Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (31 page)

 
          
Did
you imagine that Trenton would carry a secret like that on his person for
rogues like you to steal?”

 
          
“Where else?”
Bundy asked sullenly.

 
          
“In
his brain, you dolt, after destroying the paper,” Garstone told him harshly.
“So you’ve probably slain the only man who can tell us where the treasure is,
damn you.”

 
          
The
foreman was too appalled by the magnitude of his mistake to resent the abuse
showered upon him; it seemed to be the end of their hopes, and if the other men
got to know …

 
          
“Mebbe
Zeb’ll come round enough to talk,” he faltered.

 
          
“Yes,
to them,” Garstone snapped.

 
          
“There’s
the gal.”
Hopefully.

 
          
“You’re
a little late with that idea,”
came
the sneer. “What do
you think I was speaking to her about? She’s our one chance, and until I get
news from her, we can make no move.

 
          
Understand?”

 
          
Bundy
nodded. He did not like the tongue-lashing, but he liked still less the
prospect of losing his share in the contents of the Cache, so he endured the
first in the hope of getting the second.
Which did not mean
he forgave.
A cowboy once described the foreman as having been “raised
on vinegar,” and the only comment from the company was, “an’ the meanest
vinegar, at that.”

 
          
The
Circle Dot men watched the discomfited band leave the gorge, and then returned
to the cave. Dover walked to a small recess near the entrance, where a second
fire had been lighted, and the wounded cattleman made comfortable on a pile of
blankets. Miss Trenton was seated on a chunk of stone at his side, and the
doctor was standing near.

 
          
“How
is he?” Dan asked.

 
          
“Pretty
bad,” Malachi replied. “Bullet through the chest, but he’s physically fit an’
has a chance—a slim one. I’ve done all that is possible.”

 
          
Dover
nodded, and the doctor went, leaving the young man staring moodily at the
helpless form of his enemy. He was recalling the stark, outstretched figure of
his father. What part had Trenton played in that tragedy? Was this retribution,
or … His reverie was broken by a cold, scornful voice:

 
          
“Admiring
your work?”

 
          
“This
is no work of mine,” he returned quietly.

 
          
“Why
quibble? You or your men—it is the same thing,” she said passionately.

 
          
“Trenton
fired the first shot, direct at me, without warnin’,” he reminded.–

 
          
“You
had insulted him,” was all she could find to say.

 
          
Dan’s
laugh was bitter. “So, a Trenton may lie, steal, or murder, but he must not be
insulted. Oh,
yo’re
one o’ the breed, all right.”

 
          
“I’m
glad of it.”

 
          
“An’
so am I, otherwise He did not finish, but her woman’s intuition told her what
was is
his mind—that he might have cared for her. She bit
her lip, conscious of an intense desire to hurt this man who showed his scorn
so plainly.

 
          
“You
would have been too late,” she said. “I am already—”

 
          
“Promised
to Garstone,” he ended. “He bragged about it just now, this brave fella who
cowered with you behind a bush while his friends fought.”

 
          
He
had seen that. The hot blood in her cheeks was partly due to the taunt, but
also to the fact that the Easterner had taken her consent for granted, “He was
asked to look after me and did so.”

 
          
“An’ his own skin at the same time.
Well, let’s drop an
unpleasant subject. I want to know whether you’d ruther feed with us, or over there?”

 
          
“I
am not used to the company of ruffians,” she said loftily. “You oughta be, by
this time,” he retorted. “One thing more: you are not to go more’n twenty yards
from this camp without my permission.”

       
“And if I do?”

 
          
She
saw his jaw harden. “I’ll put you across my knee an’ spank you good an’
plenty,” he said.

 
          
Before
she could reply to this amazing threat, he had joined the others at the fire.
Tiny was chaffing with yorky. “How’d it feel to be loosin’ off yore gun at a
human bein’?” he wanted to know.

 
          
“I
warn’t—I was aimin’ at Bundy,” the boy grinned.

 
          
The
chuckle this produced reached the girl’s ears, and she shivered; she found
herself unable to fathom these men, who slew or attempted to, and in the same
hour, could be amused by trivialities. She looked at her charge; only the
faintest rise and fall of his breast showed that he still lived. He, too, was
of the same type, hard, relentless,
violent
, in
keeping with the savage character of the country. She gazed round the gloomy
cavern, rendered even more eerie by the dancing flames of the fires, and it all
seemed like an evil dream. The low, clear voice of Dover came to her during a
lull in the chatter.

 
          
“What
you say don’t surprise me none, Doc,” he said.
“All the more
reason why we gotta pull him through.”

 
          
Beth
had not heard Malachi’s remark, but it was evident they were speaking of her
uncle.

 
          
It
set her wondering. Why should Dover be anxious to save the life he or his had
tried to take?

 
          
Then
she remembered what Garstone had told her.

 
          
“They
shan’t know,” she murmured, through shut teeth. “I’ll beat them, the brutes.”

 
          
But
she could not dismiss Dover from her thoughts. The red-haired
boy
who had so gallantly twice come to her aid, had become a
stern, harsh-tongued man, lacking even the common courtesy accorded to her sex.
Anger welled up as she recalled his threat.

 
          
“And
he would do it,” she reflected. “He—hates me—just because I am a Trenton.”

 
          
A
more sophisticated woman would have solved the secret, divined that Dover’s
attitude was due to anything but hatred, and that in the blundering fashion of
an inexperienced youth, he was trying to build up an impassable barrier between
them, lest worse befall. Her mind failed to envisage the completeness of a
malignity which could hand down a war from one generation to another.

 
          
Later,
when she was striving, unsuccessfully, to arrange the blankets upon which she
was to sleep, she heard the rancher say, “Tiny, go an’ help Miss Trenton,” and
to
Malachi ,“
Hell!
a
woman
who can’t make a bed.”

 
          
The
big cowboy came over, gave one glance at the tumbled coverings, shook the sand
out of them, and started from the beginning. In five minutes an attractive
couch was awaiting her. He threw more logs on the fire.

 
          
“Lie
with yore feet to the flames an’ you won’t git cold.” He gazed curiously at the
sick man. “Any better?”

 
          
“There
is no change,” she replied.

 
          
“Well,
he shorely asked for it,” Tiny said. “Shootin’ at Dan thataway was a dirty
trick.”

 
          
“`Like
master, like man,’ ” she quoted to herself, thanked him, and lay down. It
proved to be very comfortable, and her last waking thought was that she must
get one of the cowboys to teach her the knack. After all, a woman really ought
to know how to make a bed.

 
          
Sudden,
Malachi, and the rancher spoke together when supper was over.

 
          
“Phil
has some news for us, Jim,” Dan began. “He claims that Zeb was shot by one of
his own outfit.”

 
          
“Likely
enough,” the puncher said.

 
          
“More
than that—certain,” Malachi pronounced. “The bullet entered the back, travelled
upwards, and through the chest; it must have been fired by someone behind and
near.”

 
          
“Bundy
was the first to reach him,” Sudden reminded. “Also, he was too long lookin’
for a wound in plain sight.”

 
          
“After
the instructions for findin’ the Cache, huh?” the rancher asked.

 
          
“There
were no papers on Trenton,” Malachi remarked. “I made sure of that when
dressing his hurt. Unprofessional, I fear, but …”

 
          
“Then
Bundy may hold the key.”

 
          
“I
guess not,” Sudden said. “Trenton’s no fool; that document would be a dangerous
thing to carry about; he would learn and destroy it, as we did.”

 
          
“Yo’re
probably right, Jim,” Dan agreed, and to the doctor, “Miss Trenton thinks one
of us shot her uncle; don’t put her wise. No need to tell the boys either—yet.”

 
          
In
the morning Malachi came to inspect his patient. Dover was with him. Having
satisfied himself that the dressings were in place, the doctor said, “Well, he
is no worse.
Anything to report, nurse?”

 
          
“Once
in the night he groaned, and I think, tried to move.”

 
          
“Shows there’s a kick still in him.
He’s a tough old sinner
is
Zeb,
and he’ll fight.”

 
          
“Did
you sleep well?” Dover asked the girl, and when she nodded, went on, “I’ve told
Hunch to get some birch.” The flash in her eyes advised him that she had
misunderstood. “Birch twigs make the best bed one could wish for,” he explained
dryly.

 
          
“I
see,” she said slowly. “They have, I believe, other uses” Dan hit back. “I told
him to fetch in plenty.” As he stalked off, his reflection was, “Damn the girl.
Why can’t I keep away from her?” The eternal call of youth to youth was the
answer, had he but known it, but he blamed his weakness. “Like a fool moth,
flutterin’ round a flame an’ on’y gettin’ singed,” was his angry conclusion.

 
          
Yorky,
who had been on guard, arrived with a vent for his annoyance. “Say, Boss, that
Garstone guy is a piece down
th
’ alley. I telled him
to stay there till yer came.”

 
          
“Is
he alone?”

 
          
“Couldn’t
see no others.”

 
          
“Ask
Jim an’ Tiny to be on hand,” Dover said, and went out.

 
          
The
visitor had dismounted and was leaning against the tree to which he had tied
his horse, smoking a cigarette, and with a small grip-sack at his feet. No
greetings were exchanged.

 
          
“I’ve
brought some things Miss Trenton may want,” he began. “I wish to give them to
her.”

 
          
“I’ll
take ‘em,” Dan said, picking up the bag. “What’s inside o’ this?”

 
          
Garstone
looked indignant. “I wouldn’t presume—”

 
          
“Then
I will,” Dan said coolly, and opened the grip. On the top lay a loaded
revolver.