Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (26 page)

 
          
“No,
but yu may have to for yore leavin’,” Bart told him.

 
          
“And
the price, Bartholomew?” the Judge queried, his glance measuring the man.

 
          
“A
small service which’ll cost yu nothing,” was the reply. “Humph!” commented the
old man drily. “I think I’d rather pay cash.
And the nature
of this—service?”

 
          
“Just
the marriage service,” grinned Bart.

 
          
The
Judge’s eyes widened and he rose with alacrity. “Delighted,” he said. “I
believe matrimony to be the only risk you haven’t indulged in. Does the
ceremony take place at the Bar B?”

 
          
“No,
here,” the rancher replied.

 
          
“Well,
why not,” Embley said lightly.
“A wedding and honeymoon in
the mountains; most romantic.
I must, however, know the lady’s name and
if she is willing.”

 
          
“The
girl is Phil Masters, an’ she is willin’,” Bartholomew bluntly told him.

 
          
The
Judge sat down again. “Miss Masters here?” he said sternly. “What does this
mean?”

 
          
“It
means I’m wise to yore game, Embley, an’ I’m goin’ to beat it,” the Bar B man
replied. “Yu got hold o’ Masters, framed-up his will, with yoreself as
executor, an’ put yore man Severn in as foreman. Then Masters disappears an’ yu
got a free hand. The girl marries the fella you provide an’ mebbe she
disappears too, an’ yu grab the Lazy M. Pretty sound scheme, I gotta hand it
yu.”

 
          
Embley
stared at him in blank astonishment. “You have more imagination than I ever
gave you credit for, Bartholomew,” he said.

 
          
The
big man took no notice. “The on’y mistake yu made, Judge, was not countin’ me
in,” he continued. “Phil Masters has been promised to me for quite a piece, an’
I’m goin’ to have her.
Yore consent ‘pears to be necessary
an’ we figured the best way to get it was to have yu do the deed.”

 
          
“So
you sent your cut-throats to fetch me, huh?” Embley said.

 
          
“I
don’t own ‘em—they was hired for the job,” Bart explained, adding
darkly :
“But I reckon they’ll do as I tell ‘em.” The Judge
replied that he hadn’t a doubt of it, a remark which deepened the frown on the
other’s face.

 
          
“See
here, Judge, there’s no sense in travellin’ six miles to cover one,” he said.
“I ain’t unreasonable an’ I’m makin’ yu an offer. Marry me an’ Phil, turn
Severn down, an’ I’ll split the Lazy M three ways. What yu say?”

 
          
“That
you are a precious rascal,” Embley answered.

 
          
“Yu
refusin’?” snarled Bartholomew.

 
          
“Did
my reply sound like an acceptance?” smiled the old man.

 
          
The
rancher stood up, his face poisonous with passion, his hand gripping his gun.

 
          
“Yo’re
a damn fool,” he cried. “What’s to prevent me from blowin’ yu apart right now?”

 
          
“Several
things,” laughed the lawyer. “In the first place, you wouldn’t get that
consent.”

 
          
“
Bah !
Your successor—”

 
          
“Would
be Governor Bleke, an old friend of mine, who would certainly carry out the
instructions I have left,” Embley stated coolly. “And he would ask questions,
Bartholomew, questions you might find difficult to answer. In the second place,
by killing me you put yourself in the power of these bandits—a very unwise
thing to do; and, in the third place, Severn would shoot you down for the dog
you are.”

 
          
This
time it was the Bar B man who laughed.

 
          
“He’ll
have to come back from over the Divide to do it,” he jeered. “If the sheriff of
Hope ain’t lost his nerve, Mister Severn is sittin’ in a cell about now.”

 
          
The
Judge stood up, the eyes beneath the bushy brows like chilled steel.

 
          
“On
what charge?” he thundered.

 
          
“Just
robbin’ the bank an’ shootin’ Rapson, to say nothin’ o’ murderin’ Masters,”
sneered
Bartholomew. “He’ll be needin’ yore prfessional
services, if they ain’t tried him ‘a’ ready.”

 
          
“Utterly
absurd,” was the lawyer’s comment.

 
          
“The
evidence
don’t
say so. It’ll take a clever fella to
get him clear; Tyler’s got the deadwood on him, shore thing.”

 
          
Embley
looked at his informant and decided that, for once, the man was not lying. The
news had perturbed him and he realised that he was powerless. Bartholomew,
guessing what was passing in his mind, tried again.

 
          
“Better
reconsider that offer o’ mine, Embley,” he suggested. “
It’s
yore on’y bet.”

 
          
The
Judge looked at him steadily. “Bartholomew, some day I shall sentence you to be
hanged,” he said.

 
          
The
quiet conviction in the speaker’s voice robbed the words of any semblance of
threat, and, despite his hardihood, the rancher was conscious of a momentary
chill; the only effect on his calloused nature was to make him
more angry
.

 
          
“I
hold the cards, yu old mule,” he said harshly. “I can keep yu here till yu
rot.” A sudden thought came to him. “Do yu realise what it will mean to the
girl if yu don’t marry us?”

 
          
“Yes,”
said Embley scornfully. “She will escape a life of misery and degradation.”

 
          
Bartholomew
laughed. “Wrong—that’s just what she’ll get, for I’ll let the White Masks have
her,” he jeered.

 
          
The
Judge looked at him with loathing.

 
          
“If
anything were needed to clinch my decision, you’ve said it,” he replied slowly.
“Such a thing as you is complete justification for men like Sudden; they do for
the community what the surgeon does for the human body—cut away poisonous
growths.”

 
          
Hardened
as he was, the bitter contempt in the old man’s voice seared the rancher like
one of his own branding irons. Purple with passion, he struck savagely, hurling
his victim against the wall of the cabin, limp, his knees sagging, and the
blood trickling down from his cut cheek.

 
          
“That’s
on’y a sample o’ what yo’re askin’ for,” he sneered. “Toe the line, Embley, or
I’ll fix things so that hell will be a welcome change to yu.”

 
          
He
went out, slamming and locking the door, leaving, though he did not know it, a
well-nigh despairing prisoner. Embley had kept up a bold front and had no
intention of giving in, but he could see no gleam of hope. Bartholomew was
playing for a big stake, and he well knew the desperate character of the man.
With Masters dead, Severn in custody, and the girl also in the hands of the
bandits, the Bar B owner did indeed, as he had boasted, hold all the cards.

 
          
THE
Lazy M outfit was not in its customary happy frame of mind, for it was
suffering from a sense of failure. A crushing blow had been administered to the
bandits, but the chief object of the expedition had not been accomplished. The
most disgruntled member was the man who had not been able to go. Larry, on his
feet again but with one arm in a sling, had made the foreman’s life a burden
for the first twenty-four hours after the men returned.

 
          
“I
tell yu we done all we could,” Severn told him for about the fiftieth time.
“No, I ain’t goin’ there; I gotta ride to Hope, though I’m admittin’ there
ain’t much difference, an’
I don’t want no lovesick cripples
with me neither
.”

 
          
With
which frank expression of his sentiments the foreman escaped, got his horse,
and rode into town. It was early afternoon when he arrived and the street was
empty. The sun was blazing overhead, and he was indulging in pleasant
anticipation of a cooling drink at Bent’s when he noticed that the bank was
open again. Jumping down, he trailed the reins of his pony and walked in. The
banker was there, looking weak and ill. He greeted Severn with a dubious sort
of smile.

 
          
“Glad
to see yu back, Mr. Rapson,” said the foreman. “Set-tin’ up yore game again,
eh?”

 
          
“Yes,
I am having another try,” the banker said. “Folks here have been kind—they
ain’t blaming me. Mr. Bartholomew, for example, he paid in five thousand the
day before the robbery and, rightly speaking, I owe him the money, but he won’t
claim —says he’ll take his chance of the cash being recovered; others have
followed his lead.”

 
          
“Why,
that’s mighty generous,” Severn allowed. “An’ mighty clever,” he added under
his breath. They talked on different topics for a moment or two, and then
Severn said, “I was wonderin’ if yu’d mind breakin’ these up for me. I got some
small payments to make.”

 
          
He
produced four one-hundred-dollar bills and pushed them across the counter.
Rapson glanced at them and shot a suspicious look at the unconscious cowman.
His fingers were trembling as he picked up the notes.

 
          
“Certainly,
Mr. Severn,” he said huskily. “You don’t mind if I send my clerk out on an
errand first, do you?”

 
          
“No
hurry,” the foreman assured him and rolled a cigarette while the banker
consulted a ledger and gave his assistant whispered instructions. When the
youth had departed Rapson began to slowly count out smaller notes.

 
          
“Nervous
as a cat,” the customer reflected as he noted the way the man watched the door,
and his shaking hands checking and re-checking the little pile of paper. “Well,
yu can’t wonder.” Aloud he
said :
“Yu got any hope o’
tracin’ the stolen money?”

 
          
“I
didn’t have much until to-day, but I think now there’s a chance,” Rapson
replied.

 
          
He
spoke louder and much of his nervousness seemed to have vanished. Hearing
footsteps, Severn turned and saw that the sheriff, with his two deputies, had
entered the bank. Behind them, framed in the doorway, were several citizens,
and others were arriving every moment. He scented trouble. All three officials
had their hands in close proximity to their guns, and the expression of
malignant triumph on the sheriff’s features was as plain as print. Twisting
half round, so that he faced them, the foreman leaned against the counter,
thumbs resting in his belt, and grinned genially.

 
          
“Step
right up, sheriff, my business is about through,” he said.

 
          
The
officer eyed him malevolently. “Yore business ain’t begun,” he snarled.
“Where’d yu git them notes yu just cashed?”

 
          
“Well,
I dunno as it’s any concern o’ yores, but I got ‘em here,” Severn drawled. “
Them
notes are part o’ the sum I drew out o’ the bank the
mornin’ it was raided. Ain’t that so, Rapson?”

 
          
The
banker shook his head. “Those four notes you handed me just now were part of
the stolen money,” he stated.

 
          
Severn
stared at the man in blank amazement; then his eyes chilled, and in a low, even
tone, he
said :

 
          
“I’m
supposin’ yu’ve made a mistake, seh.”

 
          
The
banker sensed the menace, but, though his face was deathly white and his lips
trembled, he answered without hesitation.