Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) (27 page)

 
          
Moving
backwards, he could see the great, jagged rampart of rock which formed one side
of the bandit settlement, pitted with its primitive windows. Remembering that
he had buried the Mexican almost immediately below Anita’s, enabled him to
locate Satan’s quarters with some certainty. Twenty feet below, and a little to
the right, was another opening.

 
          
“That’ll
be where he had Dolver,” he reflected. “Didn’t notice any trapdoor but there
was plenty else to look at.” A third
hole
, lower, and
still further away, attracted his attention. “Reckon that’s it,” he said, and
mentally measured the distance. “She’s a seventy-foot climb, an’ I’m admittin’
a little moonlight’ll be welcome.”

 
          
For
a long time he remained, selecting a route up the rock, studying each step and
fixing them in his mind. There could be no margin for error; one slip and … At
length, satisfied he had done all that was possible, he retraced his way to the
town. The saloon-keeper had news for him.

 
          
“Silver’s
bin twice,” he said. “Dunno what he wanted.”

 
          
“The
Chief is anxious ‘bout my health, I expect,” Sudden smiled. “I’ll go an’ set
his mind at rest.”

 
          
Satan
appeared to be in a friendly mood, which put the puncher on his guard. To a careless
question as to what he had been doing he replied, “Givin’ my hoss a li’l
run—idleness don’t suit neither of us.”

 
          
“Then
you’ll be glad to hear I have some work for you. The stage from the East should
reach Red Rock before sundown tonight. It will carry forty thousand dollars in
gold consigned to the bank. About five miles short of the town the road dips
and then rises quickly where it passes through a tract of timber. There is
excellent cover; in fact, the place might have been designed for our purpose.
You understand?”

 
          
“Shorely.
Do I play a lone hand?”

 
          
“No,
Scar and his men will go with you—five should be sufficient. They have their
orders.”

 
          
Somehow,
the last four words had an ominous sound. Why had these men, with whom he had
clashed more than once, been chosen? Sudden asked himself. But if the masked
man expected protest he was disappointed.

 
          
“Suits
me,” Sudden said off-handedly. “I’ll go hunt them fellas up right away.
See yu tomorrow—mebbe.”

 
          
“Yes,”
Satan said, and when his visitor had gone, added the one word, “Maybe.”

 
          
The
puncher did not at once seek his assistants, it was early ‘
et
,
and there was time to spare. Instead, he routed out young Holt.

 
          
“Still
honin’ for a chance to get outa here?” he asked, and when he saw the eager look
come into the lad’s eyes, went on, “I’m givin’ yu one. Got a hoss? Good. Know
Red Rock?”

 
          
“On’y
where it is—never bin there.”

 
          
“Yo’re
goin’, right away, an’ when yu make it, search out the sheriff an’ tell him to
take a strong posse to meet the coach tonight ‘bout seven mile out an’ escort
her to town.
Sabe?”

 
          
Holt
looked dubious. “I ain’t stuck much on meetin’ sheriffs,” he muttered.

 
          
“Shucks,”
Sudden replied. “Yore trouble was down South, huh?
Red Rock
won’t know nothin’ of yu.
Tell ‘em yu been held prisoner by the gang
what’s aimin’ to rob the coach, an’ gettin loose, yu came to warn ‘em. They’ll
be too grateful to ask questions.”

 
          
“I’ll
risk it,” the boy said. “It’s mighty good o’ you, mister, but how’ll I get outa
Hell City?”

 
          
Sudden
gave him certain instructions and then went to the saloon, where, as he
expected, he found his men huddled round a table, drinking.

 
          
“We
start in twenty minutes from the west gate,” he said. “The main trail from
Dugout is easier,” Scar objected. “I’m handlin’ this,” the puncher replied
curtly, and went to make
his own
preparations.

 
          
“Quite
the boss, ain’t he?” Scar sneered. “Well, we can stand it for a while, seein’
it means a double-barrelled chance to pay off a score an’ collect a stake.”

 
          
“Ten
thousand bucks apiece, fair handed to us at that,” Daggs chuckled. “I can
swaller a lot o’ lip at the price.”

 
          
“Same
here,” Squint agreed. “When do we square with that—?”

 
          
“After
the stick-up, o’ course,” Scar told him. “Five ain’t too many, an’ besides, if
anythin’ goes wrong, he’s in charge an’ takes the blame.”

 
          
The
other applauded the wisdom of this course and complimented the maker of it upon
his foresight. Meanwhile, Sudden had ridden to the gate and prevailed upon the
custodian to open it on the plea that his party was late, and they had no time
to lose.

 
          
“Dunno
what’s keepin’ ‘em,” he said impatiently. “The Chief’d comb their wool good an’
plenty if he knowed.”

 
          
“Here’s
one a-comin’ now,” the man said, as Ben Holt loped up.

 
          
“He
ain’t with me, but mebbe he has a message,” Sudden replied, and swung round so
as to leave the exit clear.

 
          
Instantly
Holt put spurs to his horse, dashed through the opening, and went thundering
down the road. With an oath of dismay, the gate-man snatched out a pistol.

 
          
“Don’t
be an ass, friend,” Sudden said sharply. “D’yu wanta advertise that yu let him
pass?”

 
          
“This’ll
git me in bad,” the man said angrily.

 
          
“Shore,
if
it’s
knowed, but I ain’t yappin’ an’ if yu don’t,
who’s to guess he didn’t use the other gate?” the puncher argued. “Hello,
here’s
them loafers.”

 
          
As
Scar and his company trotted up he surveyed them with a frown. “Yo’re late,” he
snapped. “What d’yu
think
this is—a pleasure trip? Get
goin’.”

 
          
The went
out and the keeper closed and bolted the gate
behind them. “Gawd!” he soliloquized. “If I was takin’ a ride with that bunch I
wouldn’t start with fault-findin’, even if I had put Butch outa business.
No, sir.”

 
          
Outside,
Sudden had paired with Roden, telling the others to ride ahead. “We want the
shortest road to Red Rock, an’ keep yore broncs movin’,” he said, and to Scar,
“Yu know what we’re after?”

 
          
“Betcha
life—the Chief told me,” was the answer, with a sly look which had meaning for
the man at his side.

 
          
“There’s
a dip five miles east o’ the town; that’s where we strike. Know it?”

 
          
“Yeah,
it’s the very place; lots o’ cover an’ a good getaway. It’ll be the softest
thing ever.”

 
          
“No
doubt,” was the reply. “When we get there I’ll lay out a plan. For now, yu can
join yore friends.”

 
          
The
plain intimation that his presence was not desired brought a scowl to Roden’s
always unpleasant features, but he obeyed in silence, consoling himself with
the thought that it would be his turn to talk presently.

 
          
Hours
passed, spent in climbing hills, crossing streams, threading dark, winding
gulches, with every now and then, an open space where they could put on speed.
They were treading no beaten track but the leaders evidently knew their way,
wild as the country was. The puncher
followed,
eyes
and mind alert. The possibility that the ruffians might shoot him and decamp
with the spoil must, he felt sure, have occurred to the Chief. Was he prepared
to pay this price for Sudden’s death, or did he rely on the fear which he
flattered himself all his followers felt for him?

 
          
The
puncher could not answer the question. It might even be that the coach robbery
was a mere pretext to give these men their opportunity, but the covert backward
glances and intermittent burst of rude mirth were not calculated to lull him
into a sense of security. With set lips and narrowed eyes he rode on, his right
hand never far from a gun; at the first dubious sign he would slay—ruthlessly.

 
          
But
no occasion arose; the men in front pressed steadily on, seemingly intent only
on the journey. At long last, they pulled up on the edge of a pine forest, and
Scar nodded as Sudden joined them.

 
          
“Here
she is,” he said. “Take a peep through the brush an’ you’ll see the trail to
Red Rock.”

 
          
“I’m
believin’
yu,” the puncher said drily, unwilling that
his back should be a target for four guns.

 
          
It
was indeed a perfect place for an ambush; high bushes fringed the wheel-rutted
roadway, and behind them the matted foliage of the pines, defying the rays of
the sinking sun, turned daylight into darkness.

 
          
“We
can stay on our horses,” Sudden decided. “String out along the trail, an’ don’t
fire a shot till I give the word. I’ll do the talkin’.”

 
          
Half
an hour went by and but for the stamp of a restive pony and a growled curse
from its owner, there was no sound. Sudden was beginning to wonder if they had
arrived too late when the distant crack of a whip and the muffled beat of
hooves announced that the prey was heading for the trap. Presently they saw the
coach swing round a bend and
come
racing down the
slope. The puncher’s teeth shut down on an oath when he saw that there were no
attendant riders; had Holt failed?

 
          
“On’y
the express-man to deal with,” Scar chuckled. “Yu leave that to me,” Sudden
said sharply.

 
          
The
clumsy vehicle clattered down the short descent at the gallop, gathering
momentum for the coming rise, while Sudden vainly sought a way out of the
dilemma in which he found himself. He could see nothing for it but to carry out
the robbery and trust to being able to return the booty later, for to fail now
without a powerful reason would be the end of his enterprise in Hell City. By
the time he reached this decision the coach was slowing up for the climb, and
he was just about to step forward and give the command to halt when a rifle
spoke and the express messenger swayed in his seat.”Damnation!” Sudden swore.
“Who fired?”

 
          
“I
did—yo’re lettin’ ‘em git away,” Daggs replied insolently, and urged his horse
forward.
“C’mon, boys.”
The puncher’s face grew bleak.
“I’ll shoot the first man who stirs,” he threatened. “Look, yu fools.”

 
          
Round
a curve in the trail a band of eight horsemen had appeared. They had arrived on
the scene just in time to see the flash of the shot, and were now thundering at
breakneck speed for the coach, shouting and shooting as they advanced. A storm
of leaden bullets swept through the flimsy wall of brush behind which the
bandits were hidden, and Daggs, with a gasping cough, pitched sideways from his
saddle. Sudden gave him one glance.

 
          
“Cashed,”
he said. “An’ we’ll be the same ‘less we get outa
here,
an’ that soon.”

 
          
There
was no demur; the death of a comrade, the venomous hum of bullets about their
ears, and utter collapse of the enterprise had reduced the road-agents to a
state almost of panic; they had no thought but to save their skins. As they
wheeled and galloped into the gloom of the forest, they heard the crack of a
whip and the crunch of the iron tyres as the coach resumed its journey. The
fusillade ceased, to be followed by the sound of bodies moving in the brush; they
were being searched for. A couple of miles of fast riding and, the noise of
pursuit having died away, they pulled up to breathe their mounts. Scar was the
first to speak.