Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) (36 page)

 
          
The
bandit leader, seated at his table, looked up as the three men entered. The
prisoner spoke first.

 
          
“What’s
the meanin’ o’ this?” he demanded. “If yu wanted me yu’d on’y to say so.”

 
          
Through
the holes in the mask the unblinking eyes regarded him with malicious
satisfaction. “Where is the man you took away?”

 
          
“I
dunno—ain’t seen him since.”

 
          
“
you
are lying, as you have been all through. Are you the
outlaw, Sudden, or is this a lie, too?”

 
          
He
held up a paper, the bill issued by the sheriff of Fourways. The puncher
laughed scornfully.

 
          
“So
that’s why Steve stole it? Yeah, it’s me all right. D’yu
figure
any fella would borrow a reputation like that?”

 
          
“If
he wanted to work for me and win my confidence, yes,” was the reply.

 
          
Sudden
saw that the man’s keen mind was leading him perilously near the facts and made
an effort to head him off.

 
          
“I
drifted here in search of a job, an’ if yu an’ that houn’ Lagley hadn’t framed
me I’d still be ridin’ for the Double K,” he pointed out. “An’ I basted four o’
yore bullies the day I come.”

 
          
“Which
might be a good way of attracting my attention,” the other countered. He
studied the paper again. “The description agrees—you must be this Sudden—”

 
          
“Gimme
back my guns an’ I’ll prove it,” the puncher offered.

 
          
Satan
appeared not to hear. “No, he couldn’t use a man like you,” he muttered, and
then, through his set teeth, “By God! I’ll know the truth if I have to cut your
heart out. Tell Muley to get ready.”

 
          
Scar
shot a vindictive glance at his prisoner. “Muley has done with whippin’,” he
said, and went on to explain.

 
          
Satan
heard him in silence and then came the inevitable gibe: “Only four of you
against one? Roden, your courage astounds me; you may yet live to be a man.” He
looked darkly at the puncher. “Killing Muley won’t save you; we must think of
something else.” He bent his head. When he raised it again a fiendish grin
distorted his lips; so might the King of Hell have smiled at the writhings of a
tortured soul. “You robbed me of a target once,” he said. “You shall replace
him.”

 
          
At
his call, Silver appeared, received instructions, and went out. Sudden was
remembering Dolver, to whom he had dealt a merciful death. Was he to be immured
in that living tomb, to endure the agony of dying daily? Often enough in his
adventurous life he had faced eternity undismayed but the prospect of such an
end brought a black moment. One
leap,
and the guns at
his back would speak, with swift oblivion. But the puncher was not one to throw
his hand in; he would play the game out, win or lose. The big bell began to ring,
slow, measured strokes, like a death-knell.

 
          
His
tanned face rigid as that of a redskin, he was herded into the street, where a
crowd was waiting. The murmur of voices died away as the culprit, his guards,
and the masked man came out.

 
          
“Where’s
Muley?” a blowzy woman asked.

 
          
“In
hell, I reckon,” a man at her elbow replied. “This is the hombre what sent him
there. It ain’t goin’ to be a thrashin’; see the way
they’s
fixin’ him?”

 
          
Silver
was busy. Having placed the condemned man with his back to the post, he bound
him tightly to it with rawhide thongs so that only his head was movable. The
big hat he flung down.

 
          
“You
won’t need it no more,” he said.

 
          
“The
Chief’s goin’ to shoot him hisself, like he did that dago, Ramon,” the fellow
who had spoken before informed his neighbour.

 
          
“It’ll
be quick then,” she answered, her tone tinged with disappointment.

 
          
“Mebbe not.
That time he shot all round him without drawin’
blood an’ then turns away as if that’s all. I see Ramon’s eyes light up an’
phut!
there’s
a bullet in his brain.”

 
          
“He’s
a good-looker,” the woman commented. “Seems a’most a pity …”

 
          
“Hell,
men is
common enough.”

 
          
The
dwarf completed his work, and Satan, standing about a dozen paces in front of
the puncher, raised a hand dramatically for silence.

 
          
“This
man is a traitor, therefore a danger to all of us,” he announced.

 
          
“I
am about to punish him.”

 
          
He
drew one of the ivory-butted revolvers from his belt and, scarcely taking aim,
fired. Sudden felt the thud of the missile as it embedded itself in the post
just above his head. A gasp from the crowd broke the tense silence which
followed the crack of the report.

 
          
“He’s
missed,” the woman whispered.

 
          
“He’s
playin’ with him, like he did the other.
Gawd, he’s a cruel devil.
Look, if he ain’t laughin’.”

 
          
In
fact, it seemed so, for beneath the mask the lips were curled back like those
of a snarling dog, as the man bent forward to mark the result of his shot. The
face of the target might have been cut out of stone, the eyes staring steadily
into the sunlight which in a moment might change to everlasting darkness.

 
          
“A
shade too high,
Sudden
. I am out of practice—you know
why,” the taunting voice said. “That must be mended.” Again he pulled the
trigger and the shot struck a little below the first. “Better,” he smiled
complacently, and waited nerve-shattering moments before making a third
attempt.
This time Sudden felt the cold breath of the bullet
as it stirred his hair, and steeled himself for the fourth, which … It came,
bringing a streak of fire, as though a red-hot iron had been laid across his
scalp.
Satan was speaking.

 
          
“You
have begun to die, Sudden. Unless you supply the information I want in the
morning, you will continue to die, slowly, as Dolver did. Think it over.” He
looked round at the spectators. “Anyone who approaches or speaks to this man
will take his place.”

 
          
He
thrust the revolver back into his belt, and followed by his henchman, went to
his quarters. The crowd dispersed quickly, the show was over, and—curiosity
could be very costly in Hell City.

 
          
“Ain’t
you goin’ to have him watched?” Silver ventured. “Don’t you trust your knots?”
his master said sharply. “He’ll have to be a wizard to undo ‘em.”

 
          
“Well,
do you imagine any person will dare to interfere with him?” was the arrogant
answer.

 
          
Meanwhile,
the reprieved man was wondering whether he ought to be glad or sorry. Tough as
he was, the strain of the ordeal had tried him to the utmost. His head smarted
but he knew it was, as yet, the merest graze. Tomorrow, unless he gave in—and
he had no intention of doing so—the lead would bite a little more shrewdly, and
the next day … But it was no use thinking that way. He tried to move his
stiffened limbs, but Silver had done a good job, and he soon realized that
there was no hope in that direction. So he watched the shadows deepen, the
stars come out, and the denizens of this criminal community slinking from hole
to hole like a colony of predatory vermin. From the saloon came the jingle of a
piano and the shouted chorus of a song.

 
          
All
the passers-by, he noticed, gave the whipping-post a wide berth, but presently,
a stumble and muffled curse from just behind him announced an exception. Unable
to turn, he could only wait. Then
came
a whispered
word.

 
          
“Jim!”

 
          
“Frosty?
What th’—?”

 
          
“That’ll
keep. Wait till I cut these blame’ hobbles, an’ we’ll flit. I guess this ain’t
a healthy place for us.”

 
          
“Yu’ll
never guess better. How’d yu get in?”

 
          
“Down
the hole yu showed me. There was a jigger on guard at the bottom, but I rapped
him on the head with my gun an’ he let me pass.”

 
          
“He
let—
say
, will he let yu go back?”

 
          
There
was a subdued chuckle in Frosty’s whisper. He won’t care—a rap.”

 
          
By
this time the captive was free. Fortunately the post was near the cliff and in
darkness. Sudden stretched his cramped limbs and drew a long breath.

 
          
“Beat
it,” he said. “I’ll join yu at the Twin Diamond. I gotta get Nigger.”

 
          
“Risk
yore life for a hoss?”

 
          
“Just
that; there’s been times when but for him I wouldn’t have one to risk. Don’t
worry, I got it all planned.” Frosty knew it was useless to argue. “Well,
it’s
yore life,” he grumbled, “but a fella can push his luck
too hard.”

 
          
The
gloom swallowed him and Sudden turned in the direction of the saloon. He had
almost reached it when the door was flung back and a man wearing two gun-belts
staggered out; it was Roden—alone. The fugitive crouched behind a corner of the
building and as the half-tipsy ruffian passed, struck upwards, rising with the
blow. The granite fist, moving like a released spring, landed full on the point
of the jaw and Scar dropped as though hit by a thunderbolt. Sudden dragged the
inert form back from the road, and with a sigh of content, buckled on his own
belt and guns. Climbing to his bedroom window, he got his saddle, and ran to
the corral. The familiar whistle brought the black, and soon the pair
were
heading for the west gate. As they approached, Sudden
quickened pace, and they arrived with a rush. The man in charge was new to him.

 
          
“Got
a pass?” he queried. ” ‘Less you have “

 
          
“Pass
be
damned!” Sudden said angrily.
“Open
up, yu idjut.
Scar Roden had a run in with the Chief an’ creased him
—pretty bad. I’m for the Red Rock doctor.”

 
          
The
fellow stared. “Scar, huh?” he said. “Must ‘a’ found some
sand.
What happened to him?”

 
          
“The
Chief got him—good, an’ he’s liable to get yu if…”

 
          
But
the bars were already being removed, and ten seconds later, Nigger was through
and racing down the trail. His rider indulged in a mild whoop and leaned over to
pat the satiny neck of the friend he had dared so much to recover.

 
          
“Yu
come mighty near to changin’ owners, of hoss,” he said. “Lyin’ is like drink,
it gets a hold on a fella, but I gotta admit there’s a heap o’ satisfaction in
puttin’ over a good one. I gambled on that gate-man bein’, like me, tied to his
post this afternoon, an’ my luck was shorely in.”

 
          
He
laughed at his little joke, and swinging off the beaten track, plunged into the
brush towards the Twin Diamond. By the time he reached the ranch-house, a pale
grey light behind the distant peaks told the dawn of another day. Turning his
horse into the corral, he carried his saddle to the house, and finding the door
unlocked, stepped into the living-room, slumped into a big armchair, and went
to sleep. A little later, Frosty arrived and did precisely the same. Chang, the
Chinese cook, first astir, surveyed the pair of snoring cowboys with a grih and
went about his work of preparing the morning meal. The voice of the rancher
awakened them.