Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) (19 page)

 
          
Another
half-dozen shots followed, thudding into the slope in front of them.

 
          
“Hank
is gettin’ peevish,” Sudden grinned. “It ain’t goin’ to be
so
simple as he figured.”

 
          
Lora
did not reply. Crouched behind their rampart, she was considering her
companion. With all her experience of men, she had never met his like. His
heartless attitude still rankled though she knew that, save for
it,
they would probably be in captivity again. But he had
carried her up the slope, and at the thought her eyes softened.

 
          
He
had dared death rather than break a promise to a friend, and now, facing odds
of five or six to one, he joked. She could not fathom him. Hitherto, conquest
of the other sex had been so easy as to become almost tiresome. This man was
different.

 
          
“I
will make him care,” she promised herself. “Bring him to his knees, and then—laugh.”

 
          
She
watched him, prone on the ground, peering between two chunks of stone, his
lean, brown face alight with interest,
the
keen eyes
never still.

 
          
“If
I had my rifle I’d make them reptiles hunt their holes mighty rapid,” he
remarked. His pistol exploded and a man who had incautiously shown himself
jumped from his dropping mount and shook a curious fist.

 
          
“Did
you—hit one?” she asked.

 
          
“Hell,
no,” he said disappointedly. “It’s too long a range for good pistol-work.
Downed his hoss—he’ll have to hoof it if he wants to follow us.”

 
          
“More
walking?” she queried dismally.

 
          
“Shorely,
since I can’t carry yu that far an’ we ain’t got wings—yet. If we stay here
till dark they’ll creep up an’ gather us in. ‘Sides, we got no water.” Both of
them were becoming painfully aware of this fact, for the sun, a great golden
ball,
was
now well above the eastern ranges and its
rays, though still oblique, were strong enough to cause discomfort. Down in the
valleys the purple mists lingered.

 
          
“You
might have chosen a shadier place,” she pouted.

 
          
“Yeah,”
he drawled. “Or I mighta told the sun to stay put, like the gent in the Bible,
or—”

 
          
His
gun cracked again. “Tally one,” he said.

 
          
“What
do you mean?” she asked.

 
          
“Just
a term we use brandin’ cattle,” he explained. “Right now it signifies we got
one less bandit to bother about.” Callous as she
herself
could be, Lora shivered. Then she remembered that the speaker was fighting for
his life, and for her. His next remark gave her something else to think about.

 
          
“Hell!
Here they come.” Either the loss had exasperated the attackers or they realized
that a bold policy only was likely to be successful, for they suddenly burst
from the brush and raced towards the ridge, yelling and shouting. There were
five of them.

 
          
Sudden,
on his knees, both guns out, waited until they were half-way, and then, with
inconceivable rapidity, the hammers rose and fell, sending out a staccato
stream of crashes like a roll of thunder. Two of the ponies went down and the
rider of one lay still; the second lighted on his feet, to turn and bolt before
that death-storm of lead. The other three, one of whom was swaying in his
saddle, promptly followed his example. Sudden watched till he saw them far up
the hill.

 
          
“They’ve
skedaddled,” he said.

 
          
Lora
rose and looked down the slope. The dead
man,
grotesquely
sprawled in the sunshine, and the two horses, wereall she saw. One of the
animals was making futile efforts to stand up. The cowboy fired and the poor
brute sank down. The seemingly wanton act jarred her frayed nerves.

 
          
“Haven’t
you shed enough blood?” she asked bitingly.

 
          
He
looked at her levelly. “I’m fond o’ horses. That one had a broken leg. Have yu
ever seen how buzzards treat a wounded beast? They pick out the eyes
first ”

 
          
“Don’t
tell me,” she almost screamed. “Let us go.” They set out and presently found a
stream where they drank and bathed their scratched faces and hands. The water,
ice-cold from the mountains, seemed to steady the girl. She was obviously worn
out, but she made no complaint, and he could not but admire her courage. Several
times she refused his proffered help, but once, on the bank of a shallow creek,
she hesitated. Without a word, he swept her up into his arms and carried her
over.

 
          
“No
wonder they call yoù Sudden’,” she said breathlessly as he put her down again.

 
          
“They
don’t—if they like me,” he returned harshly.

 
          
They
fell into a silence which endured until he called a halt and went to climb a
hillock which would give him a wider view of the country.

 
          
“Hearney’s
Peak is over there,” he said, pointing. “Deadwood can’t be so far away; we
should make it before night. Yu can sleep for an hour. They say, ‘He who
sleeps, dines.’ ” As obedient as a child, she curled herself up on a carpet of
dry leaves and closed her eyes. Sudden lighted a cigarette and sat down to keep
watch. Lying there, one soft cheek pillowed on a palm, she looked very lovely
despite her torn garments and untended hair, but the man gave her one thought
only—“As dangerous to handle as a rattler,” and fell to studying the —to him—more
interesting problem of her brother.

 
          
When
they resumed the journey it was patent that the rest had done her good.

 
          
Peering
into a stream she caught the reflection of herself.
“Heavens!
what
a sight I am,” she ejaculated.

 
          
“I
like yu better this way,” he said bluntly, and got a quick smile of thanks.

 
          
Night
was falling when, at long last, they reached the top of the gulch and saw the
blurred string of lights which marked the town below. Both were terribly
footsore, and the woman was so completely exhausted that her companion had
almost to carry her. By keeping behind the buildings and so avoiding the
street, they managed to reach her dwelling unobserved. Spent as he was, he
would not go in.

 
          
“It
ain’t far to Jacob’s an’ the sooner yu hit yore blankets, the better,” he
excused.

 
          
“I
feel I can sleep a week,” she confessed.

 
          
“Forty
winks won’t be
no
use to me either,” he grinned. “Jim,
you’ve been splendid,” she whispered.

 
          
“Aw,
forget it,” he said uncomfortably. “Yu pulled yore weight—an’ more.”

 
          
“I’ll
always remember,” she said in a low voice. “Good night —partner.” How he
managed the final stage of the journey Sudden never quite knew. Gerry told him
afterwards that he stumbled in, wolfed a meal, gave them a brief account of his
adventures, and flinging himself on his bed, slept like a dead man.

 
          
“We
didn’t know whether yu was drunk or dreamin’,” he said. “An’
we
didn’t care neither
.”

 
          
When
Sudden awoke in the morning his first impression was that the events of the
previous day had been a nightmare, for his hands were still bound. Then he
realized that he was in his own room and that it was full of men, one of whom—a
giant known as “Husky”

 
          
Miller—was
shaking him roughly by the shoulder and telling him to get up. In the
background he could see Gerry, struggling savagely with two burly fellows who
were each gripping an arm.

 
          
Jacob
was not there. The hard, scowling faces cleared his sleep-befogged brain.

 
          
“What’s
the trouble?” he asked.

 
          
“No
trouble a-tall—it’s goin’ to be a pleasure,” was the grim retort, and some of
the men laughed. “Aimin’ to walk or have we gotta tote you?”

 
          
“What
do yu want with me?” the puncher asked quietly. “They’re intendin’ to hang yu,
Jim,” Gerry oroke in. “Yo’re accused o’ murderin’ miners while yu were away.”

 
          
“I’ve
been held prisoner in the hills the whole time,” Sudden said. “Don’t I get a
hearin’?”

 
          
“Where’s
the need?” Husky rejoined. “Why, you’re wearin’ the very duds you did the deeds
in, an’ your black’s out in the corral.”

 
          
“An’
has been there the whole while Jim was absent,” Gerry protested.

 
          
“Shut
yore face,” another man said angrily. “I dunno as you ain’t in with him; we
oughta string up the pair of you.” Sudden stood up. “Keep outa this, Gerry,” he
said, and to Husky,

 
          
“Once before yu nearly hanged an innocent man.
Yo’re goin’
to do the same again. I can prove my story if yu give me time….”

 
          
“To
git yore friends to lie for you, like yore pardner did,” chimed in a vicious
voice which somehow seemed familiar.

 
          
Sudden
looked at the speaker—youngish, black-jowled, with a cast in one eye which lent
his features a peculiarly malignant expression, but he could not place him. The
sneer evoked a chorus of approval.

 
          
“Git
on with the job—we’re wasting time,” said one. “Yeah, an’ time’s money an’ I’m
busted,” added another, at which there was a guffaw.

 
          
Unable
to resist, the prisoner found himself being hustled into the open. He had seen
mob law at work and knew that, convinced of his guilt, he was doomed unless
some miracle happened. A yell of execration from the hundreds who had been
unable to get into the cabin, greeted his appearance and men scrambled for
points of vantage to see him, though he must have been a familiar figure to
most of them. Down the street he was marched until a teamster’s wagon barred
the way.

 
          
“Take
yore beasts out, friend,” Husky said. “We’re borryin’ yore wagon for a while.”

 
          
“What
you want with it?” the fellow asked.

 
          
“Aimin’
to stretch this hombre’s neck,” the miner replied, jerking a thumb at the
condemned.
“Got no time to build a gallows.”
Willing
hands helped to unyoke the oxen and up-end the pole. Then Husky turned to the
puncher.

 
          
“Got
anythin’ to say?” he asked.

 
          
On
the morning after her return, Lora was alone in the parlour with her brother,
for, too prostrated even to eat, she had gone straight to bed on reaching home.
The relation of her experience brought a look of bewilderment to his face.

 
          
“Who
the devil can these men be?” he asked. “And what did they want with you?”

 
          
“I
don’t know, but their leader threatened to torture me to make Green tell,” she
replied.

 
          
“Snowy
keeps his tongue too well oiled,” Paul said angrily. “The man who took you was
dressed like Green and rode a black. Are you sure it was not Green?”

 
          
“Naturally,”
she said sarcastically, “since the cowboy was tied up in camp when I arrived
with my captor.”