Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (30 page)

 
          
They
had been riding for more than an hour, a long, gradual descent, when the leader
turned off the trail into a little forest of pines, halted and got down.

 
          
“Heard
somethin’—goin’ to scout a few,” he said laconically. “Stay here, an’ keep
quiet.”

 
          
Without
waiting for any reply, he climbed back up the waythey had come and vanished in
the gloom. The girl edged her horse over to Embley.

 
          
“Do
you think he is to be trusted?” she whispered.

 
          
“I
believe so, and he’s our only chance,” the Judge replied. “Personally, I am
prepared to take any risk to reach Hope in time to foil that scoundrel
Bartholomew. If they hang Severn—”

 
          
The
return of the outlaw put an end to the conversation. He was hurrying, and it
was evident he brought news.

 
          
“They’re
a-comin’—musta got back sooner,” he panted, flinging himself into the saddle.
“No use tryin’ to hide—they know this country like yu do yore own doorstep.
We’ll have to stand ‘em off; there’s a Winchester on yore saddle, Judge, an’ I
know a good place.”

 
          
Leaving
the trees, they followed him at a gallop across an open space of perhaps a
quarter of a mile, and pulled up at the foot of a tall bluff where a number of
fallen fragments from the cliff above offered a rough rampart. Tying the horses
behind the biggest of the boulders, and finding Phil a safe position, the two
men lay down, rifles ready.

 
          
“Cuss
that moon,” muttered the little man, for the clouds had passed.

 
          
“It’ll
help us more than them,” the Judge pointed out. “They can’t rush us.”

 
          
“Shore,
but we can’t sneak away,” the other argued. “There they are. What’s the idea?”

 
          
“Flag
of truce—they want to talk.”

 
          
Four
riders had emerged from the pines, and one of them, ahead of the rest, was
waving a white scarf. They came boldly on until they were some two hundred
yards away, and then Patch stood up.

 
          
“That’ll
be near enough,” he called out.
“Anythin’ on yore mind?”

 
          
“What’s
the idea, Patch, runnin’ off the prisoners thisaway?” the leader asked.

 
          
“I
got my reasons but I ain’t explainin’ to yu,” the one-eyed man replied coolly.
“I’ll give yu a bit of advice, though; light a shuck an’ get outa the country
while the goin’s good.”

 
          
The
outlaw laughed. “Feelin’ yore oats
some,
ain’t yu?” he
sneered. “We’ll go when we’re good an’ ready, but first we want the gal an’ the
Judge.”

 
          
“Come
an’ get ‘em,” retorted the little man.

 
          
“No
need to take risks,” the other pointed out. “Yu can’t git away. All we gotta do
is
wait
till help comes; we’ve sent for it.”

 
          
“Who’d
yu send—Slick?” Patch asked, and chuckled when he heard the curse the question
provoked.”Well, what yu goin’ to do?” the bandit queried.

 
          
“Shoot
if yu don’t show yore tail mighty sudden,” snapped out the one-eyed man,
standing clear and levelling his rifle.

 
          
With
a furious gesture the fellow wheeled his horse, and at the same moment came
three spurts of flame from behind him. Patch regained his shelter untouched, he
and the Judge sending shots in return. Apparently they met with no
success,
for they saw the attackers vanish into the gloom of
the pines. For some time silence reigned.

 
          
“All
bluff about sendin’ for help,” Patch remarked. “They ain’t got
no one
to send. Betcher they try an’ Injun up on us; there’s
a cloud a-comin’ now.”

 
          
He
was right. In a few moments a veil of vapour misted the moon. Peering through
the uncertain light, Patch fancied he could see a dark blotch moving
laboriously over the grass. Carefully taking aim, he fired; the blotch seemed
to give a spasmodic jerk and then subside. The next moment a loop dropped over
his arms and he was flung violently backwards, his gun clattering on the stones
beside him. Dazed by the fall, he felt the rope twisted about him; a few turns
and he was powerless. A glance showed that his companions were in no better
case. Bitterly he realised that the attackers had outwitted him. While one of
them sneaked up in front, the other three had crept around the open space and
come upon them from the rear. The man who had borne the flag of truce was
regarding him with an ugly look.

 
          
“Well,
Patch, yo’re goin’ to learn it don’t pay to renig,” he said.

 
          
He
drew his pistol on the prostrate prisoner. In another second the bullet would
have sped, but a cool, rasping voice intervened:

 
          
“‘Scuse
me, gents, but is this a private scrap, or can anybody horn in?” it said.

 
          
The
startled outlaws looked up to find the tables turned; two strangers, who had
stolen up unperceived, were covering them with levelled pistols.

 
          
“Shootin’
a man when yu got him hog-tied don’t appeal
none
to
me,” the newcomer continued. “Reach for the sky, yu coyotes.”

 
          
Two
of the bandits promptly obeyed, but the would-be slayer of Patch, who had his
gun out, took a chance and turned it on the stranger. But he was not quick
enough; the other’s gun crashed and the outlaw went down, sprawling
grotesquely. One glance showed that he was dead, and the man who had fired the
shot nodded his satisfaction. He then stepped over to the girl.

 
          
“Well,
Miss Phil, so we’ve found yu at last,” he said.

 
          
She
gave a cry of joy. “Why, Rayton, how do you happen to be here?” she asked.

 
          
“Severn
left me an’ Purdy of the XT to comb the Pinnacles after we failed to find yu at
the Cavern,” the cowboy explained. “We
was
shore
gettin’ disheartened when we heard the shootin’ an’ p’inted for it.” He looked
at Embley. “Burn my hide, if it ain’t the Judge!”

 
          
In
as few words as possible the lawyer outlined the position. The cowboy bit on an
oath when he learned of Severn’s danger. “What we better do?” he asked in
perplexity.

 
          
“We
must get out of the mountains as quickly as we can,” the Judge said. “Then Miss
Masters,
myself
and this fellow Patch will head for
Hope, while you and the XT man will collect your outfits and follow us. We may
be in time.”

 
          
Patch
was released, and the other two men were set adrift, unarmed, with the plain
intimation that if they remained in the country they would be shot on sight.
The journey to the plains was then resumed. The Judge rode in silence, his head
down, and was impatient of the slightest delay. Phil realised that this was due
to his anxiety for Severn’s safety, and it impressed her. Only once she
summoned the courage to ask him a question.

 
          
“Is
it true that Severn was once known as Sudden, the outlaw?”

 
          
“Yes,
but he was not an outlaw, he was a deputy-sheriff in the employ of the
Governor,” the Judge told her. “You don’t like Severn, but one day I hope
you’ll know him better, and realise —what you owe him.”

 
          
The
old man’s voice was rather stern and contained more than a hint of reprof. She
said no more.

 
          
ON
the morning of Severn’s dramatic return to captivity, the town seethed with
excitement. This state of affairs provided material for thought of some of the
citizens.

 
          
“Suthin’s
goin’ on,” Bent remarked to Callahan. “There’s men spendin’ money on licker
that never had
none
to spend afore, an’ I got Greasers
at my bar now that I’d ‘a’ throwed out on their ears yestiddy, knowin’ they
couldn’t pay.”

 
          
“What
possessed Severn to come trapesin back?” asked the
storekeeper.

 
          
“He’s
one square fella—he wouldn’t run away,” Bent told him. “Trouble is
,
he won’t git a straight deal.”

 
          
“True
for
ye
. Kape an eye on the store while I step up to
the `Come
Again
’ an’ find out about Lufton.”

 
          
As
the storekeeper went along the street, the signs of unrest were apparent.
Little groups of men were dotted about arguing, gesticulating, and the grimness
of their faces conveyed an atmosphere of menace. He noticed that the nucleus of
nearly every gathering consisted of one or two of the Bar B punchers.

 
          
“Bart’s
workin’ the town up, an’ for what?” he asked himself.

 
          
Passing
through the swing-doors of the saloon, he found that rumour for once had spoken
truly. At a table in a far corner, apart from the sullen, threatening customers
who crowded the bar, Black Bart was entertaining a visitor. This was a thin,
shambling figure of a man approaching fifty, dressed in a shiny black coat,
trousers stuffed into boot-tops, a collar far from clean, and a cravat which
bore abundant evidence of having been too often tied by stumbling fingers. The
puffy face, receding jaw, and vacillating eyes told their own story. This was
Judge Luf ton, who had obtained office by political wire-pulling, and in spite
of certain lapses, had hitherto managed to hold it by the same means. Had
Callahan been able to hear their conversation, he would have found the answer
to his question.

 
          
“Yu’ve
happened along just hunky, Judge,” Bart was saying, as he filled the visitor’s
glass. “
Yo’re
the man this town’s needin’ bad right
now.”

 
          
The
man of law straightened up in his chair. “As an unworthy servant of the public,
Mr. Bartholomew, I am at the disposal of the citizens,” he said unctuously.
“In what way—?”

 
          
“There’s
a criminal in the calaboose here waitin’ to be tried,” Bart told him. “He’s a
desperate character—got away last night, but was recaptured by the sheriff.”
The lie slipped easily from his lips.

 
          
“What
is the offence?” Lufton inquired.

 
          
“He
robbed the bank here, shot the manager, an’ murdered an old friend o’ mine,”
the Bar B owner returned coolly. “If that ain’t enough,
there’s
other charges
.”

 
          
“Providence
having given us only one neck apiece, I should say it was more than enough,”
the Judge said, with ponderous humour. “Why don’t you send him to the capital?”

 
          
“To
escape on the way, or get off with a packed jury ‘cause he’s got a pull
somewheres, huh?” Bart retorted. “No, sir, this town can do its own tryin’. As
I told yu, the fella’s a hard case. Mebbe it’ll surprise yu to hear he’s the
chap as used to be known as Sudden, the outlaw.”

 
          
The
Judge was surprised; his vacuous eyes opened. “But if I remember rightly,
Sudden was supposed to have been in the employ of the Governor,” he remarked.

 
          
“There
yu are,” Bartholomew said triumphantly. “That was the excuse for lettin’ him
off; yu see
,
he has got a pull.”

 
          
“If
he’s still got it—” Lufton began dubiously.

 
          
“He
ain’t,” the rancher cut in. “An’ the cases against him are plain open an’ shut
this time. Besides, all yu gotta do is try the fella; the jury finds the
verdict. Once that’s given, what happens ain’t
no
business o’ yourn.”