Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940) (21 page)

 
          
“Yeah,
an’ mebbe forget that she eats both sides,” Sudden rejoined.

 
          
Not
quite knowing how to take this, Sark decided that it was meant humorously,
laughed, and went out. The two men looked at one another, and the saloon-keeper
chuckled.

 
          
“He
must fancy we ain’t cut our eye-teeth,” he said.

 
          
Before
the other could reply, Dave came bursting in. “Sark’s gone into the Widow’s,”
he announced. “
What’s he want
?”

 
          
“It’s
a place o’ public entertainment an’ he might want a meal,” the marshal pointed
out.

 
          
“If you gotta know, he’sgone to offer her the Dumbbell ranch,
includin’ his most unworthy self.”

 
          
The
young man promptly loosened his gun in the holster and moved towards the door,
but his friend stepped in front of him. “I’m bettin’ the little woman can
manage her own affairs. What right yu got to butt in?” he said.

 
          
Dave
had no answer to this, and stood moodily watching the street. Fifteen minutes
only had elapsed when they saw the rancher come out, fling himself on his
mount, and begin to use spurs and quirt immediately. Head down, he passed at a
furious pace, still thrashing the beast beneath him.

 
          
“Either
he’s hurryin’ to fetch a parson, or …”

 
          
“Did
yu see his face?” Dave
asked,
his own alight.
“Shore.
I’ll bet she made herself plain.”

 
          
“She
couldn’t ever do that,” Dave laughed, and flushed boyishly. “I
mean ”

 
          
“Shucks!
Yo’re makin’ yoreself mighty plain,” Sudden grinned, and sobering, “She ain’t
done with him yet.” The marshal was right; even as he spoke the words, Sark’s
frenzied, evil mind was working as he rode recklessly in the direction of his
ranch. Mary Gray had listened quietly to what he had to say, and then dismissed
him with a finality which would have convinced the most sanguine wooer.

 
          
Directly
he arrived at the Dumbbell, he despatched an urgent message to Mullins. When
the rustler rode in, some hours later, it was to find him in the same ugly
mood.

 
          
“Wantin’
me?” Jake asked.

 
          
“I’ve
a job for you—if you want it. If not, I can find someone else.”

 
          
“Suits
me,” Jake said, and turned to go.

 
          
Sark
had not expected his bluff to be called. “
Don’t be a damned
fool
,” he retorted irritably, and pushed the bottle across the table. “There’s
a pretty pickin’ in this for you. Take a chair and a drink.” The visitor did
neither; this was an opportunity, and he meant to make the most of it. “How
much?” he wanted to know.

 
          
“A thousand bucks.”

 
          
“About
a hundred apiece,” Mullins sneered.
“Chicken-feed.
What have we gotta do for it?” Sark outlined his scheme, and the other listened
in silence, considering how it fitted in with his own plans. Having come to the
conclusion that it might further them, he sat down and helped himself to
whisky.

 
          
“You
mean to marry her?”

 
          
“Certainly,
fair an’ square, but she needs a little assistance in makin’ up her mind.”

 
          
“Awright
for you, mebbe, but me an’ my men’ll have to pull stakes.”

 
          
“Meanin’
the price ain’t high enough?”

 
          
“Jesse,
there’s times you show real intelligence,” Mullins grinned. He was enjoying
himself.

 
          
Sark
considered. “I’ll double it, but that’s the limit.” The rustler nodded; he had
his own ideas about that too. “When do we git the dollars?”

 
          
“When I take over the goods.
Yo’re holdin’ her to ransom, an’
I come along with the needful. She oughta be grateful, an’ she will if you play
yore part right by puttin’ the fear o’ something worse than death into her.
Sabe?”

 
          
“Betcha life.
Fixed the time yet?”

 
          
“No,”
Sark replied. “Make yore preparations an’ be ready for the word.” Jake emptied
his glass and stood up. “Make it soon,” he said. “We’re all broke.” The man
departed, and the master opened a fresh bottle, and sat, drinking and brooding,
until it was time to turn in. He awoke in the morning with a bad head and a
worse temper. Two cups of strong black coffee restored him somewhat, but he was
still unsteady when he shambled into the living-room to find Lyman awaiting
him. The lawyer’s ferrety eyes considered him with very patent disgust.

       
“That rot-gut will be your finish,” he
said sharply.

 
          
Sark
blinked at him owlishly. “Special occasion, ol’ timer,” he replied. “To
celebrate my forthcomin’ weddin’.”

 
          
“She’s
consented?”

 
          
“Not
yet, but she’s goin’ to. I’m fixin’ it. See?”

 
          
“That
you’re still drunk, yes,” Lyman said. “Explain.” The cattleman complied, and in
his fuddled state, failed to note the growing concern on his listener’s face.
When he concluded with a triumphant, “What
d’you think
of it?” Lyman sprang to his feet and said angrily:

 
          
“Not only drunk but mad.
How do you expect to get away with
it? Your name will stink.”

 
          
“Yore
hearin’ ain’t too good this mornin’,” Sark retorted. “Jake is the villain o’
the piece; I’m on’y the good fairy who comes to the rescue o’ the damsel in
distress by payin’ her ransom.”

 
          
From
outside came the drum of hurrying feet and a moment later the door was flung
back and one of Sark’s men strode in.

 
          
“S’cuse
me, boss, but I figured you’d like to know quick that the marshal is startin’
for Bentley this mornin’.” The rancher’s face registered both amazement and
dismay. `Bentley?

 
          
What’s
his errand there?” The messenger spread his hands wide. “He didn’t tell

me
—musta forgot to,” he replied drily.

 
          
Sark
checked the angry reproof on his lips—he could not afford to quarrel with any
of his outfit just now—and having ascertained that the marshal was travelling
alone, dismissed the bringer of the news. Then he said hopefully:

 
          
“It
may not mean anythin’—just a chance visit.”

 
          
“I
doubt it,” Lyman said. “Did you ever know a fellow called `Lumpy’?”

 
          
“N-no,”
was the reply.

 
          
“You
don’t have to lie to me,” was the stern answer. “Was it in Bentley that you
knew this Lumpy?” and when the other hesitated, “You don’t seem to realize that
you’re in a very tight place.”

 
          
“We
are,” Sark corrected meaningly.

 
          
Lyman’s
thin shoulders lifted. “I’ve a complete answer,” he said. “But you, if the
marshal unearth
anything …”

 
          
“Lumpy
ain’t seen me
since—them
days, or he’d ‘a’ made
hisself known,” Jesse argued. “I guess we’re bogglin’ at shadows.”

 
          
“A
man like that doesn’t ride two hundred miles to admire the scenery,” the lawyer
observed. “There’s just one way out, now—the plan you spoke of.”

 
          
“Changed yore mind ‘bout that, huh?”

 
          
“A
person who isn’t prepared to do so, in altered circumstances, will get nowhere,”
was the quiet reply. “I don’t like it any the more, but put it across and you
may keep the Dumbbell; fail, and your best move will be to saddle your fastest
horse and get as far from here as it will carry you.” The cattleman glowered at
the hunched-up, shrunken figure of the man who was telling him that all he
possessed, perhaps even life and liberty, depended upon one desperate throw of
the dice. But, with his next remark, the lawyer identified himself with the
enterprise.

 
          
“We’ll
have to move fast, before that damned gunman gets back. It must be tonight.”

 
          
“I’ll
send word to Jake right now,” Sark said, and went at once to give the order. He
returned wearing a satisfied smirk. “That’s fixed then. Tomorrow me an’ her’ll
ride into Drywash an’ git hitched. That’ll
..
”

 
          
“Tell
everyone you had her abducted and land you neck-high in the mire,” Lyman
harshly interjected. “Listen: you’ll get the news when it is brought, and don’t
forget to be properly amazed. Some days must pass before—as her only relative—a
demand for the ransom reaches you.”

 
          
“S’pose
they search for an’ find her?”

 
          
“There
mustn’t be any mistakes. Rescuing the girl should square you with Welcome,
which—with your customary stupidity—you have rubbed the wrong way.”

 
          
“Hell,
Seth, you got no call to bawl me out like that,” Sark protested. “My nerves is
all shot up—been hittin’ thebottle too much, I guess. I ain’t forgettin’ all
you’ve done for me.”

 
          
“You’d
best not,” was the ominous retort. “I’m the boss; bear that in mind and we’ll
get along. Keep me posted.” With this autocratic farewell lie departed. Sark
gazed after the huddled, black-coated form seated clumsily in the saddle as it
moved slowly across the plain; the fear that makes men murder was in his eyes.

 
          
He
splashed some liquor into a glass and raised it in mock salutation. “Here’s to
yore everlastin’ damnation, my—friend.”

 
          
IT
was past midnight and Welcome lay shrouded in unbroken darkness when a band of
five masked riders, with a led animal, pulled up on the outskirts of the town
and dismounted.

 
          
Leaving
two of their number to take charge of the horses, the other three stepped
cautiously forward until they reached the rear of the restaurant. Despite the
gloom they could see that the door was strongly built.

 
          
“Forcin’
that will make a noise,” one of them whispered to the tall man who appeared to
be the leader.

 
          
“I
ain’t a fool, Javert,” was the reply. “There
was
two
keys to this lock an’ I still got one of ‘em.” He stooped, fumbled for a
moment, there was a slight grating noise, and the door swung back. With a
cat-like tread, the marauders filed in, and made their way to the bedroom. One
of them stumbled as he entered, and a female voice asked:

 
          
“Who
is there?” Instantly Jake’s rough hand closed her mouth. “One more sound an’ it’ll
be the worse for you,” he said hoarsely. “Git some clothes on, an’ if you want
yore brat to live, keep mum. Wrap up, it’s cold outside.”

 
          
“Where
is my child?” she cried. “What have you done with it?”

 
          
“I
told you not to talk,” was the stern reply. “The kid’s safe—so far; it depends
on you. Git busy—you got five minutes.” The indistinct shadows in the room
faded away. With frantic haste she dressed, her heart pounding with fear. Who
could these men be, and what did they want with her? The voice of their leader,
though obviously disguised, had a familiar note. She heard the door open.