Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) (35 page)

 
          
“We’ll
hear yu,” he said.

 
          
Green’s
smile had no mirth in it. “Eames an’ Sands both say the hold-up’s hoss had a
white stocking on the near fore,” he began. “How
d’yu
know Sudden’s mount was marked like that?”

 
          
“I
sent to Texas to find out,” Raven returned.

 
          
“Painstakin’
fella,” commented the other. “Sudden’s hoss is outside now, an’ if yu wash away
the dye yu’ll find the white stockin’ on the off fore. Pete wouldn’t ‘a’ made
that mistake, an’
it’s
shore odd that both yu an’ the
hold-up should ‘a’ got the wrong information.”

 
          
For
an instant the half-breed looked disconcerted, and then he shrugged his
shoulders.

 
          
“Had
it from the same source, I s’pose,” he said. “Yu suggestin’ I robbed the
stage?”

 
          
“Why
not?”
came
the cool retort. “Yu weren’t in Lawless
then,
nor
when Bordene was shot.”

 
          
“I
was at the 88 with my foreman both times.”

 
          
“Huh!
Kinda pity yu wiped out Jevons, ain’t it?”

 
          
“I
saw the boss there each o’ them days,” Leeson called out.

 
          
Green
flashed round on him. “Shore o’ that?” he asked, and when Leeson—who had not
seen the black look Raven shot at him—replied that he was, Green went on,
“Raven told us a while back that yu were near the Old Mine when Bordene was
killed; yu say yu were at the 88; yu ain’t twins, are yu?”

 
          
A
loud guffaw greeted the statement, and was not lessened by the man’s stammering
attempt to explain. The late marshal cut him short.

 
          
“A
liar should have a long memory, Leeson,” he said curtly, and turned to the rest
of the company. “The mornin’ he was murdered Bordene drew five thousand from
the bank an’ went to the Red Ace to pay the money to Raven. Not findin’ him
there he set out for the Box B, an’ yu know what happened. Later on, Raven
claims fifteen thousand from young Andy.”

 
          
“The
note I held was for that amount,” the saloonkeeper interposed.

 
          
“It
was an easy document to alter,” Green said. “Andy didn’t dispute it, but he
couldn’t pay till he’d sold his cattle. He don’t get no chance to do this—his
herd is stampeded, not far from the 88—an’ a few days on I find four o’ Raven’s
men shepherdin’ about four hundred Box B steers towards the Border. They claim
they’s takin’ ‘em back to Andy, but the trail’s as crooked as the story.”

 
          
“I
had no knowledge o’ that; I left the runnin’ o’ the ranch to my foreman,” Raven
snapped.

 
          
“Who
bein’ conveniently dead can take all the blame yu put on him,” Green pointed
out.

 
          
“Well,
Andy still ain’t got the coin, an’ at Raven’s suggestion he mortgages his ranch
with the bank. Then he puts a herd through an’ brings back the cash to clear
hisself. He has to leave on the jump after Moraga, havin’ handed the dinero to
Potter.”

 
          
“Of
which there was no record in the bank books,” the half-breed sneered.

 
          
“Mebbe
not, after yu’d handled ‘em,” Green said bluntly. “When Andy comes back he
finds his money gone an’ his mortgage in the possession of Mister Raven.”

 
          
“Who
paid for it,” that worthy added.

 
          
“Talkin’
o’ mortgages,” Green went on imperturbably, “Raven holds one on the Double S
which he didn’t mention when the man who signed it, Anthony Sarel, was shot,
an’ he’s threatenin’ to turn Miss Tonia out unless—she marries him.”

 
          
This
revelation met with a mixed reception, coarse mirth from the rougher element
and growls of resentment from the better class of the audience. Raven saw he
must temporize.

 
          
“Bah,
she got uppity; I had to put a scare into her,” he said carelessly.

 
          
“Yu
were about to strike her when I happened along,” Green reminded. “Miss Sarel
ain’t
no
squaw, Raven.”

 
          
The
oblique reference to his origin, as always, infuriated the half-breed. “Damn
yu, what have my private affairs to do with it?” he screamed. “Look here—”

 
          
But
the object of his wrath was looking at Leeson, watching the fellow’s stealthy
attempt to draw his gun behind the back of another man. He waited until the
weapon was out and then fired. Leeson’s pistol bumped on the board floor, while
its owner stared dazedly at his perforated wrist, the throbbing agony of which
brought a stream of curses to his trembling lips. The gunman, blue smoke
eddying round him, swept the room with a glance, and every man grew rigid under
the menacing, cold eyes.

 
          
“Another
trick like that an’ yu take the long hop to hell, Raven,” he warned.

 
          
“I
didn’t tell the fool to fire. Yo’re takin’ a high hand, but yore neck ain’t
outa the noose yet. We’re four to one, I reckon, an’ if it comes to a
showdown—”

 
          
“This
town’ll need a nice new graveyard.”

 
          
The
saloonkeeper gave a gesture of impatience. “Yu’ve told us a lot we knew afore,”
he said. “What’s yore point?”

 
          
“Just
this, Raven,” Green said meaningly. “Yu an’ this fella I’ll call Sudden the
Second both had the same wrong description o’ my hoss, an’ every crime he
committed around here has been to yore benefit.”

 
          
“Then
I oughta be mighty obliged to yu—Sudden,” the saloonkeeper sneered.

 
          
There
was laughter at this, but it was by no means general and Raven began to realize
that he was losing ground. He stood up.

 
          
“All
these hints an’ suspicions don’t prove anythin’,” he said. “Yo’re just ryin’ to
blind yore own trail. If Potter could on’y speak—”

 
          
“Potter
won’t ever speak again,” interrupted a new voice, that of the little doctor,
who had just come in.

 
          
Green
turned quickly. “Shore o’ that?” he asked.

 
          
“I
think I know a corpse when I see one, seh,” Pills returned stiffly. “Potter’s
as dead as Pharaoh.”

 
          
“Sorry,
doc, I warn’t doubtin’ yore ability, but it may make a difference,” the late
marshal smiled. “I’m hopin’ yu’ll do me a favour.”

 
          
The
medico, who was already busy bandaging Leeson’s wound, looked up with a
whimsical grin. “So long as you make work for me instead of the undertaker I
can’t very well refuse,” he said.

 
          
The
job finished, he listened to Green’s whispered instructions, nodded his head,
and went out.

 
          
In
the dance-hall men waited, wondering what new development the
doctor’s errand
portended. Muttering voices, shuffling feet,
and an occasional hoarse laugh accentuated the silence. Curious eyes travelled
from one to the other of the principal actors. Raven, leaning back in his
chair, lit a cigar and affected an air of derision. Actually, he was uneasy. He
knew that Green’s indictment had damaged him, that some of his supporters now had
doubts, and, for all his hatred, cursed him for coming back.

 
          
He
looked at Green, lounging easily against the wall, gun dangling from his right
hand.

 
          
Certainly
he appeared the least concerned of any; but for all this seeming indifference
he was on the alert—not a movement escaping him. He knew perfectly well that
most of those present were still hostile, that in their eyes he was an outlaw;
only the production of the real criminal would exonerate him, and he was taking
no chances of another treacherous attempt to shoot him down.

 
          
What
secret the dead banker had left behind he did not know, but he was gambling
that it referred to Raven. If it did not, he lost, and—

 
          
The
return of the doctor stilled all tongues. Green took the envelope the little
man handed to him and held it up.

 
          
“A
while ago,” he said, “Potter asked me to take charge o’ this, makin’ me promise
that nobody should see or hear of it till the breath was out of his body.
That’s all I know about it. I’m askin’ the doc. to open it.”

 
          
Utter
silence reigned as Pills tore off the outer cover, disclosing another. “It
says, ‘Not to be opened until I am dead,’ and is signed and dated,” he informed
them. “Come here, Inky.”

 
          
The
bank-clerk, whose baptismal name of Binks had thus been corrupted, shuffled
forward. “That’s old Potter’s fist shore ‘miff,” he pronounced. “An’ that’s his
private seal.”

 
          
Pills
nodded his satisfaction. “Having proved the authenticity of the document, is it
the wish of the meeting that I make known the contents?” he enquired.

 
          
Cries
of “Let her rip, doc,” and “Spill the beans,” came from all parts of the room;
curiosity had the men by the ears. Raven alone appeared not to share it, a
sneer of indifference masking his real feelings. Carefully Pills split the
second envelope, drew out a folded paper, and began to read:

 
          
“‘I,
Lemuel Potter, write this statement in order that, should I die, the designs of
a scoundrel may be frustrated. I have deposited it with Marshal Green,
believing him to be an honest man.’”

 
          
Several
of the audience laughed at this, and even Green himself could not repress a
clipped smile. A sharp word from the doctor restored the quiet.

 
          
“‘Years
ago I was head cashier in an Eastern city bank. Bitten with the get-rich-quick
mania, I speculated and got into difficulties. To meet my losses I forged
cheques—I was always clever with my pen—hoping, as many a poor fool has done,
that the luck would change. I got deeper in the mire. When discovery became
imminent I determined to rob the bank and fly. The night watchman caught me
rifling the safe; I struck harder than I intended and—killed him. For many
months I dodged from place to place, a hunted fugitive, and eventually I came
to Lawless and began my life anew. I thought I had escaped punishment, but
alas!
it
was only about to commence. An old
news-sheet, containing an account of the crime and a portrait, put one man here
in possession of my secret, and from that moment existence became a hell. This
soulless devil forced me to participate in the crimes prompted by his lust for
power. To commit these with impunity, he hit upon the idea of masquerading as a
notorious outlaw and made me obtain a description of this fellow’s horse. In
the hope of tripping him I altered one detail. He did the deeds of violence
attributed to Sudden, and shot Anthony Sarel. Secure in his knowledge that I
dare not betray him, he boasted to me of his acts. His manner lately has been
sinister, threatening, and I know that he will kill me when I have served my
purpose. The mortgage on the Double S ranch is a forgery he compelled me to
fabricate. The name of this fiend is Seth Raven, and may the curse of a wretch
he has driven to despair follow him to hell—and after.

 
          
“‘Lemuel
Potter.’ ”

 
          
A
long, breathless pause followed as the doctor’s voice died out, and all eyes
turned to the man sitting on the platform. Hunched in his seat, Raven had
listened to the terrible indictment with the face of a stone image, cold,
impassive. Now he stood up and—laughed.