Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (22 page)

 
          
Severn
heard the story in silence.

 
          
“White
Masks again, huh?” he said. “An’ they took about fifty head?”

 
          
“Me
an’ the little old gun made gettin’ more a chancy business,” Big Boy explained.

 
          
“Wonder
they didn’t wipe yu out first,” Darby said. “They hadn’t the guts; I’d ‘a’ got
some of ‘em.”

 
          
Severn
shook his head. “I’m guessin’ that don’t explain it,” he said dubiously.
“Anyways, we go after them cows at daybreak, an’ in case it’s a trap, we’ll be
full strength.”

 
          
On
the eastern horizon, a golden glow which deepened and spread betokened the dawn
of another day. Over the plain and foothills a purplish mist hovered, and in
the distance, from the peaks of the Pinnacles, great streamers of vapour
drifted across the sky like smoke from mammoth chimney-stacks. The Lazy M was
bubbling with excitement. With the exceptions of Larry and the cook, Severn was
taking the whole outfit. He meant to be in a position not only to regain the
stolen stock, but to punish the thieves. That he was playing into the hands of
his enemies he had yet to learn.

 
          
The
most disgruntled man at the ranch was Larry. Long after the departure of the
outfit, he continued to bewail his misfortune, even the presence of his lady
failing to console him.

 
          
“Cuss
this shoulder,” he grumbled. “I’m a-missin’ all the fun.” Instantly from Phil’s
expression he saw that he had said the wrong thing. “Aw, o’ course I don’t
quite mean that, but—”

 
          
“You
would rather be riding with the boys,” she finished quietly—too quietly, had
Larry been versed in the ways of women.

 
          
Big
Boy, who, refreshed by food and a few hours’ sleep, had insisted on joining the
party, guided them to the spot where he had been so ignominiously “set afoot”.
They found the carcase of the horse, already picked clean, and soon struck the
trail of the stolen steers. It led northwards towards the mountains, the first
mile or so being over level prairie. Then it turned sharply to the right,
taking them into a jumble of tree-clad slopes, gorges scooped out of the living
rock, thorny thickets, and little savannahs of lush grass through which the
horses
waded
belly deep.

 
          
“They
shore wanted a job, takin’ cattle through here,” old Rayton said.
“Must be tryin’ to lose ‘em.”

 
          
Severn
had already seen that the rustlers were breaking fresh trail; apparently they
were not taking the steers to the valley below the Cavern. The fact that they
had gone to all this trouble and had made no effort to hide their tracks was
giving him uneasiness. He began to wish he had brought only half the outfit,
but it was too late now for regrets; he could only go on.

 
          
Noon
came and went, and then, threading their way through a deep, rocky fissure no
more than a dozen yards wide, they heard the bellow of a steer. Severn gave the
word for caution, guns were got in readiness, and the party pressed on. The fissure
gave way to an open stretch of grass, walled in by dense, prickly shrub, and in
the centre, peacefully browsing, was the stolen herd. Fearing an ambush, the
cowboys waited a while, and then Severn, Darby and Big Boy rode into the open.
No shots saluted them; the cattle were unattended. Darby looked at his foreman
in bewilderment.

 
          
“Odd
number, this,” he said. “They ain’t tried to blot their tracks.
Looks as if they brought ‘em here a-purpose for us to find.”

 
          
“I’m
afraid yo’re right, Darby,” Severn agreed. “They baited a hook an’ I bit it
good an’ plenty. Why they wanted us outa the way, I dunno, but I’m goin’ to
see, pronto. Three o’ yu will be enough to drive the herd back; the rest will
come with me.”

 
          
Leaving
Big Boy and two others to put the cattle on the range again, the foreman and
the remainder of the outfit headed for the Lazy M. Speed was impossible on such
a difficult trail, even had their mounts been capable of it, and though no time
was wasted, it was nightfall ere they sighted the ranch buildings. Beyond the
fact that no lights were showing, everything seemed to be as usual. They pulled
up at the bunkhouse with a shrill whoop, a hint to the cook to get busy, but
there was no answer.

 
          
“Somethin’
wrong here—let’s try the house,” Severn said and led the way.

 
          
The
ranch-house was dark and silent. The foreman found the back door unfastened,
and striding in was brought to a stop by a muffled groan. He struck a match and
saw Jonah, tied to a chair and gagged, gazing at him with goggling eyes in
which fear gave way to relief when he recognised the visitor. Severn lighted
the lamp, drew his knife and cut away the gag and bonds.

 
          
“What
the devil’s happened?” he asked.

 
          
It
was some moments before the cook was able to answer, and then his stiffened
jaws could only articulate, “Dem White Masks—dey got Miss Phil.”

 
          
Leaving
the others to get the story out of him, Severn sprang up the stairs. In the
girl’s room he discovered Dinah, tied up and incoherent with fear. Setting her
free, he went to seek Larry. He found that young man in like case, save that he
was able to express himself and did so with great freedom the moment the gag
was removed.

 
          
“Yu
cuss pretty near like a growed man,” his friend said satirically. “S’pose now
yu tell us somethin’.”

 
          
It
was not a long story. Early in the afternoon Larry had heard the sound of
horses and the mutter of voices outside and had concluded that the outfit had
returned sooner than expected. Then his door opened, and instead of the
pleasant sight of his young nurse, he saw two masked men, one of whom
immediately trained a gun on him while the other tied him up.

 
          
“An’
with this crippled wing I couldn’t do nothin’ but say what I thought of ‘em,”
Larry explained. “I shore did that till they jammed that rag in my mouth. What
were they after?”

 
          
“The
girl,
an’ they got her,” Severn told him, and the sick
man’s language became more lurid.

 
          
“Aw,
what’s the use—cussin’ never cured anythin’,” the foreman commented.

 
          
“Ain’t
yu goin’ to do nothin’ tonight?” his friend asked indignantly.

 
          
“Shore
thing. I’m goin’ to sleep, an’ yu better do the same,” Severn grinned, and did
not wait to hear the commentary.

 
          
Going
down to the bunkhouse he swallowed a much-needed meal and retired to his own
quarters. Here, he remembered for the first time, that he had not seen anything
of Quirt; he called and whistled but the dog seemed to have disappeared. An
examination of his room showed that it had not been disturbed, and he was
forced to the conclusion that the girl was the sole object of the raid. What
did they want with her? Was the outrage a come-back on the part of Shadwell?
Only one other man could have any interest in stealing the girl. Had Black Bart
carried out the abduction, masking his men to make it appear the work of the bandits,
or—a vague suspicion, born of the chance accusation he had made just before the
fight in the “Come Again”, and which had been dormant at the back of his mind
ever since, began to obtrude itself.

 
          
DESPITE
the strenuous work of the preceding day, sunrise found the Lazy M outfit busily
preparing for whatever task Severn had to set them. The customary air of
carefree gaiety had given place to a grim seriousness, for apart from the fact
that their young mistress was very popular, the riders regarded her taking off
as a personal insult; they had been made to look foolish, and it rankled.

 
          
Therefore
they looked closely to their weapons, filled belts with ammunition, carefully
picked and saddled their mounts, and waited expectantly for Severn, who had
breakfasted in his own shack. Presently he stepped out, and at the same moment
came a faint bark. Severn turned just as Quirt limped up and dropped panting at
his master’s feet. Stooping to pat the dog, the foreman saw a glimpse of white
in the thick hair of the animal’s neck. It proved to be a twist of paper,
secured by a thin rawhide thong. Printed in pencil were the
words
:

 
          
“The
White Masks have the girl at the Cavern.
Hurry.

 
          
A FRIEND.”

 
          
The
missive was identical in character with the others he had received and the
foreman stared at it in perplexity. Who could the mysterious correspondent be?
Certainly not Darby, for he had been with the rest of the outfit all the
previous day. Evidently the dog had sneaked after the girl’s captors and so
provided the sender with a means of despatching his message. Severn scratched
Quirt’s head affectionately.”Yu shore pull yore weight in this outfit,” he
said.

 
          
The
foreman explained the situation to the men, asking for suggestions.

 
          
“What
about sending to Hope for the sheriff an’ a posse?” offered one.

 
          
The
foreman shook his head. “Tyler don’t like us none,” he said. “An’, anyways, I
figure this is mainly a Lazy M job. I’m proposin’ that we head for the XT, get
Ridge an’ some o’ his boys, an’ smoke these coyotes outa their holes.”

 
          
A
chorus of “Yo’re
shoutin’ ”
and “That’s the play”,
showed that this plan of action was fully in accord with the feelings of the
men, and without further loss of time a start was made. Larry, whose hurt did
not permit him to go, lay fuming helplessly in his room.

 
          
“Don’t
yu worry, boy, we’ll get yore Princess,” the foreman assured him. “An’ make a
clean-up, too, while we’re about it.” Knowing they could get fresh ones at the XT,
the rescuers did not spare their mounts, and the trail being an easy one they
arrived in good time. The rancher himself welcomed them with a whoop of
delight, and when Severn explained the reason for their visit his enthusiasm
equalled their own.

 
          
“Will
we help? Why, yu can’t lose us,” he boomed. “Kidnappin’
folks
outa their own homes in broad daylight, eh? Somebody’s gotta show these skunks
that they don’t own the country, I guess. Know anythin’ ‘bout him?”

 
          
He
jerked a thumb towards the bench outside the bunkhouse door, where lolled Snap
Lunt, his hat pushed back, his bowed legs outstretched, and a cigarette
drooping from his thin lips. His eyes met those of the visitor with the stolid
immobility of a redskin.

 
          
“One
o’ yore outfit?” asked Severn.

 
          
“Not
yet; drifted in ‘s’morning an’ I reckon he’s lookin’ for a job though he ain’t
asked for it,” the ranchman replied. “What yu think of him?”

 
          
“Looks
like he’d be useful in a ruckus,” the foreman said meaningly. “
Them
guns he’s totin’ ain’t by no means new.”

 
          
“Yo’re
right,” Ridge returned. “Well, here’s his chance to make good. I’ll give him an
invite to the dance. Betcha a dollar he ducks.”

 
          
“
It’s
plain robbery but I’ll take yu,” Severn said, and
smiled when Ridge, having spoken to the little gunman, came back and flipped a
coin over to him.

 
          
“Glad
it warn’t more,” he said. “Cripes, yu’d ‘a’ thought I was offerin’ him a
drink.”

 
          
Severn
grinned at his host. “That warn’t a fair bet; that fella’s a friend o’ mine. He
ain’t here to be hired, but yu can trust him the limit.”

 
          
Ridge
shook a fist at him. “Yu old pirut, yo’re too damned deep for me,” he said.
“But I’m backin’ yore play.”