Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940) (7 page)

       
“Hoss throw you?” he asked.

 
          
“None
o’ yore damn’ business,” Jake snapped. “You’ve taken long enough; s’pose you
got soused on the money I gave you.” Dutch grinned. “Yo’re gittin’ value,” he
replied, and waved a hand to his companion. “This is Mister Javert, o’
Pinetown.” Mullins studied the visitor: a medium-sized man, with a blank
expressionless face, a mean mouth, and the well-tended hands of a professional
gambler.

 
          
A
bottle and glasses were produced, and when the contents had been generously
sampled, the host looked up expectantly.

 
          
“I
met Dutch on the way to Pinetown, learned his errand, an’ saved him the trouble
o’ goin’ on by comin’ back with him,” Javert began. “Is yore
marshal
a tall, well-built gent with blue eyes an’ dark hair, who totes two guns an’
rides a black branded J. G.?”

 
          
“Describes him to a dot.”

 
          
“Then
he’s the fella l’m lookin’ for.”
This with deep satisfaction.
“Listen: I left Pinetown a piece ago as one of a posse hot on this houn’s
heels. He’d shot a man in cold blood, givin’ him no chance; if we’d catched
him, he’d ‘a’ swung shore, but he diddled us. The rest went back, but I ain’t
so easy, an’ I started searchin’ the settlements around; that’s how I run into
Dutch.”

 
          
“I
guess we got him,” Jake said.
“An’ some folks about here hey
a jolt comin’.”
On the following morning, the proprietor of the Red
Light, surveying the town from the vantage-point of his doorway, observed a considerable
body of the inhabitants apparently making for his establishment. This, in
itself, was not alarming, but when he noted that the gathering was headed by
Mullins, and included the scum of the community, it was a relief to see that
reputable citizens like Gowdy, Rapper, and the banker, Morley, were among them.
Nevertheless, as a matter of precaution, he stepped inside and made sure that
his gun was in working order. When they entered he was behind the bar, and his
affectation of surprise appeared genuine.

 
          
“This
place is lookin’ up,” was his genial greeting. “Wakin’ up, you mean,” Mullins
corrected. “Where’s that marshal?”

 
          
“In
his office, I expect,” Nippers replied, adding slyly, “You know the way—better
go get him.”

 
          
“We’ll
do that awright,” was the retort. “When you app’inted him you didn’t know he
was wanted for murder, huh?”

 
          
“I
don’t know it now.”

 
          
“I’m
tellin’ you.”

 
          
“An’
I still don’t know it.”

 
          
“Bluffin’ won’t buy you nothin’, Nippert,”
Jake said. “Here’s
the fella can put you wise, Mister Javert, o’ Pinetown.” Without waiting for
any further invitation, the stranger stepped forward and told his story,
concluding modestly, “O’ course, I ain’t sayin’ it is the same man, but the
description goes mighty close.” As he finished, Sloppy slid unnoticed from the
saloon and hurried to the marshal’s quarters. “Climb yore bronc an’ beat it,
Jim,” he cried. “At the Red Light they’re shapin’ up to hang you.” Sudden
regarded him amusedly. “Thought yu’d quit redeye,” he replied.

 
          
“I
ain’t drunk nor loco,” the little man protested, and blurted his news. The
marshal’s face did not change, but he rose and put on his hat. “Will I get
Nigger?” Sloppy asked eagerly.

 
          
“I’m
thankin’ yu, but I figure I can walk to the saloon,” was the answer. “Runnin’
away from trouble is poor policy, ol’-timer; I did it afore, an’ I was wrong.”
His arrival at the Red Light stilled every tongue, and the crowd fell apart to
allow him to pass. He nodded to Nippert. “Yu ‘pear to be right busy, Ned,” he
said coolly.

 
          
“Thanks
to you,” was the reply. “Jim,
d’you know
this fella?”
Sudden surveyed the newcomer indifferently. “Yeah, some months back he obliged
me by makin’ it clear I was not one of his friends.”

 
          
“He
claims you are James Green, late marshal o’
Pinetown, that
you shot down a man you had no quarrel with, an’ left with a posse chasin’ you.”

 
          
“Put
thataway I gotta allow it sounds pretty bad,” Sudden admitted. “This is what
happened.” He told of the message, his errand, and the shots from the dark, his
grim gaze on his accuser. “I fired back at the flashes, an’ yu ‘pear to have
been lucky, Javert; when I last saw yu, both yore ears were in good shape.” The
man scowled; the lobe of his left ear had been torn away and the wound was
newly-healed. “Lyin’ won’t save yore neck,” he said.

 
          
“An’
all these folk can’t save yore life if I decide to take it,” the marshal
reminded sternly, and went on to explain how, expecting a third assailant, he
had slain his friend. “I figure he had a message too, an’ was comin’ to help me.
It was a frame-up; this fella an’ the two rats
who
run
with him meant to hive the pair of us. That’s a debt I’m not forgettin’,
Javert.” The threatened man laughed. “You’ll have to pay in the next world, I
guess; yo’re mighty near through with this one,” he said, and looked round. “Well,
gents, what we waitin’ for? All we need is a rope an’ a tree.” A low growl of
assent from a portion of the audience greeted this sinister suggestion. The
saloon-keeper rapped on the bar.

 
          
“Hold
yore hosses, Mister. This town ain’t in the habit o’ allowin’ strangers to tell
it what to do. I’d like to know how you come to be in
this?
”

 
          
“I’m
plumb fortunate,” Javert explained. “When the posse gives up, I don’t. Then I
runs
into Dutch, who tells me ‘bout yore new marshal, an’ I
figure I’ve found my man.” Nippert pondered for a moment, and then, “We’ve
heard yore account, makin’ it plain murder, an’ his, claimin’ it was an
accident.” He looked at the accused. “I reckon we’ll have to throw you into the
calaboose, Jim, till we git more evidence from Pinetown.” The proposal aroused
a storm of protest, in which Jake’s voice was prominent. “What more do you
want?” he shouted. “He’s owned up to the killin’.”

 
          
“He’s
owned up to shootin’ in self-defence.”

 
          
“Which
means you
ain’t believin’
me,” Javert put in.

 
          
“We
think yo’re mebbe a mite biased,” the saloon-keeper said satirically. “Speakin’
personal, I wouldn’t trust you for the price of a drink.” The other shrugged
off the insult. “Does it mean anythin’ to you that this man is an outlaw knowed
as `Sudden,’ wanted in Texas for robbery an’ murder?” he demanded.

 
          
This
time he produced a real effect on his listeners. Many of them had heard the
name, and the evil reputation which went with it. Remembering the shooting
contest, they regarded with new interest this grave man who, for a short while,
had dwelt amongst them, and who, on every occasion, had forborne to make use of
his uncanny skill with a gun. He stood now, leaning lazily against the bar,
unperturbed, while the issue of life and death hung in the balance.

 
          
Nippert,
though he could see that his further charge had brought a look of doubt into
the faces of men he was depending upon, stood his ground.

 
          
“Not
a thing,” he replied. “Texas warrants don’t run in Arizona”—he smiled a little—“if
they did, some o’ you wouldn’t be here.” The sly dig produced a laugh. “Texas
sheriffs can do their own
work,
an’ the same goes for
Pinetown; if she wants to hang this fella, let her come an’ fetch him.” This
eminently fair proposition met with a mixed reception; Javert condemned it,
briefly but luridly. The maker of it listened with twinkling eyes.

 
          
“O’
course, there’s another way out,” he said, “You”—pointing to Javert—“have been
searchin’ for the marshal. Well, you can take him; we ain’t helpin’ nor stoppin’
you.” The generous offer did not seem to appeal to the Pinetown representative—his
expression was a mixture of consternation and disgust; bringing Sudden to
justice single-handed was a task for which he had no stomach. Despite the
gravity of the occasion, the saloon-keeper’s friends were smiling at the adroit
manner in which he had “passed the buck” to this objectionable interloper.

 
          
Jake came to the aid of his witness.

 
          
“Talk
sense, Nippert,” he said. “You know damn’ well yo’re askin’ the impossible.”

 
          
“Jim
‘pears to have learned you somethin’,” was the biting reply. “If man to man ain’t
good enough for this fella, we’ll let you help him; that makes the odds two to
one.
How about it, marshal?”

 
          
“Suits
me,” was the nonchalant answer.

 
          
But
it did not suit the other two concerned. “What’s the matter with this burg?”
Mullins cried contemptuously. “Here’s a confessed killer an’ yo’re tryin’ to
turn him loose.”

 
          
“That
ain’t so,” Rapper retorted. “He’ll be held till we hear from Pinetown.”

 
          
“Mebbe,”
the other sneered. “We’ll deal with him now.” Nippert looked at the accused.

 
          
“Jim,
yo’re still marshal,” he said. “I’m tellin’ you to down any man who goes for a
gun ”
The harsh order stilled the clamour. Though the
turbulent faction had a majority, the saloon-keeper was not alone, and that
lounging figure at the bar had not given an exhibition of his prowess without
effect.

 
          
So
they stood sullenly back and allowed the captive to be conducted to the
calaboose.

 
          
Nippert
stepped inside.

 
          
“I’ll
have to take yore hardware now, Jim,” he said. “I’m hopin’ things ain’t as bad
as they look.” Sudden handed over his belt. “I’ve given yu the straight of it,”
he replied. “I took Dave’s life, an’ I’d ‘a’ cut a hand off sooner than hurt
him. It’s made me shy o’ gun-play, as yu may have noticed. I could ‘a’ got away—Sloppy
warned me —but I’m tired o’ runnin’ an’ yu’ll find me here when I’m wanted.”

 
          
“I’m
takin’ yore word,” Nippert said.

 
          
As
he emerged on the street again, a rider dashed past, taking the westerly trail;
it was Dutch. He pondered over this as he secured the door.

 
          
“So
that’s the game, huh?” he murmured. “Well, there’s an answer to that.” He
turned into the marshal’s quarters, where he found Sloppy slumped
disconsolately in a chair.

 
          
“You
wanta help?” he inquired.

 
          
“Betcha
life,” the little man said eagerly. “What can I do?”

 
          
“Fork
a hoss an’ ride hell-bent for the Bar O. Tell Owen what’s happened an’ say for
him to fetch along as many of his boys as possible, on the run.
Sabe?”

 
          
“Shore,”
Sloppy replied. “Sent to Pinetown yet?”

 
          
“That
can wait; I’ve a notion Jake’s plannin’ to save us the trouble. Git agoin’, an’
leave kind o’ casual-like, in the opposite direction.” This precaution taken,
Nippert returned to the saloon, where a few of his intimates awaited him.

 
          
“If
he’s that notorious
outlaw ”
Morley began.

 
          
“He
wouldn’t be the first to have a wrong label pinned on him,” Nippert cut in.

 
          
“Anyways,
I’m holdin’ him till we know more. We must have a couple o’ men on that door.”

 
          
“You
think he’ll try to get out?” the banker queried.

 
          
“No,
but others may try to git in; Jake ain’t finished yet —he’s sent for Sark.”
Their faces lengthened. “That’s bad,” Rapper admitted. “The Dumbbell would more
than tip the balance.”