Read Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) Online
Authors: Oliver Strange
“Got
back on him for the lickin’ he gave you, huh?” Blister commented.
“Never
did lick me,” Yorky retorted heatedly. “He took as much as I did.”
“Then
you had nothin’ to square up for,” the cowboy replied.
Even
Yorky’s quick wits could find no answer to this, and he subsided into silence.
It began to dawn upon him that he had not been so clever after all. This
suspicion was strengthened when he showed his new acquisition to Sudden, with
an account of how he had got it.
“She’s
good value,” the puncher said. “Told the boys?”
“Yep,
they didn’t seem to think it funny,” Yorky admitted, and repeated Blister’s
remarks.
“They
were right—it ain’t a bit funny,” Sudden said gravely. “Yu fought Evans, an’
come out even. Well, nothin’ to that, but now yu’ve put yoreself in his debt by
shamin’ him, probably made him hate his job. That’s bad.”
“Never
thought of it that way, Jim,” the boy said contritely. “What c’n I do?”
“Next
time yo’re in town, go to Evans an’ eat dirt,” the puncher said. “That’s a meal
we all gotta be ready to take, an’ if it gets yu a friend, it’s worth while.”
The
boy promised. He had learned another lesson.
Not
until the evening meal was ended did Dan unburden his mind to Sudden and the
foreman. They had already heard of the cattle incident—Yorky having given a
graphic and highly-ornamented version of it to the company in the bunkhouse.
“So
you had to git a Trenton outa trouble agin, Dan,” Burke remarked. “That girl
didn’t oughta be allowed out alone.”
“It
wasn’t her fault,” the young man found
himself
saying,
and then, “We got somethin’ more important than that to discuss. Maitland is
beginning to put the screw on—he won’t even let me have cash for runnin’
expenses.
There’s tradesmen
in town to be settled
with, an’ pay-day comin’ along.”
“The
boys won’t mind waitin’,” Burke put in gruffly.
“I
know, Bill, an’ that’s why I don’t want ‘em to,” Dan said. “I’ve an offer for a
hundred three-year-olds; the buyer will take over an’ pay at the Bend. It’s a
poor price, an’ will mean hangin’ up our start for two-three days, but—”
“Needs must, when the banker goes on the prod,” Sudden misquoted.
“You
said it,” Dan replied with a smile, the first they had seen from him all the
evening.
“Well,
that eases my mind. I wouldn’t like to go leavin’ debts to folks who can’t
afford to lose, an’
Bill
here without a shot in the locker. An’ talkin’ of goin’, Doc Malachi wants to
come along; I said he might.”
The
foreman looked dubious. “Does he understand what he’s lettin’ hisself in for?”
“I
made that plain,” Dan replied, and repeated the conversation, finishing with,
“He might be useful.”
“Shore,
but how come he knows we’re in a jam?” Burke asked.
“He
wouldn’t say, but I can guess. He’s been seein’ a lot o’ Maitland’s girl since
the dance, an’ she helps in the bank. Her father trusts her—he told me as
much.”
“That
explains the ‘experiment’ too,” Sudden smiled. “I hope he wins out on it. What
about hittin’ the hay—we got a coupla busy days to shove behind us?”
With
the coming of daylight, they were at work, rounding up, cutting out, and
road-branding the steers to be disposed of. Small as the herd was, these
operations took time and entailed much riding, for the cattle were spread over
a wide range. About half a mile from the ranch-house, a big bunch of steers was
collected by four of the outfit, and from these Dover and Sudden roped the
selected beasts, dragged them to the nearby fire, where Lidgett hog-tied them
and Slow applied the iron.
The
bellowing of the branded brutes, blinding sun, swirling clouds of dust, acrid
smell of burnt hair, and the varied objurgations of the toilers, who sweated
and swore with equal fervour, presented a scene of confusion from which it
seemed impossible for order to emerge. By the arrival of dusk, however, the
herd was ready to take the trail, and the discarded cattle dispersed again. The
boys raced for the river, to rid themselves of the real estate they had
acquired during the day. When they arrived at the bunkhouse, Paddy affected
astonishment.
“Shure,
Dan should ‘a’ told me he was takin’ on new
han’s
,” he
said.
“Gwan,
you of grub-spoiler,” Slow retorted. “Hump yoreself. I’m hungry enough to eat
you—raw—if I had a ton o’ salt.”
“An’
it’s on’y a mouthful I’d be for ye,” the Irishman grinned, and Slow, whose
mouth was built on generous lines, retired from the combat.
At
daybreak the herd was on the move, Dover in charge, with Blister, Tiny, Noisy,
and Sudden as his crew.
“They’re
in prime condition an’ the trail ain’t difficult,” the rancher said. “If we
drive ‘em middlin’ hard we oughta make the Bend before dark tomorrow.
Me
an’ Tiny’ll be in front, Noisy an’ Blister on the flanks,
an’ Jim’ll keep the ‘drag’ goin’.” Very soon the riders had the steers lined
out, and travelling at a steady pace. Cattle on the trail can, in normal
circumstances, cover from fifteen to twenty miles a day, according to the
nature of the country. Dan was hoping to do better than this on a short drive,
but he was too good a cowman to “tucker out” the animals by pressing them too
early.
The
hours slid by, and the drive proceeded uneventfully. Now and then an
adventurous beast dropped out of line and made a break for freedom, to be
chased, brought back, and called uncomplimentary things by a sweating rider.
Sudden, in the rear, was kept busy hazing the few stragglers always to be found
in any trail-herd.
The
approach of night found them on a plateau some miles in extent and nearly
halfway to their destination. As the feed was good, and a stream adjacent, Dan
decided to halt there. The tired cattle were watered, bunched together, and the
rancher, with Noisy, took the first spell of night-herding. The other three
squatted round a fire, and having fed, smoked and talked. In the distance,
where a black blob showed indistinctly in the half-light, they could hear the
watchers crooning to their charges.
“Dan’s
a fine fella, but as an opery singer he’d shore be a total loss,” Blister
laughed.
“Cows
can’t have no ear for music, or you couldn’t soothe ‘em down with a voice that’d
scare a kid into convulsions.”
“They
sleep to git away from it,” Tiny explained. “That’s why I’m a pore
night-herder—the critters stay awake to listen to me.”
“That
won’t win you nothin’—you take yore turn,” Blister chuckled. “Fancy tryin’ that
one; you got about as much savvy as a mule.”
Before the outraged cowboy could reply to this aspersion, Sudden
cut in: “An’ there, though he ain’t intendin’ it, he’s payin’ yu a compliment,
Tiny.
Lemme tell yu somethin’ I actually witnessed. An’ of darkie was
drivin’ a buckboard behind a big, hammer-headed mule with ears like wings. All
at once, the beast stalled on him, just stiffened his legs and stood
stock-still like he’d taken root. Well, the nigger tried persuasion first; he
got down an’ talked.
“`Now
looky, Abram, dis ain’t no way to act. Ain’t I allus treated yoh well? W’at foh
yoh wanter play dis trick on Uncle Eph?’
“He
said a lot more, but it didn’t do any good; Abram just curled his lips back
over his teeth an’ laughed at him. So the darkie goes to pullin’ him, then to
pushin’ the buckboard on his heels, but he might as well have tried to shift a
house. Then Uncle Eph got his dander up. He climbs into his wagon, unearths a
stout ash-plant, an’ lays into that mule like all possessed.
Yu
ever seen a fella beatin’ a carpet what ain’t been cleaned for years?
Well, that was how it was. I reckon yu could ‘a’ heard the racket half a mile
off, an’ the dust came out’n that critter’s hide in clouds—it was like a
sand-storm. But Abram never stirred an inch, an’ when at last the nigger
dropped back on his seat too tired to lam any more, that mule lets out a sort
o’ sound—jeerin’ like—which made his master madder’n ever.
“`Light
a fire under him,’ one o’ the onlookers advised.
“This
put new life into Uncle Eph. He scouted round in the buckboard, produced wood
an’ paper, built his fire an’ put a match to it. Ì burn de damn belly off’n
yoh, Abram,’ he said viciously, an’ when the flames shot up an’ the mule stirs
hisself, he lets out a yell of triumph. But he was a bit previous; that durned
animal moved just fur enough forward to bring the buckboard right over the
fire, an’ took root again; if Uncle Eph hadn’t got mighty active he’d ‘a’ had
nothin’ but a fiery chariot to ride in. An’ then Abram turns his head an’
closes one eye in the most deliberate wink I ever saw. No, sir, don’t tell me
mules ain’t got savvy.”
They
laughed at the story, and Tiny said, “I remember once—”
But
what it was they were not to hear, for from over the plateau came the crash of
guns and bellowing of scared steers, followed by the thunder of many hammering
hooves. “Hell’s joy, the herd is gone,” Blister cried.
Springing
to their saddles, they scampered towards the hubbub, dragging out their rifles
as they went. Sudden caught sight of a whitish object flapping in the gloom,
and took a snap shot. The object vanished, but he did not stay to
investigate—the important thing was to stop the stampeding cattle. By hard and,
in the dark, hazardous riding, they got ahead of some of the frightened brutes,
turned, and drove them back to camp.
“Stay
here an’ ride hard on this lot, Blister,” Sudden said. “We’ll go hunt for
more.”
On
their way they met a horseman shepherding about a dozen steers; he proved to be
Dover.
“We’d
just got ‘em settlin’ down nicely when the hullabaloo began,” he said.
“Somebody loosed off a
gun,
an’ another of ‘em flapped
a sheet or blanket an’ shouted. You got some, you say? Good work. Lucky they
was tired—ain’t liable to run far.
yeah
, Noisy’s all
right; he’s takin’ in a small gather.”
Throughout
the hours of darkness the search went on, and when dawn arrived, a count showed
that they were only ten short.
“Better’n
I hoped,” Dan said. “We may pick up one or two more on the way.”
As
they returned to snatch a meal at the fire, a dark, huddled form, lying where
the grass was longer, attracted their attention.
A dead man,
and beside him, a lightish slicker.
Sudden remembered his chance shot.
He turned the body over; the features were familiar. He visioned again the
saloon at Hell City, into which this same Mexican had limped, footsore and
weary, come to report failure and risk death at the hands of Satan, the master
brigand. He had saved the fellow’s life then, and now blind Fate had ordained
that he should take it.’
“Couple
o’ twenty dollar bills with the Rainbow bank’s stamp on ‘em,” Tiny announced.