Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (16 page)

 
          
“Good
enough. Well, here’s the layout; with forty thousand we could buy the Circle
Dot an’ run it ourselves, or sell it to Zeb for fifty thousand.”

 
          
“Marvellous!
Not suggested by our talk with Trenton, of course.” His tone betrayed disgust
and disappointment.

 
          
“All
that jaw suggested to me was that we’d be fools to help another fella to a wad
o’ coin we could have ourselves,” Bundy replied.

 
          
“And,
of course, you know where to find the money?”

 
          
The
foreman was losing his patience. “The mistake you make, Garstone, is to think
eveyone else a blasted fool,” he said. “Shore I know; what’d be the sense in
talkin’ if I didn’t?”

 
          
“That
makes all the difference. Go ahead.”

 
          
“The
cash will be on the ten-fifteen from Washout tomorrow mornin’, consigned to the
bank at the Bend. It will be a small train, just the engine, one coach, an’ a
baggage-car, containing the coin.”

 
          
“Coin?
You mean bills, with the numbers known,” Garstone
commented.
“Too dangerous.”

 
          
“Part
of it’ll be paper, but by
an—
oversight—the list o’
numbers will be missin’—at the other end; that’ll cost us a thousand. The rest
will be in gold. There’ll on’y be the engine-driver, his mate, one conductor,
and the baggage-man to deal with. Three of us oughta be able to handle it.”

 
          
“Three?
Who’s the other?”

 
          
“Flint.
He gits a thousand too—that’s arranged.”

 
          
“So
we lose two thousand?”

 
          
“What
did you expect, money for nothin’?” Bundy
asked,
his
voice pregnant with contempt.

 
          
“Oh,
all right. What’s your plan?”

 
          
“Ten mile short o’ the Bend the line runs through a thick patch o’
brush an’ pine.
One o’ the trees dropped across the metals will stop the
train. You cover the driver while Flint an’
me
take up
the collection—we’ll have to skin the passengers too an’ make it look like a
reg’lar hold-up. O’ course, we cut the wires first.”

 
          
“My
size is rather outstanding,” Garstone objected.

 
          
“We’ll
all be masked, an’ dressed in range-rig, nobody’d reckernize you. I’ll borrow
Jupp’s duds—he’s about yore build —an’ havin’ strained a leg at the dance”—this
with a wink—“he ain’t usin’ ‘em.”

 
          
“Well,
it certainly sounds feasible,” Garstone admitted. “Feasible?” the foreman
echoed ironically. “Why, it’s cash for just stoopin’ down.”

 
          
“Not
much of a stoop for you, perhaps, but it’s a hell of a one for me, Chesney
Garstone,” was the reply. “However, the opportunity is there, and must be taken
advantage of. By the way, what did Zeb expect to find at the Circle Dot?”

 
          
“I
dunno—paper o’ some sort, but they failed, so Flint couldn’t tell me anythin’.
Trenton’s got some scheme for raisin’ the wind, but he’s pretty tight-mouthed
‘bout it.”

 
          
“We’ll
help him,” Garstone smiled. “The more money he
has,
the higher price he can pay for the Circle Dot. How did you get on to this,
Bundy?”

 
          
“I
ain’t sayin’,” the foreman replied. “You can take it the
facts
is
correct; that’s all as matters.”

 
          
They
moved away, and it was not until—peering between carefully-parted branches—he
saw them vanish among the buildings, did the boy dare to move his stiffened
limbs. Dropping to the
ground,
and bent double, he
scurried from cover to cover, and, after what seemed to him an age, reached his
pony.

 
          
“Us
fer home, Shuteye,” he gasped, as he scrambled into the saddle. “An’ we ain’t
losin’ no time neither, git me?”

 
          
Following
Sudden’s instructions, he had taken note of landmarks likely to assist him in
finding his way back, and presently came almost in sight of the ford over the
Rainbow. Here he received a fright—a horse was splashing its way through the
water. He was heading for the nearest shelter when a soft voice called, and he
saw that the rider was Miss Trenton.

 
          
“Why,
Yorky,” she smiled, as she cantered up. “Were you running away from me?”

 
          
“I
hadn’t seen yer—on’y heard
th
’ hoss,” he explained.
“It mighter bin—anyone.”

 
          
“But
surely none of our riders would harm you?” she said. “I b’long to
th
’ Circle Dot outfit—that’d be enough.”

 
          
She
shook her head, unconvinced. “Have you been to visit me?” she enquired.

 
          
Yorky’s
thin cheeks reddened. “Naw, I jus’ wanted ter see yer home.”

 
          
“And
what do you think of it?”

 
          
“Betche’d
be happier at the Circle Dot,” was the unexpected answer.

 
          
It
was now her turn to colour up, though afterwards she could not imagine any
reason for so doing. There was a trace of reproof in her reply. “Thank you, but
I am quite comfortable.”

 
          
Yorky
was not slow-witted; he saw that he had displeased her. “I warn’t meanin’ ter
be rude,” he apologized, and looked so downcast that she had to smile again.

 
          
“And
I wasn’t meaning to be cross,” she said. “So we’ll both forget it. Why did you
leave the dance so early; weren’t you having a good time?”

 
          
“The
best
ever,
an’ that goes for all of us.” He was
itching to get away; the trip had taken much longer than he had thought, and
the sooner his news was told, the better. He did not realize the full import of
what he had learned, but it was plain that a train was to be robbed and the
plunder used to obtain the Circle Dot, though how that was to be done without
the present owner’s consent was beyond his comprehension.

 
          
“Including
Mister Dover?” she asked.

 
          
“I
didn’t hear
no
complaints.”

 
          
“I
think he might have let the men stay a little longer,” she persisted.

 
          
“Dan’s
young, but he knows his job,” Yorky said loyally—even this lovely girl must not
find fault with his boss. He fidgeted in his saddle. “Guess I oughter be goin’;
I bin out all day, an’
th
’ boys’ll be worryin’; I
ain’t wise ter th’ country— yet.”

 
          
“Running
away from me again?” she teased. “Well, so long, Yorky, it is my turn to visit
you now, and perhaps I will.”

 
          
He
snatched off his hat as she moved on, and it might have pleased her to know
that it was probably the first time he had paid this tribute to a woman.

 
          
Splashing
through the ford, he thumped his unspurred heels against Shuteye’s well-padded
ribs in an effort to extract a little more speed from that lethargic but
easy-going quadruped.

 
          
“Yer
got four legs, pal—I’ve counted ‘em—use every damn one,” he urged. “If we’d met
up with a Wagon-wheeler ‘stead o’ her …”

 
          
He
reached the ranch without further interruption, and was unsaddling at the
corral when Tiny and Blister rode up.

 
          
“‘Lo,
kid, Noo York glad to see you?” the former asked.

 
          
“I
didn’t git as fur, but Rainbow is warmin’ up fer
th
’
weddin’.”

 
          
The
big man swallowed the bait. “What weddin’?”

 
          
“Yourn
an’ th’ school-marm’s,” Yorky cackled, and dodging Tiny’s grab, made for the
ranch-house. Blister’s bellow of laughter followed him.

 
          
He
entered by the back door, and the cook—noting the flushed, excited face—was
moved to comment. “Phwat hey ye been up to, ye young divil, an’ how much grub
has passed yer lips the day?”

 
          
“Oh, hell, Paddy.
Where’s Jim?”

 
          
“In
th’ front room with Dan an’—Saints, he’s gone.”

 
          
The
impetuosity which took him from the kitchen caused him to burst unceremoniously
upon the three men. They stared at him in silence for a moment, and then the
rancher said quietly:

 
          
“I
didn’t hear you knock, Yorky.”

 
          
“I’m
sorry, Boss, but I got noos, an’ it won’t keep.”

 
          
“Take
a seat an’ tell us,” Dan replied.

 
          
It
came out with a rush. Ten minutes later they had heard the story of his
adventure, minus the meeting with Miss Trenton, and were regarding the narrator
with stunned astonishment. Sudden read the minds of his companions.

 
          
“Is
this the truth, Yorky, or one o’ those fine tales yu sometimes invent to amuse
the boys?” he wanted to know.

 
          
“Cross
me heart, it’s true, Jim,” came the instant reply.

 
          
“An’
there is a ten-fifteen—I’ve travelled by it a good few times—a little train,
made up like he said,” Dan stated.

 
          
“Well,
it shore beats the band,” Burke said. “Garstone an’ Bundy doublecrossin’
Trenton; that’s a laugh I’ll enjoy.”

 
          
“I
guess not, Bill,” Dan said. “We’ve gotta stop it. With that cash they can make
a deal with Maitland, an’ we’re ditched. They wouldn’t buy till the hold-up was
stale news, or Garstone would claim to have raised funds East. Oh, it’s smart,
an’ I never suspected Bundy o’ brains.”

 
          
“There’s
more to him than
folks
aroun’ here savvy,” the foreman
replied. “Have you noticed that he never wears a glove on his right hand?”

 
          
“Gunman, huh?”
Sudden said.
“An’
advertises it.
Shucks!”

 
          
Dover,
remembering the shooting in Sandy Bend, understood the puncher’s disdain, and
smiled, but his face was soon sober again.

 
          
“Question
is, what
are we to do
?” he asked. “If we tell the
sheriff, he’ll just laugh at us, an’ that’s all; so would Trenton. We don’t
know who is sendin’ the money
so a warnin’ ain’t possible
neither
.”

 
          
“Take
some o’ the boys an’ catch ‘em in the act,” Burke suggested.

 
          
“One of ‘em might get away with the booty, an’ Foxy would turn ‘em
loose anyway.

 
          
What’s
the joke, Jim?”

 
          
For
Sudden’s eyes were twinkling like those of a, mischievous boy. “Just an idea,”
he said, and went on to tell them what it was; in a few moments they were
laughing too. “Gee!
it’d
be a great play to make,” Dan
chuckled. “But could we pull it off?”

 
          
“I’m
sayin’ we can,” Sudden replied confidently. “Why not have a shot at it—just the
three of us.”