Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (44 page)

 
          
“Certainly,
Mister Dover, anything you say,” the banker promised eagerly, colour returning
a little to his cheeks. Garstone, slumped in his chair, brow furrowed in a
heavy frown, was silent. He had failed; just when all seemed secure, his
edifice of fraud and treachery had toppled about his ears. But something might
still be saved from the wreck. He drew himself up and looked at Trenton.

 
          
“I
want my third share of the Wagon-wheel.”

 
          
The
rancher’s clamped lips ‘writhed in a bitter smile. “Better apply to Maitland,”
he replied. “Mebbe he’ll accept yore lyin’ paper. The Wagon-wheel is no longer
mine.”

 
          
The
enormous strain to which he had subjected it was telling upon his enfeebled
body.

 
          
Beth,
now sitting beside him, put a protecting arm about the bent shoulders.

 
          
“Don’t
fret, Uncle Zeb, everything will come right,” she whispered.

 
          
Maitland,
who appeared to have recovered his poise, spoke plainly: “I shall certainly
require definite proof that the will is genuine.”

 
          
One
of the two strangers who had been chatting with Yorky pushed forward. He was a
keen-eyed, poker-faced fellow, dressed in the fashion of the big cities.

 
          
“If
it’s a question of handwriting, gents, perhaps I can help,” he said. “I’m a bit
of an expert.”

 
          
Garstone
believed he had found a friend. “I shall be indebted,” he replied, with a
marked emphasis on the last word. On receiving the document, the unknown turned
to Maitland. “You got a known specimen of the signature on this?” he enquired.

 
          
The
banker fumbled among his papers. “Here is a draft which Mister Trenton signed
in my presence.”

 
          
The
expert compared the two signatures, discussing them with his companion, who had
joined him. “I guess that settles it,” he said, handed back the draft, and put
the will in his pocket.

 
          
“Here,
I want that,” Garstone cried.

 
          
“So
do the New York police,-and they want you with it,” the man returned dryly. “So
bad, too, that they’ve sent me to fetch you.”

 
          
The
blood drained from Garstone’s face, but he made an attempt to fight the fear
which possessed him. “You are making a mistake,” he said. “I am Chesney
Garstone—”

 
          
“Yep,
that’s a swell monicker,” the man replied, and beckoned to yorky. “Now, son,
this is the guy you wrote us about, ain’t it? Tell him who he is—
he
‘pears to have forgotten.”

 
          
“Look
at that kid’s face,” one of the crowd whispered to his neighbour. “Nothin’ you
could offer him would buy this moment.”

 
          
He
was right; Yorky would not have sold it for the contents of Red Rufe’s Cache.

 
          
Pointing
to Garstone, he cried shrilly, “That’s the Penman—Big Fritz, forger
an
bank-buster. He done the Burley Bank job an’ killed the
night-watchman. I’ve seed him scores o’ times in O’Toole’s joint on
th
’ Waterfront.”

 
          
To
the breathless spectators of the scene the man seemed to become older before
their eyes; instead of a confident, bumptious bully they saw a haggard craven.
Even his voice had changed.

 
          
“He
lies, I don’t know the Waterfront. I never heard of Mike O’Toole—”

 
          
The
stranger’s laugh stopped him. “Maybe, but who told you it was Mike?” he asked.

 
          
“Well,
we all make slips, and we had you fixed anyway.”

 
          
“You
can’t arrest me here for an offence committed in another State,” Garstone said
desperately.

 
          
“That’s
my part,” the second man said. He flicked aside his coat, showing the badge of
a deputy-sheriff. “You’ll be taken to Tucson, and sent on to New
york
.”

 
          
Garstone
shuddered. There was no escape; these cold-featured men would take him away
to—death. He cursed the luck which had sent him to Rainbow; cursed that other
fugitive from the underworld who had brought about his undoing. He visioned
again the cave in the mountains, and heard a voice, “Rats has teeth, an’ can
bite.” The rat had bitten, even then, and the wound would be fatal. The thought
that this puny brat had bested him bred
a madness
in
his brain. If he must die, it should not be alone; that grinning little beast…
Livid with fury, he snatched a pistol from beneath his open coat and levelled
it at yorky’s breast.

 
          
“You
first—vermin,” he hissed.

 
          
The
words were his last mistake. Ere he could press the trigger, a gun cracked, and
he staggered, pitched sideways, and rolled off the platform, the weapon
dropping from his twitching fingers. Sudden shoved his smoking six-shooter back
into his belt.

 
          
“I
had to do it,” he said to the officers. “Yo’re journey has been wasted.”

 
          
“Oh,
I guess not,” the New Yorker replied callously. “Dead or alive was my
instructions; he’ll be less trouble in a box.” And, as the puncher turned away,
added, to his companion, “Did you see it? Hell! I’m glad they didn’t ask me to
collect him.”

 
          
In
the midst of the excitement, as the jostling crowd surged forward to get a
sight of the corpse, someone touched his elbow—a very pale and trembling Yorky.

 
          
“Say,
Mister,
d’yer think
Clancy’ll git promotion fer this?”
he questioned.

 
          
“Sure,
he won’t be a common flat-foot no more,” the man replied. “There’s a reward
too; you both ought to come in on that.”

 
          
“I
don’t want none of it—tell ‘em Clancy can have my share,” Yorky said quickly.
“He’s got a wife an’ little ‘uns. He was kind ter me. I’d like fer him to know
I’m well an’ doin’ fine.”

 
          
“I’ll
tell him my own self, son,” the detective promised, and when the boy had gone,

 
          
“Clancy
said he was a lunger, but hell, he
don’t
look it. Pity
more of our slum lads can’t git out here and have a chance of becomin’ real
men.”

 
          
Two
weeks later, Dan, following the course of the Rainbow on his way to the
Wagon-wheel, came upon two saddled ponies contentedly cropping the rich grass
of the river bank. Rounding a clump of willow, he discovered the owners,
Malachi and Kate Maitland, sitting very close together, and so completely
oblivious to the rest of the world that they failed to notice his approach.

 
          
“Space
on this range bein’ limited, folks naturally has to crowd one another,” he
mused aloud.

 
          
The
girl started, flushed, and tried to draw away, but her companion clasped her
waist more firmly, looked up, and grinned.

 
          
“Dan,
I’ve the greatest news for you,” he said. “We are to be married.”

 
          
The
rancher laughed. “You call that news? Why, Rainbow has knowed it ever since we
got back from Ol’ Cloudy. I’ve on’y one thing to say, Phil—yo’re a lucky
fella.”

 
          
“And
that is no news to me,” the doctor returned gravely. “Riding far, Dan?”

 
          
“I
have business at the Wagon-wheel.”

 
          
Malachi’s
eyes twinkled. “He has business at the Wagon-wheel,” he told the girl beside
him. “And maybe that range is larger and folks don’t have to crowd one
another.”

 
          
They
both smiled broadly, and it was Dover’s turn to get red. “Aw, go to—Paradise,”
he said, and rode away.

 
          
To
his mingled relief and disappointment, Zeb’s old housekeeper answered his
knock, conducted him to the sick rancher’s room, and left them together.
Trenton, sitting up in bed, welcomed his visitor grimly.

 
          
“Well,
come to give me notice to quit?”

 
          
“No,
just wanted to see if you’re feelin’ strong enough to tear this up,” Dan
replied, and threw a paper on the counterpane; it was the mortgage on the
Wagon-wheel.

 
          
“What’s
the idea? Didn’t you buy the ranch?”

 
          
“The
Circle Dot took over the debt, an’ you can pay in yore own time—I figure the
cattle business is on the upgrade,” Dover replied. “I’ve told our outfit that
yore cows can graze to the river. That’s all I gotta say.” He turned to go.

 
          
“Wait
a minute,” Trenton said. “A week back I was called a stiff-necked, stubborn of
fool; o’course, she didn’t put it in those words—”

 
          
“She?”
Dan wanted to know.

 
          
“Shore, my niece, Beth.”
The harsh, bony features had
softened, and there was a shadow of a smile on the bloodless lips. “She’s got
pluck—nobody ever dared bawl me out, sick or well. It made me think, an’ this
clinches it. On top of savin’ her life an’ mine, you hand back my property.

 
          
It
shames me, boy. I’ve allus sworn I’d never thank a Dover, but I’m doin’ it.”

 
          
The
young man gripped the proffered thin hand willingly enough, and the
Trenton-Dover war was at an end.

 
          
“I
owe a hell of a lot to you an’ yore men—
‘specially
Green,” the invalid said presently. “If you agree, I’d like to offer him his
own terms to come here.”

 
          
“I
wish you could persuade him, for we’ve failed,” Dan replied sadly. “Claims he
has a promise to keep, which means puffin’ out soon. You’ll never budge him,
he’s as obstinate as a—Dover,” he finished, with a grin.

 
          
The
old man smiled too. “I’ve treated him middlin’ shabby,” he said. “I reckon I’ll
have to eat crow.”

 
          
“Jim
ain’t that sort,” Dan assured him. “He’s the best friend I ever had, an’ he
won’t let me do a thing—just says `Shucks’ an’ changes the subject. I’m damned
sorry he’s goin’.”

 
          
“Ask
him to come an’ see me,” the rancher said.

 
          
Dover
promised, and was about to leave when he remembered something—the locket. He
laid it on the bed.

 
          
“Guess
this belongs to yore niece; I found it in the tent,” he explained, and came
away.

 
          
As
he stepped into the open, he met the girl herself. She had no smile of welcome
for him, and her greeting told why. “When do we move out?”

 
          
“I’ve
been seein’ yore uncle about that,” he replied.

 
          
“You
might have waited until he is stronger,” she said heatedly. “I must go to him
at once.”

 
          
She
left him standing there, and did not see the whimsical look which followed her.
Dan hoisted himself into the saddle and set off, but he had gone less than
fifty yards when he heard her call.

 
          
“Mister
Dover.”

 
          
He
grinned wickedly, but took no notice, until the cry was repeated, breathlessly.
He stopped and dismounted; the girl was hurrying towards him; her face was
flushed, eyes moist.