Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (17 page)

 
          
“Say,
ain’t I in on this, Jim?” Yorky ventured to ask.
“I could hold
th’ hosses.”

 
          
Sudden’s
shake of the head was definite. “No, yu’ve done yore share, an’ we’re all
mighty obliged, but there’ll be a lot o’ hard an’ fast ridin’ tomorrow mornin’.
Time’ll come when yu can keep up with the best of us; just now, patience is
yore strong suit. An’ mind, not a word.”

 
          
“I
get yer, Jim,” the boy replied. “I’m a clam.”

 
          
Early
next morning the three conspirators devoured a substantial breakfast, saddled
their mounts and, in the grey light of the dawn, disappeared in the direction
of Sandy Bend. They did not follow the regular trail, having no desire to be
observed, or to visit the town itself. This meant a loss of time and speed, but
was necessary, since to run into the Wagon-wheel men would be fatal to the
success of their plan.

 
          
Leaving
the Circle Dot range at the eastern limit, they plunged into an almost
trackless waste of broken country, the natural difficulties of which made
anything in the nature of a direct course impossible, but all three were expert
in the art of breaking a trail, and having started in good time there was no
need to force the pace.

 
          
The
foreman led the way, and though they were often driven wide of their line, his
sense of direction brought them back to it. Nature was awake, birds whistled
and called, and in the undergrowth they could hear the stealthy movements of
unseen denizens of the woods. Riding in single file, they spoke seldom; each of
them was dwelling on the part he had to play; a slip might result in unpleasant
consequences. The morning air felt chill on their faces, but the
slowly-mounting sun would soon bring more heat than was comfortable.

 
          
At
the end of several hours, the leader called a halt and got down. Pointing to a
sharp ridge on their right, he said:

 
          
“Oughta be able to git a glimp o’ the Bend from up there.
I’ll take a peep—better he
shore
than sorry.”

 
          
He
trudged away, and they presently saw him come into view on the peak of the
height.

 
          
He
was soon back, a grin of satisfaction on his face. He waved a hand to the
right.

 
          
“The
Bend is over there, so we’re pointin’ slap on the target,” he said, and with a
glance at his watch, “Time a-plenty, too.”

 
          
“An’
it’s a good place for the purpose, is it, Bill?” Dover queried.

 
          
“Couldn’t
‘a’ found a better if I’d bin Jesse James hisself,” Burke assured him.

 
          
Another
five miles brought them to a small forest of pines, and threading their way
through the slim, straight trunks they came to a strip of thick bush, on the
other side of which ran a single line of railroad. They pulled up where the
matted foliage of the trees afforded deep shadow.

 
          
“Here
she is,” the foreman said, unstrapping a small axe from behind his saddle.

 
          
“No
need for that, Bill,” Dan said. “That windfall will serve our purpose.”

 
          
A
rope was tied to the prostrate tree, and one of the horses dragged it to the
side of the line. The three men then lifted and laid it across the rails.

 
          
“They’ll
have to get down
to shift
her,” Sudden said. “Yu’ll
take charge o’ them, Bill, while I deal with the passengers, an’ Dan attends to
the baggage-car. We’ll spread along, keepin’ in the bushes till the train
stops. No shootin’, ‘less yu have to, an’ then—miss.”

 
          
The
horses were concealed in a group behind the brush, and tied, in case the noise
of the locomotive should startle them. Burke consulted his watch again.

 
          
“She’s
liable to be here any time now,” he said. “Better pull down the blinds an’ git
to our stations.”

 
          
With
faces masked by bandanas in which eye-holes had been cut, and hat-brims drawn
low down, they looked at one another and laughed.

 
          
“Shore
does make a difference,” Sudden admitted. “I wouldn’t trust either o’ yu with
ten cents.”

 
          
“Funny
what a sense o’ security that bit o’ rag gives you,” Dover reflected aloud. “I
was feelin’ a mite nervous about the job, but it’s all gone.”

 
          
“Me,
I’ll be glad when it’s over,” the foreman confessed. “Our
intentions
is
good, but we’re bustin’ the law all to bits.”

 
          
A
puff of smoke down the line sent them under cover; the train was coming.
Laboriously it approached, rumbling along the rails, belching white clouds, and
then, with a screeching of brakes, slowed and stopped. The driver thrust his
head out of the cab and stared at the obstruction.

 
          
“Hey,
Luke, there’s a blame’ tree in the road,” he called. “We’ll hey to git down an’
shift her.”

 
          
Clumsily
the two men clambered out and moved to the front of the engine. At the same
moment, a masked figure stepped from the bushes and, in a gruff voice, said:

 
          
“Put
‘em up, boys, an’ you won’t git hurt.”

 
          
A
levelled revolver, held in a steady hand, added weight to the command, and the
railwaymen had no thought of disobeying. As their hands reached for the sky,
the driver spoke:

 
          
“The pot’s yourn, Mister.
I’m too wicked to die—yet.”

 
          
The
train-robber grinned beneath his mask but made no reply. He had done his part,
and was wondering how his friends were faring. Actually, they had picked their
places to a nicety.

 
          
The
conductor, thrusting out his head to discover the reason for an unusual halt,
nearly collided with the muzzle of a six-shooter.

 
          
“Shut
yore trap an’ do just what I tell yu,
or .”
The
threatening gesture was unnecessary—the conductor’s pay did not justify
heroism. He fell back, and allowed the possessor of the weapon to board the
train. The man handed him a small leather sack.

 
          
“Collect
all the cash an’ valuables in the coach, startin’ with yore own,” he was told.
“I’m just behind yu, an’ if there’s any funny business, yu won’t be here to
laugh.
Sabe?”

 
          
Evidently
the conductor did, for he emptied his pockets with alacrity, and then entered
the coach. There were only half-a-dozen passengers, and every one of them
protested, but the sight of the sinister figure stalking behind him silenced
all argument. But, as Sudden afterwards related, “What they were to do to the railroad
company would—put it outa business.”

 
          
When
the ordeal was completed, and it did not take long, the bandit took the bag,
stepped to the end of the coach, and addressed his victims:

 
          
“Listen,
folks. When yu reach Sandy Bend, go to the
bank ,n’
yu’ll get back yore property.

 
          
This
ain’t a real stick-up we’re doin’ it to win a wager, but—don’t try no tricks,
‘cause that’ll make it serious.” As he descended from the train, he motioned
the conductor to follow. “I’ve told those people the truth, but I’m keepin’ yu
covered till my friend has finished.”

 
          
A moment.
later
Dan appeared, a
corded, wooden box under one arm. He had experienced no difficulty—the
baggage-man also was too sinful, or poorly-paid, to risk his life.

 
          
Moreover,
he had no knowledge as to the value of the purloined box, which, with some
sacks of flour, comprised all his charge. So, white-faced, he watched the
marauders vanish into the undergrowth. After all, the banker at Sandy Bend
could afford to buy more gun-fodder, for the box—addressed to him—was labelled,
“Handle with care.
Cartridges.”

 
          
Sudden
read the inscription and laughed grimly. “Golden bullets, but they won’t be
fired at the Circle Dot. Well, boys, we’ve done fine, but the job ain’t
finished; I’ve gotta get the plunder to the Bend an’ beat the train. I reckon
Nigger an’ me can make it. Yu two point for home.” They demurred a little at
this, but he would not listen. “We settled it thataway,” he reminded. “I ain’t
knowed there an’ yu are.”

 
          
Rolled
in his slicker, the box and leather bag were roped to his saddle, and just as
the engine-driver and his mate pushed the obstruction clear of the line, he set
out.

 
          
The
train resumed its interrupted journey, the occupants excitedly discussing the
incident, and speculating on the possibility of recovering what they had lost.
The conductor was disposed to a sanguine view.

 
          
“No
sense in tellin’ us that if it ain’t so,” he said. “
We
couldn’t do nothin’,
an’ it’s just the sort o’ mad caper them cowboys
would indulge in on a dare.
Anybody out much?”

 
          
“My
wallet contains two hundred dollars I’ll be glad to see again,” a passenger
replied.

 
          
Smaller
amounts of currency, rings, and watches were claimed by the rest, and when the
conductor stated that the baggage-car contained only sacks of meal and a box of
cartridges, an atmosphere of optimism developed.

 
          
“If
they’re winning a worthwhile sum—and they must be to risk a long term of
imprisonment—they’ll play safe and return the booty,” the largest loser argued.
“We’ll know soon.”

 
          
But
their troubles were not yet over, for after travelling another five miles, the
train slowed down and stopped with a jerk. The conductor stuck his head
out—cautiously this time, and promptly drew it in again.

 
          
“Damn
me if there ain’t another tree on the line,” he said. “What’s the game? We got
nothin’ more for ‘em.”

 
          
The
bewildered passengers heard a sharp order, accented by a rifle-shot, which
brought the two men on the engine tumbling hastily to the ground, hands in the
air. The tall, heavily-built cowboy who had given it slanted his smoking weapon
on them, and said warningly:

 
          
“Stay
put if you want to go on living.”

 
          
Stealing
a glance back along the line they could see that the previous procedure was
again in operation; two other men, masked and with drawn pistols, had boarded
the train.
In vain the conductor—who at once realized that
these were not the same visitors—tried to explain.

 
          
“Yo’re
too late, Mister, them other fellas has beat you to it; we’re cleaned
complete.”

 
          
The
bandit pushed the gun in his face. “What other fellas?” he barked. “Talk fast,
or by the Devil’s teeth …”

 
          
The
trembling man talked fast, and called upon his passengers to support his story
by an ocular demonstration—their empty pockets. The recital did not improve the
intruder’s temper.

 
          
“Can
you describe ‘em?” he asked.

 
          
The
conductor’s reply was hardly helpful. “They
was
cowboys seemin’ly, with their faces covered. Said they on’y did it to win a
bet, an’ we’d git our stuff back at the Bend.”

 
          
The
stranger laughed sneeringly. “An’ on the strength of a lie like that you let
‘em git away with it, you lousy cowards.” He backed out of the coach, with a
parting threat that anyone who stirred would be shot.