Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940) (23 page)

 
          
None
came. Half an hour passed and nothing happened. It was now almost dark, and the
marshal resolved to run a risk. Gun in hand, he stood up and backed away,
keeping the friendly scrub between himself and the enemy. Then, when he judged
he could not be seen in the deepening dusk, he circled round and approached
from the rear, moving with the stealth of an Indian. A shapeless blotch lay on
the ground, a rifle beside it.

 
          
“I’ve
got yu covered; keep still,” he warned.

 
          
Getting
no response, he stepped forward, turned the senseless form over, and struck a
match. The man’s eyes opened; it was Squint.

 
          
“For
Gawd’s sake, gimme a drink,” he croaked.

 
          
A
long, low whistle and Nigger appeared from the shadows. The marshal unbuckled
his water-bottle and held it to the wounded man’s lips.

 
          
“How
much is Sark payin’ yu for this?”

 
          
“Five
hundred,” Squint replied, and then, “What you drivin’ at, Sark
ain’t ”

 
          
“Too
late, fella; second thoughts are not allus best,” Sudden said. “Where yu hit?”

 
          
“In
the chest, an’ it hurts like blazes. Hop yore hoss—I guess I’m through.”

 
          
“Shucks,
yu’ll swing yet,” the other retorted, as he examined the hurt and fixed a crude
bandage. “Think yu can make it to Welcome?”

 
          
“Don’t
wanta go there,” Squint protested.

 
          
“O’
course, I could waste another ca-tridge an’ plant yuhere,” Sudden said
meditatively, and this, being what the bushwhacker himself would have done,
closed the argument.

 
          
His
horse was fetched from a thicket where it had been hidden, he was hoisted into
the saddle, and they took the road.

 
          
“I
was told yu’d thrown in with Mullins,” Sudden hazarded.

 
          
The
man shot a sly glance at his questioner. “Never heard of him,” he said.

 
          
“A
pore liar too. How did Sark get hold o’ yu?”

 
          
“I
was busted an’ went to him for a job.”

 
          
“An’
fell down on it. But don’t yu fret, yore future is provided for. Come to think
of it, yo’re lucky to have one, for if I didn’t happen to be the marshal …”
Squint shivered; he knew that it was true; this man whom he had treacherously
sought to slay had every right to put a period to his existence.

 
          
IT
was late when the marshal and his prisoner arrived at Welcome to find it
unusually awake for that hour. Lights were shining in almost every building.
Sloppy’s face, when he saw them ride in, expressed both relief and anxiety.

 
          
“Thank
heaven you’re back,” he cried. “There’s bad news an’ we duuno what to do.”

 
          
“Bad
news’ll keep,” Sudden replied. “Shove this hombre in the calaboose, feed and
fix him up, an’ don’t forget to lock the door.”

 
          
“But,
Jim ”

 
          
“Fly
at it. I’m bone-tired, but I guess I can stagger to the Red Light; Ned’ll wise
me up.”

 
          
The
saloon was busy, but there was a difference; men drank, but no games were
taking place, the customers standing around in groups, conversing with unwonted
seriousness. He made his way to the bar, where Nippert was deep in a discussion
with Gowdy, Rapper, and others.

 
          
“What’s
the excitement?” he inquired.

 
          
“Thunderin’
glad to see you, Jim,” the saloon-keeper greeted. “Ain’t you heard?”

 
          
“I’ve
on’y just got in,” Sudden explained. “Sloppy tried to tell me somethin’, but I
wouldn’t let him.”

 
          
“Mrs.
Gray has disappeared.” The marshal stared at him. “Disappeared?” he repeated.

 
          
“Well,
this mornin’—as usual—Miss Chips goes along to the Widow’s, raps at the back
door, an’ there’s no an Awer. She can hear the kid cryin’ inside, so she keeps
on hammerin’. After a bit, she gits scared somethin’ is wrong an’ fetches
Chips. He busts the lock an’ they go in. There ain’t a sign o’ Mrs. Gray, but
the bedroom looks like she’d dressed in a hurry. I’ve had search-parties out
all day but they ain’t struck a trace of her. She didn’t own a hoss, none is
missin’, an’ she couldn’t ‘a’ got far a-foot. What d’you make of it, Jim?”

 
          
“Can’t say—yet.
Where’s Dave?”

 
          
“He’s
gone too,” Nippert replied. “Soon as he got the news, he saddles his bronc, an’—judgin’
by his face—it’ll go hard with anybody who gits in his way. Dunno where he was
makin’ for, but he went west, an’ was in a hurry to git there; I never seen a
pony’s legs move faster.”

 
          
“Well,
we can’t do anythin’ tonight,” the marshal decided. “Better hit the hay—tomorrow
may be a long day.” He was turning away when the saloon-keeper stayed him. “Any
luck at Bentley?”

 
          
“Plenty,
but we gotta get Mrs. Gray back before I spill it.”

 
          
“Who’s
the jasper you fetched in?”

 
          
“Fella
called Squint. We had a li’l argument ‘bout ten mile out; he wanted to down me,
but I persuaded him agin it. Sloppy is patchin’ him, an’ I reckon he’ll
recover.”

 
          
“He
ain’t done yore lid no good, an’ from the position o’ the holes, he loosed at
you from behind,” Rapper remarked.

 
          
“Shore
he did,” the marshal replied airily. “Squint holds that bushwhackers should be
heard an’ not seen.”

 
          
“But
why was he after you?” Nippert queried.

 
          
“Oh,
he mistook me for five hundred bucks. Yu see, he was broke, an’ when Sark
offered just that sum for my scalp…” Ejaculations of anger followed this
revelation. “Sark did that?”

 
          
Rapper
exploded. “Don’t we have anythin’ to say about it?”

 
          
“Yeah,
at the right time, but that’s not yet,” he was told.

 
          
When
the marshal encountered Sloppy in the morning, he put a question: “Did yu ever
see Sark before he turned up to claim the Dumbbell?”

 
          
“No,
he was a stranger to me.”

 
          
“Would
he be known in Drywash?”

 
          
“Never
heard of him bein’ there,” Sloppy replied, and as though anxious to change the
subject, “Jim, what d’you figure has happened to Mary—I mean, Mrs. Gray? I on’y
use her front name to myself—she’s like a daughter to me.”

 
          
“I
dunno, or-timer, but we’ll find an’ fetch her back,” the marshal said heartily.

 
          
“S’pose
you got what you went to Bentley for?” the little man ventured. “You allus git
what you want, don’t you, Jim?”

 
          
“I
do not,” Sudden laughed. “
I’m needin’
breakfast right
now, an’ it don’t look like I’ll get any.” Half an hour later he was studying
the ground outside the rear of the restaurant. There were footprints in plenty,
but presently he picked out those of a woman and several men which led back
from the building towards the open plain. These brought him to a spot where
horses had waited —the deep dents of pawing hoofs were clear. For a short
distance he followed them, but soon they were merged in a multitude of tracks
on the road eastwards. He returned to the Red Light.

 
          
“She’s
been carried off,” he announced. “Five fellas, I’d say, with a spare hoss. They
was pointin’ for the sunrise when I lost the trail, but that means nothin’
a-tall.”

 
          
“Someone
must ‘a’ had a key to the door—it warn’t damaged till Chips forced it,” Nippert
opined.

 
          
The
blacksmith swore. “I got that lock for Jake, an’ it had two keys,” he said. “He
might ‘a’ forgot to hand ‘em both over.”

 
          
“An’
he was stuck on Mrs. Gray too,” Cleaver contributed. The marshal’s prediction
had come to pass—the Widow was now his best customer, and her absence a matter
of concern.

 
          
“So
was Jesse Sark,” the banker said.

 
          
“He
wouldn’t have the key,
nor
the pluck to make a play
like that,” was Gowdy’s view.

 
          
“Well,
boys, this ain’t gettin’ us no place,” Sudden told them. “My guess is Mullins,
an’

 
          
I’m
goin’ to try an’ locate him. I’ve a notion Dave thought the same, an’ his not
showin’ up looks bad. No, I’m playin’ a lone hand; if I discover anythin’, yore
turn’ll come.” Despite the protestations, he insisted on this, and having made
his preparations, departed.

 
          
The
deputy-marshal’s first reaction to the Widow’s spiriting away was a feeling of
numb despair as he suddenly realized what she had come to mean in his life.
Hoping against hope, he hurried to the restaurant, found the tell-tale traces,
and knew that she had been compelled to leave.

 
          
“Who the hell?” he muttered.

 
          
The
remainder of the query died as he saw again a pale, frightened face, bent back
in a desperate effort to evade the lustful lips seeking
her
own
. Sark! His young face hard as
granite,
he
hastened back to the corral and saddled his pony. Sloppy spoke but got no
answer. Astounded citizens saw him drive madly up the street. Nippert shouted a
question and got a reply he did not act upon. Instead, he went into the marshal’s
quarters.

 
          
“Where’s
Dave gone?”

 
          
“In
the head, I reckon,” Sloppy told him. “I asked, but he acted as if I warn’t
here. What can we do?”

 
          
“Nothin’
but
comb
the country. I’ve sent for the Bar O boys.
Damnation, I wish Jim was around.” Meanwhile, Masters was rocketing towards the
Dumbbell as fast as his horse could throw one leg in front of another.

 
          
Nevertheless,
he did not allow anger to deprive him entirely of caution. He was about to
beard, in his own den, an unscrupulous scoundrel who had at least a dozen
riders in his pay. To be shot down would not help Mary Gray, and therefore he
must tread warily. So, when nearing his objective, he turned from the beaten
track and plunged into a stretch of timber which would enable him to approach
unseen. With but a few hundred yards to go, he halted at a spot where he had a
clear view of the ranch buildings, and waited.

 
          
Presently,
whoops and yells, mingled with the shrill calls of horses, apprised him that
the men were getting ready for the day’s work. Soon they appeared, in twos and
threes, to ride away in various directions. Dave counted a dozen, but decided
to play safe. When twenty more minutes had passed, impatience overcame
discretion.

 
          
“Reckon
that’s the lot. Anyways, a shade of odds don’t scare me none.” Leaving his pony
within easy reach of the ranch-house, he stole up, took a quick look through
the glass door leading to the living-room, and choked down a cry of
contentment; the man he sought was there, alone, sitting with his back towards
him, the remains of a meal on the table. Softly he turned the handle of the
door, and finding it unfastened, slipped inside.