Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (29 page)

 
          
“If
this is Red Rufe’s bank he’s shore given us a job to tie into,” Tiny informed
the company, and thereby expressed the thoughts of all.

 
          
“We’ll
give the outside another look-over before we tackle this,” Dan replied.

 
          
“Looks
a likely spot, till yu get inside, an’ then it don’t,” was Sudden’s
contribution.

 
          
Malachi
took no part in the conversation and ate almost nothing. He seemed to be ill
and depressed, evidently suffering from the lack of his customary stimulant.
There had been no sign of other visitors in the vicinity.

 
          
“Either
they ain’t come or you’ve fooled ‘em, Jim,” the big cowboy decided.

 
          
“Yu
can bet on both them reasons an’ still lose,” Sudden told him. In the
afternoon, Malachi, alone, sick and oppressed by the intense heat, and not
conscious of where he was going, wandered out into the basin, and suddenly saw
the world go black. When he recovered his senses there was a familiar taste in
his mouth, and a voice he knew was speaking:

 
          
“That’s
better, Doc. Burn my soul, but I thought you was cold meat. Take another sup o’
corpse-reviver.”

 
          
A
flask was held to his lips and tilted. He took a big gulp, and the fiery spirit
steadied his shattered nerves and cleared his vision. He was in the basin,
sitting with his back against a small boulder, and Bundy was kneeling beside
him.

 
          
“Stupid
of me—must have fainted—touch of the sun,” he muttered.

 
          
“Shore,
might happen to anyone,” the foreman agreed. “But what in hell are you doin’ up
here?
Thought I was dreamin’ when I clapped eyes on you.”

 
          
The
liquor, working on an empty stomach, was muddling the medico’s mind, but he had
a hazy idea that he must not tell the truth. “Just taking a little vacation,
Bundy,” he replied. A happy thought occurred to him. “I’ve always wanted to
shoot a big-horn.” He pushed away the proffered flask.

 
          
“Oh,
come, Doc, it ain’t like you to refuse good liquor, an’ this is good—some o’
Ben’s best of bourbon—not a headache in it. You know the stuff.”

 
          
Malachi
did—too well. He heard the swish of it against the
glass,
the pungent smell assailed him as the foreman removed the cork, and his whole
being thirsted for it. His hand, trembling, came out.

 
          
“Just—one small sip.”

 
          
“Drink
hearty,” Bundy replied generously, and whether the doctor heard or not, he obeyed.

 
          
This
further dose completed the job, the drunkard’s eyes glazed a little, and his
voice thickened as he said, “Thanksh, Bundy, but what bringsh you to Ol’
Cloudy?”

 
          
“Same
as yoreself—takin’ a holiday,” Bundy grinned. “Trenton wanted his niece to see
the country, an’ I had to come along.”

 
          
Malachi
blinked at him owlishly.
“Mis’ Tren’on here?
Thash wrong; no place f’r lady.

 
          
Have
to shpeak to Zeb when I shee him.” He hoisted himself to his feet. “Mus’ go
now. Goo’bye.

 
          
Staggering
and stumbling through the sand, he reached the gorge, and, in the shade of a
bush, lay down and slept. Atthe evening meal, when they were wondering what had
become of
him,
he walked in, his face deathly white,
hands shaking.

 
          
“Dan,
I’ve done an unpardonable thing—betrayed you,” he began, in a harsh, unnatural
voice, and not sparing himself, told his story.

 
          
They
listened in silence, and then Dan said, “So they are here.
How
many?”

 
          
“I
have no idea; I was too drunk to try and find out anything,” Malachi replied
miserably. “All Bundy said was that Miss Trenton is with them.”

 
          
Dover
stared. “Did you say Miss Trenton?” he asked. “Zeb must be loco to drag a girl
into this. If he fancies her presence will help him, he’d better think again.”

 
          
“Worthwhile
gettin’ acquainted with this place—we may have visitors in the mornin’,”

 
          
Sudden
said, and as he passed Malachi, added, “Don’t yu fret, Doc, we all make
mistakes, an’ they were bound to find us sooner or later.”

 
          
The
doctor looked at him dumbly; these men were beyond his comprehension. He had
failed them—
terribly,
perhaps destroyed their hope of
success, and instead of reproach, there was only a calm acceptance of the
situation, and a readiness to face it. He shook his head.

 
          
“I’m
just a cheap Judas, who has sold his friends for fifty cents’.
worth
of whisky,” he said moodily. “And I’m a poor fighter,
Jim.”

 
          
“Shucks!
The man who never lost a battle ain’t been born yet,” the puncher consoled.

 
          
With
the help of blazing pine-knots, they carried out an inspection of the cavern,
to the apparent concern of thousands of bats in the dark dome above, but no
indication that any human being had ever before set foot there rewarded them.
Sudden was curious about the back of the cave, where the walls and roof closed
in leaving only what seemed to be the mouth of a tunnel leading into the bowels
of the earth. The floor was fairly level, as were the walls, but it was clearly
Nature’s handiwork. Probably, he conjectured, many thousands of years ago, it
had formed a channel for a great volume of water.

 
          
Anxious
to know whether it provided another exit, he went on and had
proceeded
something less than two hundred yards when an intuition of danger caused him to
pull up sharply and hold his light lower. His nerves were in perfect condition,
but what he saw sent a shiver up his spine. A stride from where he stood
yawned
a gap in the floor, about twelve feet across, and
extending from wall to wall. He knelt on the brink, moving the torch to and
fro, but could only see that the sides of the abyss were perpendicular, and
hear, from far below, the rumbling roar of a racing torrent.

 
          
“An’
I nearly walked into it; fools for luck,” he soliloquized, as he turned to
retrace his steps. “I must warn the boys that this ain’t
no
way to run.”

 
          
Bundy,
having watched his drunken victim out of sight, hurried with all speed to his
own camp, and called his employer aside. His cunning eyes were alight with
triumph.

 
          
“Boss,
I got news—big news,” he cried. “I’ve found out where
them
Circle Dot dawgs is holed up. They never come this way a-tall, they just
tricked—”

 
          
“Never
mind that,” the rancher said impatiently. “Where are they?”

 
          
“The other side o’ that hollow, right opposite to here.”

 
          
“Have
you seen any of them?”

 
          
“Yeah.
Come across Doc Malachi.”

 
          
Trenton
regarded him with disgust. “You’ve been drinkin’, dreamin’,” he
sneered.—“Damnation, I’m tellin’ you the truth,” Bundy raged. “Don’t strain
yore system,” the other said acidly. He was in a bad temper; they had lost the
trail, and this fool had raised hopes only to dash them again. “Get on with the
fairy tale.”

 
          
The
foreman swallowed his wrath, and explained. Trenton listened to the end, still
only half-convinced.

 
          
“Malachi,”
he muttered. “Why should he be with them?”

 
          
“Claimed
he was takin’ a holiday—to get a sheep,” Bundy jeered. “Wanted me to believe he
was alone.” He laughed. Trenton did not join in the mirth; the presence of the
doctor seemed to worry him. As he turned away, he said, “Well, if what you say
proves to be correct, it will add, maybe, a hundred dollars to yore share, my
man.”

 
          
He
did not see the grimace of hate this patronizing speech produced, nor hear the
hissed words: “Throw yore chicken-feed to them as needs it, you stingy of
buzzard; I’m helpin’ myself, an’ be damned to you.”

 
          
When Garstone, who had been riding with Beth, returned, the rancher
told him of the foreman’s discovery.

 
          
“Good,”
the Easterner said. “We’ll pay them a visit in the morning. You got that paper
all safe?”

 
          
“Do
you think I’m dumb enough to bring it here?” Trenton enquired satirically. “No,
sir, it might get into wrong hands. I played safe, an’ destroyed it, after
learning the contents.”

 
          
Chesney
Garstone concealed his chagrin only by an effort. “My God, you took a; risk,”
he said. “If you should—die …”

 
          
“The
secret would be lost. I appreciate yore anxiety, but would that matter to me?”

      
 
The big man forced a smile. “I suppose not,
but—.”

 
          
“I
have a niece. True, but I’m a selfish man, an’ I don’t care two flips of a
cow’s tail what happens in this world after I’ve left it,” was the callous
reply.

 
          
There
was a great deal of low-toned conversation that evening round the men’s fire.
The foreman could not keep his achievement to himself, though he took care to
make clear that it was due mainly to his sagacity, and not—as in fact—to blind
chance.

 
          
“So
now, thanks to me, all we gotta do is walk in an’ collar the plunder,” he
concluded.

 
          
“Have
to locate the Cache first, ain’t we?” Lake wanted to know.

 
          
“No
trouble a-tall,” Bundy assured him. “The Ol’ Man has a paper givin’ exact
directions, which is somethin’ them other guys ain’t got, or they’d ‘a’ bin off
by now.”

 
          
“Sounds
good,” Rattray remarked casually.

 
          
“Shore
does,” Bundy said ironically. “Why, in three-four days we’ll be back in
Rainbow, git our two hundred bucks apiece mebbe, an’ live ‘appy every after.”

 
          
“Two
hundred—hell,” Lake ejaculated. “Is that Trenton’s notion o’ things?”

 
          
“He
half promised me an extra hundred for what I done to-day,” was the sneering
reply.

 
          
“Figure
out yore chances.”

 
          
No
one answered, but the black looks of his hearers betrayed their feelings
plainly enough. The foreman said no more; he had sown the seed, and was willing
to await the harvest.

 
          
In
the morning, Garstone approached the rancher. “What about Miss Trenton? Taking
her along?”

 
          
“Nothin’
else for it,” was the reply.
“Can’t leave her in this wild
spot, unless you’d keep her company.”

 
          
The
suggestion was not at all to Garstone’s liking. “I would enjoy it, of course,
but I want to be in on this thing,” he said.

 
          
“And
I doubt if it would be wise to weaken our force; we don’t know how strong Dover
is.”

 
          
“Oh,
he won’t fight,” the rancher returned contemptuously.
“But
perhaps yo’re right.
You can look after Beth.”