!
Look at him—he’s tied hisself up,” replied the other.

 
          
“Hittin’
the bottle, eh?” sneered the first speaker, who was evidently in some
authority; and then to the prisoner, “Where’s the dollars?”

 
          
Severn
drew himself up in drunken dignity and nearly lost his balance.

 
          
“Shay,
fella, whadye take me for, thinkin’ I’d fall for that?” he asked. “I ain’t
no
ch-child.”

 
          
“If
yu ain’t brought ‘em I’ll hang the pair o’ yu,” snarled the unknown.

 
          
Severn
leered at him and shook his head. “Nothin’ to that, ol’timer,” he said thickly.
“Whatsa good o’ two corpsed cowpunchers?
Can’t even
sell the hides an’ t-taller. Listen to m-me. How do I know yu got my m-man?
Might be somebody else’s fella yu grabbed, see? Yu prove he’s m-mine an’ I’ll
write to the r-ranch for the rnoney. One o’ yore c-chaps can go for it. What’s
fairer’n that, huh?”

 
          
“Fetch
the other fool in,” commanded the leader, disgustedly surveying the smiling,
rocking figure before him.

 
          
In
two minutes Larry, his hands tied behind him, came in and stared in amazement
when he saw his foreman peering at him with heavy, blinking eyes.

 
          
“‘S’ Larry, shore enough, but why’s there two of him?”
Severn muttered bemusedly. “Mus’ be twinsh. Betcha they come from the same
family, anyways. Yessir—” he drew himself up and looked at his audience with
owlish gravity. “I never knew a case o’ twins with different parents.”

 
          
Laughter
came from behind the masks; the bandits were enjoying the spectacle and their
vigilance was relaxing. This was what the foreman was playing for. He noted
that the man who had brought him in was just behind. His face took on an
expression of maudlin concern.

 
          
“Twins
is dangerous to c-community—can’t tell t’other from which,” he stated
seriously.
“Gotta ‘bolish one of ‘em.”
His hands
dropped to his holsters and a look of astonishment came on his face at finding
them empty. “Losht my guns,” he mumbled.
“‘S’ funny.”
A
roar of raucous merriment greeted the announcement and they saw him suddenly
stagger backwards and throw his hands wide in an effort to keep on his feet. In
another second he leapt sideways so that every man in the room was in front of
him,
and the guns he had snatched from the unwary man behind
him was threatening them.

 
          
“Reach
for the roof, every dam one o’ yu,” he ordered. “As I was sayin’,
twins is
dangerous, an’ these guns is twins.”

 
          
The
drunken cowpuncher with the slurring, tripping tongue had disappeared and, in
his stead, was a crouching, alert gunman, with narrowed eyes, a savagely
snarling mouth and death in either hand. It was one man against eight, and all
of them had courage of a kind; by a concerted effort they could overwhelm him,
but at least one would die swiftly and none of them wanted to be that one. So
the command was obeyed.

 
          
When
this had been done, as it was in quick time, Severn holstered one of his guns,
stepped forward and borrowed a knife from the belt of one of the bandins in
order to free his friend. The knife having done its work, he added, “Pull their
teeth, get one o’ them ropes, an’ tie their hands behind ‘em.”

 
          
With
a joyous yelp, Larry came to life and leaped to obey. The guns he flung into
the middle of the floor, and cutting a lariat into suitable lengths proceeded
to bind the wrists of the captives with an enthusiasm which drew hearty curses
from his victims.
This done, Severn searched for and found
his own revolvers, but had to content himself with another rifle.
Then
he stepped up to the bandit who had done the talking and jerked the masking
handkerchief from his face.

 
          
“Just
as I reckoned,” he said. “Yore figure is a trifle uncommon, Mister Shadwell.
Step ahead, we’re takin’ yu with us.”

 
          
“Damn
yu, I’ll get yu both for this,” the man hissed.

 
          
“Mebbe,
but for now, we’ve got yu,” Severn told him. “March, you mealy-mouthed son of a
she-dawg, or I won’t leave enough o’ yu to bury.”

 
          
Under
the urge of a gun-barrel in his ribs, the ruffian slouched out and down the
mountain pathway, his captors, having first pitched all the weapons collected
into the valley, followed him. At the corral, Severn took his own mount, Larry
picked the best he could to replace the one he had lost and Shadwell was
mounted on a third, his hands released and his feet tied to the stirrups. Then
the foreman threw the loop of his rope round the prisoner’s neck and secured
the other end to his saddle-horn.

 
          
“If
yu like to bolt for it an’ save the hangman a job, I ain’t objectin’,” he
remarked pleasantly.

 
          
The
only reply was a venomous scowl which left the recipient untouched; he had
encountered hard looks before. He merely told the fellow to go ahead and take
the nearest trail for Hope.

 
          
“An’
don’t yu delay none, for if we get tired o’ yore company there’s trees
a-plenty,” he warned him.

 
          
“Yu
old son of a gun,” Larry said, as they rode behind the prisoner. “Couldn’t yu
get any o’ the boys to come with yu, or did yu wanta hog all the glory?”

 
          
Severn
explained the reason for his solitary effort.

 
          
“Boun’
to do somethin’—the Princess was right peeved with me,” he added, and chuckled
when he saw the boy’s face promptly justify his nickname.

 
          
“What
we goin’ to do with this jigger?” Larry nodded towards the outlaw, riding chin
down, hunched in his saddle, ahead of them.

 
          
“Hand
him over to the sheriff.”

 
          
“Tyler’ll
on’y let him go.”

 
          
“Yu
bet he will, an’ that’ll put him in wrong with more’n half the folks in Hope.
The sheriff ain’t goin’ to be a bit grateful, believe me.”

 
          
Either
on account of Severn’s
warning,
or for some reason of
his own, Shadwell appeared to be as eager to reach town as his captors, and
under his guidance they made such good time that they arrived before nightfall.
Their appearance filled the street, and an eager crowd followed them to the
shack which served the double purpose of lock-up and sheriff’s quarters. Tyler
was at home, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw who the
prisoner was.

 
          
“What’s
the big idea?” he asked.

 
          
In
a few brief sentences Severn told of the capture and rescue of Larry and of the
taking of Shadwell who, sitting erect now, listened with a scowling face. At
the conclusion of the story he broke into a torrent of protest.