Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) (13 page)

 
          
“The
Vulture, huh?” murmured the cowboy. “I’m damned if he don’t look like it too.”

 
          
And,
in fact, Raven, with his dark slouched hat, and long black coat-tails flapping
in the light breeze, presented quite a resemblance to the bird he had been
named after. He pulled up opposite the bunk-house.

 
          
“Andy
around?” he asked curtly.

 
          
“I
reckon,” came the equally short reply.

 
          
Raven
nodded and rode up to the ranch-house, a large one-storied log-building with a
wide, roofed-in porch. His hail brought Bordene to the door.

 
          
“‘Lo,
Seth,” he greeted. “Get down an’ spoil yore thirst. Takin’ exercise to pull
yore weight down, huh?”

 
          
The
saloonkeeper joined in the laugh—though his contribution was a mere dry
cackle—as he hoisted his spare body out of the saddle and climbed stiffly down.

 
          
He
declined the drink, but accepted a cigar, and when this was alight to his
satisfaction, he shot a sly glance at his host.

 
          
“Yu
got a nice place here, Andy,” he began, his eye taking in the solid, spacious
bunk-house, barns, and corrals, and beyond them the level miles of grass, burnt
brown and dead-looking by the summer heat, but, as he well knew, still the best
of feed for cattle. Moreover, among the cottonwoods through which he had ridden
was a little stream which later became a deep pool, worth in
itself
a small fortune in that arid land. “Yore range must mighty near reach the
Double S.”

 
          
“Our
eastern line is their western,” Andy told him, wondering what was coming. Was
Raven about to make him an offer for the ranch? If so, he was doomed to
disappointment; Andy would not have sold for twice the value.

 
          
Seth
nodded reflectively. “Yore dad musta sunk a lot o’ coin in it,” he said. “This
cattle business is a costly one, as I’m afindin’ out; the 88 just eats money,
spite of all Jevons can do to keep down expenses; which explains why I’m here.”

 
          
Andy
began to comprehend. “Yu want that five thousand I owe
yu,
is that it, Seth?” he asked.

 
          
“Partly,
my boy, partly,” the other assented. “I’m
hatin’
to
press yu just now, but bein’ up against it myself—” He paused a moment and went
on, “Unfortunately, Andy, that ain’t all; there’s what yore old man had too.”

 
          
“Dad?
He owed yu some?” Bordene cried.

 
          
Satisfaction
flickered for an instant in the visitor’s eyes. He nodded and produced a paper.

 
          
“Yu
can see for
yourself
,” he said.

 
          
The
young rancher took the document and stared at it amazedly. It was a note of
hand for fifteen thousand dollars, written out and signed by his father.
Carelessly done by one who trusted others, the amount was in figures only and
there was nothing to show that a deft stroke of the pen had trebled the indebtedness.
For a moment he looked at it in stunned silence; it was a heavy blow, but he
had enough of his sire in him to take it without wincing. He handed back the
note, and said quietly:

 
          
“That’s
good enough, Seth. I dunno why Dad didn’t tell me, but there it is. I’m payin’
it, o’ course, but yu’ll have to wait a few weeks till I’ve sold the herd I’m
roundin’ up. I was goin’ to make her a thousand strong, but it’ll have to be
fifteen hundred. There’ll be a buyer waitin’, an’ I reckon they’ll turn me in thirty
thousand; that’ll put things straight.”

 
          
“Suits
me,” Raven returned. “I ain’t aimin’ to rush yu. When yu reckon to drive?”

 
          
“Soon
as I can get the extra cows—say two-three days,” the young man told him.

 
          
“Comin’
along to-night to win some o’ that dinero back?” the saloonkeeper smiled.

 
          
Bordene
shook his head. “I gotta hustle,” he said. “Wait till I’m outa debt an’ I’ll
have yore hide.”

 
          
The
visitor nodded agreement. “Well, s’long, Andy, an’ good luck with the drive,”
he said.

 
          
Jogging
leisurely back to Lawless he gave vent to a sneering chuckle. On the assumption
that old Bordene would not tell his son all his business, he had put up a
bluff, and it had come off. It had been easy. “Pie like mother made,” he
muttered, his covetous eyes sweeping the fine grazing over which he was
passing.

 
          
The
marshal and his deputy, after a day of ferreting in the Tepee Mountain region,
turned their horses’ heads towards home. They had discovered nothing; the black
was still peacefully grazing in the little valley and there were no new
hoofprints. The wind was rising and getting colder.

 
          
“Well,
we ain’t done much, but I reckon we’ll call it a day,” Green remarked. “I
wanted for yu to know where that cache is in case someone takes a chance at me
an’ gets away with it.”

 
          
They
were now nearing the broad cattle-trail which led north. In the fading light
they saw a cloud of dust slowly approaching from the direction of Lawless.

 
          
“Herd
a-comin’,” Barsay announced. “I guess it’ll be young Bordene.”

 
          
“Yeah,”
the marshal agreed, and scanned the sky with distrust. “There’s a storm
a-comin’ too. I’m for beddin’ down with Andy to-night. We got all o’ twenty
miles to cover, an’ the
bosses is
tired.”

 
          
“Yo’re
whistlin’,” Pete agreed. “Gee, they’re gettin’ a wiggle on that herd. I’m
thinkin’

 
          
Andy
has seen that storm too.”

 
          
“An’
he wants them cows good an’ tired before they beds down—they won’t be so easy
scared then,” the marshal opined.

 
          
In
fact, the herd was now coming on at a good gait, and very soon the shrill cries
of the cowboys and the loud bellowing of the beasts could be heard. Beneath the
smother of choking dust the cattle, a compact dark mass, came on at a clumsy
trot. Ahead of them a single horseman whose right hand went to his gun when he
discerned the two shadowy men waiting in the trail.

 
          
The
marshal held up his hand palm outwards, the Indian peace sign.

 
          
“‘Lo,
Bordene, we ain’t holdin’ yu up for nothin’ ‘cept a meal,” he called out.
“Lawless shore seems a long ways off.
so
we’re aimin’
to throw in with yu for the night.”

 
          
“Glad
to have yu, gents,” the young man replied, riding aside to let the herd pass.
“Fact is
,
I got a sorta feelin’ we might have trouble
an’ two more men’d be plumb useful.”

 
          
They
sat and watched the cattle go lumbering by, the thud of thousands of hoofs
shaking the ground beneath them. The horse-wrangler with the remuda followed,
and the chuck-wagon, drawn by a team of mules, and driven by a dust-choked and
vituperative cook, brought up the rear.

 
          
“A
good gather,” the marshal commented.

 
          
“The
pick o’ the ranch,” Bordene told him. “Couldn’t afford to run any risk; I gotta
have the money.”

 
          
“Where yu proposin’ to camp?”

 
          
“In
The Pocket, a little basin ‘bout half a mile long; it’s sheltered a bit an’
there’s wood, good grass, an’ a pool o’ water, though where that comes from the
Lord on’y knows, for there ain’t no stream.”

 
          
“Sounds
like it might ‘a’ bin made for yu,” Pete put in.

 
          
“Shore
does, but there’s a string tied to it,” Andy admitted. “A piece this side o’
The Pocket the trail skirts Shiverin’ Sand, an’ if the herd stampedes an’ takes
the back track it’ll be plain hell.”

 
          
“Quicksand?”
Green queried.

 
          
“Yeah,
an’ the oddest I ever saw,” Bordene explained. “At a first glance she seems
like any other bit o’ desert—but when yu look close yu can see a sort o’
movement, the grains o’ sand slowly slippin’ like there was somethin’ stirrin’
underneath; an’ if yu shove yore arm in it seems to grip an’ it’s all yu can do
to pull it out again. A fond farewell to any cow that gets bogged down in
there, I’m tellin’ yu.”

 
          
“Mebbe
the storm won’t break,” the marshal said, as they followed the herd.

 
          
Arrangements
for the night were well forward when they reached the camping-place, which they
did at leisure. The herd had been watered and now, under the ministrations of
half a dozen circling riders, was quietly settling down at the far end of the
valley. At the near end the cook had a big fire going and the busy rattle of
pots and pans sent a cheerful message to tired and hungry men. Having given
their mounts a drink, and picketed them, without removing the saddles, the
visitors joined the loungers by the fireside.

 
          
The
customary baiting of the cook was proceeding in a promising manner when a
distant rumble of thunder put a sudden end to it. Anxious eyes turned skywards,
where an inky, rolling mass of cloud was wiping out the stars in a steady
advance. Then
came
a spot or two of rain.

 
          
“She’s
a-comin’, boys, shore as shootin’,” Andy said. “Better be ready for anythin’
that breaks loose.”

 
          
Scrambling
hurriedly to, their feet, the men donned slickers, and got themselves mounted.

 
          
The
storm was travelling rapidly, straight towards them, each roll of thunder
louder than the previous one.

 
          
“If
the herd comes this way it’s gotta be stopped, even if we build a wall o’ cows
to do it,”

 
          
Andy
ordered. “Hell!
they’re
getting panicky a’ready.”

 
          
Between
the peals of thunder they could hear the bawling of the frightened beasts and
the voices of the riders striving desperately to keep them together. Andy
decided that it was no use sending more men; if the six already there failed,
three times the number could not succeed, and the others would be needed to
stop the stampede.

 
          
“If
they run north it won’t be so bad,” he said. “We can pick ‘em up on our way.”

 
          
Even
as he spoke, a jagged finger of white flame split the sky, shattering the
darkness for a second with a light that pained the eyes and made sight
impossible. It was followed by a deafening crash overhead and a sudden deluge
of frozen rain, so fast and furious that it was like a bombardment of steel
rods. Huddled in their slickers, the hat-brims pulled down to shield their
faces from the stinging pellets, the cowmen sat in their saddles, struggling to
quiet their maddened mounts and waiting for the dreaded thunder of pounding
hoofs. It did not come.

 
          
“Gosh!”
Andy cried, “I believe we’re a-goin’ to make it.”

 
          
For
a moment it seemed he might be right; the storm was passing and a smaller flash
of lightning showed them the herd, scared evidently and on the move, but
milling.
Then came something which dashed their newborn
hopes.
Above the howl of the wind and the bellowing of the cattle rang
out a wild, eerie yell, shrill, penetrating,
unmistakable
,
to anyone who had heard it before. And most of the men there had.