Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) (17 page)

 
          
“Put
‘em up, Greaser, an’ pronto!”

 
          
Moraga
flashed round, his hands going to his guns, but when he saw who had spoken they
went above his head instead; he knew better than to try and beat the marshal of
Lawless to the draw. Green, lounging in his saddle, surveyed the ruffian
sardonically.

 
          
“Gettin’
whipped seems to be a habit o’ yours,” he commented, his gaze on the angry
crimson stripe across the man’s face. Green turned to the girl. “Has he hurt
yu?” he asked.

 
          
“No,
I’m only frightened,” she replied.

 
          
“Ride
on a piece, Miss Sarel,” he said. “I’ll be along.”

 
          
She
divined the menace beneath the casual request. “What are you going to do?” she questioned.

 
          
“Kill
a snake,” he said coolly.

 
          
“No,
no,” she protested. “He’s a Mexican and didn’t understand. Please let him go.”

 
          
The
marshal shrugged his broad shoulders. “I oughta
wiped
him out the first time,” he said. “Very well, ma’am, but he’s gotta have a
lesson. Get off yore hoss an’ stand over there,” he directed the Mexican,
pointing to a spot about ten paces distant, and when the command had been
sullenly obeyed, he added, “An’ stand mighty still if yu want to see another
sunrise.”

 
          
He
got down himself and drawing the two pistols from the bandit’s sash, stepped
back.

 
          
For
a moment he paused, weighing the weapons, and then the gun in his right hand
roared and the brooch in Moraga’s sombrero
was
torn
from its place; a second shot ripped away the bullion band, while the third
left the wearer bareheaded. Livid, but a statue of stone for stillness, the
victim stood while, with incredible swiftness, shot followed shot in a
continual stream. The golden epaulettes dropped from his shoulders; his belt,
the buckle shattered by a bullet, fell away; the great silver spurs were
wrenched from his heels. Having emptied the borrowed pistols the marshal flung
them down and drew his own.

 
          
“Keep
still,” he warned, and stepped round so that he sighted his target sideways.

 
          
This
time he used both guns, firing them alternately with such speed that the
reports sounded like a roll of thunder. One by one the gilt buttons of the
scarlet tunic leapt off, and only when the last dropped to the ground did the
devilish tattoo cease. From the Mexican’s chalky-white face, eyes in which fear
and hate commingled glared at this smoke-wreathed, grim-lipped man who shot
like a wizard. In those few moments Moraga had died twenty times, expecting
each bullet to be the last, and his nerve-racked body was shivering despite the
sun blazing overhead. The marshal reloaded his guns and slid them into the
holsters.

 
          
“Yu
can thank the senorita for yore life, Moraga,” he said sternly. “Stay yore own
side o’ the line; she may not be there to beg yu off next time.
Vamos!”

 
          
He
swung into his saddle and joined Tonia.

 
          
“How
can I thank you?” she asked. “I’m not easily scared, but that fellow
was—horrible!”

 
          
“Just
forget it,” Green smiled. “This is part o’ my job as marshal; but yu didn’t
oughta ride alone around here—it’s too near the Border.”

 
          
“Andy
wanted to come, but I wouldn’t let him,” she explained. “He’s busy—he has to
be, after so much misfortune. Do you believe in luck, Mr. Green?”

 
          
“Shore,
I’ve met her,” was the reply. The girl’s look of surprise brought a grin to his
lips.

 
          
“Luck
must be a lady to play the pranks she does, yu know,” he explained.

 
          
Tonia
laughed with him. “I don’t think Andy is one of her favourites,” she
speculated.

 
          
“Mebbe
not, just now, but I’ve a hunch he’s goin’ to be one o’ the luckiest fellas in
Arizona,” the marshal said, and smiled when he saw the colour in his
companion’s cheeks.

 
          
When
they reached the Double S, Reuben Sarel emerged from his favoured corner on the
veranda to greet them. “Glad to see yu, marshal,” he cried. “Why, Tonia, what’s
the matter?”

 
          
In
a few words she told of her adventure, and the fat man’s expression became
serious.

 
          
“I’m
thankin’ yu, marshal,” he said. “We’ll have to keep an eye liftin’ at the
Double S. By all accounts, El Diablo is a poisonous piece o’ work, an’ he’ll
move heaven an’ hell to square hisself. Gosh! I’d ‘a’ give somethin’ to see yu
strippin’ off his finery.”

 
          
“I
never saw such shooting—it was wonderful,” Tonia said.

 
          
“Well,
mebbe yu put a scare into him, but I doubt it,” Sarel went on. “These damn
Greasers have their own sneaky ways o’ gettin’ back at yu. Wonder if he bumped
off Bordene?”

 
          
“Possible,
o’ course, but I got no reason to think so,” the marshal replied.
“Yu losin’ any cows?”

 
          
The
fat man opened his eyes. “Yeah, but I ain’t been advertisin’ it,” he said.
“There seems to be a steady leak—few at a time, an’ I can’t trace it.
Any reason for askin’?”

 
          
“Just
a notion,” Green assured him. “Tell yu later if I get to know anythin’.”

 
          
On
his way back to town he pondered over the bit of information. It had been
purely a shot in the dark, but it opened up a new line of investigation for the
morrow. Looking at the Double S brand on the rump of Miss Sarel’s mount, it had
suddenly struck him how very simply it could be changed, with the aid of a wet
blanket and a running iron, into a passable 88. He slapped the neck of the
black horse.

 
          
“Yu
ol’ son of a sweep,” he told it. “Things
is
gettin’
right interestin’ in this neck o’ the woods.”

 
          
Riding
along the street, the marshal noticed that his appearance was creating unusual
interest; men he knew greeted him boisterously, and others, though silent,
looked at him curiously. It was not until he reached his quarters that he
learned the reason. Barsay’s chubby countenance was one broad grin.

 
          
“So
yu’ve had another fandango with Mister Moraga?” he burst out, and the marshal
swore.

 
          
“Hell’s
bells! Has that got around?”

 
          
“Shore
thing. I just slips into the Red Ace to see if they’d run outa whisky—which
they hadn’t—an’ there’s a Box B puncher called Fatty tellin’ the town all about
it. Seems he was up on one side o’ the ravine, afraid to shoot in case he hit
the gel, an’ no way o’ gettin’ down. He sees Tonia
use
her quirt—which she ain’t lackin’ sand any—an’ the Mexican grab her. Yu oughta
seen them fellas when he told how yu stood that jay-bird up an’ shot the
clothes off’n him. Me, I’m hopin’ yu remembered there was a lady present.
‘Shoot?’ sez Fatty.
‘Gents, I never seen the like.

 
          
They
say Sudden is fast, but I’m bettin’ the marshal would have to wait for him.’
They all laughed at that, but not
so
hearty as I did.
Fatty said yu shot all over him, an’ with his own guns.”

 
          
The
marshal nodded. “He’ll certainly have to steal another outfit; I plumb ruined
that one,” he admitted.

 
          
“That’s
the worst o’ yu fancy gun-slingers,” Pete said quizzically, “Now if I’d tried
to lift his hat for him I’d ‘a’ bin inches too low. Say, Raven an’ one or two
others
warn’t
exactly joinin’ in the jubilation.”

 
          
“I’m
afraid he won’t like it,” the marshal said. “I’ll be some grieved if that’s
so.”

 
          
“Like
hell yu will,” grinned the deputy, undeceived by the sober tone which the
twinkling eyes belied.
“Gripes!
here
he comes. It’s me for the kitchen.”

 
          
Raven
entered at the moment the deputy disappeared, storm signals flying on his
visually impassive features. He did not beat about the bush.

 
          
“Hear
yu’ve had another clash with Moraga.”

 
          
The
marshal nodded. “I found him tryin’ to drag Miss Sarel from her saddle an’ had
to admonish him some.”

 
          
“I
reckon I made a mistake over yu, Green,” the other scowled. “Yu ain’t exactly a
shinin’ success as a marshal, are yu? Sudden gets away with a stage robbery an’
a murder, an’ all yu do to get the town in bad with a fella strong enough to
wipe it out if he takes the notion.”

 
          
“Yu
tryin’ to tell me that Lawless will lie down to be trampled on by that Greaser
an’ his band o’ thieves?” the marshal asked.

 
          
“No,
the damn idjuts would pant for war immediate,” Raven admitted crossly. “What
I’m drivin’ at is that it’s bad business. I ain’t a fightin’ fool. I’m here to
make coin, an’ I reckoned yu was too.”

 
          
“Shore,
but I’m a mite particular where it comes from,” Green told him. “Mexican money
don’t
appeal to me.”

 
          
The
saloonkeeper regarded him with puzzled exasperation. Was he simply stupid, or
playing a part? Raven could not determine, but one point stood out plainly—the
marshal was not a tool to be used.

 
          
“Mebbe yu won’t like Mex bullets neither,”
he sneered. “Yu
better tell the town to get organized’, Moraga’s got a good memory.”

 
          
“Then
he’ll stay on his own side o’ the line, like I told him,” the marshal said. “If
he
don’t
, you’ll lose a customer for yore cows.”

 
          
The
other made no reply, but his brows were bent in a heavy frown as he went out.
When the coast was clear, the deputy sidled in, his face one broad grin.

 
          
“He
ain’t a bit pleased with his li’l marshal, is he? No, sir, li’l marshal has got
him guessin’, an’ he’s got li’l marshal guessin’, an’ there yu are.”

 
          
They
went out, and on their way down the street turned into the largest store to get
tobacco. Loder, the proprietor, an old but hard-bitten product of the West,
welcomed them with an outstretched, hairy hand.

 
          
“Shake,
marshal,” he said. “I just bin hearin’ how yu took the conceit outa that
Greaser, an’ I’m tellin’ yu the town is plenty pleased.”

 
          
At
Durley’s they got a confirmation of the store-keeper’s opinion, both from the
owner of the place and from several citizens. The marshal’s moderation only was
criticized. “Yu shore oughta
shook
some lead into
him,” was Durley’s comment. “Allus scotch a snake is my motter.”

 
          
Listening
to this prudent sentiment, Green could not know that within a week or so he
would be heartily wishing he had put it into practice, but so it was.

 
          
Following
up the notion that had come to him on his way back from the Sarel ranch, the
marshal spent the whole of the next morning exploring the country east of the
88, his interest being in the brands of such cattle as he encountered. Though
he found nothing suspicious he persevered in his quest.

 
          
“It
would be easy as takin’ a drink, an’ if Jevons is honest he’s shore got a
misleadin’ face,” he muttered.