Read Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) Online
Authors: Oliver Strange
“What
brings you?” he enquired.
“Yore
business, o’ course,” the visitor replied. “Have a good look at that.”
Satan
unfolded the stolen placard and read it. “Well, are you suggesting I should
send to Texas for him? Too much trouble, my friend,
Besides
,
he’ll drift in, sooner or later.”
“Make
it sooner,” Lagley said. “He’s here a’ready.”
The
other straightened in his seat. “And I was not told?” he cried. “By Christmas,
I’ll—”
“Hold
yore hosses, Jeff; nobody knows but me. He calls hisself Green, an’ he’s ridin’
for—us.”
“That fellow?”
Satan said coolly. “Well?”
“He’s
useful—
look
how he handled Scar’s crew, an’ it was him
an’ Homer busted up that brandin’ play. The 01’ Man is stuck on him, which is
another reason for ropin’ him in.”
“Have
you sounded him?”
“Kind
of,” Lagley replied. “He didn’t jump at it—ain’t the sort—but I figure yu could
fix him.”
“What’s
he done to you?”
Under
the scrutiny of those staring eyes the foreman shifted uncomfortably; he had
the feeling that his inmost thoughts were being dragged out.
“I
got nothin’ agin him,” he protested.
“He
may come to see me—if he has the nerve.”
Lagley
essayed a grin. “That’ll fetch him, but he’s gotta be handled with gloves—he
ain’t no common roughneck.”
“I
shall deal with him as I think fit,” came the snub. “By the way, I want more three-year-olds;
arrange that some are —available.” He threw some bills on the table. “There’s
your pay; see that you continue to earn it.”
The
foreman picked up the money and would have given something for the courage to
fling it in the face of the master who treated him so cavalierly, but
self-interest and a desire to we both forbade it. Silver, with a smirk which
uncovered his usks, showed him out, and then returned with his great shoulders
shaking.
“What’s
amusing you, Silver?” the masked man asked. “
They’s
all the same, Chief,” rumbled the deep voice. ‘Come in, steppin’ high, with
their heads up, an’ slinks out ails tucked in. Never seen the fella could
out-face you. Dunno how you do it.”
The
thin lips curved in a gratified smile. “The ability to rule is born in a man,”
Satan said. “I have the gift. Tomorrow, you shall see me tame this gunfighter.”
But
the morrow brought no Sudden to Hell City. The foreman delivered the message,
not quite in the condescending form in which it had been given—”He’ll be glad
to meetcha,” was how he put it—and Sudden had received it omewhat nonchalantly.
“I’ll
chew it over. Mebbe drop in one day.”
“Don’t
leave it too long,” Lagley warned. “He ain’t the patient kind.”
He
got a look he could not put a meaning to. “I’m a bit short on patience myself,”
the puncher replied. “Also, I ain’t kow-towin’ to any road-agent who’s afeard
to show his face.”
“Wait
till yu see him; yu’ll talk different.”
“P’raps,
but first he’s gotta wait till he sees me,” Sudden retorted. “I’ll choose my
own time.”
So
it came about that several days passed before the black horse carried him along
the narrow causeway which wound through the foothills, and, rising with
increasing steepness, led to the ponderous portal of Hell City. Approaching it,
one could not help being struck by the natural strength of its position. Many
centuries back, the place must have been a pass through the crest of a high
plateau, but some mighty convulsion had torn away the cliff on the right,
leaving a mereshell of rock with a precipitous face mounting abruptly from the
valley. This shell formed one side of the bandit stronghold.
Pacing
slowly along, Sudden’s eyes were busy, but he did not halt until he reached the
gate. It opened at once, to disclose a burly-looking ruffian, holding a rifle
levelled from the hip. The visitor knew that his approach must have been
observed; he had already decided upon his attitude.
“Are
you Sudden?” the man asked.
“Folks
have found me all that,” was the reply.
“I’ve
had word to let you pass, but yo’re after yore time; the Chief don’t like to be
kept waitin’.”
“Is
that so? Well, I
don’t like it neither,
an’ yo’re
keepin’ both of us waitin’,” Sudden reminded, adding sharply, “I’ll have to
tell him….”
With
a look of alarm, the custodian fell back, his bluster gone. “No call to do
that, stranger.”
His
eyes followed the black as it stepped unhurriedly along the street; the rider
appeared to have forgotten his haste. “A killer, shore enough,” he muttered.
“Had
me
covered, too, damn him.” He slammed the gate
and then chuckled. “The Chief’ll take the starch out’n him, good an’ plenty.”
The
puncher paced on until he reached the point where he had seen Lagley vanish,
and then pulled up beside a group of three men, slouch-hatted, unshaven,
heavily armed, who surveyed him with insolent hostility.
“Where’s
yore boss hang out?” he asked brusquely.
All
three scowled, but one jerked a thumb over his shoulder. They watched him
dismount and trail the reins, their greedy eyes on the horse. He spoke again.
“Keep
away from him or he’ll kill yu, an’ if he
don’t
, I
will.”
The
faces of the men he warned grew darker, and one of them growled, “Who the devil
are you to give us orders?”
“My
name is `Sudden,’ ” the puncher rasped. “Put yore paws up, all o’ vu,
pronto !”
As
he spat out the last word his own hands came up, a gun in each. Utterly taken
by surprise, the ruffians dared not disobey; the jutting jaw and icy narrowed
eyes were not those of a bluffer.
“Run,
yu rats,”
came
the harsh command, and a bullet tore
the heel from the boot of the last to start.
The
gunman waited until they had dived, like the vermin to which he had compared
them, into one of the openings, and then hammered loudly on the door with the
butt of a gun. It was opened immediately by Silver, who beckoned him in. The
masked man was lolling in a big chair, reading, and took no notice when they
entered. The puncher seated
himself
, pushed his hat
back, and began to roll a cigarette. Presently the book was thrown aside.
“You
are `Sudden’?”
“Men
call me that,” the cowboy replied.
“I s’pose yo’re `Satan’?”
“That’s
what I call myself.
you
have taken your time.”
“Why
should I come a-runnin’ when yu whistle?” Sudden said rudely. “I ain’t
nobody’s
dawg.”
The
expressionless eyes did not alter, but he saw the mouth harden; the blow had
gone home.
“I
heard a shot outside. What happened?”
“Three
o’ yore scum got impudent; I had to educate ‘em some.”
“Was
it to find me you
came
to Arizona?”
“Never
heard o’ yu till I got to Dugout—robber bands ain’t no novelty in the West,”
Sudden said carelessly. “I was just travellin’—for my health.”
A
flash of anger shone in the dull eyes but was gone in an instant. This
truculent bully must be given a lesson, the masked man decided.
“I
have something to show you,” he announced. “When you have seen it, we will
continued
our conversation.”
At
a sign, Silver dragged aside a rug and raised a trapdoor, disclosing a ladder.
He went down, and Satan motioned his guest to follow. Little as he appreciated
the courtesy, the puncher—conscious that he was between the two fires—could not
but comply. A
moment,
and the third man had joined
them. The chamber they were now in was a counterpart of the one they had left,
save that it was unfurnished. Daylight, entering by a hole on one side,
revealed only what Sudden took to be a pile of rags, until a deep groan
apprised him that they covered a human form.
“Still
alive,” the masked man said, and there was a horrible satisfaction in his tone.
“Good!”
“What’s
he done?” the visitor asked.
“You
don’t know the Governor of Arizona, I expect?” Satan replied, watching him
keenly.
Sudden
laughed. “Sheriffs
is
my limit thataway, so far.”
“The
Governor is good enough to take an interest in me,” the hard voice went on. “He
has already sent two spies. The first went back ready for burial, and this one
will be returned in the same way when I have finished with him. Lagley said you
could shoot. I am about to test your skill. Lift him, Silver.”
The
dwarf raised the supine form as though it had been that of an infant, and the
puncher needed all his iron control to suppress a cry of horror. Never had he
seen a more dreadful sight. Through the tattered fragments of clothing the
shrivelled frame of the poor wretch gleamed like the bleached bones of a
skeleton, the limbs swinging loosely, as if tied on with string. Long, matted
white hair and beard draped a pallid, blood-drained face, with sunken cheeks,
glazed eyes, and drooling lips.
Sudden
schooled his features to an expression of callous indifference; he had found
Dolver—too late; the man was dying; he might live for days, enduring
unspeakable agony, but there was no hope. He fought an impulse to shoot down
the devil
who
now stood, gloating over his handiwork,
but it was Keith’s son, and to slay the leader only would but make way for
another. Even if he got out of Hell City alive—which was doubtful—his work
would be still to do. In a voice he hardly recognized, he asked:
“What’s
wrong with his arms an’ legs?”
“Broken
at the knees and elbows—it saves the trouble of bonds,” the monster explained.
“How I wish the Governor could see him.”
He
gave an order and Silver, supporting his burden easily with his left arm,
gripped the lolling head with his enormous other paw and held it upright, as in
a vice.
“
you
have heard of dying by inches,” Satan said coolly. “This
man is dying by fractions of an inch. You see that groove extending from the
forehead back over the scalp? Well, every day I deepen it the smallest shade by
a bullet. Eventually, I shall touch the brain, and then …”