Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (9 page)

 
          
“He
ain’t hurt none,” Sudden said, adding with a grin, “an’ what a tale he’ll have
to tell in the corral to-night.”

 
          
“He’s
not the only one,” a sweet but rather rueful voice remarked.

 
          
Engrossed
in their task, the other rescuee had been forgotten, but now they turned to
find her seated on a tuft of grass, trying to restore some sort of order to a
wet mop of short, curly black hair. Little clouds of steam arose as the fierce
rays of the sun licked up the moisture from her soaked attire. She was, as
Dover confessed in an aside to his companion, “Sorta soothin’ to the sight.”

 
          
The
description did her less than justice, for, despite her bedraggled state, even
one of her own sex would have allowed her charm, at least. To the men, she was
beautiful, and the fact that she could find a smile for them showed that she
possessed the quality they most admired, courage. Sudden was the first to
speak:

 
          
“How’re
yu feelin’, ma’am?”

 
          
“Rather
as though I ought to be pegged out on a line to dry,” she replied. “The stream
looked shallow enough to ride through, but halfway across I realized that my
mount was in difficulties, and turned to go back, but it was too late. You see,
I can’t swim.”

 
          
“You
picked the wrong place,” Dan told her. “The ford is a bit further down; there’s
a couple o’ white stones to mark it.”

 
          
“Being
a stranger, I am afraid they wouldn’t have meant anything to me.” Her dark,
long-lashed eyes regarded the tree-shadowed pool reproachfully. “Who would have
dreamed that so charming a spot could be treacherous?”

 
          
“The
Rainbow ain’t to be trusted,” Dan grinned. “She’s as various as a—” He stopped
abruptly.

 
          
“Woman,”
she finished, with a light laugh. “Please don’t mind me—I am well aware of the
failings of my own sex.”

 
          
She
stood up, her clinging garments revealing the youthful lines of her slim body.
“I want to thank you both,” she went on, her voice grave again. “But for your
help, I might have …” She broke off, with a little shudder, and then, “My uncle
will want to thank you too, and he’ll be glad to see you at the Wagon-wheel—why,
what is the matter?”

 
          
For
Dan’s face had suddenly become bleak. “Who are you?” he asked bluntly.

 
          
The
girl’s eyes flashed. “I am Beth Trenton,” she replied. “And you?”

 
          
“My
name’s Dover, if that tells you anythin’.”

 
          
“All
I want to know,” she returned coldly. “But I am still grateful for what you
have done.”

 
          
“Then
don’t be,” the young man said vehemently. “Helpin’ one o’ yore family—even in
ignorance—is somethin’ I wanta forget.”

 
          
“I
have been here only a week, and have received nothing but courtesy from the men
I have met; I am sorry to find an exception,” was the cutting reply. She looked
at Sudden. “If you will be good enough to bring my horse …”

 
          
When
the puncher had roped and saddled the animal, she mounted with graceful ease,
and without another word, rode in search of the ford. Dan’s moody gaze followed
her, noting how the proud, straight figure swayed easily to the movement of the
beast beneath it; she could ride, and for a reason he did not attempt to
analyse, the fact made him still
more angry
.

 
          
“Why
in hell didn’t I go some other place this mornin’,” he fumed. “Zeb Trenton’ll
laugh hisself sick over this.”

 
          
“He
oughta be mighty grateful.”

 
          
“Ought
means nothin’ to him; he won’t even pretend to be
,the
slimy of toad. Bet he’s told her a pretty tale about the Dovers. If I’d knowed
who she was—”

 
          
“Yu’d
‘a’ done just the same,” Sudden smiled. “I’m allowin’
it’s
rough it had to be yu, but rescuin’ folks in distress seems to be a habit in
yore family.”

 
          
“She
must be the niece I heard was comin’ to live with him. I’d
forgot
about it. Damn the luck.”

 
          
Sudden
understood; the girl was very attractive, and had she been related to anyone

else
… His advice took a prosaic form:

 
          
“Better
head for home an’ get into some dry duds. I’ll be on my way.”

 
          
As
he neared the scene of the murder, he left the beaten trail and approached
obliquely, keeping under cover. It was unlikely that anyone could know of his
intention to visit the place, but he was not one to take unnecessary risks.
Peering through the branches of a tall bush, he could see where the body had
lain. Someone was there, stooping over the spot, apparently examining the
ground intently. Presently the figure stood up, and Sudden recognized the bent
shoulders, white hair, and big axe thrust through the belt.

 
          
“Hunch!
What in the nation is that of tarrapin doin’ here?”

 
          
Evidently
he was engaged on the task Sudden himself had performed, that of reading the
“sign” left by the assassin, for he climbed the bank of the arroyo at the same
place and vanished.

 
          
Sudden
waited, but the other did not reappear, and the puncher returned to the Circle
Dot in a reflective mood.

 
          
An
uneventful week passed. Sudden spent the time, as he put it, getting acquainted
with the country. Somewhat to his surprise, Yorky was ready each morning to
accompany him part of the way. The boy had made the most of his mount, which,
carefully groomed, and with mane and tail combed, presented a much improved
appearance. When the puncher remarked on this, Yorky flushed, and said:

 
          
“Th’
boys figure he’s played out but
they’s
wrong; all he
wanted was a bit of attention.

 
          
We’re
pals, ain’t we, Shuteye?”

 
          
He
stroked the pony’s muzzle and Sudden smiled as he saw the piece of sugar pass
from the boy’s palm.

 
          
“A
horse is a good friend to have—
‘specially
in the
West,” he said gravely. “Treat him right an’ he’ll not fail yu. I’m for Rainbow
this mornin’. Comin’ along?”

 
          
Yorky
looked at his tattered raiment, and shook his head.
“Nuttin’
doin’.
Me fer another dose o’
th
’ pine-breath;
I’m gittin’ so I don’t cough me heart up—mos’ly.”

 
          
“Good.
Can I bring yu any smokin’?”

 
          
“Nix on that.
T’ought I told yer I ain’t usin’ it.”

 
          
“So
yu did—I done forgot,” the puncher lied.
“So long, son.”

 
          
“So
long, Jim, an’—thanks,” Yorky replied, and turned quickly away.

 
          
Sudden
watched him trot off in the direction of the little pine forest. Still an
awkward figure in the saddle, he was clearly improving. “The hell of it,” he
muttered softly, and started for the town.

 
          
He
found the Parlour devoid of customers save for the unkempt person of Malachi,
who, draped against the bar, was chatting with the proprietor. The latter
welcomed the newcomer warmly.

 
          
Lo,
Green, you know the Doc, I reckon,” he said. “On’y by reputation,” Sudden
replied.

 
          
“Then
you don’t know him,” Malachi said dryly.

 
          
“Well,
I’m hopin’ he’ll drink with me allasame,” the cowboy smiled.

 
          
“Sir,
I’ll drink with the Devil himself if the liquor is good—and there’s no doubt of
that here—but I warn you I am not in a position to return your hospitality.”

 
          
“Aw,
yore credit’s good too, Doc,” Bowdyr assured. “Thanks, Ben, but I don’t sponge
on my friends,” Malachi returned, and to the puncher, “Folks in this locality
are too healthy.”

 
          
“I’ve
been wantin’
to speak to yu ‘bout one who ain’t,”
Sudden replied. “That kid at the Circle Dot.”

 
          
The
other nodded. “Old Dave got me to look him over, and that spawn of a city sink
called me everything he could think of, and it was plenty. He finished by
saying he didn’t want to live in a God-forsaken place like this, and he’d be
everlastingly something if he swallowed one drop of any blanket-blanked
medicine I sent. My advice to Dave was to ship him back East and let him die in
the gutter he had come from.”

 
          
“He
certainly can cuss,” Sudden grinned. “Is there a chance for him?”

 
          
“Yes,
if he spends all his time outdoors, and stops poisoning his system with
nicotine—which he won’t; he isn’t the sort you can scare into doing a thing.”

 
          
“But
he might for a friend,” the puncher suggested. “Well, Doc, I’m obliged for yore
advice.” He slid a ten-dollar bill along the bar, adding,
“
I
think yu told the sheriff that was yore fee for consultation.”

 
          
Malachi
stared in amaze, and then a slow smile overspread his thin features; he pushed
the bill back. “That was a special charge for Foxy,” he said. “Besides, I’ve
told you only what you knew already.”

 
          
“Yu
confirmed my own ideas, an’ that’s allus worth payin’ for,” Sudden insisted. “Yu
can throw in a few doses o’ physic if it will ease yore mind any; I’ll see he
takes ‘em.”

 
          
Malachi
argued no further. “Next time you get shot up, I’ll mend you free,” he
promised.

 
          
“Ben,
we shall need a bottle of your best to celebrate this unexpected appreciation
of the medical profession in Rainbow.”

 
          
Both
the saloonkeeper and the puncher declined more than one small drink and the
doctor tucked the bottle under an arm, bade them farewell, and hurried away.
Bowdyr shook his head.

 
          
“It’s
a terrible pity,” he remarked, “for, drunk or sober, he’s a damned good
physician.”

 
          
Sudden’s
reply was cut short by the arrival of another customer, a tall, gangling man
nearing sixty, who walked with a limp. He was harsh-featured, with a jutting,
high-bridged, predatory nose, and close-cropped beard. Though dressed in
range-rig; his garments were of better quality than those affected by the
average rider. A heavy revolver hung from his right hip.

 
          
“Mornin’,
Trenton,” Bowdyr greeted, in his tone more than a suspicion of coolness.

 
          
“Mornin’,”
the other said curtly.
“Whisky—good whisky.”

 
          
“If
you can stand the stuff they peddle at Sody’s, mine’ll be a treat for you,”
Bowdyr said.

 
          
The
rancher shrugged and looked at the cowboy. “Join me?” Sudden pointed to his
unfinished glass. “Obliged, but I’m fixed,” he replied.

 
          
Trenton
helped himself from the bottle before him, sampled the liquor, but made no
comment. He turned again to the cowboy.

 
          
“I
don’t use this place, but I heard you’d ridden in, an’ I wanted to see you.”