Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 10 - Sudden Plays a Hand(1950) (9 page)

 
          
“I
want those beasts, an’ I figure he’ll play straight, anyway till he’s got some
more o’ my dollars. But I’ll do as you say—fix it in town tomorrow. Oh, there
won’t be no trouble, but come if you like an’ fetch Yorky along; I owe him a
break.’

 
          
So
the morning found the three of them outside the bank premises in Midway. The
nester went in to transact his business, and his companions waited, looking at
an all too familiar scene. Heavy freight wagons, drawn by plodding mules,
churned up the dust, distributing it impartially on passing pedestrians. In
front of the saloons stood lines of patient ponies, their flicking tails waging
the unending war against the flies. The passers-by afforded a wide choice in
race and colour; roughly-dressed, craggy-faced whites, yellow-skinned Mexicans,
slit-eyed, smiling Chinamen, and Negroes. Sudden, sitting carelessly in his
saddle, appeared indifferent, but his keen eyes missed nothing, and he at once
noticed that the nester’s arrival had aroused interest.

 
          
“Somethin’
in the wind,’ he said to Yorky. “Where’s that lousy sheriff off to, an’ what’s
he so pleased about?’

 
          
Camort
had passed on the other side of the street, his arm still in a sling, and his
face alive with malignant satisfaction. Yorky studied the stumpy figure.

 
          
“If
he smells as bad as he looks they’ve christened him correct,’ he decided. “How
do things like that git their jobs?’

 
          
“Just
because they are things like that,’ Sudden said caustically. ‘Comin’ from where
yu do, yu oughta know. The big men have the whip-hand. The election is a farce;
the outfits have to vote as they’re told, an’ the tradesmen daren’t offend
large customers. The ballot ain’t secret, an’ Heaven help the fella who
supports the wrong side.’

 
          
Drait
rejoined them. “All fixed,’ he said. “Williams, the manager, is a good chap; he
don’t admire the way the town is run, but like plenty others, he has no play
his cards close. I hear the sheriff is on the warpath again; seen anythin’ of
him?’

 
          
“He
watched yu go inno the
bank,
an’ it shore looked like
the answer to a prayer. Then he seemed to remember somethin’ important.’

 
          
“You
don’t say,’ Nick grinned. “What we goin’ to do?’

 
          
A
man slouching slowly by answered the question: “
Scatter dust
if yo’re
wise. Camort reckons he’s got you cinched.’ “Thanks, friend,
but he’s a pore reckoner—lack of schoolin’ I expect. We’ll go find him.’

 
          
The
unknown shrugged. “It’s yore funeral,’ he said.

 
          
“Oh,
I guess not,’ Nick replied. ‘On’y the good die young an’ I’m bad—terrible bad.’

 
          
They
proceeded to Merker’s, the owner of which greeted them with, “Nick, you can
crowd yore luck too close.’ The warning of a well-wisher, an explanation was
due. “I came into town on my own affairs,’ the nester replied quietly. “Then I
hear a man is anxious to see me. I don’t like disappointin’ folks.’

 
          
“He
thinks he has you,’ Merker said.

 
          
“He’s
thought that before,’ Nick smiled, and glanced about him. “
Midway
‘pears to be thirsty.’

 
          
“No—curious,’
was the meaning answer.

 
          
So
that was it; those present knew what was afoot, and had gathered to see the
fun—if any. A stirring apprised him that something was happening. He turned his
head. The sheriff marched in, followed by a lanky, hawk-faced fellow carrying a
sawed-off shot-gun, which, spraying its load of buckshot, made missing, at
short range, well-nigh impossible. This individual, whose eyes seemed to have a
permanent difference of opinion, and in consequence, was generally known as
Wall-eye,’ was the newly-appointed deputy to the peace-officer. The pair halted
in front of the nester and his companions.

 
          
Drait
broke the silence: “Hired yoreself a bodyguard, Stinker?’

 
          
The
sheriff’s reply was addressed to his assistant. “If any o’ them guys makes a
move, let fly.’

 
          
“If
he does, you’ll wake in the next world, Camort.’ This from the saloonkeeper,
who leaning forward on the bar, had a forty-five in his fist, trained directly
on the man he warned. “An’ I don’t mean—mebbe,’ he added.

 
          
The
sheriff glared. Merker was a quiet man who minded his business, but was known
to be impatient of interference, as more than one obstreperous customer had
discovered; he did not waste breath on empty threats.

 
          
‘Yo’re
obstructin’ me in the execution o’ my dooty,’ Camort blustered. “I represent
the Law.’

 
          
“Mebbe—it’s
usually described as an ass,’ Merker replied coolly. “Anyway, you don’t turn a
riot-gun loose on my premises. I’m rememberin’ that time when you blinded a
man, an’ then tried to down him.’

 
          
The
other’s face was venomous. “I ain’t forgettin’ this, Merker.’

 
          
“Which you’d better not.
Now, spit yore poison, an’ fade.’
“Suits me.
I got a warrant, signed by the Judge, for the
arrest o’ this jasper, Drait.’

 
          
The
jasper in question received the news with a sober nod. “On what charge?’ he
asked.

 
          
Waylayin’
an’ murderin’ Bull Bardoe,’ Camort exulted. “Is that all?’

 
          
“You’ll
find it aplenty.’ He addressed the audience. “Bull was found over a week back
by some of his own men up on the Table Mesa trail, shot through the head.’

 
          
“Very
sad,’ Nick murmured. “Did he say I killed him?’ “How?’ the sheriff began, and
then saw the twinkle in the nester’s eyes. “
Funny man, huh?
Well, have yore laugh while you can. The Judge will hold the trial this
afternoon, an’ by sunset you’ll be swingin’ high an’ dry.’

 
          
“Fast
work, Stinker,’ the accused retorted. “What are you afraid of?’ Getting no
answer, he went on, “
You
gotna give me time to prepare
my defence an’ call a witness.’

 
          
“On’y
one?’ Camort sneered. “Twenty won’t help you.’

 
          
“Got
it all planned out, huh?’ Drait smiled.
“Yeah, just one—Bull
Bardoe hisself.’

 
          
He
saw the flicker of fear in the man’s eyes, and then came a guffaw, too forced
to be natural. “I doubt if you’ll have time to dig him up.’

 
          
Someone
thrust aside the door of the saloon, and stood there. “Hi, Stinker, look what’s
blown into town,’ he cried.

 
          
Every
eye was turned to door or window, to see the familiar figure of Bull Bardoe
pace slowly along the street, quite unconscious of the sensation he was
causing. The occupants of the saloon gazed in bewilderment, the sheriff’s
expression was one of rage, and his utterance anything but
pious,
and Nick Drait grinned. Merker spoke:

 
          
“Bull
certainly is the most active corpse I ever saw; it
don’t
seem proper for a murdered man to go cavortin’ about like that.’

 
          
The
laughter which followed the irony had little of amusement in it, and Camort
realised that he was the recipient of sinister looks; he must do something.

 
          
“I’ve
bin misinformed—made a fool of,’ he said indignantly.

 
          
“Then
somebody’s wastin’ time,’ Drait said caustically. “It’s a plain enough
frame-up, an’ that’s why you were rushin’ things. Bull was to keep under cover
until you’d jerked me into the next world. One o’ you seems to have slipped
up.’ He turned to the spectators. “I hope yo’re proud o’ this dawg you made a
sheriff.’

 
          
“We
ain’t, not
none
,’ Pilch growled. “We’d like to hang
him a whole lot.’

 
          
“It’s
all a lie,’ Camort asserted. “I was told he was dead, an’ that the hoss he
allus rode was in Drait’s corral.’

 
          
“Bull’s
forkin’ that same boss right now,’ someone pointed out. “I ain’t shore we
didn’t oughta do what Pilch sez.’ The ring of threatening faces made the
sheriff’s heart skip a beat; Western mobs were easily inflamed, and his friends
the cattlemen and their outfits were far away.

 
          
“I
was on’y tryin’ to do my dooty,’ he protested lamely.

 
          
Jeers
greeted the statement. The nester stepped forward and took the warrant from the
officer’s nerveless fingers.

 
          
“I’ll
see Towler myself about this,’ he said. “Twice you’ve planned to put somethin’
over on me; the third time won’t be lucky—for you. Now, get out.’

 
          
“An’
stay out,’ the saloonkeeper added.

 
          
The
sheriff and his deputy slouched through the door, and the latter made no secret
of his feelings. “It ain’t offen I’m glad to leave a saloon, but I’m admittin’
this is one o’ the times,’ he said. “We
wasn’t
a bit
pop’lar in there.’

 
          
“If
it’s
popularity yo’re after you got the wrong joo,’
his boss told him. “As for them sots, they jaw plenty but
dasn’t
do
anythin’. I’d like to give Bull my candid opinion.’

 
          
“Shall
I find him for you?’ Wall-eye offered.

 
          
“I
can do that for myself—if I want him,’ the sheriff said, knowing perfectly well
that he would not. He had courage of a kind, but it was not of the quality
necessary to bully Bardoe.

 
          
The
nester and his friends followed soon after, making their way to the Judge’s
office, which adjoined the court-room, and was part of the gaol building. An
unceremonious entrance brought the judicial feet from the desk-top to the
ground,
and a look of astonishment from their owner as he
recognised the leading visitor.

 
          
“What
are you doing here?’ he
asked,
with as much dignity as
a man caught napping might immediately muster.

 
          
“Not
expectin’ me, Towler, huh?’

 
          
“Hardly—in
this part of the premises,’ the Judge retorted. Drait threw the warrant on the
desk. “Did you sign that?’ “Certainly, it is one of my duties.’

 
          
“Do
you require proof that the person named may be guilty?’ “Evidence is the
sheriff’s affair; I deal with it when I try the case.’

 
          
“Are
you aware that Bardoe—the man that paper accuses me of killin’—rode into town,
alive an’ well, less’n half an hour ago?’

 
          
The
Judge sat up straight. “Are you insinuating—?’

 
          
“No,
I’m just tellin’ you,’ Drait cut in harshly. “In front of twenty others, Camort
said I was to be tried an’ hanged before sunset—that I hadn’t a chance. An’
this for a crime which existed on’y in his—an’ yore—imagination.’

 
          
“This
is an outrage,’ Towler spluttered, but his watery eyes dropped before the
fierce gaze of the nester. “Shore is,’ the latter agreed drily. “What you goin’
to do about it?’

 
          
The
Judge re-lighted the stub of a cigar, and remembered that he was an important
person. “I was referring to the insult directed against myself,’ he replied. “Any
difference you have with the sheriff is no concern of mine.’ He was rather
proud of this effort.