Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930) (17 page)

 
          
That
this raid, like the one on his neighbour, was the work of Indians, he did not
doubt for an instant, and with the white man’s instinctive hatred for the
redskin, his resentment was the greater.

 
          
Late
on the afternoon of the following day the foreman of the Y Z strode into the
bunkhouse with a look of malicious triumph on his face.

 
          
“Green,
the Old Man wants to see yu, pronto,’ he said. “The Injuns have got away with a
big steal o’ Frying Pan cows, an’ ‘Old Impatience’ is up there a-raisin’ Cain.’

 
          
If
he expected the cowpuncher to ask for any details he was disappointed; Green
simply nodded and went out. At the ranch-house he found Simon and Leeming in
the big living-room, the latter pacing up and down, and evidently in a state of
eruption. Simon plunged at once into the business.

 
          
“Green,’
he said. “Meet Mr. Leeming, owner of the Frying Pan. Yu heard he’s been
raided?’

 
          
“Blaynes
just said somethin’ about it; I ain’t got no particulars,’ replied the puncher,
acknowledging the introduction by a nod at the visitor.

 
          
“Night
before last it happened. Laid out two o’ my outfit, an’ got away with about a
hundred head,’ snapped Leeming. “What yu gotta say about it?’

 
          
“Tough
luck,’ said Green, quietly.

 
          
“Tough
luck?’ vociferated Leeming angrily. “
Tough luck?
That’s a helluva note, ain’t it? An’ yo’re the feller that’s agoin’ to stop the
rustlin’, huh? Why, it’s been worse’n ever since yu took a hand. Seems to me yu
ain’t no more use than a busted leg.’-

 
          
The
cowpuncher’s face flushed through the tan, his jaws clenched, and his eyes
narrowed as he listened to this tirade. Leeming, still stamping up and down the
room, had completely lost control of himself, but the object of his abuse was
outwardly calm.

 
          
“Yu
payin’ any o’ my wages?’ he asked.

 
          
Like
a shot from a gun the simple question, which put him utterly in the wrong,
knocked the irate cattleman off his balance. But he was in too vile a temper to
recognise this. “What’s that gotta do with it?’ he stormed.

 
          
“Everythin’,’
replied the puncher coolly. “There’s only one man who has the right to bawl me
out if I don’t do my work an’ that’s the man who pays me.’

 
          
The
words were spoken evenly and without a trace of passion, but there was a deadly
meaning in the low voice. Leeming stopped his perambulations and looked at him.

 
          
“Well,
I’m damned if yu ain’t got yore nerve,’ he said. “For two bits I’d…’

 
          
Green
slipped his hand into his pocket, produced the coins named and laid them on the
table without a word. No challenge could have been more plainly given.
Leeming’s face became suffused with blood, but before he could speak, Old Simon
interposed :

 
          
“That’s
enough,’ he said brusquely. “Job, yu gotta remember that yu are in my house,
an’ speakin’ no one o’ my outfit, an’ I won’t stand for it nor ask him to. If
yu don’t ride that temper o’ yores it’s goin’ to thow yu bad one o’ these
days.’

 
          
For
a moment the angry man looked madder than ever and then all at once his face
changed and he laughed aloud. “Sorry, Simon,’ he said. “Yo’re right. I’m a
plain damn fool to go off the handle like this. No offence meant to either o’
yu. It’s my beast of a temper—can’t help it—always had it—my old folks used to
say that I cussed my nurse before I had any teeth. The Frying Pan boys
understand—they just let me shoot off my mouth, an’ laugh behind my back, damn
rascals.’ He looked at Green. “No hard feelin’s, I hope?’

 
          
“None
here,’ replied the puncher, with a smile.

 
          
And
indeed, the change about was so sudden and complete that it could not be
otherwise than amusing. Yet one could sense that it was not in any way due to
cowardice; Leeming had plenty of pluck and would have pulled his gun and shot
it out with the cowboy just as cheerfully as he apologised, and Green
understood this, and respected the owner of the Frying Pan the more for it.

 
          
“Well,
that’s all right,’ said Simon, obviously relieved at the way things had come
out. “Tell him about it, Job.’

 
          
Leeming
told the story of the raid and Green listened in silence until he had finished.
Then
came
a question.

 
          
“Yu
say they headed north-east for Big Chief? Then they must ‘a crossed the Y Z
near the line-house.’ He turned to Simon. “Do yu happen to know which of our
boys
were there night
before last?’

 
          
“I
asked Blaynes the same thing, an’ he said Durran an’ Nigger—two experienced
men,’ he explained to Leeming. “I’ve met ‘em,’ said Job in a non-committal
tone.

 
          
“An’
yore foreman lost the trail on Sandy Parlour?’ pursued the cowpuncher.

 
          
“Yes,
an’ he’s a good trailer too, but a desert an’ Injuns is a strong combination.’

 
          
“Yu
can cut out the redskins—
they ain’t nothin’ to do with yore
losin’ cattle
.’

 
          
“But
my boys saw ‘em, an’ that arrow through Lucky’s shoulder ain’t no dream,’
protested the cattleman.

 
          
‘Green
reckons
it’s
whites pretendin’ to be Injuns to
razzledazzle us,’ explained Simon. “It shore would be an easy play to make.’

 
          
“I
ain’t reckonin’, I know it’s so,’ the puncher said, “but I’m not advertisin’
it.’

 
          
“Shore,’
agreed Leeming. “Anythin’ else yu can tell us?’

 
          
The
other shook his head. “
Can’t prove nothin’,’
he said.
“Soon as I’ve got the goods I’ll put my cards on the table. All I’m shore of at
present is that it ain’t just a small gang liftin’ a few cows now an’ then;
they are organised, and there’s a big man somewhere pullin’ the strings.’

 
          
“What
makes yu think that?’ asked Simon.

 
          
“Just
one or two things I happened to overhear,’ was the reply. “
Yu
shore o’ yore outfit?’

 
          
The
question was addressed to the owner of the Frying Pan, and he was quick to
answer it. “I’ll go bail for every one,’ he said confidently. “Are yu
suggestin’?’

 
          
“I’m
only askin’,’ replied Green. “I don’t know any of ‘em, an’ even in the best o’
ropes there may be a weak strand. What’s yore opinion o’ Dexter, of the Double
X?’

 
          
“Don’t
like him—dunno why, but I don’t,’ was the blunt reply. “Yu got anythin’ on
him?’

 
          
“No,’
Green had to confess, “but it was some of his men hung me over the cliff—yu
heard o’ that—joke, I reckon?’

 
          
“Shore,
an’ o’ the one yu played on Snub in return,’ laughed Leeming. “Silas told me he
never saw a man imitate a chunk o’ rock as well as Snub did while yu was
shavin’ his upper lip for him.’

 
          
“He
did stand awful still, for a fact,’ responded the puncher, a twinkle of
devilment in his eyes at the memory. “Two more o’ that outfit bushwhacked
Lunt.’

 
          
This
was news to the Frying Pan owner. “The hell they did?’ he said. “They musta
felt pretty shore o’ gettin’ him; Snap’s hands are jest about a shade quicker’n
my
temper,
an’ I can’t say more than that. What are
they after him for?’

 
          
“I
dunno, but it looks like some of us ain’t wanted around here,’ Green replied.
“Me, I’m aimin’ to stay, just the same.’ When he had gone, Simon turned to his
visitor and said, “
How
does he strike yu?’

 
          
“Well,
I’d sooner have him with than against me,’ was Job’s verdict. “Know anythin’
about him?’

 
          
“Not
a darn thing,’ said Simon. “Barton fetched him along after he’d beat up Poker
Pete most to death. Said he was huntin’ a job. He certainly is wise to his
work, but I can’t place him. Blaynes thinks he might be in with the rustlers.’

 
          
“Which
just means that yore foreman
don’t
like him,’ said
Leeming shrewdly.

 
          
“And
who is it that our respected foreman does not approve of?’ asked a fresh young
voice.

 
          
“Hello,
Miss Norry,’ cried Job heartily, turning round to shake hands with the girl.
She had just come in from a ride, and her flushed cheeks, dancing eyes, and
trim figure were good to look upon. “Hang me if yu don’t get prettier every
time 1
see
yu. When are yu comin’ to take charge at
the Frying Pan, eh?’

 
          
It
was an old joke between them. Leeming, a confirmed bachelor, always protested
that he was so solely on account of Noreen.

 
          
“Not
until I’m no longer wanted at the Y Z,’ she laughed and added saucily, “I
should be afraid of your dreadful temper.’

      
 
“I’ve lost it, Norry,’ Leeming said.

 
          
“What,
again?’ retorted the girl merrily, and then, “But you haven’t answered my
question.’

 
          
“We
were talkin’ o’ the new hand, Green,’ Job explained. “What’s yore opinion of
him?’

 
          
“Since
he came to my help when I was in danger, I am naturally prejudiced,’ the girl
replied soberly. “I think he’s a good man. And now, if you two have done
talking secrets, I expect supper is about ready.
As Cookie
says down at the bunkhouse, “Come an’ git it.”’

 
          
VISITORS
to Hatchett’s Folly were rare and therefore mostly welcome; visitors with
plenty of money to spend were rarer still and correspondingly more welcome. So
that when Mr. Joe Tarman and his friend and companion, Mr. Seth Laban, rode in,
they had no cause to complain of their reception. The first-named, in fact,
would have been well received anywhere, for he bore every appearance of
prosperity, and he radiated with generosity, thus capturing every loafer in the
town at a blow.

 
          
He
was a big fellow, standing over six feet, with a broad, well-muscled frame
denoting strength above the average even for men of his height, and he was
still on the right side of forty. His hair, eyebrows, and carefully-trimmed
beard were deep black and gave him a striking appearance. A captious critic
might have suggested that the face was too fleshy and the rather small eyes too
close together, but ninety-nine women out of every hundred would have voted Joe
Tarman a very handsome man.

 
          
In
this he differed entirely from his companion; Seth Laban could have no such
pretensions. He was a slight man of between forty and fifty, with a pronounced
stoop which made him appear shorter than he really was. He had a long nose,
receding forehead and chin, and small eyes, a combination which produced a
rodent-like impression. Believers in the Buddhist theory of the transmigration
of souls have said that his previous existence must have been that of a rat,
while others, of a less charitable nature, might have held that he was still a
rat, and would not have been too wide of the mark at that.

 
          
This
curiously assorted couple, having installed themselves at the hotel, at once
gravitated to the Folly, followed by a number of the inhabitants
..
Tarman, having introduced himself and his companion no the
bartender, at once struck the right note by ordering drinks for the crowd. He
made no secret of his object in coming to Hatchett’s.