Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) (5 page)

 
          
“Yo’
done save me money, sah,” Sam replied. “Dem Imps
neber pay
nobody.”

 
          
Men
were heading for the saloon, eager for information, and Sudden slipped away to
his room, leaving the
negro
to make what explanations
he chose.

 
          
His
apartment was not luxurious, for it contained only a pallet-bed, a chair, a
bucket of water, soap and towel, but it was spotless. He smiled as he
remembered Frosty’s attempt to mislead him.

 
          
“An’
me a stranger,” he said reprovingly, though it was the very thing he would have
done himself. “Allasame, I’ll gamble he’s white, an’ somethin’ is sayin’ mighty
loud that I’ll need friends.”

 
          
His
window overlooked the corral and he could see his horse, Nigger, placidly
nibbling the grass. He raised the sill and looked down; the ground was but a
dozen feet below—it would be easy to leave that way if necessary. So far, save
for Lagley, things had gone well. The men he had punished belonged to the
mysterious “Satan” he had come to find and deal with, and he had deliberately
made the most of the opportunity the girl’s advent offered.

 
          
“If
he’s the sort I figure, he’ll wanta see the man who, single-handed, beat up
four of his toughs,” he reflected aloud. “An’
it’s
possible Keith might be grateful, which’ll level up for Lagley.” His mind
reverted to material needs. “Fightin’ must make a fella peckish; I could eat a
hoss—a’most.”

 
          
He
went downstairs to find a meal waiting for him in the parlour behind the bar,
and a shining-faced, buxom
negress
who bobbed a
curtsey when he entered.

 
          
“Suah
hope it ain’t spoiled, sah,” she said. “Done ask dat man o’ mine to tell yo’
but he don’ think o’ nothin’ but de ol’ bar.”

 
          
“It
was my fault, ma’am,” Sudden smiled. “I was just dreamin’. My!
that
steak looks good.”

 
          
She
waited while he ate a mouthful, and departed with his praises ringing in her
ears. The puncher had made another friend, unmeaningly, for the meal was
perfect. Having despatched it, he went into the bar. Business was booming, and
evidently the proprietor had been talking, for the afternoon’s fracas appeared
to be the sole topic of conversation. The smith, a big fellow, with a rugged
but not unpleasing face, stepped at once to the cowboy.

 
          
“Mister,
my name’s Naylor, an’ I’d like to shake with you,” he said. “The way you played
with them sots was good to see.”

 
          
They
shook hands, Sudden mentioned his name, and was, in turn, presented to Jansen,
the store-keeper, Polter, who ran an eating-house, and a dried-up, rather
silent little man called Birt, who owned a freight-wagon, and was the town’s
link with the outside world.

 
          
“It
was time someone showed ‘em they don’t own the place,” the store-keeper
supplemented. “Few weeks ago, Roden comes in, selects some goods, an’ starts to
walk out. When I remind him he ain’t paid he looks ugly, an’ sez, `Ain’t my
credit good?’ I
tells
him I don’t give none. `Yo’re be
beginnin’ to-day,’ he replies, an’ backs out with his gun on me. Well, life’s
worth more’n ten dollars.”

 
          
“They
got a lesson this afternoon, but there’ll be doin’s when the news of it gits to
Hell City,” Polter opined.

 
          
Sudden
asked a question; it was the smith who answered:

 
          
“It’s
the stronghold of the worst band of rustlers an’ road-agents in Arizona, the
last refuge o’ the hunted outlaw. The blacker a man’s record is, the warmer his
welcome. Satan, their leader calls hisself, an’ it ain’t
no
boast.
Him
an’ his Imps has got this country
buffaloed. That was four of ‘em you manhandled.”

 
          
“Yu
think they’ll talk?” the puncher asked. “Me, I’d be dumb as a clam.”

 
          
“Satan
fin’ out, sah,” Sam said dolefully. “He
hear
eberyt’ing—he have de magic.”

 
          
Sudden
laughed and slapped a gold piece on the bar. “That’s his magic, ol’-timer,” he
replied. “The most powerful in the world, save this.” He drew a cartridge from
his belt and stood it beside the coin. “Lead lets the life out’n a man an’ all
the gold in creation won’t put it back. If he does hear, I guess yu needn’t to
worry—he won’t have any sympathy for four men who let one send ‘em packin’.”

 
          
“Somethin’
in that,” Jansen admitted. “By all accounts, they’ll be lucky to git off with a
tongue-lashin’.”

 
          
“What’s
he like?”

 
          
“Young—’bout
yore age, I’d say—middlin’ size, an’ allus wears a mask, even amongst his own
men,” was the reply. “He’s reputed to ride an’ shoot like Old Nick hisself.”

 
          
“An’
that’s all yu know?”

 
          
The
freighter spoke for the first time. “Not quite,” he said. “We know he don’t
like bein’ discussed.” He looked sardonically at the stranger. “Lem Roberts
opened his mouth pretty wide a month back an’ two days later we found him
hanging from a tree on the trail-side with one o’ them little red devils pinned
to his vest.”

 
          
This
ended the subject. Sudden replaced his cartridge, and pointed to the gold coin.
“Sam, I believe yo’re a bit of a wizard yore own self,” he smiled. “Just pass a
hand over that an’ see if yu can turn it into liquor; I’m settin’ ‘em up for
the company.”

 
          
This
generous gesture sealed the cowboy’s popularity and did much to dispel the
suspicion with which a frontier community was wont to receive a stranger. Even
Black Sam forgot his fears for the future and regained his customary broad
smile. It was not until later, when the saloon was closed, that his face grew
gloomy again. Sudden went straight to the point:

 
          
“Yu
fellas are holdin’ out on me,” he said. “Who is this jasper yu all ‘pear to be
so scared of?”

 
          
The
negro
shook his head. “I dunno, sah—nobody
dunno
, but it’s claimed he’s Kunnel Keith’s son, young Massa
Jeff.” Sudden’s eyebrows rose. “Keith o’ the Double K?” he cried.
“How come?”

 
          
“Keith
lose
his wife when de chile is born,” Sam explained.
“I don’ reckon he eber forgive de boy for dat—he was mighty ‘tached to her. It
mak’ him hard like de flint, an’ young Jeff he grow up de same, bot’ proud an’
obst’nate as de mule. It was when de boy comes back from college dat de big trouble
begins,
mebbe four-five years back. ‘Stead o’ bein’ de
owner’s son, Jeff has to work as one o’ de outfit, an’ for de same pay. Well,
he don’ kick, but I ‘spect he found it middlin’ dull aroun’ heah after de East,
an’ he spends a lot o’ time at Red Rock, thirty mile no’th. De tales come o’
drinkin’, high play, an’ den a man is hurt at de card-table. Foh his own name,
de Kunnel gits him out’n de mess, but done tells him he neber wants to see his
face agin. `Yo’ shan’t,’ Jeff sez, `but dat don’ mean I’m leavin’ de country
like a whipped houn’ at yore biddin’.”

 
          
“Which
might explain the mask, huh?”

 
          
“Suah
looks dataway, sah. We don’ heah no news o’ Jeff for a good whiles an’ den a
herd o’ Double K steers is stole; one o’ de rustlers has his face hid by a red
bandanner. Next, word comes dat folk is livin’ in de ol’ Injun dwellin’s an’
dat’s de start o’ Hell City.”

 
          
“An’
what
d’yu think
yoreself, Sam?”

 
          
“I’se
feared it’s true, sah,” was the reluctant reply. “Satan visit Dugout onct, an’
he look like Jeff; same size, voice, dress, an’ use his favourite queer
cuss-word, `By Christmas.’ “

 
          
For
some moments Sudden was silent, pondering over the singular story, and then he
put a question.

 
          
“She
de orphan chile of an ol’ friend—de Kunnel took charge of her ‘bout ten year
back,” Sam told him. “I guess he hoped she an’ Jeff’d tie up an’ dat was
suthin’ else he had agin de boy.”

 
          
“She’s
pretty enough to please most men,” the puncher said.

 
          
“A
mighty sweet gal,” the saloon-keeper agreed, “an’ if de 01’ Man hadn’t showed
his
han
’ so plain …”

 
          
Sudden
nodded. “Ever been to this Heil City?” he asked.

 
          
“Lordy,
no sah,” Sam said. “I don’ want no truck with dal outlaw trash. ‘Sides, a fella
snoopin’ roun’ dere is li’ble to catch a bullet.”

 
          
The
obvious warning had no effect. “I must have a look at it,” Sudden smiled. “I’m
curious, an’ I might wanta join up with Mister Satan, after all.”

 
          
He
left his host scratching his woolly poll in perplexity over this last
disturbing proposition.

 
          
Sudden
had just finished his morning meal in the parlour when he heard a loud and
cheerful voice in the bar.

 
          
“‘Lo,
Sam, yu got a cow-person stayin’ here—tall
fella with hair as
black as yore hide—
who looks like a rustler an’ probably is one?”

 
          
“Mistah
Green, sah,” the saloon-keeper began.

 
          
“That’s
the name,” chimed in the cheerful one. “Yu go tell the gent that the sheriff o’
Dugout needs him right away.”

 
          
“How
long dis town own a sher’ff?” Sam queried. “‘Bout ten minutes—I just bin
app’inted a-purpose, an’see, if he tries to leave by the back window, smoke him
up.”

 
          
“De debbil!
What he wanted foh, Frosty?”

 
          
“Just
murder, arson, robbery with violence, cheatin’ at cyards, desertin’ his wife
an’ kids, an’—”

 
          
“Consortin’
with a low character by the name o’ Rud Homer,” put in a quiet voice from the
doorway leading to the rear of the premises. “Howdy.”

 
          
Frosty
stared at him open-mouthed. “Musta bin romancin’ —yu ain’t marked,” he
muttered, and then, “Told Naylor just now that I’d come in to git yu an’ he
advised me to fetch the rest o’ the outfit. Said yu fought four o’ Satan’s
toughs
yestiddy an’ threw ‘em out on their ears.”

 
          
“He
was stringin’ yu,” Sudden said, and added, “I hope there’s somethin’ yu do
better than lyin’.”

 
          
“Shore
there is,” Frosty said eagerly. “Set ‘em up, ol’timer.” He dived into a pocket
and a look of dismay followed the action. “Hell, I won’t have a nickel till
pay-day.”

 
          
“Yu
can hock yore gun,” Sudden suggested, with a sly wink at the man behind the
bar. “That’s the rule, ain’t it, Sam?”

 
          
“Suah
is, gents,” was the reply.

 
          
Frosty
turned belligerently upon him. “An’ who in blazes is goin’ to fall for that in
this country?” he asked.

 
          
“Scar
an’ three of his friends fell for it,” Sudden said. “Fell considerable hard,
too.”

 
          
Light
came to the Double K rider. ‘Then Naylor told the truth—yu did mix it with them
scallawags?”

 
          
“There
was a li’l argument,” Sudden admitted. “They left in a hunry an’ forgot their
shootin’-irons.”

 
          
Frosty
grinned and slammed his gun down. “Trot out the pain-killer, Sam,” he said.
“The new rule goes.”