Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) (15 page)

 
          
“Any
news, marshal?” he asked.

 
          
“Bordene
came from the Red Ace a piece ago, so I’m figurin’ yu musta heard it all,”
Green told him.

 
          
“I
got his account, but I thought yu might ‘a’ noticed somethin’ he missed,” Raven
replied.

 
          
“Andy didn’t miss nothin’ ‘cept a visit to the next world, an’ not
that by so awful much,”

 
          
Green
smiled. “
Them
war-whoops had it framed up pretty
neat.”

 
          
“Yu
reckon it was Injuns?” the other asked casually.

 
          
“Seemed
so, didn’t it, Pete?” the marshal said.

 
          
“Shore did,” the deputy lied with ready alacrity.
He did not
know what Green’s game was, but he was prepared to back it to the limit.

 
          
“It’s
rough on Bordene, comin’ on top o’ the old man bein’ rubbed out,” the
saloonkeeper said reflectively. “Yu ain’t struck the trail o’ Mister Sudden
yet?”

 
          
“Somebody
musta told yu,” the marshal said satirically. “
Me
an’
Pete was tryin’ to keep that a secret.”

 
          
If
Raven appreciated the pleasantry his wooden face did not betray it. “What’s
come o’ that no-‘count Injun yu fetched in?” he enquired.

 
          
“Oh,
he’s around,” the marshal said carelessly.

 
          
“Send
him on his way; this town don’t want his kind,” Raven growled harshly.

 
          
At
this order—for it was nothing else—the marshal’s lounging form straightened.
“He’s workin’ for me,” he said quietly.

 
          
For
an instant the black eyes tried to stare down the grey-blue ones—and failed.

 
          
Nevertheless,
no trace of rancour appeared in his voice as he replied:

 
          
“Oh,
well, if yu can use him—but yu’ll be responsible.”

 
          
Pete
spat disgustedly as his gaze followed the saloonkeeper down the street. “That
damn war-whoop is shore gettin’ yu some friends,” he said. “What is he a-doin’
anyways?”

 
          
For
immediately they had reached Lawless again the Mohave had vanished, taking his
horse and gun. The marshal’s grin was provoking.

 
          
“Curiosity
brought sin into the world, Tubby,” he said. “If Eve hadn’t wondered about that
apple—”

 
          
“Oh,
go to blazes,” the deputy rudely retorted, and stamped into the kitchen to make
coffee. He was enjoying this half an hour later when his friend strode into the
office.

 
          
“Come
an’ get yore hoss. Black Feather is back an’ we got some ridin’ to do,” the
marshal told him.

 
          
“Ridin’?
This time o’ the day?
Why, it’ll be dark in two-three
hours,” the other expostulated.
“Where we goin’?”

 
          
“All
the way there an’ back again,” was the non-committal explanation. “Yo’re
gettin’ fatter’n a hawg, loafin’ around; yu want exercise.”

 
          
“Yo’re
a trifler with the truth—I don’t want nothin’ o’ the kind,” Pete said. ” ‘Cause
yu look like a scraped shin-bone yu think everybody oughta.”

 
          
They
found the Indian waiting for them at the corral, and having secured their own
mounts, set out. Keeping, at the marshal’s suggestion, behind the houses, they
slipped out of town unobserved. The redskin led the way due west, riding at a
smart clip. Several miles of semi-desert were covered in silence and then
Pete’s patience came to an end.

 
          
He
shot an oblique glance at the long, silent figure riding beside him, and said:
“S’pose yu spill some o’ the beautiful thoughts millin’ in yore majestic mind,
an’ tell us where we’re at?”

 
          
“I’m
hopin’ to find some o’ Bordene’s cows for him,” the marshal said. “Black
Feather
don’t
talk much.”

 
          
“Yo’re
damn right, he don’t,” Pete agreed. “Yu’d think words was a dollar each he’s
that sparin’ of ‘em, an’ yo’re pretty near as bad.”

 
          
The
approach of night found them threading a tumbled tract of country which was new
to both the white men. Their guide rode stolidly on, twisting and turning
without hesitation, though they could see no trail. At length they emerged from
an arroyo and saw a trampled track stretching away to the right and left. Black
Feather slid down and examined the ground closely in the fading light. He rose
with a grunt of satisfaction.

 
          
“No
come—yet,” he said. “We wait.”

 
          
He
pointed to the thick underbrush at the mouth of the arroyo out of which they had
ridden, and, leading the horses, they ensconced themselves behind it. An hour
passed and Green was beginning to fear that the Indian had made a mistake when
the distant bellow of cattle broke the silence. The moon was rising now, and
peering through the bushes, they could see on the plain a dark blur which was
coming nearer. Then
came
the dull tramp of hoofs and
the low calls of the riders. Mounting their horses, the watchers waited until
the herd began to file past at a tired trot. The man riding point on the left
of the cattle was Leeson. The marshal forced his horse into the open.

 
          
“‘Lo,
Leeson,” he said.

 
          
Like
a flash the man twisted in the saddle, his hand streaking to his hip, but it
came away as quickly when he recognized the officer. Under the flapping brim of
his hat the narrowed eyes looked vicious, but for the moment he could find
nothing to say. Then reflecting that the newcomer was apparently alone, he
blurted out:

 
          
“What
the hell yu doin’ here?”

 
          
“I’m
good an’ lost,” the marshal smiled. “Yu see, I ain’t
very
acquainted with these parts yet.” He raised his voice: “Yu can show yoreself,
Pete; it’s some o’ the 88 boys.”

 
          
Leeson’s
face lowered as the deputy and the Indian appeared. “What’s the bright idea,
hidin’ yoreselves an’ bustin’ out thisaway?” he growled.

 
          
“We
didn’t know who yu was,” the marshal explained sweetly. “Yu mighta been
Greasers or—rustlers.”

 
          
The
cattle were still moving slowly on. There was a rider on the right point and
two more behind. The marshal cast a casual glance at a passing beast.

 
          
“Box
B, huh?” he commented. “Where’d yu find ‘em?”

 
          
“Spraddled
all over our range,” the man said sullenly.

 
          
“An’
yo’re takin’ ‘em back to Andy, huh?” Green continued. “Well, that’s right kind
o’

 
          
Jevons,
I gotta admit, but ain’t yu goin’ a long ways round? Yu’ll be over the Border
‘fore yu know it.”

 
          
“Thought
yu didn’t savvy the country,” sneered the 88 man.

 
          
“Oh,
I got a sort o’ general idea. The Box B, I figure, lies well to the left o’
here, don’t it?”

 
          
Leeson
nodded sulkily. “We turn off a piece along. This is an. easier way if mebbe a
bit farther.”

 
          
“Tricky
drivin’ at night,” the marshal pursued, and his tone conveyed a question.

 
          
“I
reckoned to make it in daylight, but we had trouble,” the other explained.
“Well, I gotta be movin’.
So long.”
He spurred his
horse after the herd, but in two jumps the marshal was beside him.

 
          
“We’ll
come an’ give a hand,” he said. “Four ain’t enough for a bunch this size—must
be all four hundred.”

 
          
“We
can handle ‘em,” Leeson said, his tone expressing anything but gratitude. “Yu
needn’t trouble.”

 
          
“No
trouble a-tall, ol’-timer,” Green said pleasantly. “We’re goin’ yore way.”

 
          
With
a muttered curse the 88 man rode to the head of the herd. He had sensed that
the marshal was playing with
him, that
his presence
there was not accidental, but he could see no way of ridding himself of the
unwelcome assistance. The cows must now be taken to their rightful owner
instead of being handed over to El Diablo, whose men were waiting for them just
across the line. Had the interloper been alone—His brows met in a heavy frown.

 
          
“Head
‘em for Bordene’s ranch,” he called out to the man on the right, and gritted
out an oath as he saw the marshal and his companions helping to swing the cows
round so that they faced east instead of south.

 
          
“This’ll
shore be a joyful surprise for Bordene,” Pete said genially. “He oughta be real
grateful to yu fellas.”

 
          
The
journey was resumed in a silence broken only by the bawling of the cows and an
occasional curse from one of the drivers when an animal tried to break away.
But there was little of this, the poor brutes being too footsore and weary to
do more than lurch along. Faint streaks of light behind the hills heralded the
dawn, and the sun was rimming the ridges of the distant ranges with gold when
the Box B was sighted. Leaving the herd in charge of the others, Leeson, with
Green and Barsay, rode up to the ranch-house. A hail brought out the owner.

 
          
“Well,
damn me!” he cried. “Whatever are yu doin’ here?”

 
          
“I’ve
fetched back some o’ yore cattle, Bordene,” the 88 man told him. “Found ‘em
mixed up with our’n. We picked up the marshal on the way.”

 
          
The
young rancher’s face lighted up at the sight of the herd. “It’s mighty decent
o’

 
          
Jevons,”
he said. “If he’d let me know I’d ‘a’ sent for ‘em, an’ glad o’ the chance.
‘Light an’ eat, all o’ yu; my boys’ll take care o’ the herd.”

 
          
Green,
his deputy, Leeson, and their host took breakfast at the ranch-house, the rest
eating with the Box B riders. During the meal the 88 man gave again the
explanation he had already given the marshal. Bordene was warm in his thanks.

 
          
“I’m
a lot obliged to yu, Leeson,” he said.

 
          
“Shucks!
Couldn’t do nothin’ else,” that worthy replied uncomfortably, and Green
smothered a chuckle; the fellow was, unintentionally, speaking the sober truth.

 
          
“Yu
ain’t struck the trail o’ any ‘Paches, I’m guessin’?” the marshal asked.

 
          
Leeson
looked at him with sudden suspicion. “Yore guessin’s good,” he returned.

 
          
“Reckon
they’d get away with the beef plenty quick.”

 
          
As
soon as the meal was over Leeson got up. “Have to be p’intin’ for
home—Jevons’ll be lookin’ for us,” he said, and with an unpleasant grin, “an’
we’ll take the old road; them round-about routes don’t seem to pay.”

 
          
“Crooked
trails rarely do, Leeson,” the marshal told him.

 
          
They
watched the 88 men disappear in the distance, and then the marshal leaned back
in his chair and laughed. Barsay caught the infection, and the rancher regarded
them in blank amazement.