Sudden Takes The Trail - 1938
Oliver Strange
CHAPTER I
“MURDERER!" The man on the big horse spoke the word aloud, and never had the sound of it seemed so sinister, for he was applying it to himself. Then, as had happened many times in the past few days, his moody gaze swept over the vast expanse of semi-desert he was crossing. High overhead, an eagle, winging its unhurried way against the pale blue sky, was the only visible evidence of other living creatures.
“Reckon we've razzle-dazzled 'em, of hoss," the rider went on.
The black head of the animal came round to nuzzle its master's knee. He bent and stroked the silken nostrils.
“Fella can get away from his own kind but not from his-self," he mused. "Mebbe I'd oughta stayed an' took my chances, but hell ! there warn't no chances." His mind slipped back to that fatal evening only a week before, recalling the scene and the swift sequence of events which had forced him to flee for his life.
Absently he searched a vest pocket for cigarette papers and discovered a metal star which, in the bright sunlight, seemed to wink at him maliciously.
“Runnin' off with the marshal's badge makes me a thief too," he said with a mirthless smile. "Shucks, they can buy another with the pay I didn't collect." He had been peace-officer of Pinetown for some months, and his habit of doing thoroughly any task he undertook speedily made him unpopular with the unruly—and larger—section of the community. But if they hated, they also feared this hard-faced stranger, who bore a name which bred hesitancy in the boldest when it came to defying him. For this was Sudden, cowpuncher, gunman, and outlaw, whose speed on the draw and accuracy of aim with a six-shooter had earned for him an unenviable reputation in the South-West. Because of it, he had been appointed marshal, for only such men could maintain any semblance of decency and order in a land where every man carried his own life in the holster slung at his hip.
“Masters is in trouble at Miguel's. Hurry." He heard again the whispered message which a white-faced boy had crept into the saloon to bring, sent by a man whose face the messenger could not see. Sudden had not hesitated. What was Dave doing in Miguel's—a squalid hovel owned by a Mexican, where the vileness of the liquor was equalled only by the scum who consumed it? Outside the saloon, he had paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust themselves to the darkness before stepping swiftly along the boarded sidewalk. Then, in a few tense seconds, the tragedy happened: the shadow of a building across the street was stabbed by two shafts of flame, an in- visible hand seemed to snatch at Sudden's hat, and the wind of the other bullet fanned his cheek. Instantly his guns were out, spitting lead at shapeless deeper patches of shade, and a groan, followed by a curse, told him he had not fired in vain. A point puzzled him; if these were the men he suspected, there should have been three shots.
Then came the clatter of hastening feet from behind. He whirled round, peering through the gloom, and as the indistinct figure stumbled past a lighted window he caught the gleam of a drawn gun. This must be the other man. His weapon spoke again, and he smiled grimly as he heard the thud of a falling body. For a brief space he waited, watchful, alert, but no more shots came and he retraced his steps. It was plain now that the message had been but the bait to lure him into an ambuscade, but he wished to make sure. A form, sprawling untidily face downwards on the sidewalk, arrested him. He stooped and struck a match. The hat had fallen off, and the upper half of the head was an ugly blur ofred, but one glance told him that he had shot the only man in Pinetown he could call a friend.
“God ! " he muttered, and in a broken voice, "Dave, I never dreamed it might be yu. I'd sooner ..." His stunned faculties began to function again as he became aware of a stir in the quiet street; heads were protruding from newly-opened doors. Shooting was common enough—noisy revellers frequently expressed their emotion hy emptying their revolvers, but four quick shots followed by a single one pointed to something different. Sudden stood up; he must get away, and speedily. He had slain one much more popular than himself, and with whom he could have no quarrel; his many enemies would see that he paid the extreme penalty.
He was not minded to give them this satisfaction, and though his heart felt like a stone, he hurried to his quarters for rifle, saddle, and horse. When he emerged upon the street again he was recognized and a yell of execration came from the crowd round the body.
“There's the dawg what done it, that butcherin' marshal," shouted one who was nursing his right arm. "Never give the boy a chanct. Git him, fellas ! " A rush was made, and shots followed, but the light was poor; with a gesture of contempt, the fugitive vanished into the night. Pursuit had been prompt and patient, but Sud-den's Indian upbringing stood him in good stead and he was now satisfied that he had succeeded in throwing the posse off the trail. His body was free, but his mind was fettered by a merry, impudent face which grinned at him, mockingly, as it now seemed.
From a near-by sage-bush a rattlesnake—disturbed by their approach—reared its ugly head and sounded a warning. Instinctively the rider's right hand went to one of the walnut-butted weapons in his belt, only to drop away again.
“Hell, no," he said bitterly. "Can I do nothin' but kill? If it had been that whelp Javert now ..." The name of his chief enemy in Pinetown brought a 11 brooding frown. Javert' the gambler, whose crooked play he had exposed, thus earning the fellow's undying hatred; cunning, malignant, and cold-blooded as the reptile Sudden had just refrained from destroying. He it was who had planned the marshal's murder and so brought about Dave's death.
“I'm thinkin' a long whiles afore I draw a gun on a human bein' again, but that don't go for yu, Mister Javert; yu ain't human." The low voice, devoid of passion, made the threat doubly menacing.
“So Welcome is shy a marshal?" the customer said meditatively, as he stowed away the sacks of tobacco he had asked for.
The girl behind the counter nodded. "They got a meetin' about it—dunno why, seein' there's only one applicant," she replied.
“The job don't appear to be popular," he remarked. "It's unhealthy," she told him. "Our marshals seem to be unlucky, we've lost a couple in less than a year." The man's eyebrows rose. "Sounds kind o' wasteful," he said. "One o' them tough li'l towns, huh?"
“Our boys ain't so bad—mostly," the girl defended. "It's the no-'count visitors what drift in." She saw the dawning grin and blushed hotly. "O' course, I ain't meanin' "
“Shucks ! " the customer said gently. "Where did yu say this meetin' was?"
“At the Red Light Saloon—Ned Nippert, the owner, more or less runs Welcome. you ain't thinkin' of ?" She stopped, unaware that she was forgetting her Western upbringing.
“Why not?" came the unresenting reply. "I'm foot-loose 'bout now, an' a fella has gotta eat." He put down a bill and pushed back the change. "Buy yoreself a pretty," he smiled, and went out.
The girl's gaze followed him reflectively. "A cow-puncher,ridin' the chuck-line," she decided. "I hope he don't get that post—he couldn't hold it." Meanwhile, the object of her concern, having noted the name over the door, and mounted the black horse, was leisurely making his way to the Red Light. It proved to be a fair-sized building, constructed of timber and 'dobe, with a raised covered veranda in front. On this five men were sitting round a table bearing a bottle and glasses. The visitor got down and stepped towards them.
“I'm lookin' for a gent named Gowdy," he opened.
A stocky man with a wellnigh bald head stood up. "You've shorely found him," he said. "What you want?"
“Just bought some smokin' at yore place," the messenger explained. "Yore daughter asked me to mention that she's waitin'."
“Cuss it, I clean forgot," Gowdy exclaimed. "Ned, can't we settle this business now?" The big, red-faced fellow to whom he appealed shrugged his massive shoulders. "Seein' there's no other candidate, I s'pose we gotta appoint Jake Mullins," he replied.
In his tone was a very evident reluctance which was apparently shared by three of his companions, to judge by their silence. The fourth was Jake himself, a tall, big-boned, sallow-faced individual, with small eyes, thin lips, and snaky black hair which suggested mixed blood. The newcomer made a quick decision.
“Sorry if I'm hornin' in, gents, but I hear yo're needin' a marshal," he said quietly.
For a moment the only reply he received was a scowl from Mullins; the others were studying him with surprised curiosity. Nippert unconsciously betrayed his thought with a shake of the head.
“It's a risky job," he pointed out. "Unless you can handle yore hardware above the average. . . ."
“I don't go much on gun-play," was the reply. "I'm what yu might call a methodis' an' " A guffaw of mirth from Jake cut him short. "A psalm singer, huh?" he sneered. "Prayer an' fastin' won't land you nowhere in this man's town, brother, 'cept mebbe the cemet'ry." The grey-blue eyes behind the goggles surveyed him sardonically. "Yu got me wrong. I'm not strong on religion, but I have my own ideas o' dealin' with trouble; shootin' ain't allus the best way." Distant high-pitched yells, punctuated by the cracking of pistol-fire, interrupted the conversation. Away down the trail they could see a billowing cloud of dust in which moved the indistinct forms of scampering horsemen.
“Some o' the Bar O boys, an' by the look of 'em they're aimin' to stand the town on its ear, as usual," Nippert said. "What's yore notion o' tacklin' the situation, Jake?"
“Hold 'em up an' perforate the first one what pulls a trigger." The saloon-keeper frowned. "They're good spenders an' pay for any damage they does," he objected.
“Mebbe this fella has a better plan," Jake jeered, with a jerk of the thumb at his rival. "Good chance to try out his methody ideas; if he can make the Bar O see the light without a ruckus I'll throw in my hand." Nippert looked at the stranger. "That's fair enough.”
“Suits me," was the reply. "Wipin' out customers is shorely pore policy." He stepped into the street and went to meet the advancing riders, who, shooting, shouting, and spurring their ponies, bore down upon him like a human avalanche. When they were but a few yards distant he raised his right hand, palm downwards, the Indian sign of peaceful intention. To avoid running him down—for he was directly in their path—the cowboys, with a chorus of oaths, pulled their mounts to a slithering stop, and the leader, a sandy-haired youth, regarded him darkly.
“What's the giddy game, stickin' us up thisaway?" he demanded.
The man on foot studied them for a moment. They werefive in number, all young, reckless, and ready for any devil- ment, but, he decided, not evil. His answer took the form of a question :
“Yu happen to know Widow Gray?"
“Shore, her man let his bronc throw him a piece ago. Pore luck for her, though mebbe—well, he didn't amount to much anyways. What of it?"
“She's sick an'—expectin'," the stranger explained. "I don't savvy much about it, but I reckon a racket can't help a woman none at them times. I figured yu'd like to know."
“Is that the straight goods?" Red-head asked.
“I'm stayin' in town," was the meaning reply.
“I take that back," the cowboy said, and thrust his gun into his belt. "Friend, we're shore obliged. Widow Gray is one nice woman, an' we ain't savages." He looked at his followers. "Boys, the jamboree is in the discard for this trip."
“That goes, Reddy," they chorused, and pistols were promptly replaced.
“This is one time Welcome is lucky two ways—she gains a citizen an' don't risk losin' any," Reddy remarked, and grinned at the man who had put a stop to their pleasure. "What about takin' a snort with us an' gittin' acquainted?"
“I'll be glad—presently," was the reply. "Got a li'l business to settle first."
“So've we," Reddy smiled. "Allus begin with our buyin', 'case we don't have any coin left later." They got down at the store and the peace-maker rejoined the party on the veranda, who had watched the scene wonderingly. Unable to hear the conversation, and knowing the Bar O outfit, it seemed little short of a miracle.
Nippert was the first to speak.
“Well, friend, I dunno how you worked it, but you must shorely have a medicine tongue."
“Why, there's no mystery," was the quiet reply. "I just told 'em that Widow Gray is sick, an' liable to add to the population o' Welcome any time."
“Hell!" Jake said disgustedly. "Anybody could 'a' done that."
“Yeah, anybody could 'a' discovered America, but Columbus did it," Nippert retorted. "Stranger, I like yore method, an' you win." He fumbled in a pocket, produced a nickel star, and proffered it to the new officer. "Jake, you'll have to wait till there's another vacancy." The disappointed candidate's face was poisonous. "Which won't be long, I'm bettin'," he snarled, with a disparaging glare at the man who had beaten him. "You others standin' for this?" and when he got no reply, "Helluva note, ringin' in a perishin' tramp; reckon Jesse Sark may have somethin' to say." Jake flung away; the saloon-keeper lifted his shoulders and turned apologetically to the visitor.
“A pore loser, an' would 'a' bin a wuss marshal," he said. "I'm mighty glad you drifted in, Mister ?" His eyes were on the black horse, the left hip of which bore the brand J. G.
“Stands for `James Grover' but `Jim' will do just as well," the owner told him.
Nippen nodded; he had noted the momentary hesitation, and knew that for some reason the newcomer was sailing under false colours, but that was too common in the West to have much significance, and he liked the man. Moreover, he was grateful for the opportunity to turn down Mullins, whom he regarded as something lower in the scale of Nature than the Gila monster. So, when the Bar O riders arrived, he duly presented the new officer under the name given. Reddy's eyes twinkled.
“We've met," he said, and then, "Jake looks like someone had trod on his tail." They all laughed and, at Nippert's invitation, lined up at the bar and drank with the man who had been put in power —as they well knew—partly on their account. When Gowdy had departed to placate his daughter, Rapper drew the saloon-keeper aside.
“Good work, Ned," he complimented. "We won't have no trouhle with the Bar O from now on; Jim has made a hit with them."
“Quick thinkin' will beat quick shootin' off'n as not, an' the two of 'em is a combination hard to win against," Nip-pert replied. "Them guns he's totin' don't look exactly new. Jake will be difficult, but I figure this fella can take care of hisself." The evening passed off quietly enough. In the course of it, the newcomer met most of the townsmen, and, save for the rougher faction which disapproved of restraint as a matter of course, created a favourable impression. He spoke and drank sparingly.
One incident alone called for the exercise of authority, and it occurred in the Red Light. Two men were playing cards, a doubtful-looking stranger who had ridden in late and a citizen known as "Sloppy," reputed to be rarely sober.
The marshal strolled over and stood watching the pair. Presently what he had anticipated happened : the Welcome player had won at first, but now he began to lose, and as the pile in front of him diminished, his caution and temper followed his cash. A further reverse which would have nearly wiped out his winnings proved the last straw and in a drunken fury he hurled an accusation calling for only one reply. Rasping an oath, the other man rose and reached for his gun, only to find an empty holster. A calm voice said :
“I've got yore shootin'-iron, hombre. The door is straight ahead." Out of the corner of one eye the trouble-maker saw the marshal just behind him. A gentle jab in the short ribs from the muzzle of his own weapon apprised him that he was helpless, and with a lurid epithet he moved forward. Outside the saloon he ventured a protest :
“This ain't no way to treat a visitor. Did you hear what that soak called me?"
“Shore, an' he got yu right," the marshal replied.
“If I had my gun ..."
“Here she is—I don't want her—got two better ones." The fellow snatched the weapon eagerly, hesitated a bare second, and then—as he discovered it had been unloaded—thrust it into his belt with a curse.
The marshal laughed.
“I'm growed up," he said. "Get agoin' an' keep agoin'our graveyard is middlin' full." The cold, ironic tone carried conviction. The speaker waited while the fellow found his pony, mounted, and was gathered up by the gloom. Returning to the saloon, he found Sloppy sprawled across the table in a half-stupor. Hoisting him to his feet, he piloted the drunkard out and down the street to a stout log shack standing next to the marshal's quarters, pushed him in and turned the key of the big padlock. When he entered the Red Light again, the proprietor met him with an approving smile.
t'Slick work, marshal. What you done with the pilgrim?"
“Sent him on his way, not exactly rejoicin'. A cheap tinhorn, lets the other fella win till he's too pie-eyed to notice crooked play. We can do without his kind."
“We can that. Where's Sloppy?"
“Sleepin' it off in the calaboose. I'll deal with him in the mornin'."
CHAPTER II
UNEVENTFUL days slid by, and the marshal's reputation grew. His calm demeanour, ready smile, and brevity of speech afforded a striking contrast to the bullying, loud-voiced, intemperate peace-officers so frequently found in frontier settlements. Sloppy became his slave and, to the amazement of all, a sober man. He had appointed himself general factotum to his preserver, doing all the domestic duties at the quarters which Welcome provided for its representative of the law.
But the popularity of the new officer was by no means universal; Jake had his following, and though he made no open move, he was not idle. Nippert had news of this when, about a week after the appointment, a visitor strode into the Red Light and greeted him gruffly. Tall, heavily-built, little more than thirty, he had a puffy, clean-shaven face, small bloodshot eyes, and a weak sensuous mouth, the downward droop of which gave him a petulant expression.
“'Lo, Sark, anythin' troublin' you?" the saloon-keeper asked.
“I hear you've given the post o' marshal to a stranger.”
“You heard correct."
“Then you gotta make another change."
“When did you buy it?" Nippert asked ironically. "Buy what?" Sark snapped.
“This town." The rancher glared. "Jake had the job comin' to him.”
“Jake has a lot comin' to him," was the retort. "He'll be lucky if he ain't here when it arrives."
“Quit foolin'," Sark said angrily. "What d'you know about this outsider?"
“Mighty little, but we knowed a deal about Jake, an' there you have it." Nippert grinned as the door was darkened. "'Lo, marshal, meet Mister Sark, o' the Dumb-bell ranch." The cattleman spun round and stared at the new arrival, his beady eyes clearly conveying hostility, but they soon fell before the steady gaze which met them. Neither man put out a hand.
“Mister Sark was sayin' I oughta bounce you an' give the job to Jake," the saloon-keeper went on.
“I said you had acted unwisely, an' unfairly to Mullins," Sark corrected. "He's the better man."
“An' me a stranger to yu," Sudden said softly.
“He can shoot quicker an' straighter than anyone in these parts," the rancher asserted meaningly.
“Well, that makes it easy for him—mebbe," the marshal retorted. "All he has to do is—prove it."
“He'll do that, give him the chance," Sark promised, and with an ugly scowl, slouched out.
Nippert looked a little apprehensive. "Jake's mighty good on the draw," he offered.
Sudden's smile was enigmatic. "He shall have his chance, but not in the way that fella thinks. I reckon there's others around here who fancy their shootin' some?"
“Shore is."
“Good, we'll stage a li'l contest." He went on to explain his proposal, and as he listened the saloon-keeper's face expanded in a broad grin.
So, in the Red Light that evening, the saloon-keeper contrived to start an argument on marksmanship, always a fruitful topic of interest among Westerners.
“I reckon shootin' ain't what it used to be," he opined. "Where are you goin' to find fellas like Bill Hickok, Doc Holliday, an' the Earps, to name on'y a few?"
“Right here in thisyer town—mebbe," Jake retorted. "I'm holdin' that the doin's o' the ol'-timers ain't lost nothin' in the tellin'—tales don't as a rule." Nippert, who had been angling for this, smiled genially. "Boys, we'll try it out," he said. "Welcome ain't had much excitement recent an' a gun-slingin' match, free to all comers, oughta be interestin'. I'll put up fifty dollars as a prize. It'll take place the third day from now; I guess some o' the Bar O an' Dumb-bell outfits'll want to take a hand." The proposal was received with acclamation and wagering on the result began immediately, Mullins being easily the most fancied competitor. This swift popularity was fully in accordance with his own views.
The news of the contest spread rapidly, and despite the fact that the result was regarded as foregone, there was a goodly gathering to look on or take part. John Owen, of the Bar O, with Reddy, his foreman, and some of the punchers had ridden in. Sark brought a half-dozen of his riders, craggy-featured, rough-looking, and rather older than those from the other ranch. The two groups kept apart, for there was no friendship between owners or outfits.
The crowd was congregated in front of the calaboose, on one of the stout timbers of which a card—the five of diamonds—had been nailed breast-high. From this, Nippert stepped twelve paces and laid down a short board.
“Reckon that's about right," he said. "What d'you say, John?"
“Seems fair to me." The owner of the Bar O was a tall, thin man in the middle fifties, with a long face on which a smile was seldom seen. His black coat, dark trousers thrust into the tops of his spurred boots, and soft felt hat added to the gravity of his appearance.
“Who are you aimin' to gamble on, Red?" Owen asked.
“Well, they all 'pear to think there's on'y one man in it, but I got my own notions," the young man replied. "Hey, Jake, what odds yu offerin' on yoreself?"
“I ain't heard the conditions yet." At that moment Nippert held up a hand for silence. "Entrants will stand on the board, draw an' fire on the word from me. One shot only, an' any hesitation will disqualify," he announced.
Mullins laughed. "Snap-shootin'—that suits me fine. You can have four to one, cowboy."
“Take yu to five dollars."
“Chicken-feed, but every little helps," Jake said insolently. "Any more donations?"
“I'll take the same bet—twice," Owen said quietly. "An' I'll go you—once." The layer of odds spun round and saw that the last speaker was Sloppy. "You?" he jeered. "I don't trust wasters." Sloppy searched his clothing, produced a crumpled bill, and gave it to Owen. "Now you cover that," he challenged. "Me, I don't trust—anybody." Jake's face was furious. "Why, you drunken little rat " he began, but the rancher intervened.
“He's put up his stake, an' it's on'y fair for you to do the same," he pointed out.
Having no wish to quarrel with the Bar O man, the bully handed over the twenty. "You won't have it long," he boasted, and turned to his latest client. "As for you, next time yo're starvin' don't come to my place beggin' for a square meal."
“Nobody never does git a square meal there, even if they pay for one," Sloppy retorted, with unusual hardihood.
The bystanders sniggered, for Jake's "place" was the local eating-house, grandiloquently styled "The Welcome Restaurant," and famous for neither quality nor quantity. Jake opened his mouth to reply, but shut it again as the marshal came up to greet Reddy and be presented to his employer. They shook, and the rancher's eyes travelled from the lean face to the worn butts of the guns in his belt.
“Goin' to have a try, marshal?" he asked.
“Why, mebbe I will."
“Wanta risk anythin' on yore chance?" Jake invited . "I never gamble on my shootin'."
“Well, you know it better'n we do," came the sneer. "Hello, they're startin'." The onlookers were closing in, taking advantage of any inequality in the street—and they were many--which would give them a better view. Amid cheers and ironical advice, the first competitor—Gowdy—took up his position on the board and, at the word, snatched out his gun and fired, missing the target by nearly a foot. Shouts of laughter rewarded the effort.
“you hit the calaboose, anyways," one comforted.
“Yeah, an' if you'd bin standing where the card is you wouldn't be chirpin' none," the storekeeper grinned.
And indeed, as one after another men stepped forwardand shot, it became evident that Gowdy's attempt was better than it had seemed, for few of the citizens did as well, and Chips—the carpenter—covered himself with ignominy by hitting the sand yards in front of the building.
“Them `rickoshay' shots need a lot o' practice," Rapper said gravely, as the unlucky marksman retired in confusion to face the banter of his friends.
Among the competitors were many who knew that only a lucky fluke could gain them the prize, and when this did not materialize, they accepted defeat with good-humoured grins. But there were others who took the affair seriously—the punchers, to whom victory meant more than a month's pay, and a reputation.
The Dumb-bell representatives fired first, and though their lead thudded all round it, the target remained undamaged. The Bar O followed, and Reddy—the star performer—got within an inch, the best so far, a feat which gained him a round of applause. The ranchers and Nippert having declined to compete—the latter modesty stating that he did not wish to win his own money—Mullins swaggered forward, a confident smirk on his face. Feet firmly planted on the board, right hand hanging in close proximity to his gun, he waited the word, and when it came the report followed almost instantly. It was a good draw and shot, for the bullet cut a neat half-circle out of the top of the card. He looked triumphantly at the saloon-keeper.
“I'll trouble you for that fifty," he said.
“Back up an' git out'n the way," was the reply. "There's another to come." Mullins turned to see the marshal waiting to take his place.
If he could have read the officer's smile aright he would not have made his next remark, "I'm layin' five to one he can't better my shot."
“Yo're on—fifty dollars to ten," Nippert snapped, adding, "This fiesta ain't goin' to cost me nothin' after all." The wager concentrated attention still more on the man who, with bowed head, stood slackly waiting for the signal.
No one there had seen those guns drawn from their holsters, and his aversion to using them was known. Certainly he did look like a world-beater, and his seeming indifference worried the saloon-keeper.
“Ready?" he called. "Go ! " As the word left his lips the marshal's right gun rose hip-high, exploded, and the middle pip on the card was blotted out. Then, quicker than a man could count, came four more shots, each of which partly obliterated a corner diamond.
Thrusting the smoking weapon back into his belt, the marshal turned away without even a glance at the target. The jarring crash of the gun was followed by a complete silence; the speed, deadly accuracy, and absence of undue care betrayed a mastery the like of which no man there had ever seen, and for the moment they were dumb. Reddy was the first to recover.
“My Gawd ! " he said, in a tone of awe. "An' I nearly pulled on him the day he come." The naïve remark raised a laugh and relieved the tension. Then came the applause, for even those who had lost their money on Mullins could not refuse this tribute to superlative skill. But the man who, in the very moment of triumph, had received this shattering blow to his conceit, stood motionless, his murderous eyes on the stranger who had again beaten him. A bystander provided a vent for his rage.
“Tough luck, Jake," he commiserated.
“Keep yore blasted sympathy for them as needs it," Mullins snarled, and stalked away.
“A pore loser, as I told you," Nippert said to the marshal. "Here's the prize, an' you shorely won it." Sudden did not take the proffered money. "It's comin' back to yu," he smiled, and raising his voice, "Everybody drinks with the winner." This produced another cheer and the crowd promptly headed for the Red Light. Nippert followed, having first removed the target, which some of the curious were examining.
“This'll be somethin' to show next time there's any talk about gun-play," he remarked, and in reply to a question, "No, it was a surprise to me—I'd never seen him shoot."
“I've met some o' the best in my time, but ..." Owen finished with an expressive shrug.
“Yeah, an' you'll be sorry yet," Sark rapped back. "A fella who can sling a gun like that is bound to have a dirty record, an' I'll bet there's a sheriff or two lookin' for him right now."
“They'll be unlucky if they find him, I'd say," Reddy grinned.
Later, when the crowd had dispersed, the store-keeper drew Nippert aside and congratulated him.
“It was Jim's notion. Look at it: he puts it over Mullins, services notice on the other rough-necks that he's dangerous to monkey with, an' no blood spilled. He shore is a methodis'."
“So's Jake, but his methods is different. An' Sark ain't none pleased; he musta bin raised on curdled milk he's that sour. Jim's got trouble comin', certain as cats has kittens."
“Well, I guess trouble an' him ain't exactly strangers," Nippert said shrewdly. "I'll bet he can handle it."
CHAPTER III
FoR a week or so it appeared that Gowdy's fears were groundless; the town remained quiet. Only once did the peace seem to be in danger and that was when, on a broiling afternoon, a shaggy-haired, wild-eyed rider came rocketing in at the eastern entrance, rolling from side to side on his saddle, gun out, and yelling like one possessed.
“I'm a lone wolf from Pizen Springs, an' I'm yere to blow this prairie-dawg community to hellangone. Emerge from yore holes, you varmits, or I'll smoke you out." Receiving no answer to this challenge, he pulled up, his slitted, drink-inflamed eyes roving right and left.
“Ain't there a man amongst you with spunk enough to Show hisself?" he vociferated.
There was : the marshal stepped from his office and walked unconcernedly towards the intruder, whose weapon was at once slanted upon him.
“Stop right there an' h'ist yore paws," came the command.
The marshal obeyed the first order only when he was a yard from the horseman, and ignored the second entirely. "Yu were allus a fool, Squint," he said.
The low voice brought a quick look of apprehension on the bluster's unpleasing face, and he bent forward to peer at the man who defied him so casually. The marshal pushed his hat back, and taking off his spectacles began to polish the lenses; the simple act appeared to have a mesmeric effect on the visitor.
“You?" he gasped. "What of hell ... ?"
“Put that gun away an' punch the breeze—pronto. An' listen, if yu open yore mouth about me within a hundred mile o' here, I'll—take—yore—trail."
“But " Behind the replaced glasses the marshal's eyes grew hard; he pointed to the west. "yu have sixty seconds to get outa range, an' I'm meanin' it," he said.
Evidently Squint was not of the doubting type; the cruel, big-toothed spurs raked the ribs of his pony and sent it racing in the direction indicated.
The citizens who witnessed the incident rubbed their eyes in amazement.
“That'll teach these glory-huntin' sots not to come pirootin' around here like they owned the place," Nippert exulted. "We got a fella now who can talk to 'em."
“yeah, talk seems to be his strong suit," Mullins—whowas in the Red Light at the time—sneered. "Can't he use them guns when he's facin' a man?"
“There's an easy way o' findin' out."
“Shore, an' I ain't forgettin' it."
“You'd better, or I'll be shy yore custom," Nippert advised.
Jake went without replying; he had conceived an idea which called for immediate action. Some miles out of town the wagon road to the west sprung round in a wide curve where it reached the foothills of the Mystery Mountains, but knowledge of the country would enable one to save this detour. The nearest settlement was Drywash, fifty miles distant.
Towards this place the fugitive from Welcome was steadily making his way when he sustained a second shock in the shape of a curt order to halt and raise his hands. It was backed by the barrel of a rifle protruding from a bush on the edge of the trail. Squint obeyed.
“Good for you," the ambusher said. "I couldn't miss if I tried, an' it ain't worth it; all I want from you is information."
“What about?"
“Yoreself. Why did you run like a jackrabbit from Welcome?" The traveller looked perturbed, and craned his neck in an endeavour to see his questioner, but without success. "Who are you?" he asked.
The unknown laughed. "Not the fella you was so scared of," he replied. "An' I don't like him no more'n you do." This sounded better, and Squint's business instinct began to function. "What do I git out of it?" he growled.
“yore money, weapons, hoss—an' life," was the cool reply. "You know what they're worth better'n I do." The threatened man's tone betrayed irritation. "Killin' me won't git yu no place," he pointed out.
“Shore, but it will git you to hell. I'm givin' you one minute to decide."
“If I talk you won't let on to—anybody?"
“Not a whisper, an' anyways, I don't know you. Now, who is this fella what sent you packin'?"
“His name's James Green, but he's better knowed as `Sudden' in Texas, where he's wanted—had. With a six-gun he's lightnin' in a hurry."
“Sudden," the other repeated reflectively. "Wasn't it him cleaned up a place called Hell City?"1
“Yeah, damn his soul," the informer spat out viciously. "What's he doin' around here?"
“He was marshal o' Pinetown, murdered his pal, an' got away a flea's jump ahead o' the posse, so the tale goes.”
“Shore it's the same man?"
“I got plenty reason to remember him," was the disgusted answer. "Cost me some good friends an' a pile o' bucks. He used to ride a big black with a white blaze—a fine hoss."
“That fits. Why didn't you down him? you had the chance."
“I guess you ain't seen him in action," Squint retorted. "He's a wizard, an' got as many lives as a cat." The hidden man laughed shortly. "He's goin' to need 'em, 'an eyes in the back of his head as well," he said. "On yore way, friend, an' if yo're aimin' to stay in Drywash, I may have a use for you. For now . ." He flipped a gold piece in the air and the horseman deftly caught and tucked it in a vest pocket. "Thanks," he said. "You'll find me there, an' if it's a matter o' squarin' up with that Sudden gent, I'll come in cheap. So-long." He resumed his journey and was soon lost to sight. Only then did Mullins step out, an ugly grin of satisfaction on his face.
“So that's the way of it?" he muttered. "It shore looks like I got you where the hair's short, Mister Methodis'. Sudden, huh? Well, the fastest gunman can't beat a rope." An encounter which caused the marshal a great deal more perturbation than that with Squint occurred the next morning when, for the first time, he met Mary Gray. Small, slim, with wide-spaced eyes and short, curly hair to which the sun imparted coppery gleams, she seemed still a girl. He was covertly admiring her as she passed; to his surprise and dismay, she stopped.
“You are the new marshal," she began. "I am Mrs. Gray, and I want to thank you." Sudden snatched off his hat. "I am shore glad to meet yu, ma'am, but yu got me guessin'," he stammered.
“The Bar O boys are apt to be noisy when they come to town," she reminded.
“Shucks!" he said confusedly. "Does the marshal get blamed for everythin' in this burg?" She smiled delightedly. "If he deserves it," she replied. "Sloppy—I hate calling him that, but he won't come to any other name—tells me "
“His tongue is hung on a hair-trigger," he interposed.
“He is a different being since you came," she said gravely. "The women have been very kind, but they have their own work, and I don't know how I would have managed if he hadn't done my chores, but it troubles me that he won't accept any payment."
“He's dead right, ma'am," Sudden said soberly... .
Sloppy was pottering about the marshal's domicile. His grin of greeting faded when he saw the owner's expression.
“Didn't I say for yu to keep yore trap shut to Mrs. Gray?" •
“I done it; Nippert telled her."
“She's complainin" 'bout yu," Sudden went on sternly, and chuckled inwardly at the resultant look of dismay. "Says yu been workin' for her and refused to take any pay." Sloppy detected the twinkle behind the spectacles. "I told her I'd 'tend to it. From now on I'm doublin' what I give yu for doin' nothin', an' if yore sinful pride suggests refusin' it . . ."
“Ain't got no pride—can't afford it," the little man sniggered. "I'm thankin' you, marshal; that'll whoop up my savin's."
“Savin's? To qualify for the calaboose again?"
“I've quit liquor—for a while, anyways." Sloppy jerked a thumb in the direction of the widow's abode. "That li'l shaver'll be needin' playthin's presently."
“Well, I'll be darned," Sudden breathed, and then, "Too bad she should have to work like that."
“You bet it is, when she oughta be ownin' the Dumb-bell range." The marshal, lounging in a tilted chair, straightened with a jerk. "Are yu loco?" he asked
“Not any," Sloppy replied. "It's a queer yarn."
“I love 'em—the queerer the better."
“Where will I start?"
“The beginnin' is considered a good place," Sudden told him solemnly.
“Well, Amos Sark owned the Dumb-bell range. He was a bachelor, an' all the relations he had was a sister an' younger brother, both of 'em havin' lost their pardners. When the sister passes out, Amos has her daughter, Mary, to live with him, but some years later, when Ray—the brother—vanishes complete leaving a growed-up son, he ain't interested, havin' disowned him a considerable while. Time tags along, an' nothin' is heard o' Ray or his boy. Mary sprouts up into a mighty pretty gal an' the of man thinks the world of her. Even when she falls for one of his riders, a good-looker named Gray, he makes the best of it, though he knows the fella is a waster. Then Amos is murdered."
“The devil yu say ! " The narrator nodded. "He starts out early one mornin' to pay a visit to Drywash. Two-three hours later, his pony sifts back to the ranch, showin' there's somethin' wrong. A search is made and they find him all spraddled out on the trail with a couple o' slugs in his back, dead as Moses. Thiswas 'bout a year gone, just before I come here. Ain't nothin' to show who done it, but Gray gits some hard looks, it bein' figured his wife'll have the ranch. But it don't work out that way. Right soon after the killin', a lawyer chap from Dry-wash, Seth Lyman—'Slimy' they call him, an' it fits him like his skin—turns up with a will drawed out by him an' signed by the deceased. It gives a thousand cash to Mary an' everythin' else to Jesse Sark, son o' the younger brother.
“Gray goes on the prod, but it ain't no use, so he starts hellin' round, an' Mary's legacy musta bin mighty near dissipated—an' that's the correct word—when, months later, he's picked up at the bottom of a gully with a broken neck. It's s'posed his hoss threw him, but he was a good rider, even when in liquor." The marshal had listened in frowning silence to the tragic tale. Now he said, "Mebbe the of man was set on the idea of a Sark followin' him at the ranch?" Sloppy snorted. "Amos was tough as tanned hide, an' there warn't a dime's worth o' sentiment in his body.”
“Yu knew him?"
“No, but that was his reputation." Sudden was considering another angle. "So they're cousins, an' he won't help her?"
“You've seen him," Sloppy returned. "There's on'y one person in this world Jesse'd help, that's hisself, an' he's good at it."
CHAPTER IV
THE marshal was contemplating a modest announcement above the Widow's front window informing the inhabitants of Welcome that meals could be obtained there. Having decided to give the new enterprise a trial, he was about to step in when an angry-looking, red-faced fellow whom he knew to be a friend of Mullins swung out, viciously slamming the door behind him.
“Say, don't eat there 'less you wanta be pizened," he warned. "Can't cook no more'n a dead Injun, that "
“Lady," Sudden suggested. "Mebbe yu ain't a judge o' cookin', Toler. I am; I'll take a chance an' let yu have my opinion. Till then, don't chatter." The blue eyes were frosty and there was a threat in the even voice. The disgruntled citizen had an answer all ready, but decided that silence might be safer. So he scowled and departed.
The marshal went in to find the proprietress near to tears. An overturned chair and a half-eaten plate of meat betokened the abruptness of a customer's exit. He replaced the furniture and surveyed the spotless tablecloth and shining cutlery approvingly.
“Pearls afore swine," was his comment. " 'Pears to have stampeded one o' yore patrons, ma'am."
“The only one, and he—went without paying," she confessed. The marshal made a mental note. "He said I couldn't cook, and it's the one thing I can do." Sudden shook his head. "No, there's another," he corrected. "You can--smile." She made a brave attempt, and retreated to the kitchen, returning presently with a sizzling steak and fried potatoes. It looked perfect, and the marshal attacked it with the vigour of a hungry man. The Widow, fearful of witnessing another disappointment, vanished, and thereby earned the diner's gratitude. For the first touch of the knife had told him that the meat was incredibly tough, even to one accustomed to camp-fare on the range.
“This would shorely tear the teeth out'n a circular saw," he murmured, as he hacked and slashed.
But he was determined to eat it, and by the application of sheer muscular power, and at the risk of breaking both knife and plate, he contrived to sever fragments which heswallowed almost unchewed, to the future discomfort of his internal economy; the unshed tears in those brown eyes should not fall if he could help it. He had almost completed the sacrifice when the Widow—unable to bear the suspense any longer—came in.
“Is it—all right?" she asked tremulously.
The martyr bolted the last lump whole and told the truth. "I never ate a steak like it, ma'am." The smile which lit up her face reminded him of the sun suddenly emerging from rain-laden clouds. "I'm so glad," she said. "I hope my pastry will be as good." It had been in the customer's mind to decline anything more than the plea that he had already eaten enough but, with inward misgiving, he tackled the wedge of dried-apple pie she placed before him. It proved to be delicious, and she watched delightedly while he devoured every morsel.
“Pie like mother made," he complimented, and this time no subtlety was needed. "Ma'am, yu certainly can handle flour." He paid the modest score and left her happy. Strolling casually along the street, he paused at the emporium of Welcome's only butcher, one Cleaver, universally referred to as "Clever," a sarcastic contortion which reflected upon his intelligence.
“I've been feedin' at the Widow Gray's," the marshal opened. "Whyfor do yu sell yore beef with the hide on?" The man stared at him. "I don't," he replied. "Sell the skins separate." Then, as the implication dawned upon him, "If you get hard meat it's 'cause she can't cook."
“Now I wonder who told yu that?" the marshal mused. "Did I see Toler here a while back?" The butcher's face contradicted the too hasty denial. "Well, I must get some better glasses. I'd 'a' sworn "
“Now I think again, he did stop as he was passin'," Cleaver corrected, but the other appeared to have lost interest in Mister Toler's movements.
“Mrs. Gray is a good cook, but the finest in the world couldn't make boot-leather appetizin'," he remarked. "Yu supply Mullins, don't you?"
“Yeah, but I don't play favourites."
“Shore, but it would help him if got the prime cuts an' she on'y had the leavin's," the marshal reflected aloud. He saw that he had hit the mark, and added meaningly, "I'm aimin' to feed reg'lar at the Widow's, an' my teeth ain't made o' steel. Understan'?"
“I can fix that by sendin' her a special for you," the tradesman said eagerly.
“Fix nothin'—yu don't play favourites—an' I ain't askin' yu to. Yu'll make 'em all specials."
“But Jake's my biggest buyer."
“Mrs. Gray'll be that soon, an' if she don't get good meat in future, I'll have to go into the butcherin' husiness my own self." On the following morning, soon after noon, Sudden contrived to meet Toler on his way to the eating-house. With a surly look, the man would have brushed past, but the officer stopped him.
“Jake'll have to do without yore custom to-day," he said. "Yo're feedin' at the Widow's."
“Like hell I am," was the retort. "I've had some.”
“An' left without payin', which is dishonest."
“I didn't eat nothin'."
“yu bent that steak considerable—just naturally ruined it, in fact," the marshal said gravely.
“Bent it, yeah, an' that was hard to do," Toler replied. "A dawg couldn't 'a' got teeth into it."
“Which accounts for yore failure. Anyways, yu ordered a meal an' she supplied one; what yu do with it is yore affair. Yu likewise caused a ruckus an' come near bustin' a chair, thus committin' a breach o' the peace. Now, either yu apologize, pay for that meal an' eat another, or, well, the calaboose is empty an' I'm afraid yu'll find it lonesome."
“I'll see you "
“Resistin' the law—that entitles me to blow yore light out," the marshal said. "March." The badgered man's eyes bulged; in some mysterious manner one of the speaker's guns had leapt from its holster and was pointed at the pit of his stomach. If the thumb holding back the hammer was relaxed—the marshal had no use for triggers. . Toler did not pursue the thought. The lady's eyes widened when they entered, but her welcoming smile was for both.
“Mister Toler figures he was a mite hasty in his judgment; I've persuaded him to give yu another trial," Sudden explained.
Nothing more was said until the business of feeding was finished, and then the unwilling customer sat back with a sigh of satisfaction.
“That's the best feed I've had in years, an' I'm right sorry I was rude to you, ma'am," he said. "I expect I did oughta blamed yore butcher." The little woman's face flushed with pleasure. "Please don't say another word," she begged. "Perhaps it was conceit, but I did think I could prepare a meal."
“I'll wallop the linin' out'n any fella who sez different," he told her.
In the street, the convert pushed out a paw and said gruffly, "Marshal, I'm thankin' you. Fur as I'm concerned, Jake must do his own dirty work."
“That's good hearin'," Sudden replied. "Persecutin' a woman is somethin' Welcome won't stand for." Later in the afternoon Sloppy came into the office wearing a broad grin. "What you done to Toler?" he asked. "Yestiddy he was tellin' the world Mrs. Gray couldn't cook an' now he sez she's the best ever."
“Why put it on to me? Can't a fella change his mind without my help?" Sudden fenced. "Some folks is fussy 'bout food, 'specially if their livers ain't actin' right."
“Meanin' no offence, yo're a pore liar," Sloppy replied. "You oughta see Jake's face."
“Sooner see his back, any time," the marshal said.
He was very satisfied with the way things were going. If Toler, one of her rival's intimates, spoke in her praise, the Widow would get support. It was working out better than he had hoped.
As the days went by, the fame of the new eating-place grew, and Mullins had the mortification of seeing his customers drop away until only a handful of friends remained. Well aware to whom he owed this state of affairs, he vainly sought a means of striking back. He had sent to verify what he had been told of the marshal, but his messenger had not yet returned. His attempt to bully the butcher failed dismally.
The climax came when Reddy and his bunkie, Shorty, rode in and were promptly convoyed by the marshal to the new establishment. While the meal was in preparation, they were permitted to tiptoe into the bedroom to see the baby. The pudgy, red-faced, blue-eyed morsel of humanity regarded them stolidly.
“What is it?" Shorty wanted to know.
“ `It' indeed," the mother repeated, with pretty indignation. "It's a boy." And then laughed at her own slip.
Reddy thrust out a thumb and the infant's tiny fingers closed on it. "He'll shore be a go-getter, ma'am," the cowboy said. "What's his name?"
“David, after my father." The marshal's face clouded. "I knowed a Dave—once," he said. "Them steaks must be mighty close to done." An hour later, three fully-fed men stepped again into the street. The cowboys were loud in their approval.
Jake's savage eyes watched them enter the Red Light. This was the final blow. Hitherto, the Bar O boys had always given their patronage, but now ... A tempest of passion possessed and made him reckless. When the cowboys came out and were crossing the street, he met them; the marshal had stayed behind a moment, talking to Nippert.
“Ain't you fellas fed yet?" Mullins began."Shore, over at the Widow's," Reddy replied.
“Her cookin' is bad."
“If that's so, an' it ain't, yu never oughta touch a pan," Shorty said hluntly.
Jake gave him an ugly look, but the man he burned to quarrel with was now joining them. "So the marshal raked you in, huh?" he sneered. "He shore knows how to fill his pockets at the expense of his friends."
“Meanin'?" Reddy asked.
“That he's back o' the Widow, o' course. She does the work an' he corrals the coin, sorta sleepin'-pardner, in more ways than one." He chuckled at the vile aspersion. "An' there's others, even that bum, Sloppy " He got no further. One long stride, a lightning blow, and the traducer was hurled headlong. The marshal's eyes were blazing.
“Yo're a foul-minded, dirty liar," their owner said through his clenched teeth. Wallowing in the dust, Jake was groping for his gun. "Don't do it, or I'll kill yu an' cheat the rope that's waitin' for yore rotten neck. Take his shootin'-iron, boys." Despite his struggles and curses, he was soon deprived of his weapon, and allowed to stand up. By this time an eager crowd had collected, questioning and wondering. For days past it had been seen that a clash between the two was inevitable; Jake had made no secret of his enmity, but after the shooting match . .
Mullins, his hot eyes glaring at his opponent, his features twisted in a savage grimace, had something to say:
“Well, you got my gun, so you needn't be afeard to pull yore own on me." For a single pulsating second it seemed that the taunted man was about to do that very thing, and Jake's heart missed a beat—he was not tired of life. Then he breathed again as first one and then the other weapon was handed to Reddy.
“Which is what yu'd have done," Sudden said coldly, answering the jeer. "We're even matched now. Yu have in suited a lady this town admires an' respects. For that yo're gettin' a hidin'—one yu'll remember as long as the world has to put up with yu." Into the ruffian's eyes came a gleam of satisfaction; this was something different. Though they were about the same height, he was fully a stone heavier, and had experience in the rough-and-tumble form of fighting, in which anything save the use of a weapon was permissible. The marshal's friends were not pleased; they knew the other man's reputation.
“See here, Jim, you don't have to do this," Nippen expostulated. "Clap him in the calaboose, an' we'll deal with him."
“An' tell all the town I'm scared?" Sudden smiled. "Shucks, you're jokin', Ned."
“He's one hell of a scrapper," the saloon-keeper said dubiously. "If he licks you . . ."
“He was one hell of a shot too," the marshal reminded. "This ain't a duty, but a pleasure." Removing his hat, spectacles, and vest, he stepped into the ring which had been formed. Jake, his rolled-up shirtsleeves displaying hairy, muscular arms, was awaiting him, fists bunched in malignant eagerness. Silence fell on the crowd as the men faced one another.
For a moment they stood motionless, and then Mullins, unable to restrain his passion, rushed forward and flung a furious blow which might have done real damage had it landed. But Sudden swayed away and before the striker could recover his balance, moved in with a straight left which jolted the other's head back and should have taught him a lesson. Dominated, however, by his anger, Jake continued his blind charges, only to encounter that stinging left which stopped him like a brick wall.
The officer, calm, inscrutable, was almost untouched, while Jake was already badly marked, and only exhausting himself with the violence of his efforts to deliver a smashing blow.
“Stan' up an' fight, you white-livered cur," Jake grated. "Where are you?" His fist hurtled through the air as he spoke, but Sudden saw it coming, moved his head so that the vengeful knuckles merely grazed his cheek, and drove his left, not to the jaw this time, but just above the belt.
“I'm right here," he replied grimly.
Jake was incapable of making any retort; the terrible, paralysing punch had driven all the breath from his body, leaving him doubled up, gasping and grunting with pain. Sudden sprang in, his right drawn back for the blow which should end the battle; he had the fellow at his mercy and there was nothing of that in his hard face. Even as he swung to strike, his foot slipped in the churned-up, loose sand of the roadway, and he lost his balance. Instantly Jake saw his opportunity, leapt for the floundering man, and they went down into the dust together. This swift reversal of the situation was all to the liking of the bully's supporters; he might be no match for the marshal with his fists, but when it came to wrestling, biting, and gouging, it was another matter. They yelled encouragement.
“You got him, boy," cried one. "Throttle the " Sloppy, dancing about in a fever of anxiety, appealed to the saloon-keeper. "That ain't fair scrappin', he's got Jim by the throat," he protested. "For a busted nickel "
“Keep outa this," Nippen said sternly. "Nobody can't do nothin'—it's their affair. Jim was unlucky, damn it." Sloppy had reason to be fearful, for his benefactor was truly in a parlous position. The impact of Jake's body had floored him, and before he could prevent it, the claw-like hands had fastened on his neck. Madly he strove to tear them away, to throw off the weight which held him pinned to the ground and wellnigh powerless, but the pitiless thumbs pressing on his windpipe sank deeper and he felt his strength failing. Above him, out of that evil mask, triumphant eyes gloated, and the thin lips were animal-like in their savagery.
“I've got you where I wanted to, Mister Methodis'," the man panted. "This is yore farewell, you interferin' houn'." Sudden's clouding brain was still functioning; where strength could not avail, craft might. He ceased to resist, his form becoming slack, his hands slipping limply to the earth beside him. With a hideous grin of satisfaction, the man on top bent to peer at his victim, only to receive a hand- ful of fine sand full in the eyes. Blinded and smarting, he instinctively recoiled, lessening the pressure, and immediately Sudden's right fist shot up from below and landed just over the heart. It was a fell stroke, one which might well have killed a weaker man, and for the moment, Jake was helpless. Sudden thrust him aside and stood up—waiting.
“Finish him off," someone urged.
The marshal smiled lopsidedly—that was not his way. Besides, he had some breathing to make up, and his neck felt as though he had been half-hanged. He watched his antagonist stagger to his feet and rub the grit from his bloodshot eyes. The spectators waited too, silent for the most part; they were witnessing something they had never seen before—a man holding back when he had his enemy almost hopelessly beaten. Few of them could comprehend it.
“Well, Mister Mullins, shall we continue our li'l argument or have yu had enough?" Sudden inquired.
“Enough? Not by a damn sight—I ain't started on you yet?" the other growled.
The onlookers closed in as the combatants moved forward. This time Jake made no swift advance; he had learned his lesson, and the pain of his swollen features—the work of that straight left—was a constant reminder. He knew well that but for a nearly fatal slip, he would have been knocked cold, but the brute in his nature buoyed him up with the hope of a similar mischance, and then ... So he held back, letting his foe come to him, tactics which his admirers misunderstood.
“Git yore paws on him," one advised. "He can't stand the rough stuff."
“Who's scrappin'—you or me?" Jake spat over his shoulder.
“Neither of us," was the disgusted retort, and the crowd laughed.
The pair circled the ring, the marshal following his man and driving a fist home whenever he was within reach, which, owing to his opponent's caution, was seldom.
“It's a runnin' match, an' Jake's got the legs of him," came another sarcastic comment.
For one second, the taunted man's gaze went in search of the speaker, and Sudden saw his chance. He flashed in, raining blows with both hands to the body and face in such rapid succession that Jake was forced to stand and fight back, and at once the nature of the contest had again changed. Drenched with perspiration, battered, bruised, and blood-smeared, the two men hammered away with beast-like ferocity, taking what punishment came, and with but one conscious thought—to inflict hurt. Slipping, staggering in the treacherous sand, hemmed in by the swaying ring of enthralled spectators who cheered as fists thudded on flesh or bone, they battled on. But the terrific strain was taking toll.
“Jake's weakenin'—his punches ain't got no power," Shorty muttered. "He's outa condition—too much liquor." It was true, and the marshal sensed it. He himself was in little better case; his frame felt as if it had been stretched on a rack for endless hours, and every movement brought a protest from tired muscles. But the spate of fury which had swept him away was past, and again he fought methodically, dourly determined to end the business at the first opportunity.
It came soon. Jake, with the same intention, finding his foe seeming to give way, tried one of his former bull-like charges. Sudden broke ground, avoiding the flailing arm, and darting in, sent an uppercut to the jaw. It was a devastating blow, perfectly timed, coming up from the hip with all the power of the moving body behind it. But once more Jake was lucky, it just missed the vital spot, and though flung to the floor as by a giant hand, he retained his senses. For a moment he lay there, murder in his mad eyes, and then slowly raised himself.
“By God, I'll git you if I hang for it," he mumbled thickly.
Half-crouching, he lurched to where the marshal, again disdaining to follow up his advantage, was standing, and suddenly straightening, leapt, right arm aloft. Swift as the action was, Sudden had glimpsed the gleam of steel, and catching the descending wrist, wrenched the weapon from his grasp, and struck—with the haft of the knife only; the assassin dropped like a pole-axed steer. The fight was over.
“If you'd put that sticker in his dirty neck it would 'a' saved a lot o' trouble," was Nippert's comment.
“I know it, but killin' skunks is a stinkin' job," the marshal replied. "I reckon he'll drift."
CHAPTER V
THE marshal was wrong; the beaten man remained—having other cards to play. For a few days, however, he deemed it wise to stay in his shack, nursing his hurts and what—to those who came to see him—he descrihed as grievances.
“The game ain't finished yet," he told them darkly. "I'm goin' to make some o' the smarties in thisyer burg look an' feel middlin' sick. you wait—it won't be long. You can leave that to me; all I want is for you to back my play." Late one evening, two riders arrived, and having put their horses in the pole corral behind the eating-house, went in by the back door. One was the awaited messenger, known as "Dutch," who assisted Mullins in the conduct of the business; his eyes widened when they rested on the damaged features of his employer."Hoss throw you?" he asked.
“None o' yore damn' business," Jake snapped. "You've taken long enough; s'pose you got soused on the money I gave you." Dutch grinned. "Yo're gittin' value," he replied, and waved a hand to his companion. "This is Mister Javert, o' Pinetown." Mullins studied the visitor : a medium-sized man, with a blank expressionless face, a mean mouth, and the well-tended hands of a professional gambler.
A bottle and glasses were produced, and when the contents had been generously sampled, the host looked up expectantly.
“I met Dutch on the way to Pinetown, learned his errand, an' saved him the trouble o' goin' on by comin' back with him," Javert began. "Is yore marshal a tall, well-built gent with blue eyes an' dark hair, who totes two guns an' rides a black branded J. G. ?"
“Describes him to a dot."
“Then he's the fella l'm lookin' for." This with deep satisfaction. "Listen : I left Pinetown a piece ago as one of a posse hot on this houn's heels. He'd shot a man in cold blood, givin' him no chance; if we'd catched him, he'd 'a' swung shore, but he diddled us. The rest went back, but I ain't so easy, an' I started searchin' the settlements around; that's how I run into Dutch."
“I guess we got him," Jake said. "An' some folks about here hey a jolt comin'." On the following morning, the proprietor of the Red Light, surveying the town from the vantage-point of his doorway, observed a considerable body of the inhabitants apparently making for his establishment. This, in itself, was not alarming, but when he noted that the gathering was headed by Mullins, and included the scum of the community, it was a relief to see that reputable citizens like Gowdy, Rapper, and the banker, Morley, were among them. Nevertheless, as a matter of precaution, he stepped inside and made sure that his gun was in working order. When they entered he was behind the bar, and his affectation of surprise appeared genuine.
“This place is lookin' up," was his genial greeting. "Wakin' up, you mean," Mullins corrected. "Where's that marshal?"
“In his office, I expect," Nippers replied, adding slyly, "You know the way—better go get him."
“We'll do that awright," was the retort. "When you app'inted him you didn't know he was wanted for murder, huh?"
“I don't know it now."
“I'm tellin' you."
“An' I still don't know it."
“Bluffin' won't buy you nothin', Nippen," Jake said. "Here's the fella can put you wise, Mister Javert, o' Pine-town." Without waiting for any further invitation, the stranger stepped forward and told his story, concluding modestly, "O' course, I ain't sayin' it is the same man, but the description goes mighty close." As he finished, Sloppy slid unnoticed from the saloon and hurried to the marshal's quarters. "Climb yore bronc an' beat it, Jim," he cried. "At the Red Light they're shapin' up to hang you." Sudden regarded him amusedly. "Thought yu'd quit redeye," he replied.
“I ain't drunk nor loco," the little man protested, and blurted his news. The marshal's face did not change, but he rose and put on his hat. "Will I get Nigger?" Sloppy asked eagerly.
“I'm thankin' yu, but I figure I can walk to the saloon," was the answer. "Runnin' away from trouble is poor policy, ol'-timer; I did it afore, an' I was wrong." His arrival at the Red Light stilled every tongue, and the crowd fell apart to allow him to pass. He nodded to Nippert. "yu 'pear to be right busy, Ned," he said coolly.
“Thanks to you," was the reply. "Jim, d'you know this fella?" Sudden surveyed the newcomer indifferently. "Yeah, some months back he obliged me by makin' it clear I was not one of his friends."
“He claims you are James Green, late marshal o' Pine-town, that you shot down a man you had no quarrel with, an' left with a posse chasin' you."
“Put thataway I gotta allow it sounds pretty bad," Sudden admitted. "This is what happened." He told of the message, his errand, and the shots from the dark, his grim gaze on his accuser. "I fired back at the flashes, an' yu 'pear to have been lucky, Javert; when I last saw yu, both yore ears were in good shape." The man scowled; the lobe of his left ear had been torn away and the wound was newly-healed. "Lyin' won't save yore neck," he said.
“An' all these folk can't save yore life if I decide to take it," the marshal reminded sternly, and went on to explain how, expecting a third assailant, he had slain his friend. "I figure he had a message too, an' was comin' to help me. It was a frame-up; this fella an' the two rats who run with him meant to hive the pair of us. That's a debt I'm not forgettin', Javert." The threatened man laughed. "You'll have to pay in the next world, I guess; yo're mighty near through with this one," he said, and looked round. "Well, gents, what we waitin' for? All we need is a rope an' a tree." A low growl of assent from a portion of the audience greeted this sinister suggestion. The saloon-keeper rapped on the bar.
“Hold yore hosses, Mister. This town ain't in the habit o' allowin' strangers to tell it what to do. I'd like to know how you come to be in this?"
“I'm plumb fortunate," Javert explained. "When the posse gives up, I don't. Then I runs into Dutch, who tells me 'bout yore new marshal, an' I figure I've found my man." Nippert pondered for a moment, and then, "We've heard yore account, makin' it plain murder, an' his, claimin' it was an accident." He looked at the accused. "I reckon we'll have to throw you into the calaboose, Jim, till we git more evidence from Pinetown." The proposal aroused a storm of protest, in which Jake's voice was prominent. "What more do you want?" he shouted. "He's owned up to the killin'."
“He's owned up to shootin' in self-defence."
“Which means you ain't believin' me," Javert put in.
“We think yo're mebbe a mite biased," the saloon-keeper said satirically. "Speakin' personal, I wouldn't trust you for the price of a drink." The other shrugged off the insult. "Does it mean anythin' to you that this man is an outlaw knowed as `Sudden,' wanted in Texas for robbery an' murder?" he demanded.
This time he produced a real effect on his listeners. Many of them had heard the name, and the evil reputation which went with it. Remembering the shooting contest, they regarded with new interest this grave man who, for a short while, had dwelt amongst them, and who, on every occasion, had forborne to make use of his uncanny skill with a gun. He stood now, leaning lazily against the bar, unperturbed, while the issue of life and death hung in the balance. Nip-pert, though he could see that his further charge had brought a look of doubt into the faces of men he was depending upon, stood his ground.
“Not a thing," he replied. "Texas warrants don't run in Arizona"—he smiled a little—"if they did, some o' you wouldn't be here." The sly dig produced a laugh. "Texas sheriffs can do their own work, an' the same goes for Pine-town; if she wants to hang this fella, let her come an' fetch him." This eminently fair proposition met with a mixed reception; Javert condemned it, briefly but luridly. The maker of it listened with twinkling eyes.
“O' course, there's another way out," he said, "You"--pointing to Javert—"have been searchin' for the marshal. Well, you can take him; we ain't helpin' nor stoppin' you." The generous offer did not seem to appeal to the Pine-town representative—his expression was a mixture of consternation and disgust; bringing Sudden to justice single-handed was a task for which he had no stomach. Despite the gravity of the occasion, the saloon-keeper's friends were smiling at the adroit manner in which he had "passed the buck" to this objectionable interloper. Jake came to the aid of his witness.
“Talk sense, Nippert," he said. "You know damn' well yo're askin' the impossible."
“Jim 'pears to have learned you somethin'," was the biting reply. "If man to man ain't good enough for this fella, we'll let you help him; that makes the odds two to one. How about it, marshal?"
“Suits me," was the nonchalant answer.
But it did not suit the other two concerned. "What's the matter with this burg?" Mullins cried contemptuously. "Here's a confessed killer an' yo're tryin' to turn him loose."
“That ain't so," Rapper retorted. "He'll be held till we hear from Pinetown."
“Mebbe," the other sneered. "We'll deal with him now." Nippert looked at the accused. "Jim, yo're still marshal," he said. "I'm tellin' you to down any man who goes for a gun " The harsh order stilled the clamour. Though the turbulent faction had a majority, the saloon-keeper was not alone, and that lounging figure at the bar had not given an exhibition of his prowess without effect.
So they stood sullenly back and allowed the captive to be conducted to the calaboose. Nippert stepped inside.
“I'll have to take yore hardware now, Jim," he said. "I'm hopin' things ain't as bad as they look." Sudden handed over his belt. "I've given yu the straight of it," he replied. "I took Dave's life, an' I'd 'a' cut a hand off sooner than hurt him. It's made me shy o' gun-play, as yu may have noticed. I could 'a' got away—Sloppy warned me —but I'm tired o' runnin' an' yu'll find me here when I'm wanted."
“I'm takin' yore word," Nippert said.
As he emerged on the street again, a rider dashed past, taking the westerly trail; it was Dutch. He pondered over this as he secured the door.
“So that's the game, huh?" he murmured. "Well, there's an answer to that." He turned into the marshal's quarters, where he found Sloppy slumped disconsolately in a chair.
“You wanta help?" he inquired.
“Betcha life," the little man said eagerly. "What can I do?"
“Fork a hoss an' ride hell-bent for the Bar O. Tell Owen what's happened an' say for him to fetch along as many of his boys as possible, on the run. Sabe?"
“Shore," Sloppy replied. "Sent to Pinetown yet?"
“That can wait; I've a notion Jake's plannin' to save us the trouble. Git agoin', an' leave kind o' casual-like, in the opposite direction." This precaution taken, Nippert returned to the saloon, where a few of his intimates awaited him.
“If he's that notorious outlaw " Morley began.
“He wouldn't be the first to have a wrong label pinned on him," Nippert cut in. "Anyways, I'm holdin' him till we know more. We must have a couple o' men on that door."
“you think he'll try to get out?" the banker queried.
“No, but others may try to git in; Jake ain't finished yet —he's sent for Sark." Their faces lengthened. "That's bad," Rapper admitted. "The Dumb-bell would more than tip the balance."
“Yeah, but Sloppy's on his way to bring the Bar O," Nip-pert informed. "Trouble is, they've further to come. Now, I want you to get hold o' the decent fellas an' convince 'em that our proper play is to hand over the marshal—if he's guilty—to Pinetown; we don't hanker for any messy business here." Meanwhile, Mullins and his visitor were sitting in the kitchen at the back of his eating-house, discussing a bottle and the situation.
“We oughta rushed 'em," Javert grumbled.
“Yeah, you an' me would've bin the first to stop rushin'; that marshal swine'd take care o' that," Jake countered acridly. "I've seen him shoot."
“The liquor-peddler don't exactly undervalue hisself."
“No, it's 'bout time his comb was cut, an' I've sent for the man who can do it. When Jesse Sark an' his riders git here we'll be able to talk down to Mister Nippert." Javert's evil eyes gleamed. "I hope we'll be able to do more than just talk," he said viciously. "Why not git busy afore he comes?"
“D'you figure I'm dumb?" Mullins asked. "Come an' see for yoreself." At the eastern end of the street they entered the Red Light's rival, if a low drinking and gambling den could be so termed.
Known as "Dirty Dick's" after its shaggy-haired and bearded owner, it was frequented only by the tag-rag of the town. The place was full, and Jake chuckled as he elbowed a path through the throng.
“Nippert ain't so popular as he fancies—half o' the guys here are customers o' his," he whispered.
A bleary-eyed member of the company, balanced precariously on a table, was endeavouring to make himself heard above the hubbub.
“I shay it's a blot on Welcome," he bellowed thickly. "Here we got a col'-blooded murd'rer—admits it, don' he?—an' we do nothin'. He's our meat, we catched him, an' oughta string him up." A chorus of savage oaths, and cries of "That's the ticket," and "You said it, boy," greeted the suggestion. The speaker swung his hat and shouted, "Let's go." Jake grabbed the nearest stool and stood on it. "Hold on," he said harshly. The surge towards the door ceased. "You all know I wouldn't willin'ly give that rat another minit to live, but I'm tellin' you to wait. I've sent for Sark an' his boys—they should be here soon. Nippert ain't a fool all the time, an' he'll give in when he's out-numbered three to one." The man who had asked the question turned to the others. "Jake's right; there's no sense in gittin' shot up unnecessary."
CHAPTER VI
SLOPPY was cudgelling his brains for new words—expletives which would adequately describe the state of one reduced to desperation and despair. He had got away from Welcome unobserved, travelling west before swinging round to make for his real destination. For a time all went well and then Fortune played a scurvy trick. Descending the slippery side of a gorge his horse stumbled and went to its knees; when it rose he saw that the poor beast was too badly lamed to carry him. The Bar O was more than six long up and down miles distant, and as he realized what the accident might mean, the little man lifted up his voice and told the Fates just exactly what he thought of them, and it was plenty.
There being nothing else for it, he walked—and talked—leading his mount, and pausing on the top of every rise in the hope of seeing or being seen by a Bar O rider. As he did this for about the twentieth time, his anger broke out afresh.
“O' course, they's all workin' elsewhere—they would be," he raged. "If I was here to rustle cattle, I'd 'a' bin spotted right off." He toiled on over the rough ground and the unwonted exertion soon began to tell. The vertical rays of the sun blazed down, sore and swollen feet made every step painful, and since—for such a short journey—he had neglected to bring a canteen, thirst was soon added to the other discomforts.
Doggedly lie stumbled on. His legs became lead, requiring an effort to drag one after the other, but he dared not stop, knowing that he would never start again. Staggering blindly forward he tripped over a rock his weary eyes failed to note, and went sprawling. He was struggling to stand up when a voice said :
“What th' devil ?" Sloppy looked round, his lips moved, but no sound came from them. John Owen—for he it was—slipped from his saddle, unslung his water-bottle, and held it to the sufferer's mouth. An eager swallow or two and Sloppy found his voice, hoarse but intelligible.
“Was a-comin' for you—my bronc went lame. We gotta hurry, it's life or death. Git yore outfit." The Bar O owner was a man of action. Though he did not know what it was all about, he realized that the messenger had not endured the agonies of that long tramp without good reason. Stepping into his saddle, he said:
“Get up behind me—we can talk as we ride. Leave yore hoss, the boys will gather him in later." The little man obeyed, and sighed with relief when his aching extremities were no longer on the ground. They had something less than two miles to travel and they did it at speed, but by the time they reached the ranch, Owen was in possession of the main facts.
“Ned's afeard that when them Dumb-bell outcasts show up there'll be a neck-tie party. It'll be my fault if we're too late," Sloppy finished miserably.
“Skittles! you couldn't help yore hoss playin' out on you," Owen consoled. "Might happen to anybody." As soon as they sighted the ranch, he drew out his rifle and fired three shots at equally-spaced intervals.
“That'll bring in most of 'em," he said. "They ain't far afield to-day."
“Don't I know it," was the feeling reply.
They found the place deserted, save for the Chinese cook —Owen was a bachelor. Sloppy hobbled to the bench by the door, sat down, and emptied the glass his host hastened to bring.
“Gosh ! I needed that one," he said, but refused a second. "I've bin fightin' shy o' liquor lately, but I reckon a fella who can't take one an' leave it at that ain't o' much account."
“Shorely," the rancher agreed, and then, "You think a lot o' the marshal, don't you?"
“He's done a deal for me."
“An' you say he admitted the killin'?"
“yeah, but he claims it was an accident."
“He didn't deny bein' this outlaw—Sudden?"
“No, but I'll bet there's an explanation for that too," the little man said stoutly. "I'd stake my life on Jim bein' straight." The scamper of galloping ponies cut short the conversation, and Reddy, with four others, raced in and pulled up, sending the dust and gravel flying.
“What's doin', Boss?" the carroty one inquired, and noticing the visitor, " 'Lo, Sloppy, how's the marshal?"
“Still alive—I'm hopin'." Reddy's eyebrows lifted. "How come?" he asked.
“No time for chatter," his employer cut in. "You'll need fresh hosses, an' bring yore rifles. We're for town—you can feed there."
“Shore, at the Widow's—that's worth ridin' twenty-five mile for any day," Reddy cried, and swinging his mount round, darted for the corral.
But precious time was lost waiting for more of the men to put in an appearance, and when at length a start was made, Sloppy was in a fever of impatience; he knew that the Sark contingent must have reached Welcome before he arrived at the Bar O. If Nippert could hold them off ... He glanced hopefully at these riders he had come to fetch, familiar, all of them, yet he seemed to be seeing them from a new angle. Instead of a band of reckless young devils, who played as they worked—hard, and were ready for any prank when they came to town, he saw men with set faces which told that their task would be done—at any cost.
Sloppy's fears were only too well-founded; little more than two hours after he had left Welcome, Sark and his outfit rode in, and instead of pulling up, as usual, at the Red Light, went on to Dirty Dick's. Here their leader left them, and repaired to Jake's abode.
“Howdy, Sark, this is Mister Javert, from Pinetown; Dutch will have told you 'bout him," Mullins greeted.
The rancher acknowledged the introduction with a curt nod, sat down, and poured himself a drink, his gaze on the swollen, battered features of his host.
“That fella can certainly use his fists," he remarked. "If I'd met you anywhere else I wouldn't 'a' knowed you."
“He had all the breaks, an' at that I damn' near got him," Jake retorted savagely. "This afternoon I'm goin' to—" Dutch burst unceremoniously into the room. "I got news," he cried. "Ned disarmed the marshal when he locked him up, an' took his belt into the Red Light."
“How very thoughtless of him—might just as well have signed his death-warrant," Sark murmured.
“You said it," Jake gritted. "What's yore strength, Sark?”
“Twelve, besides myself."
“Thirteen is an unlucky number," commented Javert, who had all a gambler's superstition.
“It will be—for the marshal," was the sinister answer. "Let's move." Dirty Dick's was a human beehive, and the motley crowd, reinforced by the Dumb-bell riders, fed Sark's vanity with a cheer. From his saddle, the rancher addressed them :
“Well, friends, I'm told you want me to argue with Nippert."
“Argue nawthin'," came a harsh voice. "We aim to take an' string that gunman. Ain't that so, fellas?" Affirmative yells answered the question, and S ark, with a lift of his shoulders as one giving in to the popular desire, led the way down the street. His cowboys closed in behind him, and the mob followed.
Outside the calaboose, the saloon-keeper, with less than a dozen men, stood on guard. He had witnessed the arrival of the Dumb-bell party, heard the riotous clamour at Dirty Dick's, and knew that an attempt would be made to deprive him of the prisoner.
“Pity you took away Jim's guns," Gowdy said. "If it comes to a battle, he'd be useful."
“I've got his belt on under my coat," Nippert replied. "If things git that far, I'll agree to fetch Jim out an' slip it to him. Here they come." Sark and his outfit, rifles across their knees, had pulled up about ten paces away, and the others spread out in a half-circle behind them, glaring with avid eyes at the prison which held their prey. A menacing silence prevailed until Nippert spoke:
“Well, S ark, what's yore errand?"
“We want the criminal yo're plannin' to set free.”
“That's not true. I'm handin' the marshal over to Pine-town; it's their job to deal with him."
“We ain't trustin' you. Fetch him out, or take the consequences." The saloon-keeper looked at the row of threatening rifles, one volley from which might well wipe out himself and his friends. It would be hopeless. He glanced up the street, but there was no sign of the Bar O. He must make a last desperate bid for time.
“You win, Sark," he said. "I'll git him."
“No," Jake snapped. "Throw me the key."
“I'll see you in hell first."
“Then you'll be waitin' for me," the other jeered, and drew his gun. "Out with it, or . .." The big man was still hesitating when a voice from inside the calaboose said calmly, "Better let him have it, or-timer; no sense in a ruckus which can on'y end one way." With a curse of disgust, Nippert flung the key on the ground. "An' that's the man you claim is a bloodthirsty murderer," he cried passionately.
“That kind o' talk won't buy you anythin'," Jake retorted.
He unlocked the door and stood back, revolver in hand. A moment of silence and the prisoner stepped out into the sunlight to be welcomed by a storm of execration. He heard it with contemptuous indifference; if he had his guns . . .
“Git agoin'," Jake ordered.
The marshal looked at the men who had tried to save him. "I'm thankin' yu," he said, and head up, staring stolidly before him, moved forward.
Some of these men had praised him when he thrashed Mullins; they would condemn him with the same enthusiasm when he dangled lifeless from a tree. Once he turned his head and saw that his few friends were tramping along with the others. He spoke his thought:
“They can't do a thing."
“you bet they can't, 'cept go with you for comp'ny," a cowboy beside him agreed. "We got ropes to spare." Sudden did not reply. The top of a tall cottonwood was now in sight, and the imminence of death was upon him. He knew that to be hauled off the ground and left hanging until the tightening noose checked the breath, must, to a healthy man, mean many minutes of agony. He dismissed the thought with a shrug.
The tree was reached, and the victim thrust under a stout outflung branch over which the man who had jeered at him on the journey proceeded to throw one end of his lariat. He then adjusted the loop and stood back, surveying his work. "All set," he announced.
At these words the spectators closed in, eager to feed their animal appetite with every detail of the drama.
To the condemned man it all seemed unreal. Above his head, birds were chirping, and the sunlight, filtering through the foliage, threw dancing shadows on the ground. The world appeared, in truth, a fair place, and he was about to leave it—shamefully. Then into his consciousness came something very real indeed—Javert's poisonous features, alight with triumph, within a foot of his own.
“So, Mister Sudden, our game is finished, an' I take the pot," he hissed. "I promised myself to get you an' that coyote cub, Masters " He got no further, having—in his eagerness to vent his spleen—overlooked the fact that the man he taunted was unbound. With all the fury of one who has nothing to lose, Sudden's right fist came up and smashed into the leering face like a battering-ram, and Javert went down as though he had encountered a cyclone. Mouthing mad blasphemies, he scrambled to his feet and clawed at his gun, but Jake clutched his wrist.
“Don't be a fool ! " he cried. "Can't you wait a few minutes? That's what he was playin' for—an easy death." The stricken man spat out a tooth and wiped the blood from his gashed lips. "I'll make it easy for him," he snarled. "Listen, you with the rope : when he's half-choked, lower him to the ground again so's he can fill his lungs, an' keep on doin' it; he shall die ten times for that blow." This diabolical suggestion brought an angry protest from the saloon-keeper, and some of the more sober in the crowd supported him.
“We're here to see justice done, Sark," one of them said. "But we ain't Injuns, an' won't stand for torture."
“An' I don't reckon that Pinetown has the say-so in these proceedin's neither," another added, a sentiment whichbrought a still blacker look to Javert's damaged countenance, but was promptly taken up and repeated.
More joined in, and the argument as to whether a man should die slowly or quickly became general.
CHAPTER VII
SHORTLY after the band of self-appointed executioners had departed on its grisly errand, a solitary horseman loped into Welcome. Young, attired in range-rig, with a good-humoured, not unpleasing face, there was nothing remarkable about him save his pallor, unusual in a land of sunburnt skins. At Gowdy's store he dismounted, entered, and asked for "smokin'."
“This is the most lonesome place I've struck," he remarked. "Yu ain't the on'y inhabitant, are yu?"
“All the men are gone to the lynchin', I s'pose," Lucy told him, with a feminine shudder. "Beasts, I call them." The visitor stared at her. "Yu don't say. Who they string-in' up, an' whyfor?"
“Our new marshal," she said. "They say he shot a man.”
“Well, a marshal has to do that—times. I ain't never seen a hangin'. Where's it takin' place?"
“On the road to the west—there's no trees here.”
“What had the dead man done?"
“I don't know—it happened a long ways off, before the marshal came here." Her eyes filled. "You see, it was owin' to me he got the job. If I hadn't told him of the vacancy maybe ... Oh, it's too bad. I can see him now, ridin' up to the Red Light on that great black horse."
“A black hoss?" the cowboy cried. "With a white face?”
“Why, yes, do you ?"
“Hell's flames ! " he swore, and darted for the street.
leaving his purchase and the dollar he had put down in payment lying on the counter.
Amazement held her for a moment, then she ran to the door, only to see a diminishing cloud of dust travelling west.
“He must be awful anxious to see a hangin'," she decided.
In this she did the young man an injustice, for that was precisely what he fervently desired not to see. Therefore he plied spurs and quirt—though not cruelly--in the effort to drag a little more speed from his tired mount.
“Which I'm shorely sorry, Splinter, but we just gotta make it," he panted. "O' course, he may've sold his hoss, but no, he'd never part with Nigger." Soon they sighted the tree, and the black knot of people. A decision had been arrived at—Javert's inhuman proposal had found few supporters, and Sudden was to die only once.
“Someone a'comin' an' ain't losin' time neither," Dutch called out.
Jake glanced down the trail; one man only, but he was taking no chances. "Haul on that rope," he ordered.
The burly fellow holding it was bracing himself to obey when a hard round object was jammed into the small of his back and a harsh voice whispered, "If you do, you'll die before he does." A half turn of the head told him that the owner of the Red Light was standing behind him, and being well aware that Nippert was no bluffer, he froze. Before Jake could investigate, the newcomer arrived, leapt from the saddle, and shouldered his way unceremoniously through the onlookers.
“Jim ! " he cried.
Sudden stared at him in utter bewilderment, unable to believe his eyes. The face of one other betrayed a like incredulity, that of Javert, who gazed open-mouthed at this man who had apparently risen from the grave to defeat him.
“Dave," the marshal breathed. "It can't be—yo're dead."
“Not very," the other returned lightly.
“But—I killed yu."
“Skittles! It was a pore shot—on'y creased me." Hepushed his hat back, showing a scarcely-healed wound along the side of his head. "I didn't bat an eyelid for most twenty-four hours—concussion, the doc said. Soon as I was able to climb a hoss, I set out in search o' yu, an' I seem to 'a' got here at the right moment." He stepped to the condemned man and lifted the loop from his neck.
“Who the devil are you to come buttin' into our business?" Mullins rasped.
The young man grinned at him. "I'm Dave Masters, the corpse in this case, an' if anybody wants to argue, he'll find me the livest corpse he ever tackled." The challenge passed unheeded, but Nippert joined the two men beneath the tree. "Here's yore belt, marshal," he said. "Mebbe you'll feel more comfortable wearin' it." The act aroused Sark's malignity. "Hold on there," he growled. "We've on'y got this fella's word that he's Masters." The cowboy's face grew bleak. "I'll remember that, Mister Whatever-yore-name-is," he retorted, and looked around. "Ask the skunk who came to yu with a lyin' tale to hang the man he had failed to murder; there he stands—Javert; he's the one yu oughta swing." A threatening murmur warned the Pinetown citizen that he might be in danger—mobs were mercurial, easily swayed. In his anxiety to save his neck, he fell into the trap.
“It warn't no lie," he blurted out. "I left with the posse an' we all figured you was cashed. I ain't bin in Pinetown since, so how would I know?" Dave's grin was back again. "Well, gents, Mister Javert havin' admitted I'm me—which a'most makes me doubt it myself—I guess that settles the cat-hop," he remarked.
“Not any," Sark snapped. "That fella"—pointing to the marshal—"is a notorious outlaw, an' I'm going to turn him over to the sheriff at Drywash."
“You gotta git him first," Nippert said. "Loose yore dawgs as soon as you like, Sark." The defiance brought a deeper frown to the rancher's face.
Many of the Welcome men were stepping aside and would take no part in an affray, but he would have two for one. Nevertheless, lives would be lost, and there was that cursed gunman. Sark had an uneasy feeling that the marshal's first bullet would render the result of the fight a matter of indifference to him. Then Providence intervened. A growing thunder of hammering hooves, and along the trail a compact body of riders raced into view. Nippert drew a deep breath of relief; the Bar O had come. A few more seconds and they were at the scene.
“What's goin' on here?" Owen asked, and when he had heard the story, turned to Sark. "Sore at havin' failed to hang a man for somethin' he didn't do, huh?" he said contemptuously.
“He's an outlaw—wanted in Texas "
“He's wanted a damn' sight more in Welcome, judging by this precious gathering; the on'y thing I'm surprised at is that they had the pluck to try it in daylight," came the scathing answer. "I s'pose you made 'em good an' drunk first. Got any proof of what you say?"
“That fella knows him." The Bar O owner regarded Javert with distinct disapproval. "I wouldn't destroy a dawg on his evidence," he said bluntly. "What's it gotta do with you, Sark, anyways?"
“I was invited by the citizens o' Welcome to come in----"
“Meanin' Mullins an' the lousy loafers from Dirty Dick's?" Owen interrupted. "Well, you are now invited to get out, pronto." The Dumb-bell man writhed under the lash of that bitter tongue. "yo're takin' a high hand," he said. "I ain't here alone."
“I'd noticed it, an' if you want trouble . . ." Sark was not eager—the odds were no longer in his favour; the majority of the townsfolk would side with the Bar O, whose custom was of moment to many of them. Also, the riders from that ranch were known to be willing fighters, ready to storm the gates of Hell itself at the bidding of theirboss. And the marshal ... Sark reckoned up the chances and made his decision.
“That'll come later," he promised. "For now, I'm pullin' out." He swung his horse towards the hills where his own ranch lay, and his men followed him in silence.
John Owen turned to Masters. "I'm obliged to you, young man," he said. "We were delayed, an' if you hadn't got here when you did . . ."
“I'd be hearin' harps right now," Sudden finished. "Yo're flatterin' yoreself, ol'-timer," Dave laughed. "When did you get religion?"
“Jim's a methodis', an' he has Welcome mighty near convened," Nippen said solemnly.
“There goes some who ain't converted yet," Gowdy remarked ironically, indicating another group heading for town. "Don't you make the mistake o' thinkin' you've finished with them, marshal."
“I won't," Sudden smiled. "But I feel like forgivin' even Jake and Javert to-day." It was true; relief from the intolerable and ever-present burden of grief was so great that he could harbour no rancour against any. But someone was missing—Sloppy.
“Had to leave him in town—said his feet was wore off to the knees," Owen explained. "My idea is that he reckoned we'd be too late an' he couldn't face it."
“There's a good deal of a man hid somewhere in that fella," Sudden observed. "Welcome ain't troubled to look for it." A mount was found for the marshal and he rode with his friend, almost in silence. But each knew the other's mind, and was content; sentiment would have made both uncomfortable. At length, Dave said:
“Ain't nothin' wrong with yore eyes, Jim?" Sudden removed his spectacles and stowed them in a pocket. "No," he replied. "They was just a notion. My, this trail looks purtier'n it did a while back." The westering sun was casting long shadows as they loped into the town, and passing the Widow Gray's, Sudden had an idea which he communicated to his companion.
“First come, first served, is a right good motto," he concluded. "O' course, she's a widow, an' ain't as young as she was, but yu'll like her—cookin'." When Dave entered the little dining-room, its owner was wiping her eyes; he could not know that they were tears of thankfulness. She had seen the prisoner taken away, and heard the purpose; now she had witnessed his safe return. She became aware that the stranger was staring at her, nervously running the brim of his big hat through finger and thumb. The sight of this slim young woman had him guessing—wrongly.
“S'cuse me, miss, but Jim—the marshal—said for me to tell yore mother that four hungry men is aimin' to pay yu a visit an' mebbe she could sling a meal for us," he said awkwardly.
It was her turn to stare. "My mother?" she queried. "There must be some mistake; I am Mrs. Gray."
“Well, of all the scaly reptiles ! " Dave gasped. "No, miss —ma'am, I mean, that ain't for yu, but that marshal fella He fooled me—said yu warn't as young as yu was once." She laughed happily. "But that's true of us all, isn't it? Now, with four men to feed, I must get busy."
“Jim said there'd be others to follow—the Bar O is in town; we're sorta stealin' a march on 'em." She raised her hands in dismay at the prospect and darted away. He followed her to the door.
“Say, can I help?" She laughed again. "Yes, if you can peel potatoes."
“I can skin an ox, so I guess I oughta be able to shuck the hide off'n a measly vegetable," he replied.
So when Sudden, Reddy, and Shorty arrived, sounds of mirth greeted them from the kitchen.
“Sloppy musta recovered," Reddy remarked.
“That's Dave," Sudden smiled. "Set him down in the middle o' the Staked Plain an' he'll be callin' all the rattlesnakes by their first names inside an hour." A moment later the young man entered, wiping his hands, and grinning widely. "Yu fellas ever tried peelin' spuds?" he asked. "I'm tellin' yu it's an art. First two or three I held all wrong, an' Mrs. Gray said if she cooked what I took off yu'd get more to eat, but after she showed me, I got along fine."
“What yu done to them fingers?" Sudden asked.
“The durned knife slipped a few," Dave admitted. "I came near bein' shy some digits." The arrival of the meal put an end to conversation for a time, but when appetites began to wane, tongues became busy again. The Bar O men wanted to hear the story of the Pinetown affair in detail, and then Reddy told of the shooting match, and the fight with Mullins, despite Sudden's attempt to head him off.
“Why didn't yu blow his light out?" Dave demanded, and as he saw the expression on his friend's face, added softly, "Yu of Piute. What yu need is a guardian." With the advent of more customers, they went away, leaving their hostess overwhelmed by their praise. She refused Dave's offer of further assistance, Sloppy having turned up, painfully lame, but deaf to all her protests.
“We can't have them boys goin' away disappointed," he said. "I can work settin' down."
CHAPTER VIII
As was generally expected, Jake and his adherents, though they had returned to Welcome, had no intention of continuing to honour it with their presence. At Dirty Dick's, the same evening, the matter was discussed.
“I'm goin'—but not very far," Mullins announced to his own little circle. "No, sirree, I'm aimin' to even up with this place, as well as that swine, Owen, an' fill my pockets at the same time. We'll have to live rough an' take a risk, but the profits will be han'some. Any of you can come in, but it's gonna be understood that I give the orders."
“I'm game," Javert said. "I've a few debts in these parts an' ain't leavin' till they're paid—in full." Sloppy brought the news to the marshal in the morning. "Jake is clearin' out."
“Did yu figure he'd stay?"
“No, but he's tryin' to sell his business."
“Yu wanta buy it?" Sudden asked sardonically.
“yeah, but I ain't got the coin," was the unexpected reply. "An' run in opposition to Mrs. Gray?"
“No."
“Then—by Jupiter, yo're right, an' I must be dumb. She ain't got enough room, an' ... I'll see Morley, he's the fella to deal with this." Forthwith he sought the banker and explained his mission. "He's askin' two hundred an' fifty, but I guess he'll take less; he ain't servin' five meals a day that's paid for."
“Leave it to me," the banker said.
He found his man at home, and came to the point at once. "I'm told you're selling out; what's the figure?"
“Three hundred, an' cheap at that." Morley raised his eyebrows. "For the shack, some bits of furniture, cracked crockery, and old pots and pans?”
“Yo're forgettin' the trade." The banker repeated what the marshal had told him, and walked from room to room, appraising the contents. When he was satisfied, he turned to the vendor.
“One hundred and fifty—cash, and dear at that," he said shortly.
Take glared. "I can do better."
“Suits me," the other replied indifferently, and turned tc go. "To-morrow my price will be one hundred only." Mullins gave in; he was no match for the financier. Already he had sounded every possible purchaser and met with refusal.
“Hold on," he said. "It's sheer robbery, but I'll go you. I wanta take the trail to-night." Morley found the marshal in his office, and showed him the document.
“Good work," Sudden told him, and reached for a pocket.
“That can wait. Now, we have to put this thing over so as not to hurt the little lady's self-respect. I have a scheme, but perhaps you'd like to explain it to her yourself?"
“Not on yore life," the marshal said hastily. "I ain't used to women—I'd make a botch of it." The young widow welcomed the banker with a smile; she liked this grey-haired, sedate little man who had been well spoken of by her uncle.
“I hear your trade is increasing," he opened.
“Thanks to some good friends," she said.
“No, largely to your own efforts," he corrected. "But there are complaints." A look of concern replaced the smile. "Oh, not about your cooking, but the accommodation."
“The room only holds four," she murmured regretfully. "But what can I do?"
“A favour to Welcome, and to me," he replied. "Mullins is leaving in a few hours for good—our good, and I've purchased his business, lock, stock, and barrel. I want you to move in there." Her eyes shone, but she shook her head. "It would be fine, but I couldn't afford it."
“All you'll have to pay will be a small rent to me," he pointed out. "Won't you give it a trial?"
“But of course," she cried. "It's a chance I've longed for, and I don't know how to thank you." The banker stood up. "Well, that's settled, and I'm glad. This town will have a feeding-place to be proud of."
“I'll do my best," she promised.
That evening, in the Red Light, Nippen drew Sudden aside. "Jake's went, an' it's all over Welcome that Mrs. Gray is takin' over his eatin'-house. It's a blame' good move, an' I s'pose we have to thank you for it?"
“No, Sloppy, though he don't want it knowed."
“Where did he git the money?"
“He didn't; I fixed that with Morley," the marshal explained, and told of the arrangement the banker had made.
“First-rate," Nippert agreed, and then, "Jim, havin' found yore friend, you ain't thinkin' o' goin' back to Pine-town?"
“Where they wanted to hang me?" The saloon-keeper had a sense of humour. "But we damn' near did it," he grinned ruefully.
Sudden laughed too. "Allasame, I'm stayin' put; the trees is too handy in Pinetown."
“An' Masters?" The marshal's face sobered. "I dunno. Mebbe he'll get a job with the Bar O; Owen seemed to like him."
“I've bin thinkin' you need a deputy."
“It's mighty good o' yu, Ned, but it would be just charity."
“I forgot to mention when you took hold that we'd had a couple o' marshals bumped off in twelve months."
“I knew—Gowdy's girl told me."
“You certainly fetched yore nerve along," Nippert said. "Well, you may figure you got this town tamed, an' mebbe that goes for two-thirds of it, but the rest is a craggy lot; they'll fear you, but bein' scared of a man don't make you love him, none whatever. Mullins has gone, with some o' the worst, but he's left friends behind, an' he ain't forgettin'. Nor will Sark, an' he's got poison 'stead o' blood in his veins." Sudden gave in. "Awright, Ned," he replied. "yu know the people an' yo're the doc. O' course, I'll be tickled to death to have Dave workin' with me." At that moment the man himself came up. "Yu both look as solenn as owls," he grinned. "Must be discussin' some-thin' serious."
“No, we were talkin' 'bout yu," his friend countered. "Fact is, Ned thinks I oughta have a deputy, an' he's suggestin' yu."
“If Mister Masters will take it," the saloon-keeper put in politely.
“Mister Masters won't, but Dave will, with both han's," was the smiling reply. "But not till after to-morrow; I've somethin' to do."
“What fool-play yu got in mind now?" Sudden wanted to know."
“Me an' Sloppy is goin' to make a yaller dawg's kennel into a fit place for a lady to live in," Dave replied lightly.
Two weeks went by, and Welcome—the principal disturber of its calm having departed—had returned to everyday routine-existence.
The first whisper of unrest came when Reddy rode in one morning. He was the only Bar O man to visit town since the dash to the marshal's rescue, and was therefore ignorant of subsequent events.
“Yu'll feed with us at Jake's," Sudden invited.
“I eat at the Widow's," Reddy replied.
“That's what I said," was the enigmatical retort.
He got the story as they walked up the street. Arrived at the restaurant, he surveyed approvingly the newly-painted sign, clean curtains, and absence of rusty airtights littering the ground. The interior with its scrubbed floor, neatly-laid tables, and sound chairs, opened his eyes wider, but he said nothing until the proprietress came to take the order.
“There ain't such a swell joint inside a day's ride," he told her. "Reckon Jake would bite hisself if he could see it."
“I had some kind helpers," she said, her eyes on Dave.
“They did the work; I'm afraid I was only in the way."
“That's somethin' yu couldn't be, ma'am," was the gallant reply.
The meal duty despatched, they lit up. Reddy's gaze roved round the room.
“Amazin' what a difference a woman can make," he remarked. "She owes a lot to yu, Jim."
“She owes me just—nothin'; Sloppy's been her good fairy."
“An' yu've bin his, which proves my point," Reddy retorted triumphantly.
Sudden shook his head and got up. Back in his own quarters, he put a question :
“What's yore trouble, cowboy?"
“yu've certainly got the seem' eye, Jim; I didn't guess it showed that plain. Just—want o' sleep." It seemed an absurd statement from one who was the picture of health, but the marshal understood. "Nightridin', huh?"
“yu said it, an' day as well; the boys is all wore out. Yu see, we're losin' cattle, an' it's gettin' serious."
“Been goin' on long?"
“Couple o' weeks, so far as we know. A steady leak, six or seven a day, picked beasts, an' there ain't a sign to show who's takin' 'em or where. It's got me dizzy."
“Well, there's nothin' doin' here---- "
“Yo're forgettin' that hold-up we promised to look into," Dave interrupted.
The marshal grinned. "Don't pay any attention to him," he went on. "We ain't a thing to do—the town's peaceful as a prayer-meetin'. We'll go for a li'l ride to-morrow; mebbe we can light on somethin'." When the foreman had departed, Dave looked at his chief. "Jake went about two weeks ago," he said.
“Yo're readin' my thoughts," Sudden accused. "If it's Jake, he must have a hide-out. We gotta find it."
“We might be away all day. What 'bout gettin' Mrs. Gray to put us up a bite to take along?"
“Just now my mind ain't on food."
“Then it must be drink. C'mon." When they got outside, Masters naturally turned in the direction of the Red Light, but his companion shook his head. "We'll pay a visit to Dirty Dick," he said.
“Enemy country," Dave laughed, and loosened his gun in the holster.
“Shucks ! At this' time o' the day there won't be a soul in the place—mebbe." He was almost right, for as they pushed back the door of the dive, they saw that it was empty save for the owner and a man who, at the instant of their entry, slid round the bar and disappeared into the rear part of the premises.
“Whisky—yore best," the marshal said. "Wasn't that Dutch who went out?" For a moment Dirty Dick hesitated, his furtive eyes scanning the questioner's face. Then he nodded.
“What's he back for—to stay?"
“Nope, just a visit, to pay some coin he owed me.”
“Why didn't he do that before he left?"
“He forgot," came the reply, after a pause.
“Yo're lucky to get it."
“Oh, Dutch is square," the man said easily.
“Possibly, but he keeps bad company," the marshal replied. "What's he doin', anyway?"
“I dunno, but he ain't got a woman workin' for him," was the insolent answer.
A subdued chuckle came from somewhere; the deputy stiffened, put his glass on the bar, and said truculently, "The company he keeps ain't near as bad as the liquor yu sell; if this is yore best, the worst must be rank pizen."
“You ain't forced to drink it." Sudden interposed. "Easy, boy," he soothed, and to the dive-owner, "Watch that lyin' tongue o' yores, an' run this place decent or I'll run yu—outa town." Dirty Dick gazed into the hard, slitted eyes of the speaker and decided that silence was the safe card to play, but his expression, as they went out, was not pretty.
As they stalked down the street, Sudden regarded his fuming companion quizzically. "Marshals are appointed to keep the peace," he remarked casually. "An' the same applies t `Didn't yu hear what he said, an' the laugh?" Dave broke in.
“Shore, but why lose yore wool because a cur yaps? Besides, he was tellin' us things. We know now that Dutch was broke when he left an' has made money since; also that Jake ain't far away, an' is keepin' touch with friends here, which needs rememberin'. Good value for the price of a couple o' drinks." The sun was no more than faintly gilding the eastern sky when they set out the next morning. The Bar O trail lay towards it, but the marshal headed his horse in the opposite direction.
“Where are we turnin' off?" Dave asked presently. "Yu, ain't expectin' to find them stolen steers at the Dumb-bell, are yu?"
“It wouldn't surprise me—much, but we gotta know more before we snoop aroun' there; welcomes can be too warm." Another half-mile and they swung south, leaving the rutted wagon-track and picking a way through brush big enough to hide them. Two hours passed before they reached a wooded slope which afforded a view of the country, an undulating, scrub-dotted expanse which they knew must be part of the Bar O range, though no cattle were visible.
Westward, were ridges and gullies, and as these offered excellent cover, they decided to make for them. Skirting the plain, they were proceeding along the far slope of a brush-clad rib of rock when a rifle cracked and a bullet zipped through the crown of Dave's Stetson. Out of their saddles instantly, they trailed the reins, and crawled to the top of the rib. Thinning smoke from a clump of brush some threehundred yards distant told them whence the shot had come, but there was no sign of the man who fired it.
“Lie low," Sudden advised. "He may think he got yu an' show hisself. Might be one o' the Bar O—I'll bet their system just now is shoot first an' investigate after." Hats discarded, prone on their bellies, cheeks cuddling rifle-stocks, they waited. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes ticked slowly by and nothing happened. Dave got restive.
“This hlame' sun is just naturally scorchin' my scalp," he grumbled. "I reckon he's went." He reached for the hat lying behind him and immediately two reports came from the clump, the leaden messengers humming past their ears. They returned the fire, aiming at the smoke-jets.
“A pair of 'em," the marshal commented. "Guess they ain't Owen's men." Another period of quiet ensued, and the marshal used it to take a furtive scrutiny of their surroundings. This gave him an idea.
“Stay an' keep 'em interested. I'm goin' to try an' get another angle on 'em. If yu fire, make it two quick shots so's they'll figure we're both here."
“Right, but don't take chances; these hombres ain't usin' guns for the first time," Dave warned.
Sudden slid backwards down the slope and, leading his horse, followed the bend of it. He had not gone far when four shots rang out, the last two in rapid succession. Dave was right. Presently he paused, crept up the incline on hands and knees, and took a peep between two large stones. As he had suspected, the brush rampart behind which the unknown marksmen were concealed was much thinner on this side, and he could see the gleam of a levelled gun-barrel. He fired, aiming where he judged the holder should be, and a dark form showed itself and vanished before he could press the trigger again. A moment later, two horsemen burst into the open, and, flattened over the necks of their mounts, raced for the nearest gully. Sudden's rifle spoke again and one of the animals went down, throwing its rider heavily. The other man, without even a backward glance, gained cover. By the time Sudden reached the fellow who had fallen, Dave joined him.
“So yu nailed one," he said.
“He's on'y stunned—the hoss got the lead. Take charge of him. I'm goin' after his mate." He had marked down the spot where the fugitive had disappeared, and for a little while, hoofprints—the deep ones of urgent haste—helped him, and then, as he came on harder ground, a dangling, freshly-broken branch pointed the way. But no more of these tell-tale signs presented themselves, until, circling round, he found the prints again, only to lose them on the bank of a creek, thickly fringed with willow and cottonwood.
Arguing that the man would go westwards, he followed the stream in that direction, and was presently confronted by an insurmountable barrier, a wall of rock nearly thirty feet in height, over which the water cascaded in a broad sheet which the sun turned to molten silver. Trees hemmed in the fall, and for some distance from the wall, the ground was weathered stone, a surface upon which to search for tracks could only be a waste of time. In ordinary circumstances, the marshal would have admired the natural beauty of the spot, but now he surveyed it with disgust.
“Hang the luck," he muttered. "A cat couldn't climb up there, an' it's a hell of long way round, seemin'ly. Mebbe we can persuade the other jasper to talk." Convinced that he could do no more, he returned to Dave. The prisoner, who had regained consciousness, was squatting on the ground, weaponless, his elbows neatly trussed with his own rope.
“Most unsocial beggar I ever met up with," the deputy remarked. "Won't give no name, so I've christened him Pock-mark.' His hoss is unbranded, an' there's nothin' suspicious 'bout him 'cept his looks an'—this."
“A straight-iron, huh?" the marshal said. "Well, that's enough to hang him. Yu'd best find yore tongue, fella."
“What right you got to down my bronc an' tie me up?" the stranger demanded.
Sudden flipped open his vest, disclosing the badge. "Plenty," he replied. " 'Specially as yu opened the ball by tryin' to bump us off. What's yore business around here?" Receiving no reply, he added, "P'r'aps the Bar O can loosen your lips." Fear flickered in the sullen eyes, but the said lips were only clamped the tighter.
“Why bother Owen when there's a mort o' good trees right here?" Dave asked, with studied callousness. "S'pose we feed an' think it over?" Sitting a little apart, so that their conversation could not be heard, they began the meal the Widow had provided. The prisoner watched enviously.
“Don't I eat?" he asked querulously.
“Yu gotta find another use for yore mouth first," the marshal replied.
“An' remember that dyin' on an empty stomach is a mighty dangerous thing to do," Dave supplemented.
His solicitude earned him only a scowl. They finished eating, smoked a cigarette, and made a start, the prisoner walking between the riders. The sun's rays had now become shafts of fire, and since their way led across the open range, there was no respite for man or beast. Mile after mile through the blinding heat the man on foot stumbled doggedly until they had covered two-thirds of the journey, and then he dropped like a stone.
“I'm all in," he gasped, through parched, cracked lips. "Have a swig at this," Dave said, passing his water-bottle.
The sufferer drank eagerly, and after sitting for a while, stood up. Rustler or no, he was possessed of a stubborn determination, and Sudden—who had forced this ordeal upon him in the hope of breaking down his obstinacy—began to doubt its success. Fists and teeth clenched, eyes half-shut, and body limp with fatigue, the tortured man dragged one blistered foot after the other until at length the Bar O building came in sight. A hail brought the owner, Reddy, and some of the outfit.
“'Lo, marshal, what you got there?" Owen asked.
Sudden explained, and the rancher's face grew dark. "Good," he said, and turned to the prisoner. "What you gotta say?"
“Nothin'."
“Right. You've till sunrise; if you ain't opened up hy then, you swing. Lock him up, Reddy."
“Yu think he'll squeal?" Sudden asked. "That tramp would 'a' busted the nerve o' most; he's tough."
“A hemp rope is tougher," the rancher replied. "Pity the other got away."
“He certainly chose the right place," the marshal admitted, and described it.
“Ah, the Silver Mane fall, plenty o' hidin' there.”
“He would 'a' tried to pot me."
“That's so. Well, I dunno how he got clear; that barrier —which we call The Step—runs for a mile or more each side o' the stream, an' she's straight up, 'cept at the south end."
“What's back of it?"
“Sort of plateau, with some biggish cracks. The Step is my western boundary; past it is Dumh-bell range, but they don't use it, the feed bein' poor." When they got up to go, the cattleman pressed them to stay the night, but Sudden shook his head.
“Gotta make a show o' earnin' our pay," he smiled.
On the way back, the marshal was unusually silent. In truth, his mind was far away on the Mexican Border. There, too, what appeared to be a simple case of cattle-rustling, had uncovered a deep-laid plot to steal a range, and he was wondering ...
CHAPTER IX
THE marshal and his assistant were enjoying an after-breakfast smoke when a pony scuttered to a stop outside and the Bar O foreman strode in. He had not shaved, and his customary cheerful expression was missing. Dropping into a seat, he began to construct a cigarette.
“He's gone," he announced, and added a fervent wish as to the delinquent's ultimate destination. "Helped hisself to a hoss—one o' my string, blister his hide."
“But " both the hearers began.
“Listen," he interrupted. "I left him tied as he was, locked in a cabin with a window less'n a foot square. When I goes to fetch him this mornin' the door is still fastened, but the place is empty."
“Who kept the key?"
“There ain't but one an' the 01' Man had it," Reddy replied. "An' is he wild?"
“Can't see there's anythin' to be done, but we'll come along with yu," the marshal decided.
They found the Bar O in an unwonted state of inactivity; the men were grouped round the bunkhouse discussing the mystery, and the owner was impatiently striding to and fro, awaiting Reddy's return. He welcomed the visitors with an explosive oath :
“Shinin' hell, here's a fine kettle o' fish. After all the trouble you an' Dave went to, we go an' lose the skunk, though how he got out beats me."
“Where'd yu put him?" Sudden asked.
The foreman led the way to a stout little log structure, the door of which was secured by a padlock and staple. Sudden looked closely at the latter, slipped a finger through it, pulled, and the staple came away in his hand.
“There's the key that was used," he said, pointing to a rusty iron bar lying a few yards away. "That means he had outside help. S'pose none o' yu heard anythin' in the night?" A negative came from all save one, a man nearing forty, whose dark hair and beard were patched with grey.
“Now you mention it, mister, I did hear the whicker of a hoss, but I reckoned it come from the corral," he said. "If I'd thought it was this sneakin' houn' escapin' ..."
“Shorely," Sudden agreed, and to the rancher, "No sense in keepin' yore fellas here—the bird has flown." Having despatched the men to their various duties, Reddy joined the other three indoors.
“Well, you've showed us how he got loose, but we don't know who made it possible," Owen said. "Any ideas 'bout that, Jim?"
“There's on'y two answers : either his buddy trailed us an' waited for dark, or—it was one o' yore outfit."
“You can wipe out that last; my boys are loyal—every damn' one o' them," the rancher asserted.
“I ain't sayin' otherwise—just statin' facts. That hombre who heard the hoss now, has he been with yu long?"
“Pinto?—they call him that 'count of his piebald hair—why, no, a matter o' three-four months, but he was the sickest of any over this getaway."
“Yeah, I noticed that," Sudden asked.
“What do you think, Reddy?" Owen asked.
“I got nothin' agin Pinto," the foreman admitted. "He don't quite mix in, but I put that down to his bein' older'n most of us. He's no shirker on his job."
“Dessay I'm wrong," the marshal said. "But a stranger couldn't 'a' knowed he would have a staple to deal with an' fetched along just the thing to beat it." Meanwhile, a conversation was taking place not many miles distant. On the other side of The Step, south of the fall, the plateau—by some fantastic freak of Nature—was broken by a great fissure, narrow and steep-sided, the bottom hidden by a seemingly impenetrable jumble of boulders, trees, and dense brush. This was Dark Canyon, the overhangingwalls fully justifying the name. It was never used, being difficult to enter, and without an exit. At the nearer end to The Step, Mullins, Javert, and five others were sitting round the embers of a fire. The man with the pitted face was finishing his story :
“An' if it hadn't bin for Pinto, I'd likely be dancin' on nothin' right now."
“Bah ! O' course you'd 'a' squealed." This from Javert. Pocky glared at him. "Yo're a dirty liar," he rasped. "I never sold a pal yet."
“Have it yore way," the gambler returned carelessly. "I'll bet Owen was bluffin', anyway."
“You'd lose—he ain't that sort. If he promises to stretch a fella's neck he'll do it, regardless. It's a good thing I planted a friend at the Bar O." Javert sneered. "You foresaw this happenin', huh?"
“No, I put Pinto there to keep me posted on the movements o' the cowboys an' cattle," Jake replied. "I've had this game in mind for months; it's easy money."
“Yeah, an' damn' little of it. A few cows, which we gotta sell for half their value."
“If it ain't worth yore while you got a simple remedy," Jake reminded. "This is on'y a beginnin'—there's other ranges in reach."
“A lot o' hard work for two-three hundred bucks, an' risk our necks at that. We couldn't lose more if we made it thousands."
“What you drivin' at?"
“This cattle rustlin' is chicken-feed, just keeps us in grub an' smokin'. Why not try where there's real money, scads of it. A bank, say?" He saw at once that he had regained the ground he had lost in the recent quarrel, for the eyes of his companions gleamed avariciously at his audacious proposal. Even their leader could put forward no objection.
“I think you got somethin' there," he said. "0I' Morley must carry a lot o' coin at times, an' there's on'y him an' his missis on the premises. It would square my little account with him."
“An' give some o' them Welcome hucksters a pain in the breakfast," Javert added viciously.
“We'll do it," Mullins decided. "But we gotta pick the right night. Dutch, ain't I seen young Evans, Morley's clerk, in Dirty Dick's?"
“Shore, he dasn't go to the Red Light; Bob has threatened to fire him if he does."
“That's fine. You slide in this evenin', git hold o' that boy, an' pump him dry, casual-like, o' course. Then we can make our plans. Now, them steers we lifted last night need attention, an', Pocky, don't forget to blot the brand o' that hoss you took in exchange for yore own; she's a dead giveaway." On that same afternoon, Mary Gray had a surprise when Jesse Sark dismounted outside her establishment, hitched his horse, and entered. She was alone, clearing up after the last of her midday customers. Sark cast an appraising eye round the rehabilitated eating-house, and a remembrance of what it had been forced a compliment even from his reluctant lips.
“My word, Mary, but you've certainly worked wonders," he said. "I must see if yore cookin' grades up to the layout —if you'll serve me."
“That's what I'm here for," she replied coldly.
He had been drinking, and his eyes watching her vanish into the kitchen, were covetous. Happiness and motherhood had made her more physically attractive, accentuating the curves of her youthful body, which her simple black dress set off perfectly. He devoured the food she set before him with greedy appreciation, and then, calling her over, said, with a leer :
“That was fine. If, as they say, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, all the fellas in this burg oughta be sweet on you.""I like to please my customers."
“Mebbe, but it's no work for a woman such as youservin' grub to tradesmen an' cow-wrastlers, spoilin' them pretty han's."
“I am happy here," she replied steadily. "I don't mind earning my living."
“There's an easier way. The of man treated you mean; get the laugh on him by comin' back to the Dumb-bell. I'll give you everythin' you want." It was some seconds before the utter infamy of the suggestion come home, draining the blood from her cheeks, and turning her to ice.
“How dare you?" she cried.
“Don't be a fool, m'dear," he said. "I've took a fancy to you an' am willin' to pay a high price—even marriage—if that's what you're bogglin' over, in spite o' the tale I heard at Dirty' Dick's."
“What do you mean?"
“That the marshal set you up here."
“Dirty Dick's is well named," she retorted bitterly. "This place belongs to Mister Morley, and I rent it from him. There are those in town who would kill you for repeating that lie."
“Which would shorely clinch it," he sneered. "Whereas, if you came to the Dumb-bell ... See here, I'm ready to take a chance on you. Figure it out: mistress of a big ranch, plenty o' money, fine clothes, servants to wait on you, an'—a good home for yore kid."
“I wouldn't wed you to save him from starvation," she replied fiercely.
The contempt in her voice stung him like a whip, lashing him to a fury of anger and desire. Snatching at her wrist, he held her captive. A savage jerk which nearly flung her off her feet enabled him to sweep his other arm around the slender waist and force the struggling body close to his. Held in that iron clutch, she could do nothing save make desperate efforts to evade the lips which were seeking her own.
“Sark!" The bully looked up to find Dave Masters only a couple of yards distant, face rigid, eyes of chilled steel, and his gun levelled.
“Stand away. I am goin' to kill yu." Mary Gray moved to his side. "Don't shoot, Dave," she pleaded. "Send him away—for my sake." The sound of her voice seemed to bring him to his senses. He shook his head as though to clear it of a mist through which he had been gazing.
“Yo're right, ma'am, he ain't worth the case of a ca'tridge," he muttered, and gesturing towards the door with his weapon, added, "March ! " The cattleman drew a long breath; he knew that only the girl's intervention had saved him, but he was not grateful. But neither was he prepared to take further risks, so he marched. Dave followed, and as the other threw back the door, gripped him by the back of the neck and, with a sudden thrust, sent him sprawling into the street, much to the edification of some passers-by who witnessed the ignominious exit. When, spitting curses and sand, he scrambled to his feet, he saw his assailant standing on the sidewalk, empty hands hanging down, eyes blazing.
“Thought yu was gittin' off easy, huh?" the cowboy gibed. "Pull yore gun, yu mongrel, an' go to the hell that's waitin' for yu." But Sark was in no mood to accept the invitation. Though the drink had died out, he was badly shaken. He contented himself with a threat:
“Yore account is pilin' up, fella, but don't you fret none —it'll be settled."
“Git some o' yore cattle-thieves to help you," Dave advised, and saw the furious eyes flicker.
He watched the man hoist himself into the saddle, grab the quirt hanging from the horn, and lash the beast into a frenzied gallop.
“Takin' it out'n the hoss," was his thought. "He would." He opened the door of the restaurant and peeped in. Its owner was seated at a table, face hidden in her hands.
“I dasn't go in," he said, unaware that he was speaking aloud, and closing the door gently, walked away, convinced she had not seen him.
But she had, and heard him too, and when she raised her head the wet eyes were shining. "Oh, Dave, you big, brave—coward," she murmured with a tremulous smile.
That evening, the marshal strolled into Dirty Dick's, and indifferent to the anything but welcome looks he received, ordered a drink, and scanned the company with apparent carelessness. One couple immediately interested him; seated at a table a little apart from the rest were Dutch and Evans, the banker's assistant. The latter, sucking at a rank cigar, and with a glass of spirit before him, had shown signs of perturbation when the officer entered.
“That's done it," he muttered. "He'll tell 01' Bob an' I'll get the air." Dutch, who was as little pleased at the intrusion, endeavoured to console him. "Mebbe he won't mention it," he said. "An' if he does, I can find you somethin' better to do than pushin' a pen—a man's job, with real money in it."
“That's mighty nice o' you, Dutch," was the reply. "Tied to a desk all day ain't much of a life."
“Yo're shoutin'—it'd give me the willies in a week," the other agreed, adding slyly, "See here, I can tell you how to shut the marshal's mouth, if need be." He whispered earnestly for a few moments, ceasing only when he became aware that the subject of their conversation had drawn near.
“Evans, I want a word with yu—outside." The youth hesitated, and then, with a poor attempt at bravado, emptied his glass and followed the officer into the fresh air. Sudden came to the point at once.
“How come yu to be in that sink?"
“You were there yoreself."
“Don't fence with me, boy," Sudden said sternly. "Would Bob Morley approve o' yore frequentin' Dirty Dick's?”
“He don't buy my evenin's."
“Which is no answer to my question." The boy fidgeted with his feet, tried to draw inspiration from a cigar which had lost its savour, and furtively let it fall.
“You don't have to tell him, do you?"
“It's my duty," the marshal said doubtfully.
“Promise not to, an' I'll put you wise to somethin' important," Evans replied eagerly. "Is it a deal?"
“I make no bargains in the dark, but I've never been accused o' bein' ungrateful." The clerk gave in; this man—whom he secretly admired as being all he would have liked to be—was too strong for him.
“There's goin' to be a big raid on the Bar O," he blurted. "They figure to burn the buildings, shoot down the outfit, an' drive off the cattle. It's to be to-morrow night."
“Who is `they'?" the marshal asked, wondering how far his informant's power of invention would carry him_ "I dunno—the fella who told me "
“Meanin' Dutch."
“Well, yes, but he ain't in it," Evans replied. "He's workin' over to Drywash, an' got to hear accidental. He reckons it's a gang from 'way up in the hills, an' they'll outnumber the Bar O unless Welcome lends a hand."
“Why didn't he come to me?"
“He was meanin' to, but when you come in, he thought "
“Yu could buy my silence, huh? Well, it's a fine story; I didn't guess Dutch had that much imagination. However, I'm sayin' nothin' to yore employer, on one condition, that yu keep clear o' that dive from now on; mixin' with Dutch an' his like will on'y land yu in the penitentiary—or worse."
“I'll promise," Evans replied. "But marshal, I ain't lyin' about what Dutch told me, an' I'm certain he meant it. He said he hadn't no quarrel with the Bar O, an' didn't want to see strangers put one over on 'em." Sudden returned to his quarters in a thoughtful frame of mind. The boy's parting words had been spoken earnestly, but he could not conceive a member of Jake's ruffianly crew being anxious to prevent disaster befalling Owen's ranch, even though the blow was to come from outsiders. Had the fellow fallen out with his friends and turned traitor? That was possible, but unlikely, since Dutch appeared to have nothing to gain. Or was it, after all, a mere fabrication, concocted by Evans, under the spur of necessity?
“Damn it, anyway yu look, it don't make sense," was the conclusion of his meditations.
CHAPTER X
SUDDEN, rising with his problem still unsolved, took Dave and Sloppy into his confidence over the morning meal. The pair looked at him in puzzled bewilderment.
“What's yore trouble?" the younger man asked. "There ain't but one thing we can do : take a dozen o' the boys to the Bar O an' give them cattle-thieves a real big surprise. Ain't that yore notion too, Sloppy?"
“Shore looks thataway," the little man agreed. "But ..." He paused, his speculative gaze on the marshal.
“That's the snag—but," Sudden said. "Every way I figure, I run up against it. The obvious move ain't allus the right one. Dutch don't like me none a-tall; why should he put me wise when he'd ruther I fell down on my job?" His companions could find no answer to this, and he supplied one himself :
“It might be that he just wants to make a fool o' me. Well, I'm stayin' put."
“Yu won't help the Bar O?" Dave said earnestly. "Damn it, Jim, we owe them that."
“I know, but I don't think they'll need us. I'll ride over myself an' warn 'em to be on the look-out. It ain't no use arguin', boy; I've got a hunch an' I'm playin' it, right or wrong." Masters shook his head, unconvinced, but Sloppy appeared to be satisfied—the marshal's word was his law. Together they walked up the street.
“I don't like it," Dave remarked. "It'll seem we've run out on Owen."
“Jim's got savvy," was all the consolation he received. They found the Widow busy and cheerful. She thanked the deputy very prettily, and excused her cousin.
“He had been drinking," she said. "Men are not responsible then."
“It's mighty hard to figure him a close relation o' yores," Dave remarked.
“He's scarcely that," she corrected, and with a smile, "but he was certainly too close yesterday." The allusion brought a swift frown to the cowboy's face. "If he pesters yu again there's liable to be a bereavement in yore family," he told her.
Meanwhile, the marshal was on his way to the Bar O. He found the owner just about to set out.
“Step inside," he invited. "I guess you didn't come just for the pleasure o' seein' me."
“Why not?" Sudden smiled. "Allasame, I've news—of a kind." Seated in one of the big chairs, he told what he had learned. Owen received the narrative in silence. Only when the marshal came to his own proposed inaction did he speak:
“you ain't believin' it?"
“No, I suspect a trap—to get me outa town.""What for?"
“I wish yu could tell me. Dave is sore, he reckons I'm playin' it low down on yu."
“Rubbish ! " the rancher said. "You ain't paid to safeguard the Bar O; that's up to us an' I guess we can do it, but any suggestion will be welcome."
“Have four or five men, spaced out, watching yore western line to give warnin'—they'll come in from that side. The rest o' yu can wait here. Keep a man with a fast hoss ready to head for Welcome. I expect yu can stand 'em off till we make it. Got plenty gun-fodder?"
“you bet, an' the ranch-house is loop-holed," Owen replied. "That's a good plan, Jim; I'll fix it so. I'm obliged."
“Shucks ! If yu do get a visit, I'll feel pretty mean. By the way, I wouldn't pick Pinto as a sentry."
“Still suspectin' him?"
“I got nothin' to go on, but there it is."
“Seen any more o' Sark?" Owen asked.
“He was in yestiddy, an' didn't add any to his popularity." The rancher listened with an expression of growing disgust to the eating-house incident. "Good for Dave," he commented. "But he'll have to watch out; Jesse ain't particular how he pays debts."
“He'd better settle mine first," Sudden said, with a wintry smile, and, inconsequently, "Was Amos raisin' cattle around here before yu?"
“Some years earlier, but there was plenty range, an' we never had any differences."
“Yu chose a nice convenient brand—for him, didn't yu?”
“How so?"
“Lengthen yore bar, put an O at the near end, an' yu have a passable Dumb-bell."
“That's so," Owen admitted. "Now I'll tell you some-thin'. Amos Sark's brand was Circle S, but when Jesse took over he made the change. I didn't give it a thought, we've never suffered from brand-blottin' in these parts."
“Mebbe, but you're losin' cattle, an' it's worth bearin' in mind."
“I'll warn the boys to keep their eyes open."
“Some of 'em," Sudden advised. "There ain't allus safety in numbers."
“I'll respect yore prejudices, marshal," the rancher replied. "I allow Pinto ain't a young gal's dream o' manly beauty, but hard looks don't mean much."
“Yu didn't see the one he gave me," Sudden smiled.
Satisfied that he had done all he could, he set out for home. With but a mile to go, he noticed horse-tracks branching away to the left of the trail he was travelling. Few in number, they showed that a rider had come and gone several times. Was this the way Dutch slipped into the settlement? He had no means of knowing, but decided to find out where they led to.
This was simple enough in the open, for the unknown had made no attempt to conceal his passage, but presently the tracker found himself amongst dense brush, and the task became harder. But Sudden could read signs like an Indian; a faint indentation, a dislodged stone, or a bruised leaf were plain as print to his keen eye. The sun told that he was travelling south-west and must, in time, arrive near the spot where they had encountered the rustlers. So he was not surprised when, after an hour of painstaking labour, he emerged from a shallow ravine to hear the roar of tumbling water. Two hundred yards distant was a double line of willows, and in front an arid stretch of gravel on which the tracks were utterly lost. He waded the creek and searched the far bank, but without success. Then he rode south along The Step, noting how the wall of rock dwindled in height until it was possible to cross.
“If they come, it'll likely be this way," he mused. "Well, Nig, what we want now is a shorter trail to Welcome." The afternoon was well advanced when he returned; he had found his trail and memorized every salient feature.
Tired and hungry, he found his deputy in a fractious mood. "What's John Owen thinkin' of us?" he inquired.
“He said I was doin' the right thing."
“Seems to 'a' taken yu a long time to convince him.”
“Oh, we had to make arrangements, an' on the way back I had a look around."
“See any doubtful characters?" Dave asked sarcastically.
“Not till I got here," his friend grinned, and then, "Let's go an' lift a few honest dollars from Nippert—he's got too many, but first, we'll saddle the hosses."
“Whyfor?"
“To keep their backs warm, o' course," Sudden laughed. "Also, if anythin' breaks loose to-night we might need 'em in a hurry. Owen may send word." At the Red Light, Sudden told the saloon-keeper what he had done and certain citizens were warned to be ready for instant action. When, after an evening of modest poker, the marshal and his deputy retired to their quarters, they did not undress.
Two hours after midnight found Welcome asleep. There was no moon, and the indifferent light of the stars showed the buildings only as deeper blobs in the general darkness. Then, into this silent stillness, entering from the eastern end of the town, came the shadows of mounted men, moving slowly, cautiously, one behind the other. Eight in number, they rode noiselessly along the street, the soft sand deadening the footfalls of their steeds. Each had a bandana, slitted for the eyes, covering his features. When they reached the bank, four of them got down and stepped swiftly to the side door. The others took charge of the horses, and sat waiting, rifles across their knees. The leader rapped softly. After a pause, a voice from inside asked :
“Who is it?"
“Open up, Bob," the stranger replied gruffly. "I'm from Nippert." Apparently the answer was satisfactory; bolts were withdrawn and through the slightly-opened door came the light of a flickering candle; behind it, the peering face of the banker. At the sight of the masked man, he made a desperate attempt to close the door again, but the other had flung his weight upon it, levelling his revolver at the same moment.
“One yap'll be yore last," he warned. "Stan' back, or ..." Morley knew that he was helpless; his nearest neighbours were thirty yards distant, and would be asleep. He obeyed, and watched the four bandits file in, closing the door behind them. Then the leader turned to him.
“Unlock yore safe," he said. "An' be spry about it." This was too much. The banker was an old man, but an obstinate one, with a sense of duty to those who had trusted him; these scoundrels might rob him, but he was not going to make it easier.
“you'll get no help from me," he replied, and when the ruffian gripped him by the throat, forced him to his knees, and swung his pistol aloft, added, "Shoot, damn you, and rouse the place." The threatened shot did not come. Instead, the barrel of the weapon dropped, with savage, merciless venom on the bent grey head, toppling the victim to the floor with a gashed, bleeding skull. The striker snatched up the still-lighted candle and surveyed the senseless man with malignant satisfaction.
“Guess we can help ourselves," he snarled. "That pays a score anyway. Last time we did business together it was yore turn; now it's mine. I'll trouble you for yore keys, friend." On his knees beside the stricken man, he was searching the pockets when a gasp of horror made him glance up; the banker's wife, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, was staring at the scene.
“Gag her—quick," he ordered.
One of them clapped a hand over her lips, choking the cry in her throat, while another whipped the shawl from her shoulders, muffled her head with it, and then bound her wrists and ankles.
“Lucky I fetched along these piggin strings," he chuckled, as he completed the brutal task. "She won't bother us." Jake stood up. "Here's the keys," he said. "C'mon, we gotta work fast." They followed him into the business part of the premises and soon the safe was at their mercy. A leathern satchel lay near it.
“That's just what we want," Jake grinned. "Thoughtful o' Bob to provide it." With coarse jests they packed bags of coin and packets of currency into the receptacle, and having cleared the safe of all that was of any use to them, were about to rummage the drawers and desks when two rapid pistol-shots rang out.
“What th' hell's that mean?" Jake asked.
“A signal from the boys," Javert suggested.
“Then they must be loco," was the reply. "We'll beat it; I reckon we've cleaned the place." As they hurried to the door, the leader glanced suspiciously at the supine figures on the floor, but neither appeared to have moved.
“Who fired them shots?" he demanded of the men outside.
“You tell us," one of the waiting group retorted. "They 'peared to come from inside."
“Couldn't have," Jake snapped. "None of us pulled trigger, Morley is as near dead as damn it, an' the of woman hawg-tied. Hell ! the town is wakin' up." It was true; lights were gleaming in several windows, doors opening, and men's voices could be heard.
“We gotta go—pronto," Jake decided, and turned to Dutch, who was carrying the plunder. "You know what to do. With the stuff safely hidden they can't prove a thing, even if they overtake us. Now, ride like the devil." Bunched together, with no further attempt at concealment, they shot into the open and, with a defiant yell, galloped away.
The two reports had found the marshal and his deputy on the alert, and they were the first to reach the street. Others soon joined them, some only half-dressed, but all carrying weapons, and asking the same question :
“What's the trouble?" Nobody knew, until the retreating raiders flashed into indistinct view for a few seconds, and then Sudden swore: "Damnation ! I might 'a' guessed it—the bank. Take some men an' get after 'em, Ned; mebbe yu can run 'em down.”
“What are you goin' to do, Jim," Nippen asked.
“I've another plan—it's a chance an' no more. Dave, I'll need yu, but we'll have a look at the bank first." Leaving the saloon-keeper and his posse to take up the pursuit, the others hurried to the building, found the front door fastened and the side one open. The marshal stepped in and struck a match. At his feet was the candle the visitors had thrown down. Lighted, it revealed the prostrate body of the banker.
“Hurt had, but he'll pull round," Sudden announced, after a brief examination. "Lift an' carry him to the bedroom." As two of them raised the limp form a revolver clattered to the floor. Dave picked it up.
“A couple o' empty shells," he remarked. "Musta fired them shots what roused us hisself. Bravo, Bob." By this time the woman had also been found and released, but she was in a dead faint, and could give them no information. The gaping door of the safe told the rest of the story. The marshal drew his assistant aside.
“We can't do anythin' here—nothin' to go on," he said. "Let's take a ride." They got their horses and Sudden led the way eastwards until the settlement was behind them and then turned sharply to the left into a wilderness of scrub and small timber. Travelling through this in the darkness was a ticklish operation, but the marshal found a way, twisting and turning but —as his companion noticed—always coming back to a fixed line. Presently they reached a tract of pines, and the guide gave a grunt of satisfaction."There's my blaze," he said.
On the trunk of one tree, showing clearly in the gloom, was a white mark where a strip of bark had been slashed away with a knife.
“Yu been here afore?" Dave wanted to know.
“I spent some time searchin' out this trail on my way back yestiddy."
“For the love o' Mike, why?"
“We're goin' to find out," Sudden told him.
“Open up, yu clam. Nippert'll never catch 'em. What are we riskin' our necks an' hosses in this blasted brush for?" The reply was a question. "When yu rob a bank what's the first thing yu wanta do?"
“Why, yu black-haired misery," Dave began indignantly, and then laughed. "Me, I'm mighty eager to cache the coin, ain't yu?"
“That's the right answer, an' I'm gamblin' that these hombres will have the same notion. Now, if they come from the hills, they gotta cross The Step, an' their nearest point ain't far from where we lost that rustlin' gent. I've been lookin' the ground over." The next few miles were covered in silence. At intervals a blazed tree was passed, telling them they were on the right path, but the journey was taking longer than the marshal had expected; darkness had doubled the difficulty and made any attempt at speed impossible. So the grey light of dawn was streaking the eastern sky when they reached their destination—the stretch of gravelly ground. On the edge of this, screened by thick bushes, they drew rein.
“If my hunch is good, they'll come this way," the marshal said. "An Injun would lose their tracks on that stuff, an' there's more on the other side o' the creek; the place was made for fellas on the dodge." For a while they waited as patiently as might be, watching the stars pale and fade before the coming of the day. It was a wearisome business, for the morning air was chill, and they dared not smoke. Dave voiced the thoughts in both their minds:
“Mebbe we've missed 'em." Sudden raised a warning hand; his sharp ears had caught the snap of a twig away to their left. Soon came the pad of a trotting horse.
“On'y one, seemin'ly," Dave murmured perplexedly.
Both drew out their rifles. The sounds became clearer, and presently a horseman emerged from the undergrowth. In the half-light, they could see that his features were blotted out by a kerchief, and secured to the cantle of his saddle was a bulky package. Unhurriedly he began to cross the open space and was less than a hundred yards away when Sudden's voice rose above the rumble of the waterfall :
“Hold on, or we'll drop yu." They saw the violent start, the snatched look at the two men, who had now ridden out, and heard the curse which greeted their appearance. Grabbing a gun, the unknown sent two bullets whistling past their ears, and then—apparently realizing that in another moment they would be upon him —bent low in the saddle and spurred his mount remorselessly.
“If he gets to the stream we'll lose him like we did afore," Sudden said, and raised his rifle.
One shot, and the fugitive flung up his arms and pitched to the ground; the pony careered on. With scarce a glance at the sprawling form, the two men raced after the the runaway, and in a short space Sudden's loop settled over its head. Pulling the brute alongside, he thumped the package, and grinned with saturnine satisfaction when he heard the unmistakable clink of coin.
“That's the loot from the bank," he said. "Let's have a look at the fella they trusted with it." The man was lying on his face, but one glance told that he was dead; the bullet had broken his spine. Sudden turned the body over and removed the improvised mask.
“Dutch ! " he exclaimed. "Well, that's somethin' else I might 'a' guessed."
“Sorta points to Mullins, huh?"
“Yeah, but yu couldn't prove it. They left Welcome together, but it don't follow they stayed that way; Dutch may've gone to the hills on his own account. Well, gotta take him in, I s'pose." Roped across the back of his own horse the dead robber returned to Welcome. They stopped at the bank, where they found Nippert.
“We never saw hide nor hair of 'em," he said, in answer to the marshal's question. "An' when we lost the trail, there was nothin' for it but to come home."
“How's Bob?"
“He's got a busted head, but that'll mend, if he gives it a chance."
“I got the medicine to cure him," Sudden said. "They say money talks. Well, it shore does. Listen ! " He lifted the leather bag and smote it, once, twice. "Hear it?" The saloon-keeper's eyes popped out. "If you ain't the shinin' limit! This'll save Morley's life."
“Take it in to him," the marshal smiled. "Me an' Dave ain't slept since the last time—'bout a week ago, it seems. We'll see the of boy later." As he went out, a chalk-faced youth was climbing back on to his stool in the office. Sudden guessed he had seen the grisly sight outside, and went to him.
“Don't worry, son," he said. "I've fetched the stolen money back, an' yore boss will get well. Stay with yore job —there's worse ways o' earnin' a livin' than bankin'." Dumb with amazement and relief, Evans watched the tall, lithe figure swing into the saddle and ride down the street.
“Gawd, what a man," he murmured.
CHAPTER XI
JAKE and his band, having succeeded in eluding pursuit, made a wide detour to avoid the Bar O range, and reached the gully about the same time as the marshal and his deputy returned to Welcome. The absence of Dutch astonished them.
“What in hell can have delayed him?" Mullins muttered. "He's had time to cover the ground twice." Javert's face took on an ugly sneer. "Yeah, time to git to the California border, pretty near," was his reply.
“I've knowed Dutch a-many years an' he's straight," Jake defended. "He wouldn't play no pranks on me." None of the others appeared to partake of his confidence. In the excitement of carrying out the raid, Jake's plan for getting rid of the tell-tale spoils had seemed good, but now they began to doubt its wisdom; it was a temptation not one of them could have resisted. Nothing further was said, however, and having eaten, they waited sullenly for the advent of the missing messenger.
As the day wore on and brought no sign of him, the fear that they had been duped deepened. It was a bitter dis-- appointment; the whole enterprise had gone smoothly; a single coup had given them more wealth than a year of rustling would produce, and now . . .
“I hope yo're right," Javert shrugged. "Me, I'm goin' to catch up some sleep." He got his blanket, and, one by one, the others followed his example. Jake alone remained sitting by the fire, gazing into it morosely. Despite his bold front, he was desperately uneasy. What else could have happened? A rogue himself, he read the minds of his men, and was even now bitterly reproaching himself for not having done what they suspected.
It would have been simple, and with only two to share. ... The scrape of a hoof, and rattle of a rolling stone, recalled him to realities. He sprang up, crying :"He's here. What did I tell you?" The others flung aside their blankets and stood up, but the man who stumbled through the shadows and stepped into the glow of the fires was Pinto, the Bar O rider.
“Thought you was Dutch," Jake said disgustedly. "Hell ! "
“That's where you'll have to go if yo're wantin' him," the cowboy replied.
“You sayin' that Dutch is—dead?" Jake asked.
“Hope so, seem' as they've buried him," was the callous answer.
“Let's have a plain tale," Javert cried impatiently.
“Well, the marshal didn't fall into yore trap an' stayed to home. When you punched the breeze, he sent the posse after, but him an' his damned deputy made for the Silver Mane, shot down Dutch, an' toted his remainders, with the coin, back to Welcome. Who put him wise?"
“Nobody," Jake told him. "I didn't git the idea till we was in the bank; it seemed a good way o' playin' safe." This for the benefit of the Bar O man, whose face bore a palpable sneer. "How d'you hear?"
“Reddy brought the cheerful tidin's."
“Damnation! That tacks a label on us," Javert said.
“Not any," Jake corrected. "It ain't knowed where we are, or that Dutch stayed with me. I'd ride into Welcome to-day if I felt like it; they can't prove a thing."
“If you do, take a squint at yore of shack," Pinto advised. "Widow Gray is runnin' it, an' Reddy sez it's swell." The other's eyes narrowed. "So," he said harshly. "I shore will; in fact, I'll feed there."
“Step careful then. Reddy said Sark paid a visit, got fresh, an' was throwed out, neck an' crop."
“By that slip of a female?" asked an incredulous listener. "No, by young Masters, an' as him an' the marshal are ace-high about now, it might be dangerous." Jake frowned. "Sark, huh? What's his game?"
“She's a relation, an' quite a few think she oughta be ownin' the Dumb-bell. Marriage with her would stop that talk." This appeared to give Mullins food for thought; he was silent for a while. Then he dismissed the subject with a lift of his shoulders, and said briskly:
“Well, boys, I was right 'bout Dutch, you see—he played fair. We've lost this time, but there'll be others. What are the chances for a worth-while gather, Pinto?"
“Mighty slim—at present; the outfit is right on its toes, an' I have a hunch that cussed marshal has ideas 'bout me. I don't like them cold eyes—they gimme the feelin' he can read what's in my mind."
“He must be a medicine man to have knowed about Dutch," Pock-mark put in.
“Kid's talk," Jake said scornfully. "He guessed right, an' that's all there is to it. Awright, Pinto, we'll lie doggo till the Bar O is feelin' easy again. Better git back in case yo're missed."
“I'm night-ridin'—watchin' for you fellas," the man grinned, as he prepared to go. "Hang the luck! I'd bin hopin' to tell John Owen what I think of him, an' git my time."
“Which would 'a' showed pore sense," Mullins remarked. "Even if the bank deal had come off, we've a soft thing here, an' when the Bar O is good an' thinned, we'll have Sark where we want him."
“Hadn't looked at it thataway," Pinto admitted. "You got a head, Jake, but I'd like to see the last o' that marshal."
“He'll be taken care of," was the sinister assurance.
The men retired to rest again, but for some time the scheming brain of the bandit chief was busy, and not on their account. The result of his deliberations was a shave, and an attempt to smarten his appearance in the morning, an unusual proceeding which inevitably provoked curiosity.
“Who's the dame, Jake?" one asked.
“Dame Fortune, the on'y one o' her sex worth troublin' about," was the cynical reply. "I'm goin' to Welcome.""Ain't that a risk?" Pocky inquired.
“Not to you, anyways. I'm ridin' in from Drywash, to see Dutch."
“But he's cashed."
“News to me, an' I'll be the most astonished fella in the place when I hear it." Javert nodded. "He's right; it's a good bluff, an' oughta lay out any suspicion of us bein' mixed up in that bank affair." It was not until early afternoon that Mullins reached Welcome. The visitor rode to his late abode, dismounted with a sigh of relief, and after a peep through the neatly-curtained window, entered. His step on the board floor brought the Widow from the kitchen. Astonishment checked the customary greeting.
“Howdy, ma'am, I expect yo're s'prised to see me," Jake said, as he removed his hat and sat down.
“What—do you want?" she stammered.
“I'm peckish, an' not partic'lar; I'll leave it to you," he replied.
She served him in silence, and he too had nothing to say until he had done full justice to the food, but his eyes were busy and found her more desirable than ever. When she came to remove the empty plates, he was rolling a smoke.
“That was bully," he complimented. "I once said you couldn't cook; I was wrong."
“Thank you," she replied quietly.
“You've made a new place o' the shack," he went on. "Curtains, tablecloths, everythin' clean, it's a dandy layout, an' good grub. I allus said it takes a woman to make a go of a joint like this. I hope the hawgs appreciate it." A tiny frown creased her brow at the epithet, but all she said was, "My customers seem to like it."
“Trade good, huh? Makes me feel 'most sorry I sold out. There's possibilities here. Build an extension—a dance-hall, freight in a pianner, an' have social evenin's, mebbe a game or two. It'd need capital, but I could find that"
“I have no desire to sell."
“I ain't suggestin' any such thing," lie continued. "You'd run the show, just exactly as you pleased, understan'? Yo're the king-pin; I put up the dollars an' be sort o' pardner." He paused for a moment. "Why, what's the matter with makin' it a real pardnership?" He bent forward, his eager eyes devouring her, and she realized that, for the time being, at least, he was in earnest.
“Are you, by any chance, asking me to marry you?" she said coldly.
“Shore I am—I've allus wanted you," he cried. "I ain't no good at makin' fancy speeches, but I'll treat you right. Mebbe I run a bit wild after you took Gray; that's all over. Girl, we'd have a shore-enough bonanza in this of barn. What d'you say?"
“No, now and always," she replied steadily.
The low voice carried conviction, and the crash of his new-born hopes aroused his anger. Thrusting a threatening face near to her own, he spoke through his clenched teeth:
“I'm not yore class, I s'pose? One o' these days I'll make you ask for what you just turned down. I'll "
“Why, Mister Mullins, what brings yu amongst us again?" The ruffian turned round. Dave Masters was smiling, but his eyes were flinty. Entering from the rear, he had approached unnoticed. Jake had his answer ready :
“I come to see Dutch—heard he was here."
“Yu heard correct; we'll go find him," Dave remarked cheerfully. "All yu've gotta do is pay for what yu've had." He looked at the used crockery. "Steak an' fixin's, pie, cawfee—that'll set yu back one dollar. Ante up, an' we'll be goin'." Jake's expression was one of irate doubt; he did not know how to deal with this apparently good-tempered young man, who had, however, handled Sark—a big fellow—capably.
Outside, the deputy looked at his companion with twinkling eyes. "We'll need a spade," he said.
The visitor's start of surprise was well done. "You tellin' me Dutch is dead?"
“Adam ain't no deader. Didn't yu know?"
“Ain't seen him since the day I left Welccme—we fell out," Mullins lied. "How did it happen?"
“He was ridin' in the dark, got throwed, an' hurt his back," was the somewhat incomplete explanation.
“Talked some, before he passed out—wild stuff 'bout a bank hold-up, an' mentioned yore name." Apprehension came and went like a flash, but Dave saw it. "Must 'a' bin out'n his head," Jake replied, the mask of indifference back again. "I don't take no stock in the ravin's of a dyin' man. Now, if you've finished shootin' oft yore mouth, I'll be on my way."
“Just one more thing," Masters returned. "I heard yu raise yore voice to Mrs. Gray. That ain't allowed, an' I'm servin' notice on yu to get out an' stay out o' this burg, or by the livin' God I'll send yu to join Dutch. yu sabe?" The careless, bantering youth had gone, and in his stead was a hard-faced man, with a jutting jaw and hostile eyes, who clearly meant what he said. So swift had been the change that for one bewildered moment, Jake stared at him in silence. Then he remembered that he had been given an order.
“This ain't finishin' here," he warned.
“I'd noticed that," came the gibe. "Split the wind, yu misfit." With studied deliberation, the ruffian rode down the street, and the young man's eyes gleamed mischievously. Pulling his gun, he sent a couple of bullets under the pony's pacing feet, flinging the frightened beast into a mad gallop, and nearly unseating the surprised rider. Then, with a contented grin, he went into the restaurant, just as its owner, white-faced, appeared.
“I heard shots," she said.
“His hoss was lazy—I just livened it up some," he explained. "What was he after?" The colour came back into her cheeks. "He was after—me," she replied demurely.
“The devil he was?"
“Your astonishment is hardly a compliment," she smiled. "Yu know I didn't mean it thataway."
“You only make it worse; I'm afraid you'll never be a success with the ladies."
“I don't aim to be, 'cept with one," he said warmly.
She changed the subject. "I haven't seen the marshal to- ay.
“Gone to the Bar O; told me to stay an' keep shop," Dave informed. "Said there might be another unruly customer to chuck out. Now how in blazes could he know that?" She shook her head. "He is a clever man; if I had any secrets I should be afraid of him. Did he say anything else?" Dave grinned gleefully. "Shore, he reminded me to make the fella pay first, an' I did—this time." The subject of their conversation was certainly on his way to the Bar O, but the route he had selected was by no means the nearest. In fact, he had gone straight to the Silver Mane. The place had a fascination, and he was convinced that it held a secret. But he failed again to find anything, and after a patient search, he gave up and rode along The Step until he came to where it dipped down and could be crossed.
On the far side, he found a wide slope of sparse grass, and presently he came upon cattle, grazing in twos and threes. Acting on an impulse, he chased one group, and when sufficiently near, whirled his rope. The loop dropped neatly over the head of a steer, and Nigger sat back on his haunches. The running beast went down as though its feet had been snatched from under it, with a jar which knocked the breath out of its body. Ere it could recover, the horseman was by its side.
He needed but one look; true, it was a Dumb-bell brand, but one half was inflamed, having evidently been recently added. To make sure, he ran down several other bunches, and without troubling to use his rope again, found further damning evidence.
“Reckon this will interest Owen," he said grimly. "I'll have to go to the Bar O after all." But he was saved the trouble, for on covering only a few miles, he heard a hail, and saw the rancher coming towards him.
“'Lo, Jim," he greeted. "Seen any cattle-hungry hombres around?"
“No, but I'd like to show yu somethin' if yu ain't in a hurry."
“I got all the time there is."
“C'mon then," Sudden invited. He swung his horse round and the other followed.
“Smart work snatchin' the pot from those bank-breakers," the rancher remarked. "You must 'a' been born lucky, Jim." Sudden did not reply, save by a smile, bitter, without mirth. He was thinking of the youth—not then twenty—who, on the flimsiest evidence, had been branded thief and murderer, a price put upon his head, driven to herd with outlaws and fight for his freedom.1 Lucky? Well, perhaps he was—to be alive.
They crossed The Step and soon came upon the cattle. The marshal roped and threw one, Owen watching the operation with appreciative eyes; rarely had he seen such skill and precision; he said as much.
“Punchin' is my business," was the reply. "Take a squint at the brand, an' give me yore opinion." One look sufficed, but one word did not. "Sark?" Owen cried. "So he's the damned, dirty, thievin' dawg? Of all the ..." A string of blistering, vitriolic terms tripped from his tongue in swift succession until, invention and breath failing, he stopped, looked at the marshal—and laughed.
“Damn' silly, but if I didn't cuss I'd just naturally explode," he excused. "But that's enough to make any cattleman mad, ain't it?"
“Shorely, but there's one thing I can't understand," Sudden replied. "The brand is badly botched—a kid could do better, an' I reckon Sark's hands are cowmen."
“Some of 'em are better gunmen," Owen responded. "I'm needin' an explanation right now. Let's go." Driving their captive before them, they set out.
As they drew near the forest, they could see the ranch-house standing clear of the trees, with the other buildings and corrals a little distance away. Constructed mainly of 'dobe, it was larger and more pretentious than the Bar O. It had the usual raised terrace in front, giving access to the dwelling, and below this, flower-beds had been laid out, but these now showed every sign of neglect.
“Amos had 'em made for Mary Gray," Owen said. "It's a blazin' shame they should belong to this coyote."
“I'm agreein' with yu. He's comin' to meet us. Keep yore wool on, John; we're an easy mark." In fact, Sark was swinging towards them, but presently he stopped and waited for them to ride up. His expression of insolent surprise was not one of welcome.
“Well, well, the last two people I'd expect to bring me a present," he began, his gaze on the steer, still held by Sudden's rope.
“Look at the brand," Owen said curtly.
Sark stepped closer. "Ragged work," he replied coolly. "If I can find out who did it, he gets his time. I'm obliged to you."
“Quit stallin'," Owen rapped out.
“You suggestin' I'm stealin' yore cattle?"
“What else? Here's a beast with my iron altered to yores an' there's others where we found it, just this side o' The Step, on yore range." Sark glared. "A part I don't use," he said, "but no matter. Listen: when I want the Bar O, I'll take it—hook, line, an'sinker, not a few measly cows at a lick. Get that? Now, make tracks, afore I have you run off my land, an' take yore hired killer with you." He had raised his voice, and several men—appearing from the outbuildings—drew nearer. Sudden saw the backward glance and spoke for the first time :
“I wouldn't crow too loud, even if yu are on yore own dung-hill. An' don't rely on that bunch o' bush-whackersyu'd be buzzard's meat when they started anythin'. That"—he pointed to the steer—"needs explainin'; I've seen men hanged on slimmer evidence." The cold, passionless tone brought Sark up with a round turn. He spat disgustedly.
“My fellas would do a better job than that, an' wouldn't leave the cattle where you could find 'em till the wounds were healed," he pointed out. "I'd say someone is doin' this to throw suspicion on the Dumb-bell, an' cover their own tracks."
“If you'd said that right off we might 'a' believed you," was Owen's comment. "If you ain't liftin' the cattle, I'll bet a blue stack yo're buyin' 'em. It wouldn't be the first rotten trick you've turned, you—jail-bird." Sark's face became livid. Dumb with rage, he made a movement towards his gun.
“I—just—wouldn't," the marshal said.
Simple as the words were, they carried a threat which penetrated the mind of the half-demented man. His hand stopped, and then, with a furious wave of dismissal, he turned and walked back to his ranch-house. Owen had a parting shaft:
“We're leavin' the cow you paid for." No response coming, they rode unhurriedly away. For a while neither spoke; the marshal was the first to break the silence.
“Has he really been a guest o' Uncle Sam?"
“Yeah, it ain't generally knowed, but he got two years in the pen; that finished him with Amos."
“Yet he leaves him practically all his property. Odd, ain't it?"
“So damned odd I can't believe it, but the will seemed straight enough. O' course, Amos was queer in some ways, but he thought a lot o' Mary." Another silence ensued, and then the rancher remarked, "Well, I got troubles o' my own. What am I to. do 'bout this brand-blottin'?"
“Yu can't move till yu know for shore," Sudden told him. "It might be a frame-up like he claims."
“I'll stake my life he's mixed up in it," Owen said stubbornly. "They steal, an' he buys—cheap; that's my guess."
“Yu may be right," Sudden agreed. "I was watchin' him close an' he didn't seem so surprised as he oughta been, but we gotta have proof. It'll mean waitin', but we'll get it. I'm beginnin' to feel a whole lot interested in Mister Sark."
CHAPTER XII
SEVERAL days had passed, and Sudden was again at the Silver Mane, watching the sheet of water sweep over The Step, to drop, with a continuous boom, into the stream beneath and go dancing and eddying away between the willow-lined banks.
He waded through the water and rode to the other side. Dense masses of evergreen masked the sides of the fall, but pushing into these he found a narrow space between them and the wall of rock. Following this, he came to a ledge of stone some three feet in width, directly under the Silver Mane, and there, completely concealed, was what appeared to be the entrance to a cavern. Though it was high enough to admit a horseman, he decided to explore on foot.
As he had expected, the opening led into the bowels ofThe Step itself. By the light which came, as from a window, through the sheet of water, he could see innumerable hoof-marks, both of horses and cattle. So this was how Pockmark's companion had got clear.
The tunnel sloped slightly upwards, and from the roughness of the walls it was evident that man had no hand in the making of it. As the faint light from the entrance failed he found that the passage veered to the left, and since it soon became entirely dark, he had to feel his way. He had covered something more than two hundred paces when a voice came to him, reverberating weirdly through the gloom.
“I'll see you," it said, and a curse followed. "Damn it, two-handed poker never was no good to me." Sudden went on, but more warily, until, groping round a bend, he saw that which sent him swiftly behind a projecting spur of rock—a fire, and beside it, two men playing cards on a spread blanket. The leaping flames showed that here the tunnel gave upon a large and lofty cave, the full extent of which he was unable to determine; on the far side, through an irregular opening, he could see daylight.
The gamblers were conversing in low tones, and the marshal was considering an attempt to get near enough to overhear when an indefinite sound of movement from behind arrested him. Ere he could even turn, a heavy body dropped on his back and sent him sprawling. At the same moment, steel-like claws gripped his throat and strove to choke him. Spread-eagled on the ground, his face forced into the sand, and pinned down by the panting burden above him, he was well-nigh helpless; but not quite. Arching his spine, he bucked violently in a desperate effort to throw off the weight which was crushing the breath from his body. He came near enough success to draw speech from his assailant:
“Hi, fellas, come an' give a hand." The card-players rushed over and flung themselves on the struggling pair just as Sudden had again almost unseated his rider. But those digging fingers on his wind-pipe were sapping his strength, and the reinforcement rendered resistance futile. He drove a heel into the midriff of one newcomer, to send him down, groaning and gasping, but that was all; a few more hectic moments, and his wrists were tied behind his back. The two who had done this stood up, breathing hard; it had been no picnic.
“That's that," one of them said.
The prisoner's guns were removed and he was hustled to the fire. As they entered the circle of light, the one who had spoken before emitted a whistle of astonishment.
“The marshal, by thunder ! If we'd knowed you were payin' us a visit, the welcome would 'a' bin warmer."
“I ain't complainin'," Sudden replied. He remembered the man, Galt, who had left Welcome with Mullins; the third he did not know. He sat down. "Nice place yu got here," he remarked casually.
“Yeah," Pock-mark snarled. "an' as we aim to keep it to ourselves, yore findin' it may be awkward—for you." •
“I'll have to talk that over with Jake," Sudden said coolly.
“Shore you will. Better fetch him, Pocky—he's at the corral," the third man said, and was promptly cursed by the others. "Hell, what's the odds? Dead men don't squeak." They wrangled for a few moments and then the pitted ruffian departed, grumbling. The remaining couple squatted one on either side of the captive. Galt picked up Sudden's guns and examined them.
“Thought you was a killer," he remarked. "There ain't a notch on 'em."
“They're kind o' new," the marshal said gravely. "My old ones was so carved up that there warn't sca'cely any wood left, an' it spoilt the balance; I was shootin' fellas through the eyes 'stead of atween 'em. Not that I had any complaints, but I like to do a neat job." The rustlers received this boastful bit of imagination with hard grins and the conversation languished. This was not tothe marshal's liking. He was testing the bonds on his wrists; the rope was thick for the purpose, and not tied in the manner of an expert cowman. He could feel the knots give a little, and with the loss of some skin, there was a chance of freeing himself. But he must have time, and keep their attention occupied.
“Ever travelled in Texas?" he asked, and when both shook their heads, "Fine country, but too many law-officers an' coyotes." The speaker paused, but his hands went on working; the knots were slackening.
“Is there any difference?" Galt asked.
“On'y in the number o' legs," Sudden agreed pleasantly. His hands were nearly free; if he could hold their attention another moment.
Galt guffawed. "That's a good one."
“An' here's a better," the marshal added.
With the words his right fist swung round and landed with venomous precision on the rustler's chin, stretching him senseless; one leap put the prisoner in possession of his weapons, and before the other man could recover from the paralysing swiftness of the attack, a crashing blow from the butt of a gun tumbled him by the side of his companion. The murmur of voices outside warned Sudden that he had no time to lose, and gaining the tunnel, he dashed down it at the risk of breaking a limb. Reaching the outlet safely, he found his horse, and set out for the Bar O. He had not gone far, however, when the unwitting reference to a corral recurred to him. It would not be for the horses—they would want those handy, and Pocky had been quite a while fetching Jake.
“They'll flit now their hide-out is discovered," he reasoned. "An' mebbe try to take some stock along. If I can find the other entrance to that cave . . ."
“Yi-i-i-i-i-i-ip ! " The shrill call advented the approach of a racing pony which slid to a stop by the marshal's side. The rider straightened up and disclosed the cheerful features of the Bar O foreman.
“Found any rustlers?" was his greeting.
“Yeah, like to see some? If yu got nothin' to do ...”
“Me? I just come out for a ride."
“Is there a gully runnin' at right angles to The Step and just south o' the fall?" asked Sudden.
“Yu mean Dark Canyon—one hell of a place. There's no way out this end, an' don't I know it? Tried her for a short cut once; I was wrong."
“I expect yu didn't look careful," was all the sympathy he got.
Reaching the place, they dismounted and crept through the thick brush which fringed the edges of the gully. There was no sign of life, save birds.
“We're outa luck," he said. "Let's try further along." They pushed their way to another position some fifty yards distant, and were duly rewarded; in an open patch below stood a group of saddled ponies, two of which carried packs. Then, from behind a dark mass of undergrowth, men appeared, eight of them, mounted and set out.
“Why, there's Jake," Reddy whispered excitedly.
“Shore it is, an' we gotta follow. Fetch the hosses." For about a mile they kept pace with the riders, of whom they got only occasional glimpses. This brought them to a spot where the walls of the gully flattened out a little as it mounted towards the level of the surrounding country, and here was a grassy hollow, hedged in by thorn bushes, with a pool of water at one side. The entrance to this was closed with a crude gate of trimmed sapling trunks; inside the corral a score of cattle grazed peacefully.
“What we goin' to do?" Reddy asked, as they watched Mullins and his men ride up, and two of them jump down to remove the barrier.
“Scare 'em off," Sudden replied. "When yu've fired, break ground quick an' let 'em have another, pronto; they'll figure there's a lot of us." One after the other, they pulled trigger, and without waiting to see the result, ran a few yards right and left to repeat the process. The unexpected attack from unseen assailants caused something approaching a panic among the rustlers. The pair on foot dropped the pole they were lifting and jumped for their mounts; one of the riders cursed and grabbed his left arm; another reeled, but kept his seat in the saddle; a pack-animal squealed and kicked, dragging on its lead-rope. The fusillade from above continued and some of those below made an attempt to retaliate, firing at the smoke, but their leader soon saw the hopelessness of their position; they were just targets.
“It's no use, boys," he shouted. "Leave the cows an' git goin'." He set the example by spurring his horse for the mouth of the gully, and the rest followed. The marshal watched them.
“They're headin' north—for the hills," he said.
“One ain't," Reddy corrected, as a rider separated from the others and turned west. "Now what's that mean?"
“At a guess, I'd say Jake is visitin' the Dumb-bell." They rode to the end of the gully, and turning in, arrived at the corral. The remains of a fire, a straight iron lying beside it, betrayed the purpose to which the place had been put. The steers were Bar O three-year-olds, and on four of them the brand had been clumsily changed to the Dumbbell. Reddy snorted with disgust.
“Shore looks like yo're right about Sark," he said. "Jake ain't the sort to be makin' presents." Having rounded up the cattle, they commenced the task of driving them to the Bar O.
When, in due course, they drew rein at the ranch-house, Owen himself welcomed them with a whoop, inspected the recovered stock, frowned at the altered brands, and then dragged the two men indoors, eager to hear all about it. When Sudden told of the tunnel behind the Silver Mane, the eyes of both his listeners went wide.
“I warn't smart enough to remember that others might be usin' the tunnel," the marshal said ruefully, and related his capture and escape. "Then I met Reddy, an' the rest was easy," he finished.
“You done noble," Owen said warmly. "Wonder where they've gone?"
“They'll leave a trail."
“Not in the hill country they won't," the foreman stated.
The marshal's eyes twinkled. "One o' them pack-hosses had a sack o' meal across its rump," he said. "I put a bullet into it." The cattleman slapped his knee. "you think of every-thin', you durned ol'—methodis'," he grinned.
CHAPTER XIII
WELCOME lay sweltering in the midday sun. The marshal, his deputy, and factotum, draped over the only three chairs in the office, were smoking and sweating in silent discomfort.
“It's a nice day to go for a ride," Sudden remarked, after a while.
“It's a nicer day not to," Dave contradicted.
“Sloppy, wasn't yu around when Amos Sark was bumped?" Sudden went on.
The little man, who had been half-asleep, became swiftly awake. His expression was one almost of alarm, but he answered without hesitation.
“Yeah, I was livin' at Drywash."
“yu know where it happened?"
“The fella what—found him, pointed it out to me.”
“I'd like to see it."
“Why, it took place over a year ago; what yu expect to find?"
“Oh, I'm curious."
“Curious is puttin' it mild—yo're a freak," Dave rejoined. They passed a side trail which would have taken them to the Dumb-bell ranch, and about a mile further on, Sloppy halted. "Here she is," he said.
In the bright sunlight it was difficult to conceive that there a man could be foully done to death, and yet the spot possessed the one necessary adjunct. The road, deep-rutted, was open, save for scattered trees, but on one side a solitary cluster of low bushes offered safe cover for a lurking assassin. Ten yards away was a young birch, and to this Sloppy pointed.
“Amos was lyin' there, on his face, arms spread; they figured he'd went over the hoss's head," he informed. "His money was missin'."
“So it might 'a' been robbery?"
“Yeah," Sloppy agreed, but his tone was not very convincing. "The track o' the slug showed he was shot from behind." The marshal dismounted and walked to the bushes. They were close-growing, but at the back was an opening where a man could stand and command a view of *_he road in both directions. With the barrel of a pistol he poked about in the rubble of lead leaves and coarse grass which obscured the roots of the shrubs. Presently he heard the unmistakable clink of metal against metal. The find proved to be a small, brass tobacco-box, dull and discoloured by exposure to the elements. It was empty, but on the lid inside, rudely scratched, were the letters E.K. Returning, he showed it to his companions.
“Remember anyone with those initials?" he asked Sloppy, and got a shake of the head for answer. "Then it don't help us any."
“Plenty people use this road," Dave said. "One of 'em could 'a' throwed it there."
“That's so," Sudden agreed, and slipped the box into a pocket. "Sloppy, d'yu know much about that law-sharp yu mentioned to me?"
“Slimy? Not enough to hang him—more's the pity.”
“What's he done to yu?"
“Nothin'—I ain't anythin' to lose, so I'm safe from his kind."
“I'm beginnin' to suspect yu don't like the fella," Sudden said. "Amos Sark trusted him."
“ `Used' is a better word," Sloppy retorted. "By all accounts, Amos could smell a skunk, two-legged or four.”
“He let him make his will," the marshal persisted.
“I'm lettin' this hoss carry me, but I ain't trustin' him," the little man said, with a wry smile.
Nippert examined the brass box and shook his head. "Funny findin' it where you did, but it don't prove a thing," he said. "Yo're a clever guy, Jim, but the shootin' o' Amos Sark is goin' to be one too many for you."
“Dessay yo're right," Sudden rejoined. "I did hope them letters would give me a line. What sort of a burg is Dry-wash?"
“A lot bigger'n Welcome, an' as tough as a rawhide," was the reply. "They got a sheriff there—Blick—but Jesse Sark owns him, like he would the marshal here if you hadn't come along. You'll on'y be wastin' yore time there."
“I guess I'll look the place over," Sudden said carelessly.
So, in the morning, he set out. Curiosity was the excuse he gave his friends, but the real incentive was the possibility of unearthing information about the murder, in which the discovery of the tobacco-box had stimulated his interest. Amos must have had friends and probably enemies, there.
He had compassed about half the journey when, having crossed an arid area and entered the welcome shade of a small forest, he turned in his saddle just as a rider appeared on the other verge of the plain.
Concealed in the undergrowth, he waited, but when the rider at length arrived, jogging steadily along, it was Sudden who got the surprise, for the traveller proved to be Jesse Sark.
“What's his errand in Drywash?" he asked himself. "Mebbe I can find out." The leisurely pace enabled him to keep his quarry in sight without discovery, for the rancher rode with hunched shoulders, apparently deep in thought, and devoid of interest for what might be behind him. When they entered the town, it became more difficult, for though—as Nippert had said—it was a big place, it consisted of the inevitable one long street. Keeping in the rear of a loaded freight-wagon, Sudden contrived to trail his man to the Drywash Hotel. Here Sark dismounted and went in.
The marshal waited a while, and then—having ascertained that the bar was empty—followed. He ordered a drink and invited the shirt-sleeved dispenser of liquor to join him. Almost immediately a short, wizened, grey-haired man with a beak of a nose and lips so thin that they made a mere line on his face, bustled in and said sharply :
“Is Sark here?"
“Shore, Mister Lyman, in No. 7."
“Now, ain't that too bad?" Sudden drawled, when the other had vanished up a stairway. "I reckon I'll need a room to-night, an' seven is my lucky number."
“He don't off'n stay—just uses it for a business powwow, I guess," the bar-tender said. "I'll keep it for you."
“But I'm wantin' that apartment straight away—I've been ridin' since dawn, an' I'm aimin' to snatch a snooze afore I start in to set this burg alight," was the peevish reply.
“No. 6 is next door, an' just as good a room. If I'm gamblin' I like to begin with a loss."
“Somethin' in that too," Sudden allowed. "I'll go up pronto. Shore I'll take my spurs off—I ain't no wild man from the woods." With a broad grin, he went up the staircase and reached a corridor with numbered doors along one side. Stepping lightly as a cat, he located the one he was looking for and slipped noiselessly in. As he had hoped, the partition wall was of board, and with his ear pressed against it, much of the conversation in the next room was audible. Lyman was speaking, and his reedy voice was strident.
“So you've got the Bar O suspecting you, eh? That's not very clever."
“They can't prove or do anythin'," Sark replied. "I'm too strong for 'em."
“Jake seems to have muddled matters," the lawyer remarked. "A pity—it was a neat way of bleeding Owen."
“He was unlucky," Sark excused. "That cursed marshal..." Lyman cut short the string of oaths. "Blame yourself. Why the devil didn't you make a friend of the fellow instead of letting the Bar O get hold of him? These men all have their price. Now, I'll have to find a way to deal with him. Your head is just an ornament, and poor at that." To the surprise of the listener, Sark took the rating meekly. "I ain't got yore brains, Seth, but he queered our plan to make Mullins marshal, an' so "
“you have to show your hand by making an enemy of him?" the lawyer said testily. "One marshal is as good as another, if he's taking your pay. How are you getting on with the girl?"
“Oh, we're good friends," was the careless reply. "I don't want to rush things."
“No, you tried that and failed, didn't you? Don't lie to me, Jesse; I know what happens in Welcome."
“I was lit up, but she'll listen to reason."
“She'll have to, but it was another stupid blunder. Let it be the last, or . . ." Silence ensued, and then Sark said, "By the way, Seth, I've bin thinkin' that if yore office got burned out, or if anythin' happened to you, them papers "
“Are in a safer place than my office," Lyman interrupted.
1 1 A
“And if I met with misfortune, my friend, it would be awkward—for one Jesse Sark."
“But, hell, you might drop dead in the street, an' then "
“My troubles would be over and yours would begin," was the grim retort. "Brought the cash?"
“Yeah, an' it takes a lot o' findin'," Sark grumbled. "With Jake an' his men in the discard it'll be harder."
“Don't talk like a fool. They must go on worrying the Bar O, whittling down their herds, until Owen is willing to sell—at our price. I hear Mary Gray is doing well out of her eating-house; no chance of cutting in on her trade, I suppose?"
“Not any, the marshal an' his side-kick have made the town solid for her."
“She's got courage, ability, and looks," the lawyer said. "You're going to be a lucky fellow, if you play your cards properly. If I were twenty years younger ..."
“Well?" The other laughed wheezily. "I'm not, so it doesn't matter. Now, no hanging about here; get back to the Dumbbell." This was evidently not in accordance with the rancher's intentions. "Damn it, Seth, a chap must have some fun," he protested. "Yo're askin' too much."
“I'm not asking anything," Lyman rasped. "I'm giving orders." Sudden heard the door slam, the sound of one pair of feet on the stairway, and then Sark's hoarse, angry voice:
“you blood-suckin' leech. One o' these days I'm goin' to squeeze that shrivelled wind-pipe till the breath leaves yore rotten carcase." Having hurled this valediction at a man who could not hear it, he too departed. The eavesdropper waited until he consisted the coast would be clear. He found the barman in conversation with a stocky, abnormally broad individual, whose sheriff's star occupied a prominent position on his vest. His pig-like eyes, deep-sunk in a fat, pimply face, surveyed the stranger truculently. The latter's badge was not in evidence.
“Visitor, I guess," he opened.
“The same," Sudden returned easily. "Sheriff. I see.”
“Correct, an' the name is Blick—mebbe you've heard o' me?" the officer said pompously.
“I'm new to these parts—just ridin' through," the marshal replied, and when the barman reminded him that he had booked a bed, added, "I like to play safe; sleepin' on my saddle ain't no treat for me."
“Cowpunch, huh?"
“yeah, but just now I'm takin' a li'l va-cation. Which is the best place in this township for a fella to amuse his-self?"
“The Square Deal," the sheriff replied. "Good liquor, pretty gals, an' straight games—you'll find 'em all there.”
“Your joint?"
“Shore, but I ain't boostin' it on that account, eh, Tom?" This to the bar-tender, who shook his head and winked slyly to his other customer. "I'm a square man, an' a square deal has allus bin my motto, which explains the name. Come an' see for yoreself." He emptied his glass, and without waiting for an answer, strutted out. Sudden's sardonic eyes followed the stubby figure until it vanished behind the swinging door, and then turned to encounter the grinning face of the barman.
“He's certainly square—to look at," he commented.
“An' that's as far as it goes," the other said viciously. "Him an' Slimy run this burg to suit theirselves an' both of 'em is bad right through. If you win at Blick's, some yaller-haired hussy'll take it from you, an' if she don't, there'll be strong-arm gents waitin' outside." The marshal opened his wide shoulders. "Them last will have an interestin' time."
“Forget it," Tom told him. "Hocussed liquor makes their job easy." 114
“That's different. I'm obliged to yu, friend." Having put his horse in the hotel stable, and carried his saddle and rifle up to his room, he went in search of a meal. He found one, plentiful enough but poor as regards quality and cooking.
“Mrs. Gray is spoilin' me," he reflected as he came out. "She'd make a fortune here." Drywash was a busy place, for despite the heat, there was a certain amount of bustle and activity. Pedestrians of both sexes hurried or sauntered along the sidewalks, and outside the drinking dives men lounged, chatting and smoking. One of these spoke as the marshal swung past.
“Another sucker for Blick an' his like to trim," he laughed.
Further along the street, the object of their interest abruptly slid behind the projecting corner of a store as a familiar form stepped out; it was Galt. With his hat pulled well over his eyes, Sudden followed until the rustler disappeared into a building, on the door of which was the name, "S. Lyman." The marshal came away, and proceeded to try out a plan he had conceived. Entering a saloon, he ordered a drink, and reaching out the brass box—which now contained tobacco—began to construct a cigarette. None of the other customers evinced any interest, and leaving, he repeated the process at a number of places, but without meeting any success.
“There's nothin' to it," he decided. "It was a long shot, at the best." Night was coming on when at length he paid a visit to the Square Deal. It was large, and vulgarly ornate, the planed log walls garishly decorated with gaudy, gilt-framed mirrors, and pictures which owed nothing to art or decency. The shining mahogany bar, with its resplendent array of bottles, was an inmposing feature. To the right were the various games of chance provided by the establishment, and to the left a portion of the boarded floor was devoted to dancing; the space between contained tables and chairs.
117 The women present, for the most part, were employed by the house to dance and drink with the customers; their painted faces and tawdry attire proclaimed the fact.
The saloon was filling up, and the jangle of the ill-treated piano mingled with the medley of voices. No sooner had the marshal entered than a golden-haired girl in a crumpled muslin frock which displayed her figure somewhat freely, minced up and caught his arm.
“Buy me a drink," she invited. "I like cowboys." Sudden slipped a bill into her hand.
“Get yoreself one," he said. "I'm playin' another game tonight." She shrugged her bare shoulders. "Dame Fortune is hard to woo," she said. "You would find me less difficult." She thrust the money into the breast of her dress, and her bold eyes softened. "Good luck, friend, but—don't buck the wheel —for much." The last words were a mere whisper, spoken as she skipped away to be instantly caught in the arms of another man and dragged to the dancing floor. The marshal joined the crowd round the roulette board, and soon saw that the girl's warning had been well-meant; the wheel was under the control of the operator, who allowed small bets to win; worth-while wagers almost always lost. He collected a few dollars and drifted to the bar. A frowsy, half-tipsy fellow of about forty was arguing with the man behind it.
“You know me, Len," he said. "I've spent a lot o' coin here, an' now, when I'm cleaned, you won't stake me to a drink."
“You know the rule, Lumpy," Len replied, and jerked a thumb at a big notice behind him which read, "No trust."
“Have one with me," Sudden suggested, laying down a dollar.
“Why, that's mighty gen'rous o' you, stranger," Lumpy said, and grabbed the glass eagerly.
“Shucks ! " was the smiling reply. "I've been thirsty my own self."
“I dunno nothin' wuss," Lumpy said. "I once went three year without a man's drink, an' " He stopped, staring amazedly at his benefactor, who was rolling a smoke. "You ain't him, but you got his baccy-box, or the twin of it," he muttered.
“Know a fella who carries one o' these?" the marshal asked carelessly.
“Useter, but ain't seen him for a long whiles."
“This atmosphere would poison a dawg. I'm for fresh air. Comin'?" The other finished his liquor and followed. In the dark of the street, lessened only by the glow of an occasional lighted window, Sudden spoke again:
“I'd give twenty bucks to find the owner o' that box." The drunkard's eyes gleamed; he would have parted with his soul for that amount. His story was brief. He had known the man, who called himself "Ezra Kent," some two years earlier, in Bentley, but could not say what had become of him.
Sudden thought this over. The name fitted the initials, of which his informant had no knowledge. Bentley was about a hundred miles north, and possessed a prison; he remembered the enforced abstinence, smiled, and asked what Kent was doing there?
“Time," was the laconic answer. "He was in with his buddy—fellow Ezra called `Jesse'—but I didn't know him. What were they like? Well, now you got me—men look pretty much the same in the pen. Both was biggish built, an' favoured each other some. No, I ain't set eyes on neither of 'em since." Satisfied that the fellow could tell him no more, Sudden handed over the promised reward, and returned to the hotel.
Darkness was only beginning to give way to daylight when an urgent rap on the door awakened him. It proved to be the bar-tender.
“There's a man for breakfast this mornin', friend, an' if I was you I wouldn't wait for none," he said. "We've a back way to the stables, an' by keepin' behind the buildin's you can git clear o' the town without bein' seen."
“A killin', huh?" the marshal asked. "What I gotta do with that?"
“Nothin', I reckon, which is why I'm warnin' you, but he was last seen alive in yore comp'ny, when you took him out'n the Square Deal. Where'd you go after?"
“That fella? Why, we talked a bit outside an' then I came along here. He told me somethin' I wanted to know an' I gave him twenty dollars."
“He was found, stabbed in the back with his own knife, an' pockets empty. They're routin' out the sheriff now, an' knowin' his methods, you ain't got a chance."
“Runnin' away will pin the crime on me," Sudden objected.
“Mebbe, but it'll make it possible for you to go on breath- in'," the barman said drily. "I know this burg." The marshal saw the argument was sound. So, with a word of thanks to this friend in need, he hurried to the stable, saddled his horse, and slipped away unobserved.
He covered the first few miles at full speed, and then, satisfied that he was safe from pursuit, since they could not know which way he had taken, slowed down, his brain busy with what he had discovered. He shook his head in despair.
“Nig, I'm gettin' my rope all snarled up," he confided. "Stretch yore legs, yu black rascal, an' head for breakfast; I never could think on an empty belly."
CHAPTER XIV
“WHERE'S the body?" was the greeting the marshal received from Dave on his return.
“I left it behind," he replied, truthfully enough.
Not another word could be got out of him until he had dealt fully with the food Sloppy hastened to prepare for him.
“Havin' fortified yore system against famine for the next twenty-four hours, is there anythin' else yu need?" Dave inquired, with elaborate sarcasm.
“Yeah, a smoke," Sudden smiled, and got out his makings. As he rolled the little tube, he added casually, "Ever heard of a jasper named Ezra Kent?" Both shook their heads, but into the elder man's eyes crept the apprehensive look which the marshal had seen before.
“We gotta find him—he owns that box. Also, Mister Lyman—who is shorely one o' Nature's mistakes—has Sark hawg-tied, which requires lookin' into." Dave was gazing out of the window. "yu got yore chance right now," he remarked. "There's Jesse, agoin' into the Red Light."
“Good," the marshal said, getting up. "No, yu two stay put—we don't want a crowd." He found Nippert and the rancher alone; the latter accosted him genially.
“ 'Lo, marshal, glad you come in. I've just bin backin' down to Ned, an' that goes for you too. Reckon I was all wrong 'bout Jake—he's crooked, that fella, an' I'm through with him; he's made trouble enough for me a'ready." Sudden exchanged glances with the saloon-keeper, noted the slight nod, and replied fatuously, "Why, that's good hearin', Mister Sark. Me, I never was one to nurse a grudge."
“Fine," the Dumb-bell man said, with a great show of heartiness. "Set 'em up, Ned." He laughed ruefully as he raised his glass. "It won't be pleasant to eat crow to John Owen, but I'll have to, I guess."
“Here's to a better understandin'," the marshal toasted.
They drank, and Nippert's grin told that he had grasped the inner meaning of the last word. When the visitor called for cigars, Sudden decided in favour of a cigarette. The appearance of the brass box made Sark start violently, and when he spoke, his voice was not quite the same.
“That's an unusual thing for a cowpunch to carry," he said hoarsely. "Where'd you git it?"
“Picked it up—recent," was the offhand reply.
“Dessay there's hundreds aroun', but it's the first I've seen. What'll you take for it?" The marshal made a negative gesture. "I've got fond o' the durned contraption, an' it keeps my baccy moist." He lighted his cigarette and put the box away. "I hear Dry-wash is gettin' to be quite a town; I must look it over one day."
“I ain't bin there in weeks," Sark lied. "Too many saloons an' dance-halls. I've bin thinkin' it's time I settled down, with a woman o' my own."
“If you've come a-courtin', Welcome ain't got much to offer," the saloon-keeper said.
“Bah ! " Sark cut in. "There's on'y one woman I'd look twice at her an' that's Mary Gray." Receiving no comment, he went on eagerly. "It'd mean a lot for her to be back where she oughta be."
“Yeah, but I fancy I heard she didn't cotton to the idea," the saloon-keeper suggested.
“That's so, but I was oiled an' overplayed my hand. Anyways, I'm goin' to put it to her again. I reckon she'll see which side her bread is buttered."
“Yeah, an' mebbe forget that she eats both sides," Sudden rejoined.
Not quite knowing how to take this, Sark decided that it was meant humorously, laughed, and went out. The two men looked at one another, and the saloon-keeper chuckled.
“He must fancy we ain't cut our eye-teeth," he said.
Before the other could reply, Dave came bursting in. "Sark's gone into the Widow's," he announced. "What's he want?"
“It's a place o' public entertainment an' he might want a meal," the marshal pointed out. "If you gotta know, he'sgone to offer her the Dumb-bell ranch, includin' his most unworthy self." The young man promptly loosened his gun in the holster and moved towards the door, but his friend stepped in front of him. "I'm bettin' the little woman can manage her own affairs. What right yu got to butt in?" he said.
Dave had no answer to this, and stood moodily watching the street. Fifteen minutes only had elapsed when they saw the rancher come out, fling himself on his mount, and begin to use spurs and quirt immediately. Head down, he passed at a furious pace, still thrashing the beast beneath him.
“Either he's hurryin' to fetch a parson, or . . ."
“Did yu see his face?" Dave asked, his own alight. "Shore. I'll bet she made herself plain."
“She couldn't ever do that," Dave laughed, and flushed boyishly. "I mean "
“Shucks! Yo're makin' yoreself mighty plain," Sudden grinned, and sobering, "She ain't done with him yet." The marshal was right; even as he spoke the words, Sark's frenzied, evil mind was working as he rode recklessly in the direction of his ranch. Mary Gray had listened quietly to what he had to say, and then dismissed him with a finality which would have convinced the most sanguine wooer.
Directly he arrived at the Dumb-bell, he despatched an urgent message to Mullins. When the rustler rode in, some hours later, it was to find him in the same ugly mood.
“Wantin' me?" Jake asked.
“I've a job for you—if you want it. If not, I can find someone else."
“Suits me," Jake said, and turned to go.
Sark had not expected his bluff to be called. "Don't be a damned fool," he retorted irritably, and pushed the bottle across the table. "There's a pretty pickin' in this for you. Take a chair and a drink." The visitor did neither; this was an opportunity, and he meant to make the most of it. "How much?" he wanted to know.
“A thousand bucks."
“About a hundred apiece," Mullins sneered. "Chicken-feed. What have we gotta do for it?" Sark outlined his scheme, and the other listened in silence, considering how it fitted in with his own plans. Having come to the conclusion that it might further them, he sat down and helped himself to whisky.
“You mean to marry her?"
“Certainly, fair an' square, but she needs a little assistance in makin' up her mind."
“Awright for you, mebbe, but me an' my men'll have to pull stakes."
“Meanin' the price ain't high enough?"
“Jesse, there's times you show real intelligence," Mullins grinned. He was enjoying himself.
Sark considered. "I'll double it, but that's the limit." The rustler nodded; he had his own ideas about that too. "When do we git the dollars?"
“When I take over the goods. Yo're holdin' her to ransom, an' I come along with the needful. She oughta be grateful, an' she will if you play yore part right by puttin' the fear o' something worse than death into her. Sabe?"
“Betcha life. Fixed the time yet?"
“No," Sark replied. "Make yore preparations an' be ready for the word." Jake emptied his glass and stood up. "Make it soon," he said. "We're all broke." The man departed, and the master opened a fresh bottle, and sat, drinking and brooding, until it was time to turn in. He awoke in the morning with a bad head and a worse temper. Two cups of strong black coffee restored him somewhat, but he was still unsteady when he shambled into the living-room to find Lyman awaiting him. The lawyer's ferrety eyes considered him with very patent disgust."That rot-gut will be your finish," he said sharply.
Sark blinked at him owlishly. "Special occasion, ol' timer," he replied. "To celebrate my forthcomin' weddin'.”
“She's consented?"
“Not yet, but she's goin' to. I'm fixin' it. See?"
“That you're still drunk, yes," Lyman said. "Explain." The cattleman complied, and in his fuddled state, failed to note the growing concern on his listener's face. When he concluded with a triumphant, "What d'you think of it?" Lyman sprang to his feet and said angrily:
“Not only drunk but mad. How do you expect to get away with it? Your name will stink."
“Yore hearin' ain't too good this mornin'," Sark retorted. "Jake is the villain o' the piece; I'm on'y the good fairy who comes to the rescue o' the damsel in distress by payin' her ransom." From outside came the drum of hurrying feet and a moment later the door was flung back and one of Sark's men strode in.
“S'cuse me, boss, but I figured you'd like to know quick that the marshal is startin' for Bentley this mornin'." The rancher's face registered both amazement and dismay. `Bentley? What's his errand there?" The messenger spread his hands wide. "He didn't tell me —musta forgot to," he replied drily.
Sark checked the angry reproof on his lips—he could not afford to quarrel with any of his outfit just now—and having ascertained that the marshal was travelling alone, dismissed the bringer of the news. Then he said hopefully:
“It may not mean anythin'—just a chance visit."
“I doubt it," Lyman said. "Did you ever know a fellow called `Lumpy'?"
“N-no," was the reply.
“You don't have to lie to me," was the stern answer. "Was it in Bentley that you knew this Lumpy?" and when the other hesitated, "You don't seem to realize that you're in a very tight place."
“We are," Sark corrected meaningly.
Lyman's thin shoulders lifted. "I've a complete answer," he said. "But you, if the marshal unearth anything . . ."
“Lumpy ain't seen me since—them days, or he'd 'a' made hisself known," Jesse argued. "I guess we're bogglin' at shadows."
“A man like that doesn't ride two hundred miles to admire the scenery," the lawyer observed. "There's just one way out, now—the plan you spoke of."
“Changed yore mind 'bout that, huh?"
“A person who isn't prepared to do so, in altered circumstances, will get nowhere," was the quiet reply. "I don't like it any the more, but put it across and you may keep the Dumb-bell; fail, and your best move will be to saddle your fastest horse and get as far from here as it will carry you." The cattleman glowered at the hunched-up, shrunken figure of the man who was telling him that all he possessed, perhaps even life and liberty, depended upon one desperate throw of the dice. But, with his next remark, the lawyer identified himself with the enterprise.
“We'll have to move fast, before that damned gunman gets back. It must be to-night."
“I'll send word to Jake right now," Sark said, and went at once to give the order. He returned wearing a satisfied smirk. "That's fixed then. To-morrow me an' her'll ride into Dry-wash an' git hitched. That'll "
“Tell everyone you had her abducted and land you neck-high in the mire," Lyman harshly interjected. "Listen: you'll get the news when it is brought, and don't forget to be properly amazed. Some days must pass before—as her only relative—a demand for the ransom reaches you."
“S'pose they search for an' find her?"
“There mustn't be any mistakes. Rescuing the girl should square you with Welcome, which—with your customary stupidity—you have rubbed the wrong way."
“Hell, Seth, you got no call to bawl me out like that," Sark protested. "My nerves is all shot up—been hittin' thebottle too much, I guess. I ain't forgettin' all you've done for me."
“You'd best not," was the ominous retort. "I'm the boss; bear that in mind and we'll get along. Keep me posted." With this autocratic farewell lie departed. Sark gazed after the huddled, black-coated form seated clumsily in the saddle as it moved slowly across the plain; the fear that makes men murder was in his eyes.
He splashed some liquor into a glass and raised it in mock salutation. "Here's to yore everlastin' damnation, my—friend."
CHAPTER XV
IT was past midnight and Welcome lay shrouded in unbroken darkness when a band of five masked riders, with a led animal, pulled up on the outskirts of the town and dismounted. Leaving two of their number to take charge of the horses, the other three stepped cautiously forward until they reached the rear of the restaurant. Despite the gloom they could see that the door was strongly built.
“Forcin' that will make a noise," one of them whispered to the tall man who appeared to be the leader.
“I ain't a fool, Javert," was the reply. "There was two keys to this lock an' I still got one of 'em." He stooped, fumbled for a moment, there was a slight grating noise, and the door swung back. With a cat-like tread, the marauders filed in, and made their way to the bedroom. One of them stumbled as he entered, and a female voice asked :
“Who is there?" Instantly Jake's rough hand closed her mouth. "One more sound an' it'll be the worse for you," he said hoarsely. "Git some clothes on, an' if you want yore brat to live, keep mum. Wrap up, it's cold outside."
“Where is my child?" she cried. "What have you done with it?"
“I told you not to talk," was the stern reply. "The kid's safe—so far; it depends on you. Git busy—you got five minutes." The indistinct shadows in the room faded away. With frantic haste she dressed, her heart pounding with fear. Who could these men be, and what did they want with her? The voice of their leader, though obviously disguised, had a familiar note. She heard the door open.
“Time's up."
“Where are you taking me?" she ventured.
“Wait an' see." With a sob of despair she surrendered and allowed them to lead her to where the horses were waiting, and lift her to the back of the spare one. Then the journey through the night began. Once she looked round, but could see no sign of the child; one rider, however, was behind the others, and it might be .. .
Sick with dread, she rode on, sitting slackly in the saddle, utterly overwhelmed by this sudden catastrophe.
They had been riding for hours—as it seemed to her—when the distant sound of tumbling water told her that they must be in the neighbourhood of the Silver Mane, the only fall of any size near Welcome. Were they bound for the Dumb-bell? Had Sark dared to do this thing? But the voice of the leader was not his, and presently, having crossed The Step, they veered northward, climbing a long slope, fording the creek above the fall, and heading, as she now guessed, for the hill country. Her heart grew heavier, as tales of the wild men, cattle-thieves and outlaws, who found a refuge in those almost inaccessible heights, recurred to her.
With the coming of the dawn, her gaze went anxiously to the rear, but the last rider was a mere blur in the grey, misty light.
“Keep yore eyes on the hoss," a harsh voice ordered. "The hardest part is to come." Furtively she studied the speaker, but her scrutiny told nothing. Then, as his mount made a mis-step, he dragged on his rein, and she saw a white scar—relic of an old wound —running across the back of his hand. Mullins! She knew now why the muffled voice had seemed familiar. The knowledge contributed little in the shape of comfort.
Worn out, listless, and full of fear, the girl was aware only of an unending procession of straight black tree-trunks through which they wound with unerring precision. These seemed to have a mesmeric influence, and she was indeed barely conscious when they rode into the growing daylight once more and stopped at a stout, two-storied block-house.
“Git down." The curt command aroused her, but stiff with cold and fatigue, she could not move; the man had to lift her from the saddle. The brief contact bred a repulsion which gave her new strength, and when he would have helped her further, she protested.
“I—can—walk." Nevertheless, he gripped one arm and led her into the building, through a large room, and up a rude staircase to a smaller one, in which was a pallet bed, covered with a couple of coarse blankets.
“Rough quarters, but you won't be here long—if yo're wise," he told her.
He went out, locking the door, but returned in a little while with a glass containing liquor. She shook her head.
“Drink it," he ordered. "I don't want a sick woman on my hands." With an effort she swallowed the fiery spirit, which, though it made her choke, produced a warm glow in her chilled body.
“Bring my child," she said. "I've kept my part of the bargain."
“Go on keepin' it an' you'll see him—later," he replied, and with a leer in the slitted eyes, "I'll have to learn you a lesson if you don't behave, an' I'm hopin' you won't. Sabe?" She sank down upon the bed and buried her face in her hands. The screech of the key as it turned in the lock drove home the helplessness of her position. While they held the child, she was tied, forced to comply with any demand they might make.
Night was drawing on when Sudden reached his destination. Bentley was larger even than he had expected, and the main street—for the place boasted more than one—was thronged. The brightly-lighted stores and saloons lit up a scene which, at another time, might have been interesting, but the marshal's long ride had left him with little appetite for further exertion. Moreover, he was not anxious for his presence to be known. So having secured a meal and a bed at one of the smaller hotels, he retired to rest.
Early next morning, he presented himself at the prison, situated about half a mile from the town. To the armed guard at the great iron gate, he explained who he was, and requested an interview with the Warden. After a short wait in a cell-like room furnished only with a couple of forms and a table, he was conducted across a wide yard to the main portion of the structure.
The room into which he was shown differed vastly from the one where he had waited. A comfortably-fitted office, the walls book-lined, chairs which invited occupation, a leather-covered desk, and behind it, a grey-haired man of fifty, who scanned his visitor closely.
“Have a seat, marshal," he said. "And tell me what I can do for you."
“I thought mebbe yu could give me some information which might help in a matter I'm lookin' into," Sudden explained.
“I'm at your service."
“I've heard that yu had here, some years back, a man named Jesse Sark. Is that so?" The Warden rose, reached down a heavy register, and turned the pages. "Here we are," he said. "Jesse Sark, clerk, convicted of robbing the bank where he was employed, and sent down for two years. There's a picture of him, if that interests you." It did; the marshal stared at it in astonishment. "That's not the fella," he said disappointedly.
“It was taken when he came in, and the name is an uncommon one."
“He must 'a' changed considerable," Sudden reflected aloud.
The Warden looked up sharply. "He probably has—men do when they're under the turf, I believe," he replied drily, and added, "Sark died just before his sentence was completed—we had an epidemic of fever in the prison." Sudden's face fell. "Seems I've been followin' a blind trail an' bothered yu for nothin'," he said. A thought occurred to him. "There's just one point: did yore Sark have a confederate called Kent?" The Warden consulted another volume, and, after a short search, pointed to a page. "This must be the one : Ezra Kent, convicted with, and sentenced to the same punishment as Sark. Discharged at the end of his term. His portrait is here also. Why, what is the matter, marshal?" For Sudden's expression was one of complete puzzlement. "But that's the man I know as Jesse Sark," he cried. "Yu couldn't 'a' got the pictures mixed up, I s'pose?"
“Not possible," was the reply. "And if it had happened, this man"—tapping Kent's photograph—"would be in his grave."
“Shore, that don't explain it," Sudden agreed. "Well, seh, I was beginnin' to fear I'd wasted my time, but what yu've told me is goin' to be mighty helpful, though there's some straightenin' out yet."
“Anything more I can do?"
“If yu could give me a writin' that Jesse Sark is dead," the marshal suggested. "Somebody may want to call me a liar." The Warden smiled, his gaze taking in the lithe, muscular frame, resolute jaw, and steady eyes. "Hardly a likely occurrence, I imagine, but in case ..." He wrote a few lines, signed them, and passed over the paper. "That will save any argument." Sudden thanked him, and stowed away the document.
The Warden observed that the visitor's eyes were roving along the orderly rows of registers. "Records of rascality—. a sad indictment of the human race."
“I was admirin' the system. I s'pose yu can turn up partic'lars of any person who has been through yore han's?”
“Certainly. Have you any name in mind?"
“Two—Webb an' Peterson." It did not take long. The first name appeared twice, but when he saw the portraits, the marshal shook his head; the second name was not to be found.
“We don't seem to have entertained your—friends," the Warden said.
“It was on'y a chance, but friends ain't just the right word." Looking at the set face, which had suddenly become cold and grim, the man from the East realized that he was plumbing unknown deeps; he would not have cared to be one of those two men. The visitor had picked up his hat, and was speaking:
“Yu been mighty good, seh. I'm obliged."
“Glad to be of use, marshal," he replied. "Come or send, if you need further assistance." Getting his horse, Sudden set off at once for home, his mind full of the astounding discovery he had made. Jesse Sark was no more, and Kent was personating him in order to steal the Dumb-bell range. A friend of the dead man, he would know enough about him to make the imposture possible, the more so as Sark had never been seen in Welcome.
Lyman must know, and probably the whole plan was his contrivance.
“He certainly has Kent cinched, an' there ain't much doubt as to who drilled Amos," Sudden mused.
The latter part of the interview recurred to him. That his final inquiry proved a failure did not disappoint him; he had expected it. "They'll have swapped names frequent by now," he muttered. "Allasame, I'll find 'em." (How he eventually kept his promise has been told in another place.1) "Get some action on them triflin' legs o' yourn, yu dollop o' darkness." The horse whinnied a reply, and lengthened its stride into a long, easy lope which sent the ground sliding beneath its feet and could be maintained for hours. Nevertheless, when the sun, a red ball of fire, was slowly sinking behind the western sky-line, he had still about ten miles to cover. But this contented him, and he eased the black to a more leisurely pace as they breasted a slope mottled with patches of brush. Here his complacency suffered a rude awakening.
He had bent forward to stroke the shiny neck of his steed when the silence was routed by the roar of a rifle and his hat went skimming into the dust. Instantly he flung himself headlong from the saddle as a second bullet followed the first. He landed on all-fours and scuttled behind a near-by clump of scrub. Nigger dashed off, but his master knew he would not go far.
Peeping through his cover, he could see small clouds of smoke vanishing above another bunch of bushes some fifty feet away. He shook a branch to the left of his position, and dropped flat; a rifle crashed and the slug cut the twigs above his head; he fired at the flash, more to gratify his resentment than with any hope of hitting the hidden marksman.
Lying broadside on to the enemy, he agitated the foliage with a foot. Immediately a bullet tore through the spot, and he sent two quick shots to the right and left of the spirt of flame, at once shifting his own position. It was well he did so, for the reply was instant. Silence ensued, and Sudden puzzled over the problem of putting an end to this strange duel. It was difficult, for there was no cover between the parties, and until dark came, neither could leave his shelter. A possibility suggested itself. Prone on his stomach, a revolver in each hand, he fired a dozen shots, spaced at about a foot apart and aimed at the bottom of the bushes behind which his antagonist must be lying. Then, reloading rapidly, he waited for the response.
None came. Half an hour passed and nothing happened. It was now almost dark, and the marshal resolved to run a risk. Gun in hand, he stood up and backed away, keeping the friendly scrub between himself and the enemy. Then, when he judged he could not be seen in the deepening dusk, he circled round and approached from the rear, moving with the stealth of an Indian. A shapeless blotch lay on the ground, a rifle beside it.
“I've got yu covered; keep still," he warned.
Getting no response, he stepped forward, turned the senseless form over, and struck a match. The man's eyes opened; it was Squint.
“For Gawd's sake, gimme a drink," he croaked.
A long, low whistle and Nigger appeared from the shadows. The marshal unbuckled his water-bottle and held it to the wounded man's lips.
“How much is Sark payin' yu for this?"
“Five hundred," Squint replied, and then, "What you drivin' at, Sark ain't "
“Too late, fella; second thoughts are not allus best," Sudden said. "Where yu hit?"
“In the chest, an' it hurts like blazes. Hop yore hoss—I guess I'm through."
“Shucks, yu'll swing yet," the other retorted, as he examined the hurt and fixed a crude bandage. "Think yu can make it to Welcome?"
“Don't wanta go there," Squint protested.
“O' course, I could waste another ca-tridge an' plant yuhere," Sudden said meditatively, and this, being what the bushwhacker himself would have done, closed the argument.
His horse was fetched from a thicket where it had been hidden, he was hoisted into the saddle, and they took the road.
“I was told yu'd thrown in with Mullins," Sudden hazarded.
The man shot a sly glance at his questioner. "Never heard of him," he said.
“A pore liar too. How did Sark get hold o' yu?"
“I was busted an' went to him for a job."
“An' fell down on it. But don't yu fret, yore future is provided for. Come to think of it, yo're lucky to have one, for if I didn't happen to be the marshal . . ." Squint shivered; he knew that it was true; this man whom he had treacherously sought to slay had every right to put a period to his existence.
CHAPTER XVI
IT was late when the marshal and his prisoner arrived at Welcome to find it unusually awake for that hour. Lights were shining in almost every building. Sloppy's face, when he saw them ride in, expressed both relief and anxiety.
“Thank heaven you're back," he cried. "There's bad news an' we duuno what to do."
“Bad news'll keep," Sudden replied. "Shove this hombre in the calaboose, feed and fix him up, an' don't forget to lock the door."
“But, Jim "
“Fly at it. I'm bone-tired, but I guess I can stagger to the Red Light; Ned'll wise me up." The saloon was busy, but there was a difference; men drank, but no games were taking place, the customers standing around in groups, conversing with unwonted seriousness. He made his way to the bar, where Nippert was deep in a discussion with Gowdy, Rapper, and others.
“What's the excitement?" he inquired.
“Thunderin' glad to see you, Jim," the saloon-keeper greeted. "Ain't you heard?"
“I've on'y just got in," Sudden explained. "Sloppy tried to tell me somethin', but I wouldn't let him."
“Mrs. Gray has disappeared." The marshal stared at him. "Disappeared?" he repeated.
“Well, this mornin'—as usual—Miss Chips goes along to the Widow's, raps at the back door, an' there's no an Awer. She can hear the kid cryin' inside, so she keeps on hammerin'. After a bit, she gits scared somethin' is wrong an' fetches Chips. He busts the lock an' they go in. There ain't a sign o' Mrs. Gray, but the bedroom looks like she'd dressed in a hurry. I've had search-parties out all day but they ain't struck a trace of her. She didn't own a hoss, none is missin', an' she couldn't 'a' got far a-foot. What d'you make of it, Jim?"
“Can't say—yet. Where's Dave?"
“He's gone too," Nippert replied. "Soon as he got the news, he saddles his bronc, an'—judgin' by his face—it'll go hard with anybody who gits in his way. Dunno where he was makin' for, but he went west, an' was in a hurry to git there; I never seen a pony's legs move faster."
“Well, we can't do anythin' to-night," the marshal decided. "Better hit the hay—to-morrow may be a long day." He was turning away when the saloon-keeper stayed him. "Any luck at Bentley?"
“Plenty, but we gotta get Mrs. Gray back before I spill it."
“Who's the jasper you fetched in?"
“Fella called Squint. We had a li'l argument 'bout ten mile out; he wanted to down me, but I persuaded him agin it. Sloppy is patchin' him, an' I reckon he'll recover."
“He ain't done yore lid no good, an' from the position o' the holes, he loosed at you from behind," Rapper remarked.
“Shore he did," the marshal replied airily. "Squint holds that bushwhackers should be heard an' not seen."
“But why was he after you?" Nippert queried.
“Oh, he mistook me for five hundred bucks. Yu see, he was broke, an' when Sark offered just that sum for my scalp . .." Ejaculations of anger followed this revelation. "Sark did that?" Rapper exploded. "Don't we have anythin' to say about it?"
“Yeah, at the right time, but that's not yet," he was told.
When the marshal encountered Sloppy in the morning, he put a question: "Did yu ever see Sark before he turned up to claim the Dumb-bell?"
“No, he was a stranger to me."
“Would he be known in Drywash?"
“Never heard of him bein' there," Sloppy replied, and as though anxious to change the subject, "Jim, what d'you figure has happened to Mary—I mean, Mrs. Gray? I on'y use her front name to myself—she's like a daughter to me."
“I dunno, or-timer, but we'll find an' fetch her back," the marshal said heartily.
“S'pose you got what you went to Bentley for?" the little man ventured. "You allus git what you want, don't you, Jim?"
“I do not," Sudden laughed. "I'm needin' breakfast right now, an' it don't look like I'll get any." Half an hour later he was studying the ground outside the rear of the restaurant. There were footprints in plenty, but presently he picked out those of a woman and several men which led back from the building towards the open plain. These brought him to a spot where horses had waited —the deep dents of pawing hoofs were clear. For a short distance he followed them, but soon they were merged in a multitude of tracks on the road eastwards. He returned to the Red Light.
“She's been carried off," he announced. "Five fellas, I'd say, with a spare hoss. They was pointin' for the sunrise when I lost the trail, but that means nothin' a-tall."
“Someone must 'a' had a key to the door—it warn't damaged till Chips forced it," Nippert opined.
The blacksmith swore. "I got that lock for Jake, an' it had two keys," he said. "He might 'a' forgot to hand 'em both over."
“An' he was stuck on Mrs. Gray too," Cleaver contributed. The marshal's prediction had come to pass—the Widow was now his best customer, and her absence a matter of concern.
“So was Jesse Sark," the banker said.
“He wouldn't have the key, nor the pluck to make a play like that," was Gowdy's view.
“Well, boys, this ain't gettin' us no place," Sudden told them. "My guess is Mullins, an' I'm goin' to try an' locate him. I've a notion Dave thought the same, an' his not showin' up looks bad. No, I'm playin' a lone hand; if I discover any-thin', yore turn'll come." Despite the protestations, he insisted on this, and having made his preparations, departed.
The deputy-marshal's first reaction to the Widow's spiriting away was a feeling of numb despair as he suddenly realized what she had come to mean in his life. Hoping against hope, he hurried to the restaurant, found the tell-tale traces, and knew that she had been compelled to leave.
“Who the hell?" he muttered.
The remainder of the query died as he saw again a pale, frightened face, bent back in a desperate effort to evade the lustful lips seeking her own. Sark! His young face hard as granite, he hastened back to the corral and saddled his pony. Sloppy spoke but got no answer. Astounded citizens saw him drive madly up the street. Nip-pert shouted a question and got a reply he did not act upon. Instead, he went into the marshal's quarters.
“Where's Dave gone?"
“In the head, I reckon," Sloppy told him. "I asked, but he acted as if I warn't here. What can we do?"
“Nothin' but comb the country. I've sent for the Bar O boys. Damnation, I wish Jim was around." Meanwhile, Masters was rocketing towards the Dumbbell as fast as his horse could throw one leg in front of another.
Nevertheless, he did not allow anger to deprive him entirely of caution. He was about to beard, in his own den, an unscrupulous scoundrel who had at least a dozen riders in his pay. To be shot down would not help Mary Gray, and therefore he must tread warily. So, when nearing his objective, he turned from the beaten track and plunged into a stretch of timber which would enable him to approach unseen. With but a few hundred yards to go, he halted at a spot where he had a clear view of the ranch buildings, and waited.
Presently, whoops and yells, mingled with the shrill calls of horses, apprised him that the men were getting ready for the day's work. Soon they appeared, in twos and threes, to ride away in various directions. Dave counted a dozen, but decided to play safe. When twenty more minutes had passed, impatience overcame discretion.
“Reckon that's the lot. Anyways, a shade of odds don't scare me none." Leaving his pony within easy reach of the ranch-house, he stole up, took a quick look through the glass door leading to the living-room, and choked down a cry of contentment; the man he sought was there, alone, sitting with his back towards him, the remains of a meal on the table. Softly he turned the handle of the door, and finding it unfastened, slipped inside.
“Mornin', Sark." The rancher jerked round, to gaze with startled eyes into the muzzle of a revolver less than two yards from his breast, and behind it, a face conveying menace in every line.
“Stand up," came the order. "An' lemme warn yu that one sound will be yore last in this world o' sin." Sark obeyed; this fellow only wanted an excuse to slay him; he had no intention of supplying it. Stepping closer, Dave removed the other's gun from the holster, tossed it in a far corner of the room, and made sure it was the only one.
“Now we can talk," he said. "Where's Mrs. Gray?" Light dawned upon the cattleman. Jake had succeeded, and this young fool had jumped to the conclusion that he was the culprit. With well-simulated astonishment, he protested:
“How would I know? I ain't seen her since " Dave cut in: "Lyin' won't serve yu. I'm wantin' the truth. Talk turkey, or . . ." It was no mere threat, and Sark knew he was in deadly peril. One glance at the ice-cold eyes and rigid jaw told as much. He must make him believe.
“It's the truth," he said sullenly. "What's happened to her?" Dave explained, watching closely, but the other had schooled his features to a wooden indifference; he was more than aware of that keen scrutiny.
“I ain't heard a word of it," was his comment. "She's not here—you can search the place."
“Kind o' yu," Dave retorted ironically. "We're doin' that together, an' if there's any interruption, the Dumb-bell will be shy an owner. Sabe?"
“My boys are all out on the range, which is lucky for you," Sark scowled.
Obeying the deputy's gesture he led the way, the consciousness that swift oblivion stalked at his heels producing an uneasy sensation between his shoulder-blades. Room by room they went over the house.
“Waste o' time," Sark sneered, but made no other demur.He was beginning to recover his poise. No trace of the missing girl having come to light, it would be his turn to talk.
The examination of the bunkhouse, barn, and smithy proved abortive; they returned to the ranch-house.
“Well, I hope yo're satisfied I had no part in this affair," the rancher began aggressively.
“Don't get brash, fella," Dave warned. "Yo're still at the end o' the gun, an' I ain't noways convinced."
“Plenty brave, ain't you?" Sark jeered. "Shove that six-shooter aside an' we'll see if you got any guts." Masters laughed. "I was hopin' yu'd look at it thataway," he replied. "Ever since I first seen yu tryin' to hang Jim, I've been achin' to get my han's on yu." He placed his weapon on a chair near the window, put his hat over it, and stepped lightly back. "C'mon, mongrel." The invitation was superfluous; even as it was uttered, Sark sprang in, his evil face betraying his satisfaction. He was the taller, bigger of the pair and had no doubt of the result. He judged the other to be an impetuous, boastful boy, and promised himself that he would soon take the conceit out of him. But here again, he mistook his man; having obtained the opportunity for which he had thirsted, Dave did not mean to throw it away by over-eagerness. A shrewd blow met the first rush and Sark went down, to lie amidst the fragments of a chair he had encountered in his fall.
Sark got up, kicked aside the broken furniture, and advanced. Dave met him half-way, slogging with right and left, and his opponent replied in kind.
For the first ten minutes Sark fought furiously, and it seemed possible that he might overwhelm his younger and lighter antagonist; but lack of condition began to tell. The cowboy's muscles were hard, yet flexible, he moved quickly and easily, balanced on the balls of his feet, and there was not an ounce of fat on his wiry frame, whereas Sark was paunchy, heavy drinking had sapped his power of endurance, and already the unwonted violent exercise was forcing him to breathe through his mouth.
Sark felt that he was losing, and the realization infuriated and spurred him to fiercer effort. Back and fore they swayed, slipping, stumbling, but always striking, and the scrape of boots on the floor was punctuated by the thud of fist upon flesh.
The end came with dramatic swiftness. The cattleman, breathing stertorously, one eye completely closed, and ribs pounded to an aching rawness, knew that only a mighty stroke could turn the tide of the battle in his favour. Suddenly retreating several paces, , he lowered his head, and charged madly. It was a desperate device, and if the other man did not know . . .
But Dave had once seen a fighter, butted bull-like in the belly, carried away unconscious and badly injured. In a flash he flung himself forward, caught Sark round the knees, and rising, hurled him over his shoulder. Aided by his own impetus, the rancher soared through the air as though shot from a catapult, slid the length of the table, sweeping it clean, and crashed to the floor.
Dave stood over the bloodstained, senseless mass sprawled amid the broken crockery.
“If yo're dead I don't care, but if you ain't, an' I find yu were lyin' to me, this ain't a circumstance to what I'll do to yu," he rasped. "An' if I can't, Jim'll see to it." Taking his gun and hat, he went into the sunshine.
From behind the glass door of the living-room, a battered, demoniac face saw him depart, and spat out vitriolic curses from cut and swollen lips. Far from killing him, Sark's fall had not even deprived him of his wits, but the terrific impact had left him in no shape to continue the combat, and lacking the courage to risk further punishment.
“You've won, but what has it got you?" he scoffed. "I hold the trump card—the woman, an' for every hurt you've given me, she shall pay—in full. Jim'll see to me, huh? What if we've seen to him first, Mister?"
CHAPTER XVII
DAVE MASTERS rode away from the Dumb-bell sore in body but elated in spirit—he had punished one whom he despised and hated from the moment of their meeting. His satisfaction, however, was heavily discounted by the fact that he had learned nothing of the missing girl.
“It ain't got us no place, Splinter," he reflected aloud. "Where do we look now?" He reined in and surveyed the piled-up, verdure-clad terraces leading to the grey spires of the Mystery range. Somewhere in those dark recesses, Mullins and his rustlers were supposed to be hiding. The name stirred his memory.
“Jakes ! " he muttered. "He wanted her, too, or, mebbe Sark's usin' him. We gotta find out." He slapped his mount on the neck_ An hour's journey brought them to the foothills and here the difficulty began. Dave decided to ride along the edge in the hope of finding tracks but presently abandoned the plan in despair, and choosing a spot where there seemed to be some sort of an opening, plunged into the shadowed depths. For a space, progress was possible, though the dense growth and gloom made it slow, but Dave was doubtful since they did not appear to be rising. His fears proved to be well-founded when a vertical wall of rock barred further advance; what had promised to be a passage up was no more than a blind rift in the mountain-side.
“Damn the luck," he muttered. "Jake's got more savvy than I gave him credit for." There was nothing for it but to go back and try again. But getting out was no easier than getting in, and consumed a great deal of time and much of the rider's patience.
They emerged into the glare of the sun to recommence the task of finding ingress to the labyrinth. It was a wearisome business. Time after time, disappointment only re- warded them, and success seemed as far off as ever when they halted on the lip of a shallow, gravel-bottomed pool, fed by one of the several creeks from the high ground. Getting down to slake his thirst he saw the prints of shod shoes. Struck by an idea, he walked all round the water, but found no more hoof-marks.
“They didn't go on," he argued. "Shore, they might 'a' gone back, but why come here when there's other drinkin' places? Wadin' up the stream would blind a trail completely. Worth a trial, hoss." They splashed steadily along the creek and the young man became more sanguine when he noticed a branch which would have been in their way hanging broken and dead. Then came the inevitable barrier in the shape of a waterfall, leaping over a rock ten feet high. But to the left of it was a level ledge of short turf, and on it, hoof-prints.
“Mebbe we got somethin'," Dave told his mount.
The way was narrow, zig-zagged a great deal, but ascended steadily; here and there, the stump of an obstructing tree showed it to be man-made. At the end of an hour's climb, through a break in the trees, the rider saw a spiral of smoke against the dark background of pines higher up. Though it did not seem to be far away, another hour passed before he got a second view of it, this time close at hand. From the shelter of a leafy bush he studied his surroundings.
The trail he had been following ended on a gently-sloping shelf, and at the back of this was a solidly-fashioned, two-storied timber building. The situation was well-chosen; at the sides and front, the ground had been cleared save for the stumps of the trees which had been used in the construction, while the rear was defended by the steep face of the mountain itself. Completely concealed by the enveloping curtain of pines, it was an ideal haven for broken men. There was no sign of life until a rider appeared from the far side of the clearing, got down, and went in. The light was still sufficient for Dave to recognize him; it was Javert.
“That seems to fix it," he muttered. "I've located Mister Mullins." Night came at length, bringing a patch of light from the cabin, and Dave could delay no longer. Leaving his pony, but taking his rope, he stole to the back of the house, and, flattened against the wall, stood listening. Presently a faint glow shone from one of the two upper windows, and he heard a gruff voice say :
“I'm lettin' you have the candle while you feed." A door slammed, followed by the heavy tread of boots on a board stair. Evidently there was a prisoner, but was it the one of whom he was in search? When he deemed the coast was clear, he began to whistle, very softly, "The Cowboy's Lament," about his fondness for which Mary Gray had more than once chaffed him. A moment, and from above his head, a whisper floated down :
“Is is you—Dave?"
“Shore thing," he replied, and executed a miniature war-dance, for not only was it the Widow's voice, but she had used his first name. "Are you tied up?"
“No, but I can't leave without my baby." When the signifiance of this had seeped in, he swore under his breath. "They ain't got him," he told her.
A deeply-breathed "Thank God!" reached him.
“Can yu grab my rope, make it fast to somethin', an' slide down?" he asked, and when she eagerly promised, added an afterthought, "Fetch that food along—we'll need it." He heard the window open and sent the loop of his rope spinning up to her; she caught and went to secure it. A few moments and she was back, but he would not let her descend until he had tested the lasso by throwing his own weight upon it. Anxiously he watched her scramble on to the sill.
“Grip tight an' come down slow—it ain't far," he warned.
Nevertheless, she arrived with a rush, and would have fallen had he not been there to steady her.
“My hands—they're on fire," she murmured. "Oh, I never was so glad to see anyone, but I knew—I hoped—you would find me. I think I can stand now." Slinking along in the shadow of the building, they made a dash across the open space, and reached the spot where the horse had been left; there was no sign of it.
“You haven't mistaken the place?" the Widow asked. "No, there's the branch I tied him to—though that warn't really necessary," Dave replied. "It ain't broke." They searched the surrounding brush without success, and then Dave said, "Well, we'd never get out o' this wilderness on foot; I'll have to take a chance o' swipin' a pony, I guess."
“Better guess again, Masters," a sarcastic voice advised. "A deppity-marshal ain't supposed to steal horses, an' besides, it can't be did." Dave whirled round, right hand on his gun, but could see no one. The voice continued :
“Six rifles are coverin' you this moment, an' we're all hopin' you'll be obstinate. Show him, fellas." On all sides the moonlight glinted on gun-barrels thrust through the foliage. Dave shrugged—resistance would be just suicide.
“The pot is yores," he said.
They closed in on him and one took charge of his weapon. All were masked, a circumstance which brought a sneer of contempt to the deputy's lips.
“Yu can take that rag off, Mullins," he said to the leader. "Though I admit it improves yore looks."
“Clever, ain't you?" the ruffian replied. "If I hadn't somethin' else for you, somethin' more interestin', I'd blow you four ways this minit," he threatened. "But—wait."
“Whatever the cost, it'll be worth it," Dave said defiantly.
“you've reached the limit a'ready," was Jake's reply. "Tie him up an' shove him in the wood-shed." The young man had another inspiration. "See here, I've had nothin' to eat since mornin'; I won't last no time at the torture-stake if I'm starvin'."
“Give him grub; he'll need to be good an' strong tomorrow. I'll 'tend to the woman." Dejected Mary Gray preceded him back to her prison. By the fitful light of the candle—which was still burning—he surveyed her with evil exultation.
“Now what do you think?"
“That you are as great a liar as scoundrel," she retorted, and for a moment her sombre eyes regarded him. "And that you have not long to live, Jake Mullins." The sinister prophecy, uttered in a low passionless tone, startled the bandit for the instant, but he threw off the eerie sensation with a coarse laugh.
“Then I'd best make the most o' my time," he gibed, and moved towards her.
Appalled at his expression, she shrank back, whereat he laughed again, delighting in the mental anguish he was inflicting. Cowering against the wall, faint with horror, she knew that her fate hung in the balance. Then greed of gold triumphed over a still baser appetite. Dave's rope was still hanging from the window. He drew it in and proceeded to secure her wrists and ankles. "Safe bind, safe find," he quoted. "When I've dealt with yore lover, you an' me'll have another li'l pow-wow." He extinguished the candle and went out, leaving her broken, despondent, her mind now obsessed by one fear only—what would he do to the man who had risked all to rescue her? Dave, reclining with his head on a pile of kindling, was wakened in the morning by the opening of his prison-door, and blinking in the sudden light, saw his gaoler of the night before regarding him with an expression of amused surprise. He noticed that the fellow was no longer masked. "Got rid o' yore toothache, I see."
“On'y troubles me after dark," the other grinned, and then, "If you knew what was comin' you wouldn't be so peart."
“Breakfast is comin', I hope," was the jaunty reply.
The gaoler reached a plate and steaming mug from behind the open door. "Shore, I brung it, bread, fried hawg'sbelly, an' corfy." The man slackened the rope on his wrists a little, and stood, gun in hand, regarding him with reluctant admiration.
“Women an' food shouldn't be kept waiting," Dave remarked oracularly, and proceeded to polish off the meal in quick time. This done, he rolled a cigarette, lighted it, leaned back, sent a perfect smoke-ring quivering on the still air, and resumed the conversation : "How come yo're tailin' after a fella like Jake—a crook, an' not smart at that? Lookit the mess he made o' the bank affair."
“Save yore breath, Masters; you might as well try to corrupt me." The interruption came from Mullins himself, but if he expected the prisoner to be abashed, he was mistaken.
“Which would be a shockin' waste o' time—yu can't corrupt anythin' that's rotten a'ready. Beautiful, here, tells me yo're anxious about my health. Well, it's fine an' dandy." The sallow face darkened and became more malevolent.
“Good, a well man dies the harder," Jake replied.
Dave looked round. "I allus wanted to pass out in the sunshine," he replied coolly.
Jake's expression was that of a devil. "You'll shore git yore wish—an' regret it. Fetch him along, hoys." Four others appeared, leading horses. Dave was dragged to his feet, hoisted into the saddle of his own pony, and securely tied. The four mounted, and with their leader, closed in on him.
“So long, Beautiful," Dave said. "Pity yu gotta herd with the jackals—yu might 'a' been a reg'lar fella." The gaoler watched them disappear into the woods. "He's got grit, that boy," he muttered. "Too bad, but I can't do nothin'." Dave rode in silence, his face set and unreadable. Theywere following a faint trail, sun-splashed where a break in the overhead foliage permitted the rays to penetrate, but for the most, darkened and dismal.
Presently they arrived at a small level clearing of sand and short grass hemmed in by low bushes, and here the leader dismounted.
“This'll do fine," he said. "Plenty o' sun—as I promised." Dave stared about him curiously; there were no trees of any size adjacent. Mullins read his thought.
“We ain't goin' to stretch yore neck—that would be too easy, an' wouldn't near pay what I owe you," he said, and to his men, "Git busy." Hauled from the saddle and flung to the ground in the middle of the clearing—an operation which resulted in sundry bruises for those who performed it—the prisoner was still undaunted. Hands and feet were fettered, but his tongue was free. He knew that he was about to die a lingering death; if he could provoke a swift one .. .
“Yo're a cowardly cur, Mullins," he taunted. "If yu had the pluck of a rabbit, yu'd deal with me yoreself, but yu get four other white-livered houn's to do the job yo're afeard to handle." For an instant he thought he had succeeded, for Jake stepped towards him, gun gripped, stark murder in his eyes. Then he laughed, and motioned to his minions.
Their procedure was singular. Two of them held the victim down while the others attached strong cords to his wrists and ankles, and drove four stout pegs into the earth. His other bonds were then removed, each cord pulled tight and secured to a peg, leaving him spreadeagled on his back, arms and legs at full stretch. Jake, having inspected the knots, stood looking down with sadistic satisfaction at the man he was about to leave to a dreadful fate.
“Take yore fill o' sunshine yo're so fond of," he said, and with a loathsome leer, "While you frizzle here, I shall be with—Mary."
“Jim Green'll send yu to hell for this," Dave promised.
“I think you'll beat me to it. In two days I shall come an' look at yore scattered bones, picked clean by wolves, coyotes, buzzards or—somethin'." Dave could not see that his glance had gone to a little mound of sand at one side of the clearing. He shot his last arrow.
“Two days? yore own bones will be moulderin' by then —yu got the death sign on yu a'ready." The shaft went home. With a savage curse, the bandit climbed into his saddle. When one of the band asked a question, he shook his head.
“They'll happen on him, sooner or later," he said. "An' I hope it'll be later." They departed, and for some time, Dave made no attempt to move; it was possible they were watching, and he had no desire to afford amusement. Presently he raised his head the few inches he was able, but no cackle of mirth greeted him, only the chattering of the birds. Desperately he strained at the cords, but the pegs were immovable, and the men who had tied the knots had done their work thoroughly. Moreover, his position prevented him obtaining any purchase. Repeated efforts failed to loosen the tie-ropes even a fraction, and at length he gave it up as hopeless, and lay there, gazing into the blue dome in which the sun hung, a polished brazen disc, with no vestige of cloud to dim its radiance. In a few hours it would be directly above him, the vertical rays like jets of flame, sucking the moisture from his body.
“A couple o' days," he mused. "Fella can last that long without grub, but water . . ." The sun had climbed higher, scorching his bared skin, and his limbs, held in that one posture, were becoming numb and cramped. Wearily he closed his eyes, but the rays seemed to pierce the lids, causing a dull ache.
But however dire his extremity, a young, healthy man instinctively clings to life, and Dave was no quitter. Well-nigh blinded by the incessant glare, his flesh blistered,and his whole frame crying for water, he lay, supine, listless.
A tiny bite, followed by another, aroused him. Twisting his head, he could just see his right hand; several insects were crawling upon it, and more were coming. Ants ! The significance of Jake's last words was clear enough now. They had found him, these terrible little scavengers, who in tens of thousands would invade every inch of his carcase, and leave it only when nothing remained save bones to bleach in the burning sun. In that one bitter moment of realization Jake had his revenge, and then Dave steeled himself to meet the agony to come.
CHAPTER XVIII
WHEN the marshal set out to search for his assistant, he rode straight to the Dumb-bell ranch-house. Sark, he argued, would be the first to fall under Dave's suspicion, and he hoped to pick up the missing man's trail there. To his surprise, he found the place deserted, but for the black cook, who eyed his badge of office with evident trepidation.
“Where's yore master?" Sudden inquired.
“I dunno, sah," was the reply. "He's out—deys all out." The marshal took out a coin, spun it in the air; and caught it; the darkie's eyes gleamed at the glint of the gold. "It usually pays to tell the truth, Juba—that's yore name, ain't it?" he said, and when the negro nodded, "Right. Mebbe yu can help. Sark had a visitor yestiddy, a young fella named Masters. What happened?" Juba hesitated, glancing right and left fearfully. The coin flashed into the air again, and seemed to act as a spur.
“Neber see him come," he began. "I hear high voices in de front room. Dey's fightin' wid dere han's. Dey slam one anoder all ober de place, an' den de young one t'row de boss clean ober his shoulder an' he lit 'mong de brekfuss t'ings; I neber did see a table cleared so quick. De boss is out, lyin' pow'ful still on de flo'. De young fella takes one look at him, grabs his gun, an' goes off whistlin' a chune."
“He'd walk into hell doin' that," Sudden smiled. "Where'd he head for?"
“I neber see, sah; de boss come to life right after." Sudden flipped the coin into the air again, this time towards Juba. "Put that some place yore boss can't steal it," he said. "An' yu needn't to mention I called." Cutting short the cook's protestation of gratitude and obedience with a wave of the hand, he rode away. What would be Dave's next move? Obviously, he would seek Mullins. Cutting across the straight line between that and the hills, he presently came upon hoof-marks, and, at intervals, traces of some white substance.
For a while the white "sign" was plentiful, enabling him to travel quickly, but then it became infrequent—evidently the supply was running out in more than one sense. However, it led him across an area of hard ground where a horse would leave no tracks, and so to the fringe of the black mantle of timber masking the mountain-side, and a cleverly-concealed opening in what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of undergrowth. This was the other approach Dave had guessed at, and was much more direct than the one he had been at such pains to discover.
Leaving the sunlight behind, Sudden paced steadily along a path which swung right and left to lessen the gradient. For an hour the climb continued, and then came the scrape of a slipping hoof, followed by an oath. Sudden swerved behind a convenient bush, got down, and drew a gun. Round a bend, sitting his horse slackly, a rider appeared.
“Git 'em up, friend." The unexpected command made the fellow start, but he did not hesitate to obey. The marshal stepped out of the shadow, his own weapon levelled. "Hand her over, buttfirst," he said, and when this had been done, "Now talk, straight an' fast. Where's Mullins' hang-out?"
“Never heard " He halted abruptly as the menacing gun lifted an inch.
“One more crack like that an' I'll be diggin' a hole for yu," was the harsh reminder.
“It's up the trail a piece," the other said sullenly.
“Seen anythin' of a fella named Masters?"
“He was locked up all night, an' this mornin' Jake an' four others took him away; they come back with a spare hoss—his'n. What happened, I dunno." Sudden got into his saddle and gestured meaningly with his gun. "Yu an' me is goin' to look for him," he announced. "An' if we don't find him yu'll be outa luck. Lead on."
“I'll do my best, but—knowin' Jake—I figure it's a waste o' time," the man said. He swerved off to the east, forcing a way through a jumble of vegetation, to pull up after a while where a tiny rill from the heights above spread to form a moist patch. "There's tracks here, but o' course ..."
“Yu say Masters was on his own pony?" The guide nodded. Sudden examined the hoof-prints. "We've struck it," he said, pointing to one of them. "Dave allus had a cross cut in one shoe for luck." They rode on, came to a deeper pool in a rock hollow which broke the passage of a larger stream, and paused to drink. Jake's party had evidently done the same, for there were more prints. A few hundred yards brought them to the clearing, and the prostrate form of the man they sought.
“Gawd-a-mighty ! " the rustler breathed. "Ants ! He's a goner." But Sudden had seen a slight movement of the puffed lips, and sprang down, crying, "Cut the ropes, an' lift him up." A moment sufficed for this. "Run him to the pool we just passed." Half dragging, half carrying, they got their burden to the water, leaving the horses to follow, but before they reached it, the rescuers also were having a taste of what Dave had suffered; in scores of places at once their skins were sharply punctured by the voracious little pests, with whom Dave's body was still alive.
“Hell ! " the guide swore. "The beggars must be damn' near all teeth."
“We'll see if they can swim," Sudden replied. "Get right under." Pushing his friend ahead of him, he waded into the pool, and their companion lost no time in following. The cool water was a heaven-sent anodyne for their smarting bodies and speedily relieved them of the unwelcome visitors. Not until they were sure of this did they emerge and spread their saturated garments, and themselves, in the sun to dry. By this time, Dave had regained his wits.
“Jim, yo're a wonder," he said. "I owe yu "
“Nothin'," Sudden told him brusquely. "There's a tree just outa Welcome . . ." Knowing his friend, Dave said no more, and turned his attention to the other man. "Hello, Beautiful, I never expected to see yu again. How come?"
“Rowley's the name," the rustler returned uncomfortably. "I'm right glad we was in time."
“It was him fetched me here," Sudden said.
Dave nodded; he had a pretty clear idea of what had taken place. "Mister, I'd thank Satan hisself for gettin' me out'n that fix," he confessed. "I'm mighty grateful, even if yu are on the other side." He held out a badly-swollen hand; Rowley grasped it gingerly. "I ain't," he replied. "I quit soon as I saw you spread out there. Bumpin' off a fella you don't like is one thing, but my skin's white, an' I got no use for torture."
“I'm goin' to like yu," the deputy said. He regarded himself ruefully. "I must 'a' lost a lot o' weight."
“Yu've put some on, by the look o' yu," Sudden corrected.
He had just finished drying and reloading his guns and that of the rustler, and now he passed the latter's over tohim, and went to see how their clothes were progressing. The man's eyes widened at this proof of confidence. Dave's face was distorted into what was intended to be a grin.
“That's means yo're adopted, Beautiful," he said.
“He was takin' a hell of a chance."
“Jim's used to that, but he don't often guess wrong.”
“I'll bet high he can fight."
“Ask Jake Mullins."
“I ain't honin' to see that fella no more."
“Allasame, I'm afraid yu gotta." This from Sudden, who had rejoined them in time to overhear the remark. "As yu know, Rowley, there's a li'l woman in Jake's han's who badly needs a friend. Mc an' Dave can't go back, but yu can, without bein' suspicioned. It won't be long afore we return an' smoke out that swarm o' hornets. Will you do this?"
“Glad to," Rowley replied readily, and turned to Dave. "Say, you ain't got a gun; take mine."
“That's right kind o' yu, but he won't need any," Sudden put in. "What he must have is a mount."
“I can hoof it in. My bronc havin' broke a leg, I just naturally has to shoot it."
“0' course, but yu gotta tote in yore gear, or it'll look phoney. Can yu ride if the hoss don't have a saddle, Dave?"
“I can ride him if he don't have a back," the young man retorted.
“Right, then, we're takin' different trails. yo're ridin' to Welcome to round up some o' the boys. How strong is Jake, Rowley?"
“He had thirteen, countin' him, but he's lost one.”
“Better rope in some o' the Bar 0—we may have to reckon with the Dumb-bell outfit as well," the marshal told his deputy.
Dave rose with a bound, grabbed his clothes and began to scramble into them. "Beautiful, I'll give you any price yu name for yore hoss an' gun," he offered.
“Don't notice him, Rowley, he's just a kid," Sudden smiled, and to Dave, "I know how yu feel, boy, but yo're in no state to go shootin' up Sark. Because yu licked him once "
“How d'yu hear o' that?"
“Followed yu there, didn't see Jesse, but his cook told me." Dave chuckled throatily. "Awright, I give in. S'pose yo're goin' to the Dumb-bell, huh? Don't yu touch Sark—he's my meat."
“I ain't layin' a finger on him, but I wanta know what he's doin'. I'll be back by the time yu an' the others arrive." They dressed and left, the black bearing a double burden until they neared the hang-out. There Rowley departed, taking his saddle and bridle. The two friends continued along the trail by which Sudden had entered. Here, the marshal had a parting word.
“Let that cayuse know that yo're wearin' spurs. I'll be expectin' yu early in the mornin', an' that won't be any too soon for Mrs. Gray, I'm thinkin'." The reminder sent the young man scampering away like a scalded cat. Sudden turned his horse towards the Dumbbell range, to learn what he might of its owner's movements.
CHAPTER XIX
THE owner of the Dumb-bell had spent the day nursing his hurts, both mental and physical. The fact that his hired assassin had not reappeared to claim the price of his villainy did not add to his peace of mind. In the late afternoon a messenger came, bringing a closed scrawl : Yore cousin, Mrs. Gray, is in my hands. She will be released on payment of four thousand dollars, cash. you must come alone, or there's no trade. If I don't git the money, she will—suffer.
MULLINS.
His lips curled as he read. "She will—suffer," he repeated. "Pretty neat, for Jake, that. I guess any woman can savvy what it means, an' my charmin' relative oughta be real pleased to see me. Four thousand, double the agreed figure, huh? Mebbe, Mister Mullins, mebbe." With an added expletive, he thrust the paper into a pocket and went to give certain instructions to his men. He returned to find Lyman awaiting him, an unwelcome sight.
“What's the trouble now?" he asked testily.
“None so far as I'm concerned," the lawyer replied. "You seem to have found some. Has our friend, the marshal, been trying to alter the geography of the face God, or the Devil, gave you?" Sark frowned darkly. He seas almost certain that Lyman knew; he had probably been there some time, and would have wormed the story out of Juba. So, for once, he told the truth.
“No, the next worst thing—that cub of a deputy. Took me by surprise. I'll cut his heart out for it."
“Put him to sleep first; it makes surgery easier, and safe —for the operator," Lyman ironically advised. "Well, how are matters progressing?"
“Smooth as silk," Sark said, and produced the missive he had received from Mullins.
“It's a lot of money for us to lose," the lawyer commented. "When are you collecting the girl?"
“Early mornin'; one more night in Jake's company oughta put her in the mood to make me welcome. Besides, holdin' that brat, we got her cinched, an' with Greensettled—nobody around her will be able to talk down to me." The baleful, deep-sunk eyes of the little man rested on him with malicious contempt; he hated this thing he had created for his own purposes, realizing that it would turn and rend him at the first opportunity.
“So you're prepared to pay off the mortgage?" he said quietly.
The question brought Sark to earth again with a bump. In his exultation, he had forgotten this dried-up specimen of humanity whose feeble fingers held him in a steel vice. With a sulky look, he replied :
“You know I ain't got the dollars, Seth."
“That four thousand would help, eh?"
“I gotta give it to Mullins—no other way " He stopped. Lyman had risen, his face suddenly furious. "You lie," he accused. "I was outside the bunkhouse door just now and heard what you told your men. Trick Jake out of the money if you can, but planning to put it in your own pocket is double-crossing me, and for that I'll have you hanged." The violent outburst did not have the usual effect. "We go together, remember," Sark retorted.
“You're even a bigger fool than I thought," came the sneering reply. "What can they charge me with? It can't be shown I ever saw Jesse Sark, and when you came to me, knowing all about him and his affairs, why shouldn't I accept you as the real Simon Pure?"
“You wrote the will."
“At your uncle's dictation, of course, as his man of business. Who's to prove he didn't sign it? You needed money to pay your debts and for running expenses, so I lent it to you on the security of the ranch—a perfectly natural and lawful proceeding. No, I'm the innocent victim of your imposture, and all I can be blamed for is too easily believing you the man you claimed to be." The blood suffused Sark's features. He knew it was the truth. This wily old scoundrel had kept himself well in the background, and his specious excuses would leave him hisfreedom. Like a wild beast in a trap, he sought a way of escape, vainly, until the cold, jeering voice suggested one.
“I had nothing to do with the murder of Amos Sark," it went on. "My evidence, given for the State, while not incriminating me, will swing you high and dry, Ezra Kent, and then I shall foreclose and the Dumb-bell will be mine." Though he did not know it, the speaker had sealed his own fate. Caught in this spider's web of intrigue, Sark saw that, whatever happened, so long as this man lived, he himself would never be more than a mere tool, a means to an end. In a frenzy of fear and hatred, he snatched a knife from his belt, and as the lawyer turned to go, drove it to the hilt between the thin, bowed shoulders. With a choking grunt, Lyman sank in a huddled heap on the floor. Panting with passion, the murderer stood over him, teeth showing in a wolfish grin.
“Do yore squealin' in hell," he hissed.
Callously he jerked out the weapon, wiped it, and replaced it in his belt. Then he lifted the slack form, carried it upstairs, locked it in an empty room, and put the key in his pocket. The lawyer's horse he hid in a disused shed.
“To-morrow I'll bury him an' the hoss," he decided. "An' if Juba knows he was here ..." His expression boded ill for the negro. "Wonder where them damn docyments is?" Absently he wiped a wetness from his fingers on the front of his shirt and swore when he saw the red stain. "Curse it; can't go a-courtin' in clothes that's all bloody; I'll have to spruce up." It was late when the marshal arrived at the Dumb-bell to find it wrapped in silence. One gleam of light from the kitchen behind the bunkhouse alone showed. There he found Juba, and learned that Sark and his men had ridden away earlier, where, the cook did not know.
“Any visitors to-day?" Sudden asked.
“Sho figure I see Mistah Lyman's grey outside de house, but she ain't dere no mo'." Sudden rode away, but once out of sight, returned to the ranch-house. The door of the living-room not being fastened, he went in, and lighted a candle on the table. He did not know quite what he hoped to find, but it was certainly not the sinister pool of red on the carpeted floor. Blood; and not yet dry. There was a splash a yard distant, and others, leading to the door, the handle of which was moist and sticky. He followed the trail of spots up the stairs to a locked door which a sturdy thrust of his shoulder burst open. On the floor, face downwards, a man was lying. Setting down his light, Sudden knelt beside him, noting the ugly gash in the black coat and the spreading stain in the cloth.
“Stabbed in the back," he muttered, and turned the body over. "Lyman, by thunder ! " He could detect no sign of life. Hurrying to the kitchen, he told Juba of his discovery. "I'm afraid he's dead, but see what yu can do," he said. "I'm goin' after the red-handed rat who did it." It was obvious that Sark had thrown off the shackles, and if he had taken his men to the hide-out in the hills, some important move was impending, and he could not doubt that this had to do with the presence there of Mary Gray.
“I shore hope Dave has stayed on that borried bronc," he told himself. "If he ain't, we'll be too late." Dave had done not only that, but managed to convince the animal that speed was an essential factor in their affairs. Nevertheless, since riding a half-wild cow-pony without a saddle, and with only a hackamore to guide it, is both a difficult and uncomfortable feat, it was a very sore and weary young man who staggered into the Red Light, grabbed a glass and bottle from another customer, poured, drank, and poured again.
Twenty voices asked the same question.
“Yeah, Jake's got her hid up in the hills. Jim's there, an'I've come for help. Ned, can yu get the boys organized while I rope in the Bar O?"
“you snatch a snooze—yo're done," the saloon-keeper said. "I'll fix things. Take him away, Sloppy."
“Is Jim all right?" the little man wanted to know, as they went to the office.
“Shore, when I left him."
“An' Mrs. Gray?"
“How could she be, in the power of a rat like Jake?" Dave retorted irritably. "Jim thinks Sark planned the kidnappin'." Sloppy swore—a thing he did seldom. "If that's so, I'll . .."
“What?"
“Nothin'. I guess I was talkin' wild. Turn in; I'll roust you out in good time."
“An' roust me out a hoss, rifle, an' six-shooter," Dave said. "They got mine."
“That's bad."
“It's goin' to be—for them," the deputy promised.* * The twenty-four hours following the frustration of her escape were passed by Mary Gray in a state of dull apathy.
Then, after a day of deep despair, came a shaft of light which dissipated the clouds and sent her to her knees in an agony of gratitude. A different man fetched her supper, and as he put it down, whispered, "Yore friend has got away, but he's comin' back." Before she could say a word of thanks, he had hurried from the room. Long after he had gone she sat gazing into the gloom, the food untouched. Happiness possessed her.
It was after midnight when Sark reached the hang-out alone, to find only Mullins to receive him.
“Where are yore fellas?" he asked.
“Oh, they're around," was the answer. "Got the ransom?”
“Why else should I be here? Have you got the girl?"
“Why else should I send for you?" Jake countered. "Want-in' to make shore?"
“you won't git the coin until I do."
“Pretty early to wake her, but mebbe she won't mind, seein' yore errand," Mullins said, and pulled out a key. "Top o' the stairs—door on the left."
“Ain't afeard I'll run off with her?" Sark sneered.
“You wouldn't git far," was the reply, and the rancher realized why the bandit leader was alone. He grinned to himself as he went up; his men were "around" too.
Mary Gray had lain down in her clothes, and the rasp of the lock awoke her instantly. She stood up, trying to pierce the darkness. Then a familiar voice said:
“Don't be frightened, Mary; it is Jesse." He stepped in, lighted the candle, and looked round. "A filthy hole," he commented. "Well, I'm here to take you out of it. On'y got the news this afternoon, an' I had to raise the money."
“Money?" she repeated.
He handed her the note he had received. "Jake values you at four thousand; I wouldn't part with you for ten times that." She read it, trying to fathom what lay behind this amazing situation : one of the two men she most detested and feared holding her to ransom, and the other paying it.
“Let us go then," she said quietly.
Sark laughed. "It ain't all that easy," he replied. "I gotta settle with Jake first—an' with you."
“With me?" she cried.
“Shore," he said eagerly. "you know what I want, Mary —allus have wanted. We can ride to Drywash from here, git hitched, an' you'll be mistress o' the Dumb-bell again."
“Is that part of the price Mullins is demanding?" Sark seized on the suggestion. "In fact, it is," he lied. "I didn't wanta speak o' that. Jake's a queer chap. He thinks Amos treated you shabby, an' this is his way o' puttin' things right. I guess he's soft on you hisself."
“But he is willing to part with me for four thousand dollars. Well, I refuse to be sold."
“You ain't considered that letter very careful," Sark protested. "Up to now these fellas have behaved decent because they expected to make money out'n you. Take that chance away an' . . ."
“They will kill me?"
“No, but you'll live to wish they had," was the brutal reply. "If yo're relyin' on a rescue, Green an' Masters are both dead, an' nobody in Welcome knows where you are." She knew he was lying—Dave was alive and coming back to her. She must gain time.
“I won't leave without my child," she said.
“That's talkin'," Sark replied. "Fair enough too. I'll go get him." He hurried downstairs. "She won't budge without the brat," he told Jake, who had looked up expectantly. "Where is he?"
“In Welcome, likely; we couldn't be bothered with a baby. She thought we had it, an' that was all the whip we needed."
“Damnation! You've bungled it, as usual," Sark raged. "Didn't I tell you "
“Since when do I have to take orders from you?" Mullins broke in. "If you don't want the woman, I dessay Welcome will raise the ransom; them ground-owls think a lot of her." The rancher scowled, mentally promising to teach the insolent fool a lesson presently. "Got any ideas?" he inquired.
“Plenty. Tell her the kid won't be returned until she's tied to you, an' if that don't work, hawg-tie an' carry her off; gives her a choice of knots," Mullins finished with a laugh.
Sark returned to the waiting girl. "Jake won't hand over the child until we're married," he said. "I argued, but he won't listen." She knew now that Dave had told her the truth—the boy was safe. The knowledge stiffened her resolution.
“Then I shall remain here," she said.
Her obstinacy, and beauty, roused a devil of anger in his breast. Two quick strides and he had gripped her shoulders, bruising the flesh with the intensity of his grasp. His fierce face, aflame with desire, was thrust towards her own, the hot eyes scorching her.
Eyes distended in dread, she fought to free herself, but the relentless clutch paralysed her muscles. She tried to scream, but the sound died in her dry throat.
“Mine," he muttered hoarsely. "Mine, right now " Quick steps outside, the door was flung open, and Jake came in. One swift glance brought an oath.
“Hell, Sark, this ain't no time for foolishness," he said, an underlying threat in his tone. "I want a word with you, pronto." The cattleman flung his captive away so violently that she fell. Without even a look at the prostrate form he followed Jake outside.
“Damn you," he said. "Can't a fella kiss his bride without you buttin' in? What's eatin' you?"
“I've just had news that a party of over a dozen armed men under Nippen is headin' for here."
“Well, you ain't scared of a passel o' blunderin' tradesmen, are you?"
“Not so as you'd notice, but there's some can throw lead, an' the marshal is showin' the way." This wiped the scorn from Sark's face. "The marshal?" he queried. "But he's—dead."
“Then he must have a twin. Galt seen him, an' he's got good reason to know the gent. What bothers me is how he got wise to this place, an' where's the Bar O?"
“They figured on on'y havin' yore lot to deal with," Sark suggested. "That was a miscalculation---my boys are handy. I'll call them." He took a whistle from his vest pocket as Jake whirledon him. "So that was yore idea, huh?" the rustler cried. "To git away with the gal an' the gold." His revolver leapt out. "Hand over tha four thousand or I'll send yore sneakin' soul to torment." Sark was cornered, and knew it. He reached into a pocket, produced and passed over a big roll of bills which the other stowed away with a scornful grin.
“You can summon yore men," he said, "but I'm stayin' near you an' at the first sign o' crooked work, out goes yore light. Sahe?" The rancher blew a shrill blast before he replied. "No call for me to remain here," he then remarked. "I've kept my side of the bargain, even to payin' you double the agreed sum—a dirty trick on yore part. I shall take the woman an' set off at once."
“You don't say," was the ironical rejoinder. "Listen, my friend : you got me into this, an' yo're goin' to git me out; with yore riders we can stand 'em off. If I'm catched, I'll take the hobbles off my tongue, an' you know what that means—for you. Now, I'll tie the gal up, 'case she Bits any rash ideas." He went in, replaced the bonds, lifted and laid her on the bed. "Likely there's a ruckus comin' an' lead will fly; you'll be wise to lie still." The two men went downstairs, where they found the cowboys fraternizing with the bandits.
The rancher raised a hand for silence. "Boys, that swine of a marshal from Welcome is on the way to clean up this joint. I guess we'll all have a word to say about that, huh?" A rumbling growl of assent answered him. "Good, our other business here can wait till we've sent him an' his jackrabbits back to their holes. Keep under cover, shoot straight, an' remember, it's them or us." With oaths and extravagant threats they turned away to take up their positions. Jake gave orders, but his thoughts were on something else—that reference to "other business." He had no doubt the attacking force would be beaten off, but—what then? The Dumb-bell men outnumbered his own and their leader would be in a position to dictate terms, which would most certainly include the return of the ransom.
“No use crossin' a river till you reach it," he reflected, but at the back of his tortuous mind a plan was taking shape.
CHAPTER XX
DAWN had come, and a grey light was creeping over the sky, putting out the stars and bringing a chill wind when the marshal encountered the Welcome contingent, its strength almost doubled by nearly every man of the Bar O outfit. They forgathered on the fringe of the forested foothills, and halted to arrange the advance.
“What do you suggest, Jim?" Nippert asked.
“There's two ways o' gettin' to the hang-out, an' I'm proposin' we split up an' use 'em both. The second party will arrive after the first has opened the ball, an' attackin' from the rear, should be a surprise for 'em."
“That's sound reasonin'," John Owen agreed. "The Bar O will take care o' the second trail, an' we won't be long after you, Jim." So it was decided. The marshal, Dave, and the Welcome men began at once the ascent of the mountain-side, while the cowboys sped away in search of the other approach.
Though the sun had not yet appeared, there was light in the open, but in among the trees, it was still night. Sudden, on his black steed, leading the way, seemed to those following to be merely a moving patch of the shadow which encompassed them. Strung out in single file—for the trail was narrow—progress was slow, and silent save for the creak ofleather as a rider shifted in his seat, and the sound of treading hooves.
Steadily the climb proceeded, but it was a long and tiring one, and by the time they reached their destination, the slanting rays of the rising sun were painting the tree-tops with gold. But the riders did not think of this; they were there to kill.
A short distance from the bandits' stronghold they dismounted, concealed their mounts in the bushes, and advanced on foot. Nippert chuckled when the clearing was in sight.
“Kind of 'em to leave them stumps—they'll give us mighty good cover," he remarked. "There don't seem to be no one about. D'you s'pose we could rush the place, Jim?"
“Too risky—they may be waitin' for us," the marshal said. "Spread out an' pick yore positions, but don't shoot till yu have a target." Lined out in a half-circle fronting the building they crept forward, each man selecting the shelter he fancied. When they were all settled, Sudden fired into the air. Almost at once the door was flung back and Mullins appeared, rifle in hand.
“Who are you, an' what do you want?" he called.
The marshal stood up. "yu know me, an' I want Mrs. Gray," he replied.
“Why should you think she's here?"
“I told him so." Masters rose as he spoke, and his presence there seemed to strike the rustler dumb; it was as though he had seen an apparition. With an effort he fought down the feeling.
“The gal's gone," he said. "Sark fetched her, an' they're off to git married at Drywash." The statement produced an oath from Dave, and an incredulous shrug from the marshal. "We'll see for ourselves," the latter replied.
“Then you'd better come a-shootin'," Jake snapped. "An' here's one to begin with." With the words, he swung his rifle up and fired, the mis sile failing to find the mark by a mere inch. Sudden replied, shooting from the hip, but Jake was taking no more chances, and his bullet only buried itself in the slammed door. Immediately, gun-barrels were thrust from the unglazed windows, and a succession of spiteful cracks awoke the echoes. The fight was on.
The early exchange of shots did no damage; the light was still poor, and the necessity for avoiding exposure interfered with accuracy. Movement on either side received instant attention, and both parties being chary of providing opportunities, the firing became spasmodic.
Moments passed and then the sun glinted on a cautiously pushed-out rifle-barrel. They fired together, saw the weapon slide forward as though released by nerveless fingers, and flash to the ground.
“That's one to me," Sudden said. "An' one less to them. I figured the Bar O would be here by this," he added.
“They got twice the distance to travel. How did yu hit on the other way?"
“Got Jake to lay a trail for me," Sudden smiled, and then explained.
“Cunnin' like a fox," the young man complimented. "I dunno why I trust yu." Time dragged on, the sun became more searching, and the position of the assailants correspondingly uncomfortable. Cramped with crouching behind scanty cover, with parched throats—they had not thought to bring water-bottles into the fray—they sweated and suffered, but not in silence. Nip-pert, remembering his cool bar, with its shelves of satisfying beverages, spoke feelingly of the unusual state to which he was reduced, and ended :
“We'd oughta rushed 'em right away, Jim."
“If we had yu might be needin' a drink still more," was the sardonic reply. "With the Dumb-bell crowd, they're all of two to one. Pass the word to cripple the door." The Welcome citizens, glad of a definite mark, obeyed the order eagerly, and sent a hail of lead into the unoffendingtimber. This outburst of activity provoked an immediate response from the defenders.
“Leave the door to the others," Sudden told his companion. "If them woman-stealers think we're concentratin' on that, they may get careless." They did; finding no bullets came towards the windows, and anxious to reply to the bombardment, several of the besieged showed themselves for an instant and paid penalty. The door itself, one hinge demolished, was sagging drunkenly, and attempts were being made to barricade it when a burst of gun-fire from the rear of the building advised those within that they were in danger of being surrounded. The Bar O outfit had arrived and was getting to work. Mullins, comprehending what had happened, inquired for Sark.
“Seen him go upstairs," Galt informed.
With a black scowl, Jake took the steps three at a time. The door of Mrs. Gray's prison was ajar, and he heard S arks' voice :
“This is our chance to git off—I've bin waitin' for the moment. My hoss is hid in the brush handy. All the men is busy at the front; they won't see us."
“you are ready to desert your riders?"
“They can take care o' theirselves. I'm thinkin' o' you.”
“My friends are outside," she replied. "I shall wait here for them." The contempt in her eyes, coupled with the knowledge that time was precious, stripped him off his mask. In a voice trembling with exasperation, he cried, "They'll be too late. Yo're comin' with me, like it or not, an' before we've bin long together, you'll ..." A burst of flame drowned the remainder of the sentence, and also the footsteps of the man who slid into the room, gun in hand. He saw the bound girl cowering on the bed, the insenate bully standing over her, and struck once, swiftly and surely, with the butt of his weapon. Sark crumpled at his feet, and he kicked the inert mass in sheer savagery.
“A double-dealin' coyote," he said. "But he's right about one thing—this ain't no safe place for you—nor me.”
“Have you—killed him?" she whispered.
“Reckon not," he replied, with a hard grin. "But I will if you say so." She shuddered but did not reply. The jarring crash of the firing was becoming incessant, but so far the window of this room had escaped attention. Jake tested this by allowing his hat to be visible—having first removed his head from it; no shots came. He then picked up a rope from the floor; it had been Dave's the girl remembered with a sigh, and a portion of it had served to bind her. Working swiftly, he looped it beneath her armpits.
“If you sing out, or struggle, I'll stop yor mouth with—kisses," he threatened.
Silently she suffered herself to be carried to the window and lowered to the ground, where Mullins immediately followed her. As yet, they had been unobserved, but now, with twenty yards of clearing to negotiate, discovery was inevitable. The abductor had thought of this. Slinging the helpless girl across one shoulder, he strode forward, a jeer of triumph on his face; they would not dare to risk hitting the burden he carried.
And so it proved, but at the instant he disappeared among the enveloping trees, the marshal and his deputy sprang up, and regardless of the bullets which greeted them, sprinted after him. They reached the shelter of the brush safely, and thrusting through, were in time to see the quarry fling the girl on the neck of a horse, leap into the saddle, and drive home the spurs.
“Damnation, he's done us," Dave panted.
Sudden dropped to one knee, levelled his rifle, and squeezed the trigger. The horse staggered and went down, but the rider jumped clear, dragging his captive with him. One sweeping slash severed the cord confining her ankles, and she was forced to her feet.
“Run ! " Jake hissed. "If those hombres catch us, youdie." He flashed the knife before her eyes, and gripping an arm pulled her after him. "Hell burn their souls, I'll beat 'em yet." That he would stop at nothing, even murder, in his desperation, she did not doubt, and strove to obey, stumbling blindly at his heels through thorny thickets which tore her garments and lacerated the flesh. In and out they wound, and she divined that her captor was chiefly concerned to baffle pursuit, while at the same time, heading in a definite direction. Unnoticed, she contrived at intervals, to let fall a fragment of her tattered frock. The din of the battle behind them was growing fainter when they emerged into the open again. Torn, breathless, with aching limbs, she sank wearily. But the ruffian gave her no respite.
“Get on, if you wanta live," he ordered.
They had come out on a scrub- and tree-studded declivity, along the face of which ran a narrow ledge, a perilous passage even for a pedestrian, since one slip could send the traveller hurtling down the steep slope to the pine-tops hundreds of feet below. The girl gave one glance and shrank back. Jake gripped her shoulder and pointed to some black wheeling dots high in the sky.
“Them's buzzards—waitin' for one of us to fall," he told her. "Now, git goin' an' watch out, or it'll be you." Meanwhile, the marshal and his deputy were floundering in the labyrinth of undergrowth into which the cunning cattle-thief had led them. Broken twigs and trodden grass were all they had for guidance, and these must be searched for, causing delay. Came a time when even these slight indications ceased and they looked at one another in dismay. Then Sudden chanced upon a shred of cotton material impaled on a thorn. Dave recognized it.
“Mary's dress," he said. "C'mon." A few yards further they found a second, and others followed.
The pointers enabled them to put on speed, with the result that they reached the ledge in time to see the hunted man and his companion vanish round a bulge some distance along it. The marshal swept the high ground which commanded the path the fugitives were taking, and came to a decision.
“Yu keep on his tail, Dave," he said. "This looks like a hump in the mountain, an' if I can cut across it, there's a chance o' headin' him off." He began to climb, while Dave resumed the chase. Unhampered, save by the necessity for care, he soon had the satisfaction of sighting the quarry. Goaded by curses and threats, the girl was doing her best, but the exertion in the terrific heat would have taxed the powers of an ox, and she was utterly spent. Aware of this, and confident he had thrown off his pursuers, Jake told her she might rest a moment.
She slumped to the ground and closed her heavy eyes. A low curse made her open them again; Jake's face was towards the trail they had traversed; he was listening intently. Round a curve less than fifty yards away a familiar figure appeared, moving steadily towards them. With a murderous glare the bandit snatched out his revolver and fired. The deputy saw the movement, and pulled the trigger of the rifle he had no time to raise. He felt the wind of a bullet on his cheek, and then saw the other's weapon jerk into the air and drop into the abyss; his lucky shot had torn it from the fellow's fingers.
Dave pressed on, his rifle ready; the miscreant might have a second six-shooter, and be waiting to make a better job of it. But Jake's one thought now was to save himself. With only a knife, he was no match for an armed man who had every right and reason to shoot him like a dog. Dragging his prisoner behind him so that her body should shield his own, he resumed flight, revolving in his crooked mind a desperate expedient to secure his freedom. With that, and the ransom money, he could make a start elsewhere. It involved sacrificing Mary Gray, but there were other women, and she had been, largely, a means to an end.
“I'd tire of her in a month," he muttered, and snatched a glance backwards.
Dave was overhauling him; he must act soon. Just ahead was a likely spot for his diabolic design; the descending slope was less abrupt and about thirty feet down was a clump of scrub-oak, jutting out from the inhospitable surface of the mountain. Opposite this he stopped, lifted the girl, and laying her lengthwise on the ledge, deliberately pushed her over and darted off, ducking to avoid possible shots.
But the sole spectator of this undreamt-of-development was too stunned to shoot. Horror-stricken, he watched the fragile form of the woman rolling helplessly to what seemed to be certain death. Only when she collided with the oaks and hung there, perilously poised on the verge of a deep vertical dip, did he find his voice.
“For God's sake, lie still," he shouted.
There was no sign that she heard; if she had fainted, came to her senses, and stirred . . . The possibility sent a chill along his spine. Slinging his rifle, he lay down, face to the incline, and edged himself over the brink of the ledge, clinging with fingers and toes to any inequality which might lessen the speed of his descent. Outspread, clawing at the rock-face with cut, blistered hands, he gradually lowered himself.
“If I get outa this, I'll never be mor'n a yard away from a rope again," he communed.
He screwed his head round to find the bunch of gnarled trees only a few feet below, and a moment later he was squatting beside the girl, calling her name, and gently wiping the blood from a cut on her forehead. Fearful that she might move, he put an arm about her, and soon her eyes opened.
“Oh, Dave, thank heaven you're safe," she murmured. He was deeply stirred; after all she had suffered, her first thought was for him. His clasp tightened.
“There's no fella in the world worthy of yu," he said softly. "But will yu let me try, Mary?" Bending, he kissed the upturned lips. "Yu don't mind me doin' that?" The question brought a tremulous smile. "I couldn't—very well—slap your face, Dave," she whispered.
“I'm plumh loco," he said contritely, as he released her wrists, and noting the angry red weals the cord had caused, added viciously, "I hope Jim ain't too late." For a while he was silent, cudgelling his brain to find a way out of their predicament. To go for help would mean leaving Mary alone, and that he would not do; Jake, finding himself intercepted, might come back, and there was another danger—Argus-eyed—in the sky. Sudden would come in search of them unless ... He dismissed that thought too. He shifted a little and an ominous crack warned him of the risk they ran by remaining there; the trees could not be deeply-rooted.
“We gotta climb up," he announced, and was aware of a shiver she could not conceal. "It ain't far, an' I'll be right ahead o' yu. Scared?"
“yes," she admitted. "But with you ..."
“We'll make it," he assured her.
Standing up, he drew his knife and set about the task of cutting footholds, as far as he could reach, at short distances where the rock was sufficiently soft. Then he helped her to rise.
“Hang on to my belt whatever happens," he cautioned. "Tread where I do, an' don't look down." Inch by inch, as it seemed to the rescuer, they crawled up, resting every few moments while, clutching with one desperate hand, he scooped fresh primitive steps with the other. Though she strove to lessen it, the dragging weight of the girl imposed a terrible strain, and before long every nerve and muscle of his body was pulsing with pain.
The fierce sun swept the sweat from his skin almost before it was formed, and the stone he had to grip burned his hands. Eyes glued to the cliff, he had no means of measuring their progress, but he appeared to have been climbing for endless hours when at length his fingers found the edge of the pathway. With a final effort, he pulled himself andhis burden to safety, and collapsed, conscious only of a blessed release from exertion. An anxious whisper aroused him.
“Dave, you are not hurt?" Mary was bending over, endeavouring to remove the caked dust from his face, and there. was that in her eyes which restored strength to his overtaxed frame. He stood up, shakily.
“I'm all right," he protested, "but I feel as if I'd been drug at the end of a rope for about a million mile." The smiling eyes sobered. "I'm worried 'bout Jim. Figure yu can walk a bit—if I help yu?"
“You've done enough of that already," she returned. "I can manage quite well." Notwithstanding, when he slipped an arm around her, she seemed content to let it remain.
The marshal, also, was having a testing time. His experiment of taking a short cut over the hump of the hill was sound enough, but not easy of accomplishment. Nevertheless, he hurried, for soon after he had left Dave, two reports, one faint and the second a little louder, had reached him, and he was troubled.
He stumbled on down the incline and presently saw that his deduction had been correct—the ledge lay before him. Concealed behind a bushy shrub, he waited. The moments slid by, and he was beginning to fear that he was too late after all when, out of the silence, came the crunch of hasty feet. Sudden stood up, his rifle directed at the unsuspecting traveller.
“Reach for it, Mullins," he ordered.
The fugitive stopped as though struck by a bullet, gazed in amazed consternation, and slowly raised his hands. How in the Devil's name the marshal had contrived to be there he could not guess, but with the hate in his heart was now a sickening dread.
“Where's Mrs. Gray?" Sudden asked sharply.
“Left her back on the trail—she was hamperin' me," Jake said sullenly. "I was on'y takin' her from Sark."
“yeah, dawg robbin' dawg," was the caustic retort. "We'll go find her. If I hadn't promised to hang yu, I'd use a ca'tridge right now. March, an' don't do nothin' to make me change my mind." Mullins marched, his captor close at his heels. His situation was critical, as well he knew. He tried to arrange his jumbled thoughts and hit upon a loop-hole, only to return to the one appalling fact—he was walking to his death.
As they drew nearer to the spot where he had so inhumanly sacrificed the Widow, his haggard face hardened into a despairing resolve to risk all on one last throw—a gamble to save the life already forfeit. But the man behind must not suspect.
Head down, shoulders drooping despondently, he slouched wearily along until they came to where the path doubled in width for a few yards, giving him space to carry out his design, and, with a grunt of pain, clasped his hands to his middle, and nearly fell. Then, as his guard stepped closer to investigate, he straightened, knocked aside the muzzle of the rifle with one hand, snatched his knife from behind his belt with the other, and aimed a lightning stab at Sud-den's breast. Unexpectedly as was the attack, it did not take the marshal entirely unawares. Flinging up the rifle, he parried the knife-stroke with such force that both weapons left their owners' grasp, and before he could draw one of his guns, Jake's long arms were pinioning his own.
Locked in a close embrace, the men struggled for mastery. Powerfully-built, tough as hickory, each knew that he was fighting for his life. Mullins, infuriated by the fact that he had again failed to outwit the man who so often baulked him, seemed to be imbued with the strength of a madman.
Slipping, slithering, sometimes almost on the dizzy brink of the chasm, they wrought on, now one, now the other, gaining some slight advantage. There was no sound save of hard-drawn breath and rasp of boots trying to keep a hold on the ground. In vain Sudden strove to free an arm, but the bandit clung like a limpet, forcing him to the edge of the trail. The man's physical power was phenomenal, and the marshal realized that unless he could break that hold the pair of them would perish. His heel turned on a loose stone, a braced knee gave, and he saw the unholy gleam of triumph in the ferocious, bloodshot eyes.
“You lose, Sudden," Jake gasped. "Go feed the buzzards, you bastard." His exultation was premature. The marshal glimpsed the void just behind him and knew he was within seconds of death. With a supreme effort he thrust the other back, swinging round on to solid ground again. With a savage roar of disappointment, Jake—who now seemed careless of his own life—made another violent attempt to hurl both to destruction. He was within an ace of succeeding when the marshal spoke:
“Don't shoot, Dave." Jake's head turned, and involuntarily the tension of his grip relaxed. In a flash, Sudden wrenched his right arm free and struck for the angle of the chin. Though travelling but a few inches, it was a crippling blow, driven home with every ounce of strength left in the striker's body. The bandit's eyes dulled, his arms dropped limply as he reeled drunkenly away to sprawl, face down, in the dust. The impact sent Sudden tottering to the cliff-side, where he leant, panting, and, for the moment, powerless.
“I'm beat—I give in," the prostrate man grunted hoarsely.
Laboriously he got to his knees, and then, with amazing speed, sprang up and turned, the marshal's rifle—on which he had chanced to fall—in his grasp. He pulled the trigger, but Sudden dropped swiftly, one hand sweeping to his hip; the gun barked once, Jake spun round, a foot swung over nothing, and—silence.
Sudden lurched to the welcome shade of a bush and sat down, greedily gulping air into his depleted lungs.
“Never knowed breathin' was such a pleasure," he told the world. "I feel like I'd been in the path of a stampede." There Dave and the girl found him when they arrived, having witnessed the final scene of the tragedy.
“Saw yu scrappin' an' we certainly hurried," the young man explained, and with an apologetic look at the lady, "Guess I swore some."
“I thought it was a prayer," Mary smiled.
“Mebbe it was—kind of," Masters agreed with relief.
“Shore seemed yu'd take the big jump together, Jim." The marshal's eyes creased. "Yu saved me, Dave.”
“But I warn't here."
“He thought yu were—I played trick for trick," Sudden replied, and told of his ruse. "It was him or me, but I'm sorry he went that way. What happened to yu?" His face hardened as he heard. "Men can die too easy," he said. "Well, that's one rogue we're rid of, but there's a bigger—who used him—to deal with."
CHAPTER XXI
THE sun was dipping westwards when they again neared the rustlers' retreat. The crackle of rifle-fire had ceased, but the acrid odour of burnt powder still permeated the air. They waited for a while, listening.
“Reckon the fight is finished, but we gotta make shore who's on top afore we go surgin' in—we might be too welcome," the marshal decided. "I'll scout around." It did not take him long to reach the edge of the clearing, and he saw at once that the outlaws had been defeated; the men passing in and out of the bullet-scarred building belonged to the attacking force.
“Hi, Reddy," he called.
The Bar O foreman's grimed, sweat-streaked features lit up when he saw who had hailed him. "Jim, yo're a sight for sore eyes," he cried. "yu missed all the fun." Sudden's smile was satiric. "Yeah," he replied. "Where's Jesse Sark?"
“We found him upstairs. Someone had bent a six-gun over his cranium, but he's come alive agin, an' is he mad? He claims Mullins did it, an' carried off Mrs. Gray. Ned sez it's so, an' that yu an' Dave went after 'em."
“We brought her back."
“An' Jake?"
“He had a bed fall—three hundred feet, mebbe, on to rocks," was how the marshal put it.
“Well, that saves soilin' a rope," the foreman said harshly.
They passed through the battered doorway into the living-room to be greeted with a rousing cheer, and a storm of questions which both men refused to answer.
Downstairs the gathering had grown strangely quiet. Austere-faced men whispered to one another, their attention centred on the marshal, Nippert, and John Owen, who were conversing together. On a chair, his head clumsily bandaged, Sark sat, sullenly watching the proceedings, and at the other end of the room was a group of five men, their hands bound. Dave joined the three leaders, who asked about Mrs. Gray.
“She's asleep," he informed, and jerked a thumb at the prisoners. "What yu goin' to do with 'em?"
“They swing," Owen said shortly.
“One of 'em don't," Dave said. "He saved my life.”
“He's a cattle-thief an' was fightin' agin us," the rancher persisted.
“If it hadn't been for him, yu wouldn't be here," Dave retorted.
The marshal settled the matter by loosing the rustler's wrists. "This fella goes free, John. He was done with Mullins before the fandango started, an' on'y returned here to oblige me." Before Owen could raise any further objection a diversion occurred. Sark, rising shakily to his feet, demanded to be told who was in charge.
“Speak yore piece—we're all listenin'," Nippert replied. "I wanta know why some of my men have been shot, an' the rest driven off?"
“S'pose yu tell us how yu an' yore outfit come to be here a-tall," Sudden suggested drily.
Sark reached out the note he had received from Mullins. "There's the answer," he cried. "When I got that, I raised the coin an' come hot-foot to release her from the scoundrel. I fetched my men in case he tried any tricks." Sudden read the document and passed it to his companions. "Where's the money?"
“I paid it over, an' if you mutton-heads hadn't butted in, she'd 'a' bin at the Dumb-bell hours back, where I'm takin' her soon as she's fit to go."
“An' willin'," the marshal added. "She's safe now, an' in the meantime, we're goin' to try yu, Sark. Better sit down, it may take time."
“Try me?" the cattleman repeated. "On what charge? I've explained my presence here, an' I didn't fire a shot at you. There's no law "
“We're makin' one. Nippert, yu'll act as judge; select yore jury. Better take his gun." Right and left the accused man looked and saw none but stern faces. Primitive as the procedure was, it had a gravity which brought inward qualms. He fortified himself with the reflection that they could know nothing. His mind travelled to the Dumb-bell, and the body in the empty room; he should have hidden it. If that damned nigger went poking about ... The voice of the judge recalled him.
“Well, marshal, we're ready if you are." Amid complete silence, Sudden stepped forward and pointed to the accused. "This man calls hisself Jesse Sark," he began. "His real name is Ezra Kent. Sark died in the penitentiary at Bentley before his uncle was killed. I have a writing from the Warden to prove it." The calm statement produced ejaculations of incredulity from the hearers, and every eye was on the lolling, disdainful figure in the chair. Though the blow was a severe one, Sark had, since he learned of the marshaI's visit to Bentley, been more or less expecting it, and he had his answer ready. He forced a laugh.
“So that's why you went?"
“How did yu know I'd gone a-tall?"
“Oh, dicky-birds tell tales."
“Yeah, dirty dicky-birds," Sudden retorted. Some of the Welcomers sniggered. "An' yu sent Squint to close my mouth—for keeps?"
“Never heard o' the gent," Sark replied.
“Well, it don't matter. Let's get back to the trail we were followin'."
“Suits me," the prisoner agreed. He was beginning to feel more comfortable. "I'll tell you somethin' you couldn't 'a' discovered at Bentley because they don't know it. Kent robbed the bank where I was employed, an' bein' a friend o' his, I was—unjustly—roped in as an accomplice. We were sentenced to the same term, an'. sent to the pen together. On the way, we arranged to swap identities—it was mainly a prank, to put one over on the Warden, but we had a dim idea it might help when we got out. It worked; the prison people were a mite careless, mebbe, but we were pretty much the same age, build, an' not unlike in appearance. So when Kent died he was buried as me, which was a complication we hadn't figured on. That makes yore writin' worth nothin' a-tall." The marshal looked at the impostor almost with respect —the fellow was cleverer than he had supposed. He did not for a moment credit the story, but it sounded plausible enough.
“Is there anyone who can prove what yu say?" Beneath his breath, Sark cursed himself; the man who could have supported his fabrication was lying stiff and stark at the Dumb-bell. He made a negative gesture.
“When I come out I resumed my own name, an' natur ally, I didn't talk none," he replied. "I don't know “
“There's one here can show he's tellin' a pack o' lies," a voice interrupted, and Sloppy slouched from the wall. "What d'yu know about this?" Sudden asked.
“That he ain't the fella he's purtendin' to be." The man in the chair regarded this new witness with derision. "He musta found Jake's private store—he's drunk," he said.
“I ain't neither," Sloppy rejoined. "An' even if I was, I'd reckernize my own son." He gazed around, enjoying the sensation his statement had evoked, and then, "Guess all o' you think I'm soused, but yo're wrong." He shot a shaft at the accused. "What was yore father's first name?" The question jolted Sark sadly; he felt the ground slipping again from beneath his feet. He could not answer.
“How was yore mother called before she married?" The badgered man pulled himself together; he must find some excuse. "I can't remember these details—I had a bad illness
“Liar," Sloppy burst in scornfully. "Yo're just a pore fraud; you did oughta studied up the Sark family a bit more. Well, folks, I'm Ray Sark, on'y brother to Amos, an' father o' Jesse; I'm tellin' you that tinhorn there is no son o' mine." Nippert stilled the hubbub by rapping on the table with the butt of his gun, and turned a severe eye on the witness.
“If you've knowed all along this warn't Jesse Sark, why ain't you spoke afore?"
“I was scairt, Ned," the little man admitted. "You see, it was me found Amos first of all that mornin'. I'd recent come to Drywash, an' was on my way to try an' patch things up atween us. I can see him now lyin' there at the side o' the trail. He was hurt mortal, but just before he passed out, he opens his eyes, an' sez, `So it was you? Well, it won't put nothin' in yore pocket, nor that time-servin' pup who blotted the name o' Sark; it all goes to Mary.' Thatsuited me, but I'm in a jam; if it gits knowed I was on the spot, folks'll shore figure—like Amos—that I shot him on the chance o' gittin' somethin'. So I starts his hoss for the ranch, an' lit out. When I learns o' the will givin' the Dumbbell to my son, I'm scairt wuss'n ever, it bein' a bigger reason for my committin' the crime. Jesse havin' died—which I don't know then—an' this fella takin' his place, don't clear me o' that suspicion. So I took the coward's course, let my whiskers grow, an' drifted to Welcome—where I was a stranger, hopin' somethin' would turn up. It did—Jim come." This halting recital elicited a laugh of ridicule from Sark. "He ain't drunk, he's mad," he said. "Likely, ain't it? A fine, well-stocked range is left to his boy an' he lets another man grab it. He claims to be Ray Sark, my father; I say he is not. Looks to me as if he wiped out Amos an' is tryin' to pin the job on me." Silence followed the accusation and Sloppy got some doubtful looks. Then it was seen that the marshal was holding a small brass box on the palm of his hand.
“I found this on the spot where Amos Sark was killed," he said to the prisoner. "Do you recognize it?"
“I remember you showed it to me."
“An' yu wanted to buy it. Why?"
“Just curiosity," the other shrugged.
“To find out if the initials E. K. were scratched inside the lid, huh? Well, they are." Sark's face remained expressionless. "Means nothin' to me," he said, and turned sharply on Sloppy. "Got anyone to say you are Ray Sark?" The little man was taken aback. "Mebbe if I peeled this hair off'n my face somebody in Drywash would remember me," he said doubtfully. "But I warn't there long."
“How comes it Mary Gray don't remember, her uncle?" Sloppy grinned. "Because she ain't seen him, as such, since she was a tiny toddler, which you'd 'a' knowed if you were the fella you claim to be."
“I did know, I was just testin' you," Sark returned coolly. If he could only gain a respite, reach the Dumb-bell, perform a certain task, find and destroy the lawyer's papers... . He resolved on a bold stroke. Pointing to Sloppy, he went on, "You heard him. Tells you he's Ray Sark, but can't prove it. Tells you I'm not Jesse Sark, but if you give me time, I can show that I am. If Seth Lyman was here "
“He is," croaked a reedy voice.
The men grouped around the doorway stood aside to allow the passage of a strange pair. A big negro, helping, almost carrying a shrivelled weed of humanity in a skirted black coat and blood-stained boiled shirt. From his waxen-white face, deep-sunk eyes flared feverish hate, and a dreadful determination. With the inevitability of Death itself he moved forward and stopped in front of the accused.
The gathering watched their progress in amazed silence. Upon Sark their appearance was petrifying. Open-mouthed, and with a clammy fear constricting his heart, he gazed distraught at the man he had left for dead in the Dumb-bell ranch-house. In those vengeful eyes he read his doom and his trembling lips framed a frantic appeal :
“Seth, save me," he whispered. "We can still make good. I swear I'll " A hideous laugh from the lawyer stilled the remainder of the sentence.
“Hark to him," he taunted. "Begging mercy from one who has tasted the torments of Hell to come here and destroy him." He paused for a moment, gathering strength, and then, stabbing a finger at the cowering wretch in the chair, "There sits Eza Kent, liar, thief, traitor, and murderer. Listen: I always coveted the Dumb-bell range, and when Amos Sark made me his man of business, I saw my way. I meant to use young Jesse, but when he died in gaol, I had to content myself with this—thing. Forging the will was a simple matter, and the fact that the heir was not known around here seemed to make success certain." He halted again, and the spectators of this weird scenestood dumb while this fragile creature, obviously dying on his feet, fought for time to compass his vengeance. Sark, fascinated, could not drag his fearful gaze from those blood-drained lips which were condemning him to the darkness of eternity.
“Killing Amos was no part of my plan, but Ezra couldn't wait. We got the range, and nobody suspected until Welcome gets a new marshal and this fool has to fall foul of him; if he'd made friends instead of foes . . ." His glazing eyes never left the object of his scorn, and the consuming hatred which had enabled him to endure the terrible ride from the Dumb-bell still sustained him. The pitiless accusation continued.
“you paid Mullins to steal the girl, meaning to force her into marriage and so make your title good; you failed. You offered five hundred dollars for the marshal's murder, and failed again." In his shaking hand he thrust out a small sheaf of papers. "You even failed to find these—my confession, and the real will, leaving everything to Mary Gray." He grimaced horribly. "I told you they were in a safe place and so they were—the safest place in the world to a bungler like you, right under your nose; you stepped over them a dozen times a day at the ranch. Ha! that touches you." Bitter chagrin came and went in the tortured eyes. The lawyer's voice weakened to a mere whisper. "You tried to kill me, and I—live—to—hang-you." The last words were almost inaudible. His head fell forward, and the sagging form collapsed in Juba's grasp. He lowered it gently to the floor, and bent for a moment.
“Sho' is daid—dis time," he said.
No one spoke, but he marshal removed his hat, and the others followed suit.
As one awakening from an evil dream. Sark wrenched his gaze from the body, and furtively scanned the grim faces around him. All told the same story; he could see no spark of compassion in any one of them. An appalling despair bit into his brain. Nippert spoke:
“Ezra Kent, have you anythin' to say?" He heard himself talking incoherently. "It was Lyman's plot. I had to do what he said—I was in his power. When I refused, at the ranch, he threw a gun on me; I struck him in self-defence. For God's sake, have pity."
“What pity did you show Amos Sark?"
“Lyman forced me " he began, and stopped as he saw the judge was looking at the jury.
In turn each shook his head, and a sweat broke out in beads of ice on his brow. His body shook as with an ague. From his swollen, livid face the eyes protruded, and the squirming lips transformed it into a hideous human travesty. Spellbound, the onlookers saw him try to rise, but his knees buckled beneath him, and with a choking cry of "Mercy ! " he pitched headlong across the man he had slain. Nippert was the first to reach him. His exclamation was brief.
“Finished," he announced. "Died o' sheer fright, seemin'ly. I never see the like. Where's Jim?" The marshal had slipped out unnoticed in the excitement, but returned in time to hear a flippant comment by a Bar O puncher:
“Less trouble for us. How many ropes needed now?”
“Nary a one," Sudden told him. "Mister Death has had a plenty big harvest a'ready."
“Allasame, them fellas are rustlers," Owen objected. "They stole my steers an' shot down my boys; I'm hangin' 'em."
“Yu'll have to catch 'em first. I figured that was how yu'd feel, so I turned 'em loose. They're leavin' the country, an' I'll bet they ain't delayin' any." The rancher glared at him. "You'd no right to do that, even though you are marshal."
“I ain't—I resigned before I sent 'em off. Sloppy, didn't yu give Ned my star?"
“Done forgot," the little man said, with an unrepentant grin. "Things was happenin' so quick."
“So yu see, John," Sudden continued, "if yu must have a necktie party, yu gotta be content with me." He smiled as he spoke, and the very absurdity of the suggestion brought an answering laugh all round, save from the cattleman. The saloon-keeper put the matter bluntly:
“After what he's done, I reckon the Bar O owes him that." John Owen was a just man. "Yo're right, Ned," he admitted. "Sorry I spoke outa turn, Jim. Welcome can't do without you. Shake." Their hands met, and Sudden said something they were to recall later :
“The man who can't be done without ain't been born yet."
CHAPTER XXII
IT was some days later, and Welcome, having duly celebrated the defeat and dispersal of the outlaws, resumed the uneven tenor of its way.
The marshal and his deputy, chairs tilted back, were taking the morning sun in front of their abode. For some time they had smoked in silence, and then Dave said abruptly :
“When do we hit the trail, Jim?"
“Day or two," the other replied absently, and then, "We? What yu talkin' of? yo're stayin' here."
“I—am—not. Hell ! why couldn't yu leave things be 'stead o' rakin' up ancient hist'ry, an' unsettlin' everybody?" The marshal stared at him. "Yu talked this over with Mrs. Gray?"
“No," the boy snapped. "What yu take me for?"
“The biggest chump the Lord ever put breath into," Sudden said pleasantly, and got up.
Despondently the young man saw him stroll along the street, pausing now and then to chat with a passer-hy. "Jim don't understand," he muttered miserably.
He was wrong, the marshal understood very well. The Widow's face lit up when he entered, but fell again when she saw that he was alone.
“Dave been in?" he asked casually.
“No, and he didn't come yesterday," she told him, adding with a brave show of indifference, "He must have lost his appetite."
“S'posed to be a reason for that, ain't there?" Sudden queried, and noted the quick flush. "Guess it's liver in his case—he needs exercise, an' he'll get it when we start our travels again."
“He's going away?" The cheeks were white now. "But why?"
“Dave's changed the last day or two. He's that modest I don't hardly know him—just an ornery no'-count puncher he calls hisself. Talks dangerous, too, about makin' a pile o' money, pronto."
“Whatever for?"
“I dunno. Mebbe he wants somethin' that seems out of his reach." The girl's eyes glistened. "Jim," she said softly, "you are the best friend I ever had. Do you think ?"
“I'll fix it," Sudden broke in, and beat a rapid retreat. As "he approached the lounger outside the office, he quickened his pace.
“The Widow is hurt," he said, and turned his grinning face aside as Dave leapt from his chair and raced for the restaurant.
Flinging open the door, he dashed in to find the lady leaning against one of the tables, and the look which welcomed him was something a mere man is lucky to see once in a lifetime. As his hungry arms closed about her, he cried :
“Mary, what's the matter? Jim said yu were hurt.”
“Dear old Jim," she smiled. "I was—you were going away." His hold tightened. "But, girl dear, I'm just “
“An ornery no'count puncher," she quoted.
“Yeah, an' yu got a ranch. What else could a fella do?" From the shelter of his shoulder came a muffled whisper. "I've got a heart, too. A fella could stay and look after—them both."
* * *
That same evening, in the privacy of his own parlour at the Red Light, the saloon-keeper tried again to persuade the mashal to remain.
“Shucks!" Sudden smiled. "Ever hear o' the Wandering Jew? He had the travel itch, same as me, an' there's no cure for it, ol'-timer; I gotta go." The saloon-keeper gave it up. "Welcome will find it mighty hard to part with you," he said glumly.
* * *
In the morning, the town awoke to find the marshal had solved the problem for it and himself by disappearing during the hours of darkness. The coming of daylight found him half-way to Drywash. A single farewell look, and he turned to face the lonely trail he had once more elected to tread.
THE END
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