Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (26 page)

 
          
The
same evening, the doctor visited the Parlour Saloon, as usual, but drank
nothing. He left early, and some time later rapped at the door of the Circle
Dot ranch-house. Dover opened it, and conducted the visitor to the front room,
where the rest of the
party to go into the hills were
assembled. Burke was also present, having taken his final instructions from the
owner. After greetings had been exchanged, the doctor said: “I enquired about
those two twenties, Dan; they were paid by the bank to Trenton a week ago, but
they could have changed hands more than once, so it doesn’t prove much.”

 
          
“Mebbe
it don’t, but it shore looks like he’d got news of our drive an’ hired some
scallawags to bust it,” the rancher replied. “That’s my view, an’ I’m holdin’
it till I know different.”

 
          
“He
wouldn’t risk usin’ his own men,” Burke contributed. “I’m obliged, Doc. Got all
you need in the way o’ gear?” Dan went on, and receiving an affirmative nod,
reached a bottle from a cupboard. “We’ll have just one li’l drink to
success—it’s the last liquor we’ll see till we reach town again.”

 
          
“Leave
me out, Dan,” Malachi said quietly.

 
          
“Me
too; I don’t use it,” Yorky echoed.

 
          
They
all laughed at this, save Hunch, sitting in one corner, a big revolver thrust
through his belt, and the great axe between his knees. He took the spirit
handed to him, tipped it down his throat with a single gesture, and replaced
the glass on the table. The action was that of an automaton, no expression
showed in the blank face. The doctor was studying him curiously.

 
          
Dover
looked at the tall old grandfather clock.

 
          
“Gone
midnight, Bill,” he said.
“Might as well be on the move.”

 
          
One by one they
stole out, secured their mounts, and with
Hunch astride a huge rawboned bay as guide, and Blister, leading a pack-horse
loaded with supplies, bringing up the rear, they were swiftly merged in the
murk. Silence reigned, but for the far-off cry of a questing coyote, and the
plaintive hoot of an owl in trees they could not see. There was no moon, but
the velvet sky was pricked
with a myriad pin-points
of
light which only seemed to make the obscurity more profound. They moved slowly
but surely, the leader appearing to know his way despite the darkness. So far,
all had gone well.

 
          
But
no one of them had seen the lurking man in the shadow of the corral, who,
having watched their
departure,
ran to his hidden
horse, and stooping low over its neck, followed them.

 
          
The
first news they had of him came as a finger of flame and the crack of a rifle.
Blister reeled and would have fallen but for the quick clutch of the rider next
him, Tiny. Sliding to the ground, the big cowboy lifted the hurt man down and
laid him on the turf. Sudden raced in the direction from which the shot
appeared to have come; nothing was to be seen, but he could hear the
diminishing beat of hooves.

 
          
“On’y
one of ‘em,” he muttered, and returned to his friends.

 
          
Malachi,
by the light of an improvised torch, was making an exclamation. “Bullet struck
the thigh and went through,” he said. “Nice clean wound, but it will keep you
on your back for some weeks, my lad. Give me some water.” A canteen provided
this, and he washed and deftly bandaged the injury. “He’ll have to go back to
the ranch.”

 
          
“Shore,
one of us will take him,” Dover agreed.

 
          
“Aw,
Boss, there ain’t no need,” Blister protested. “Doe’s fixed my pin fine, an’ I
can make it; I ain’t
no
kid. It’s just too
bad,
missin’ the trip, damn the luck.”

 
          
“I’ll
go tuck him in his li’l cot, an’ catch you up,” Tiny offered.—

 
          
“You
won’t know the way, an’ if that snipin’ houn’ has gone to wise up the
Wagon-wheel, we can’t afford to wait,” the rancher said perplexedly.

 
          
“I
don’t want no nussin’, specially from a ham-handed freak,” Blister declared.
“Lift me into the saddle an’ Paddy will be loadin’ steak an’ fried into me in
less’n an hour.”

 
          
Tiny
obeyed, adding solicitously, “Rest all yore weight on the sound leg.”

 
          
“Awright,
Solomon. Which rein do I pull if I wanta go left?”

 
          
“Neither
of ‘em; you just naturally jump off, pick the hoss up an’ point him that way. Gwan—an’
take care o’ yoreself,” Tiny chuckled.

 
          
They
watched him start, sitting straight up, but they could not see the lean brown
hands clutching the saddle-horn, nor the clamped teeth as the throbbing pain of
a damaged limb increased with every movement of his mount. Dan was anxious.

 
          
“Think
he’ll be all right, Phil?” he asked. “I’d sooner lose the damn ranch than
anythin’ should happen to Blister.”

 
          
“He’ll
get there,” Malachi said confidently. “He’s got grit, that boy.”
And added, under his breath, “He makes me ashamed.”

 
          
Zeb
Trenton was awakened early by the announcement that a visitor was waiting to
see him on urgent business. Going down to his office, he found Garstone, Bundy,
and the bearded man from the Bend, whom he greeted with a frown.

 
          
“Well,
Lake, you’ve been long enough comin’ to report,” he said aggressively.

 
          
“I’d
nothin’ but bad news to bring,” was the sullen answer. “So you failed?”

 
          
“You
can call it that. We stampeded the herd awright, but the beasts were too tired
to run far or scatter enough. The punchers rounded ‘em up again, an’ they got
one of us Benito.”

 
          
Trenton
shrugged impatiently—the passing from life of a Greaser was of little moment to
him. “Well?” he snapped.

 
          
“Havin’
lost the cattle, we decided to try for the money on the back trip,” Lake
proceeded.

 
          
“I
went on to the Bend, figurin’ to shadow Dover an’ give the boys word. It didn’t
work out thataway.” He paused for a second or two, and then, in a voice which
dripped venom, he told of the trick Sudden had played on him, and the
subsequent abortive ambush. “Two of our chaps
was
crippled, an’ by the bastard who tied me up, a prisoner in a damned hotel bedroom
for half a day—tall black-haired cowpunch, with a coupla guns. I’m a prompt
payer, an’ I meant to git that hombre, so I goes to the Circle Dot an’ lays for
a chance.”

 
          
“Don’t
tell me you downed him,” Bundy said. “He’s my meat.”

 
          
“He’s
still yores—if I don’t see him first,” Lake replied. “I didn’t have an
openin’—too many others around, but just after midnight I got on to somethin’ I
figured might interest you: Dover an’ six more, with a pack animal, sneaked
away from the ranch-house an’ headed for the Cloudy country. I follered, an’
sent ‘em a slug for luck; nailed one, for shore, but I’ll bet it warn’t the
perisher I was after.”

 
          
The
effect of his news was electrical. Trenton’s face grew purple, as he rose to
his feet and stamped with rage. “Blast them, they’ve diddled us an’ got a
start,” he cried.
“You any good at trailin’, Lake?”

 
          
“I
can read sign better’n most,” was the modest answer. “We’ll take you with us;
you’ll be well paid, an’ have an opportunity of wipin’ out your score against
Green. Is every thin’ ready, Bundy? Right, we set out as soon as we’ve eaten.”

 
          
In
less than two hours they were on their way. Avoiding Rainbow, they cut across
the wagon-road leading to the Circle Dot, forded the river, and rode in the
direction of Dover’s western boundary. Presently they came to the spot where
Lake had ceased his spying. It was daylight now, and the marks of a group of
horses were easy to find. Lake pointed exultantly to some burnt-out matches,
and a smear of blood on the grass.

 
          
“Told
you I got one,” he cried. His eyes swept the ground. “On’y winged him,
seemin’ly—they sent him back. Well, that’s one less to deal with.”

 
          
Trenton
asked a question. “We’ll catch ‘em whenever you say,” was the confident reply.

 
          
“We
don’t want to,” the rancher warned. “An’ it is important that they shouldn’t
know we’re followin’ them.”

 
          
“I
get you; tailin” ‘em will be just too easy,” the fellow sneered.
“These cowthumpers don’t know nothin’ ‘bout hidin’ tracks.”

 
          
There
he was wrong, for one of the despised “cowthumpers”—to which class he himself
once belonged and disgraced—had the redskin’s skill in detecting or concealing
a trail. Sudden’s childhood had been spent with an old Piute horse-dealer, who,
in his sober hours, taught him the craft of his race. The puncher had never
forgotten that early upbringing which, on more than one occasion, had stood him
in good stead.

 
          
A
mile or so later, the leader halted, and when Trenton wanted the reason, had to
admit that the tracks had ceased on the edge of a small stream. Obviously the
quarry had taken to the water.

 
          
“No
call for that if they don’t know we’re follerin’,” Lake grumbled.

 
          
“O’
course they know,” Bundy said. “You told ‘em yoreself when you fired that fool
shot.” He did not approve of the man’s inclusion in the party.

 
          
“How
the devil was I to guess what was afoot?” Lake threw back.

 
          
A
search of the banks of the stream in both directions resulted in the trail
being again picked up, but not until considerable time had been consumed. A
recurrence of these delays at frequent intervals soon showed that they were not
accidental.
and
drew another caustic comment from the
foreman.

 
          
“I’d
say there’s a cowthumper ahead who’s smarter at blindin’ tracks than you are at
findin’ ‘em,” he jeered. “Is there anythin’
yo’re
good
at?”

 
          
The
little man glared at him through reptilian, half-lidded eyes. “Yeah, killin’
vermin,” he said quietly.

 
          
Garstone
had early attached himself to Miss Trenton, and if he admired the trim figure
in its neat riding-suit, the skirt reaching only to the tops of her high boots
with their dainty silver-spurred heels, and the soft grey hat above the ebon
curls, she too could not but admit that he looked well on horseback. As usual,
he was carefully dressed: his cord breeches, top boots, loose coat, and soft
silk shirt and tie, lent him distinction among the roughly-garbed others of her
escort. She was full of curiosity about the expedition, for her uncle had told
her little.

 
          
“Why
do we have to wait about like this?” she asked, while the trail was being found
again. “I understood it was to be just a pleasure trip.”

 
          
“Business
and pleasure, especially the latter, for me,” Garstone smiled. “The fact is,
Miss Trenton—and I tell you this in confidence—we are on a treasure hunt.”

 
          
“Really?”
she cried.
“But how exciting. “
What form does the
treasure take?”

 
          
“We
don’t know—gold, money, or jewels, maybe all three. It is reputed to have been
hidden somewhere in these hills by an outlaw named Red Rufe.”

 
          
“What
became of him?”

 
          
Garstone
shrugged. “Who knows? Probably returned to his old haunts for more plunder and
got wiped out.”