Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (33 page)

 
          
“Yo’re
back
early, Garstone. Warn’t yore Lulu too kind this
evenin’?”

 
          
The
Easterner drew himself up. “Use a civil tongue when you speak of that lady,” he
said.

 
          
“And
for myself, remember that, in the absence of Trenton, I’m your chief.”

 
          
“Oh,
yeah,” the other sneered.

 
          
“If
you don’t like that, you can clear out—now,” Garstone added.

 
          
“Who’s
makin’ me?” The fellow’s hand was stealing towards his gun.

 
          
With
amazing speed for one of his bulk, Garstone leapt, pinned the threatening
wrist, and wrenching away the weapon, flung it down. Then his great fingers
closed on Lake’s throat, lifted and shook him with such ferocity as to
well-nigh dislocate his neck.

 
          
“You
insolent hound,” he gritted between his teeth. “I’ve a mind to tear you in two
with my hands.”

 
          
He
shook him again as though about to carry out his threat, and then hurled him to
the ground, to lie there panting and beaten. Garstone turned to the others, who
had watched the scene in silence.

 
          
“Curse
the foul-mouthed fool,” he growled. “He might have been useful to-night in the
clean-up, but we must do without him.”

 
          
“The clean-up?”
Bundy cried.

 
          
“Certainly—that’s
what I said,” Garstone replied coolly. “Miss Trenton, as a great sacrifice of
her personal comfort, has found out what we wanted to know, and
this—reptile—insults her.”

 
          
The
“reptile” was climbing to his feet; he had heard, as the speaker intended, and
was not going to be left out if he could avoid it. Vengeance would wait.

 
          
“Aw, Boss, I warn’t meanin’ nothin’,”
he whined. “Just a bit
o’ joshin’, that’s all.
Us
fellas is a mite loose
speakin’ of women, but I reckon we all respec’s Miss Trenton.”

 
          
Garstone
hesitated—purposely. His gust of passion had been partly premeditated, an
attempt to regain the authority which had been slipping from him since the
rancher’s injury, and he had no desire to lessen the number of his force, few
enough already for the task in view. Also, a dismissed man might turn traitor,
warn, or even join, the enemy.

 
          
“That
type of humour does not appeal to me,” he said coldly. “I am willing to
overlook it, this time, but you fellows must understand that what I say goes,
or I am finished with the business.”

 
          
Being
completely in his hands, for the present, there could be only one answer to
this, and Bundy voiced it:

 
          
“I
guess we’re all agreed on that.”
The others nodded assent,
Lake leading the way.

 
          
“That’s
all right, Boss. I s’pose with what Miss Trenton has told you, we can go
straight to the Cache?”

 
          
Garstone
suppressed a smile at this clumsy attempt to pump. “Hardly so simple, Bundy,”
he replied. “My information will enable me to find the treasure only when we
have driven Dover and his men away.”

 
          
“Why
can’t we make tracks with the dollars an’ leave them Circle Dot pilgrims to go
on lookin’ for what ain’t there?” Rattray wanted to know.

 
          
“Because,
my clever friend, they said pilgrims are camped right on top of the dollars,”
was the crushing reply.

 
          
Shortly
after midnight, they set out, crossed the basin, and entered the gorge. Fortune
favoured them, for the night was dark, and they were able to approach unseen.
Fifty yards from the cavern, they dismounted and continued the advance on foot.
Moving slowly and silently against the black background of the bushes, they
presently paused at the sound of a voice—the doctor’s.

 
          
“Did
you hear anything, Hunch?” it enquired.

 
          
No
reply came; they did not know that the old man had answered with his customary
movement of the head, useless in the darkness. So they waited, and then went a
few more paces.

 
          
The
shadowy forms of the sentries could now be dimly discerned.

 
          
Flint
and Rattray crept up behind them, the soft sand muffling their tread, a
rifle-butt rose and thudded on the head of Hunch, spreading him senseless on
the ground. At the same instant, vicious iron fingers encircled Malachi’s
throat from behind, preventing the escape of any sound, he was flung down,
tied, and effectively gagged by men who, accustomed to handling cattle and
horses, found his spare frame an easy task. That they went to this trouble in
his case was due to Garstone.

 
          
“Mustn’t
damage the doctor,” he had said grimly. “We may need his services.”

 
          
Leaving
their victims on the ground—having first bound the old man in case he
recovered—the attackers moved towards the cavern. The glow of the fires, while
emphasizing the darkness, enabled them to see the blanketed sleepers, four at
one, and two at the other. The latter interested them not at all. With cat-like
tread, and invisible until they got within the circle of light, they spread out
and then closed in on the larger fire. A low whistle from their leader, and
they charged.

 
          
Outnumbered
and taken by surprise, the Circle Dot men had little chance. Sudden awakened by
a stumble followed by a stifled oath, only thought it was his turn to take
guard, and got to his feet. Then, across the flames, he saw Yorky, kicking and
struggling in the grip of a formless shadow, and heard him yell:

 
          
“Look
out, Jim;
they’s
on to us.”

 
          
He
turned just in time to escape a swinging blow from a gunstock. His hands
dropped to his belt, but ere he could pull a weapon, his arms were pinioned in
a band of steel and he was dragged violently backwards. He saw Yorky felled to
the earth by a savage fist, and a fitful flare showed him that it was Garstone
who dealt the blow; the sight of this big fellow beating up a boy disgusted and
infuriated him.

 
          
With
a swift wrench, he got one arm free, and twisting, drove a fist where he
imagined the face of his assailant must be. His guess was a good
one,
he felt his knuckles connect with flesh and bone. The
man fell away, but before Sudden could make any use of this advantage, another
hurled himself upon him, clutching and grabbing for a hold. Every muscle braced
to keep his feet, he struck fiercely right and left in an endeavour to break
away and use his six-shooters, but the two men gave him not a second’s respite.

 
          
Guns
began to crack spitefully, but in the flickering light and violent action, aim
could only be erratic. In one flash, Sudden saw
Tiny
drop, and his opponent run to the aid of the two with whom Dan was fighting
furiously. Biting on an oath, he redoubled his
efforts,
shooting out short-arm jabs with such speed and venom that one of the clawing
forms fell back, and panted:

 
          
“We
got you to rights, Green. Give in, or I’ll blow you apart.” The words were
followed by the click of a cocked revolver.

 
          
It
was Flint’s voice, and the puncher was about to tell him where he could go when
a woman’s shrill shriek of despair rang out, and he saw Beth Trenton—apparently
panic-stricken —running in the direction of the tunnel. The memory of the abyss
awaiting her chilled his blood.

 
          
The
interruption had startled his adversaries into a moment’s slackness. Stooping,
he snatched a blazing pine-knot from the fire and thrust it into their faces.
Scorched and half-blinded by this unexpected weapon, they recoiled, and dashing
between them, he followed the girl, calling her by name. Only the hollow echo
of his own cry came back to him.

 
          
He
raced on, realizing that her life depended upon his over taking her in time.
Fit as he was, his breathing power, already taxed by the fight against two,
began to weaken under the strain he was now putting upon it. Moreover, his
high-heeled cowboy boots were built for riding, not running, and the uneven
nature of the ground provided another obstacle to speed.

 
          
But
Sudden was not the man to boggle at difficulties, he had met and overcome too
many; so he stumbled on as best he could, and in silence, for he needed all his
breath. Presently, scuffling step warned him that she could not be far away. He
dared not call out, lest he frightened her; the deathtrap must be near. A
moment later, holding his torch high, he saw her, only a few yards ahead,
staggering blindly on, apparently oblivious to all save a desire to escape.
With a last desperate effort he reached and dragged her back on the very brink
of the chasm.

 
          
“It’s
all right, Miss Trenton,” he said. “Yu were headin’ for danger.”

 
          
She
looked at him with dazed eyes, made a feeble effort to release
herself
, then saw the gaping void before them and shuddered
violently.

 
          
“I
lost my nerve,” she murmured. “The shooting and fighting, I couldn’t bear it. I
wanted to get away—anywhere.”

 
          
“Shore,
I understand,” he replied.

 
          
Behind
them in the tunnel, a shout, followed by two shots which whistled by them in
unpleasant proximity, reminded Sudden that he was a hunted man. He had no
intention of allowing himself to be taken, and if he left the girl, she might
be hit in the random shooting. He took a quick glance at the bar to their
retreat; it appeared to be about twelve feet wide, and the far side was
slightly lower. The pursuers, who had no light, were still a little distance
off and advancing slowly. It was a hazardous chance, but still—a chance. He
pitched his torch carefully, saw it fall safely on the other lip and remain
alight. Then he turned to his companion.

 
          
“Fellin’
better?” he asked.

 
          
“Yes,
I am all right again,” she replied. “What are you going to do?”

 
          
“We
gotta get over that—ditch,” he said.

 
          
“Impossible,”
she cried.

 
          
“Or
stay an’ be shot.”

 
          
As
if to drive home his grim alternative, the tunnel reverberated with two more
reports, and the bullets chipped fragments from the rock walls; they were
shooting at the light. Sudden acted promptly. Seizing the girl’s arm, he
stepped back ten careful paces, then stooped and lifted her.

 
          
“Keep
still, an’ don’t be scared,” he said.

 
          
Filling
his lungs, he started to run, gaining momentum with each stride and counting
them. At the tenth, with a mighty effort, he launched himself and his burden
into the air.

 
          
Sickening
seconds, more like long minutes, ensued, during which they seemed to be hanging
over the unseen, terrible trough of blackness beneath. Sudden felt that the
girl’s weight was dragging him down, and the fear that he had failed to jump
far enough flashed through his mind.

 
          
They
were falling falling, and then his feet jarred on solid earth, he stumbled, and
went headlong. Beth, forced from his grasp by the impact, was lying, faint and
dizzy, just in front of him.

 
          
“Don’t
move,” he whispered.

 
          
He
need not have troubled; she had no desire or strength to do so. Prone in the
darkness they waited; the torch had flickered out. Steps sounded, and a voice: