Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (12 page)

 
          
“Shore
is, if he’d come ten mile to bring a bit o’ local gossip,” Dan said ironically.

 
          
“There
was somethin’ else; he said yu might find it worthwhile to make the
acquaintance o’ the new bank manager—soon.”

 
          
—“What
the devil—”

 
          
“That’s
all he would say, but in yore place I’d take the advice. Malachi ain’t a fool,
‘cept to hisself.”

 
          
Dan
gave in. “I’ll ride over in the mornin’.”

 
          
“He
also mentioned that the dance is bein’ organized by Zeb Trenton, to introduce
his niece,” Sudden went on.

 
          
The
young man’s face flushed furiously. “Then the Circle Dot ain’t attendin’,” he
grated.

 
          
“That’ll
disappoint the boys an’ put us in wrong with everybody,” the foreman dissented.

 
          
“He’s
right, Dan,” Sudden supported. “Yu can’t afford to stay away.”

 
          
“Damnation,
whose side are you on?” Dover asked irritably.

 
          
“Yores,
an’ I made it plain to Trenton yestiddy when he offered me double pay to ride
for him,” was the pointed reply.

 
          
“He—did—that?
An’ you sent him packin’? I’m sorry, Jim; I’m a sore-headed bear, these days.”

 
          
“Don’t
need talkin’ about. He put it that he owed me somethin’.”

 
          
“Imagine
a Trenton sufferin’ from gratitude! All he wanted was to take a good man from
me.”

 
          
“The
dance is also to serve as a welcome for another newcomer—the bank fella,” the
puncher added.

 
          
“That
settles it—we just gotta be there,” Burke said. “Yorky must ‘a’ had early news
o’ the party—he’s all dressed up a’ready, an’ got the boys guessin’.”

 
          
“I
saw him as I rode in, struttin’ around like a young turkey gobbler,” Dan
smiled.
“Yore doin’, I s’pose, Jim?”

 
          
“Part
o’ the cure,” Sudden replied.

 
          
In
the private office of the bank Dover sat facing the manager, a smallish,
undistinguished person, nearing fifty, with thinning hair, and pale, spectacled
eyes.

 
          
“I
wasn’t meaning to trouble you yet, Mister Dover, in view of your bereavement,”
he said. “But I’m glad you came in; I wanted to see you.”

 
          
“About anythin’ in particular?”

 
          
“Er,
yes. Are you acquainted with the state of your father’s finances?”

 
          
“No.
Dad was allus kind o’ secretive, an’ I ain’t had time to look over his papers.”

 
          
“Quite so.
Well, Mister Dover, when I examined the books of
this bank I was amazed and even alarmed by the amount owing to it by the local
cattlemen.
” .

 
          
“You
tellin’ me the Circle Dot
is
one of ‘em?”

 
          
“Not
only one, but the most deeply involved.”

 
          
At
this moment the door opened and a young, fair-haired girl stepped in. “Oh,
Dad,” she began, and stopped. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had a visitor.”

 
          
“My
only child, Kate, Mister Dover,” the banker explained. The young man stood up,
shook hands, murmured, “Pleased to meetcha,” and the girl withdrew, but not
without a challenging glance of approval at the rancher.

 
          
“What’s
the position?” Dan asked.

 
          
“We
hold a mortgage on your ranch for forty thousand dollars,”
came
the reply.

 
          
Dan
jerked upright, his eyes large. “The hell you say?” he gasped.
“Forty thousand?
That’s a jag o’ money.”

 
          
“Much more than we can afford to lose.
I understand the
cattle business has been bad for some years.”

 
          
“You
won’t lose a cent,” Dover asserted. “There’s better times right ahead.”

 
          
“Mister
Trenton, whose experience you must allow, doesn’t share your views about that.”

 
          
Dan’s
face darkened. “How came the Wagon-wheel into this?” He put a question.

 
          
“It
is our rule never to disclose information about a client,” Maitland said
pompously.

 
          
“Then
Trenton
don’t
know about the Circle Dot?”

 
          
A
second’s hesitation, and then, “Not from us, Mister Dover,”
came
the denial.

 
          
Watching
the weak, irresolute features, Dan knew the words were untrue. Long years of
sitting on a stool, adding up figures, had given the man a position of some
responsibility, but not the knowledge to use it. He would bully those beneath
him, and be servile to his superiors, and of the latter he would regard Trenton
as one.

 
          
“What
do you want me to do?” he asked.

 
          
“The
mortgage expires in a little less than two months, and as I am convinced our
Head Office will not consider a renewal, it must be paid off.”

 
          
“An’
failin’ that?”

 
          
The
banker lifted his shoulders. “We have the power to sell.”

 
          
To
all the young man’s arguments that a forced sale would not produce even the
amount of the debt, let alone the value of the ranch, and that, by waiting, the
banker would get the whole sum due, he shook a stubborn head. He had the
interests of his employers to consider; his predecessor had been unwise; he was
sorry, and so on.

 
          
Dover
listened with a set jaw; he knew the mean, warped little soul was joying in the
possession of authority for the first time. Mechanically he took the flabby
hand extended when he rose.

 
          
“I
shall hope to see you at the dance,” Maitland said. “A very kindly thought on
the part of Mister Trenton. It will give me an opportunity of meeting our
customers in a more congenial atmosphere than that of an office. My wife and
daughter will appreciate it.”

 
          
Dan
gave a non-committal answer, went out, and proceeded to the Parlour. Bowdyr was
alone—yesterday’s patrons were sleeping it off, and to-day’s had not yet begun
to come in.

 
          
“Where’s
Malachi?” the rancher enquired.

 
          
“At
the opposition joint, I expect,” Bowdyr grinned. “He’s an odd mixture: allus
pays cash here, but runs an account there—sez he’d hate to die in my debt, but
it would cheer his last moments to remember that he owed Sody ‘bout a million
dollars. You want him?”

 
          
“I
want a drink more—a big one.”

 
          
The
saloonkeeper looked at him keenly. “What’s the trouble, boy?” he asked, pushing
forward bottle and glass. Dan swallowed a hearty gulp of the spirit, and then
told the story. Ben’s face grew graver as he listened.

 
          
“Hell!”
he said, when all was told. “I knowed the Ol’ Man was up agin it, but never
suspicioned it was that bad. An’ you think Trenton knows?”

 
          
“Shorely,”
Dan replied. “He’d milk that money-grubber dry. I’ve gotta raise that coin
somehow, Ben, or he’ll buy the Circle Dot for half its value.”

 
          
“Well,
Dan, any help I can give is yourn, but pore times in the cattle trade hits me
too,”

 
          
Bowdyr
said.

 
          
“I
know that, Ben, an’ thanks, but this is my job.”

 
          
The
entry of Malachi put an end to the conversation. He appeared to be sober, and
helped himself to an unusually modest dose of his customary tipple.

 
          
“I’m
obliged for yore message, Doc,” the rancher said. “You’ve seen Maitland? What’s
your opinion of him?”

 
          
“I
think he’s taken the place of a better man.”

 
          
“Yes,
it was an unlucky day for Rainbow when Lawson elected to go back East,” the
doctor agreed. “This fellow has always had a boss; he’ll find one here.”

 
          
“He’s
done that a’ready,” Dan said bitterly. “Though mebbe he ain’t aware of it yet.”

 
          
Malachi
nodded. “Trenton gets the town to give a dance in his niece’s honour, an’ tells
Maitland it’s for him.” He laughed wryly. “Clever devil; wonder how much he
owes the bank?”

 
          
“I
dunno, but I’d like to,” Dan said. “
You goin’
to this
festive gatherin’?”

 
          
“I
might. I’m told the girl is pretty. Have you seen her?”

 
          
“Yeah,
she has looks,” Dover admitted, and left soon after. “He’s missin’ his dad,”
Bowdyr remarked.

 
          
Malachi
nodded agreement. “Ought to take more liquor; drink is the sovereign cure for
depression, old settler; lifts a man to Paradise—”

 
          
“
An
’ drops him in hell next mornin’,” the saloonkeeper
finished. “You can’t tell me, Doc; I sell it.”

 
          
Dover
spoke little during the evening meal, but afterwards, when he joined Sudden and
Burke at the fireside—for the nights were chilly—he shared the burden which had
been on his mind all day. The effect on the foreman was shattering.

 
          
“Goda’mighty,
Dan, it can’t be true,” he cried. “Them bank sharks must be framin’ you.”

 
          
“I
saw the deed,” the rancher replied. “It’s straight enough.

 
          
We
have to pay up, or let Trenton grab the Circle Dot.”

 
          
“Is
the Wagon-wheel in debt to the bank?” Sudden asked.
“Shore to
be, but not up to the neck, as we are.”

 
          
“Then
they won’t find it easy to put up the price.”

 
          
“Not
unless Garstone can get it back East.”

 
          
“That’ll
take time, an’ gives us a fightin’ chance to heat ‘em to it,” the puncher
responded.

 
          
“Mebbe
if yu reduced the amount …”

 
          
“I
offered that, but he wouldn’t listen. Trenton has painted a pretty gloomy future
for cattle.”

 
          
“Awright,
we gotta make it so—for him,” Sudden said grimly. “Meanwhile, we’d better keep
this to ourselves; sometimes there ain’t safety in numbers. Yu got anythin’ in
mind, Dan?”

 
          
“Yeah, but it’s such a long shot that—well, it’ll sound hopeless.”

 
          
“Long
shots come off—times.”

 
          
The
rancher pondered for a moment, and then, “Bill, you’ll have heard o’ Red Rufe’s
Cache?”