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Oliver Strange - Sudden v1.0
Oliver Strange - Sudden v1.0
CHAPTER II
Two weeks later the man who had humiliated Pug Parsons
in Juniper halted his horse on the flat top of a mesa and
surveyed the surrounding expanse. The railway, by a
devious route, had brought him part of the journey across
Arizona, but for the last four days he had been riding, and
knew that he must now be nearing his destination. The view
was wild but imposing. Great ridges of rock, spired and
pinnacled, their bases buried in primeval forest, were on
every side, and between them were savannahs of rich grass
in which the tiny lakes and streams gleamed like silver in
the sunlight. Through a gap in the hills the wayfarer caught
a glint of yellow, and knew it for a desert. There was no sign
of human habitation, and indeed he had seen nothing of the
kind since he had left Doverton in the early morning. The
sky was a vault of palest blue, and with no movement in the
air, the vertical rays of the mid-day sun had almost the heat
of flames.
"Shore is a fierce bit o' country," the cowboy mused. "If
half I've heard is correct, I'm due for a right interestin' time."
For though he had talked but little, the mere mention of his
objective had produced raised eyebrows and other
symptoms of surprise, and this had become more marked as
he proceeded. A citizen of one town he stayed at even
expressed his wonder verbally.
"I ain't presumin', stranger, but whyever should yu wanta
go to Windy?" he asked. "On'y fella I ever knowed who
visited there was bored to death."
"Too slow for him, huh?" the traveller suggested.
"No, too fast—it was a .45 slug what bored him," chuckled
the speaker. "The drinks are shore on yu, stranger."
The cow-puncher laughed and paid; he had been fairly
caught. But beneath the surface he sensed a serious
undercurrent, an unwillingness to talk about the town to
which he was travelling. The keeper of the hotel at Doverton
had flatly refused to answer his questions.
"Windy is bad medicine," he had said. "King Burdette has a
long arm an' a heavy fist at the end of it."
Sudden smiled grimly as he recalled the remark; the fact
that Doverton was no less than forty miles from Windy
suggested that Burdette was an opponent to be approached
warily. Beyond the bare statement that there was a mess to
be cleared up, and that it would require a man with all his
wits about him, some good luck, and an outstanding ability
to take care of himself, the Governor had told him little. As a
man will, who spends long, lonely hours with a horse, he
confided in the animal.
"Dunno what sorta hornets' nest we're a-steppin' into, Nig,"
he said, "but there's one way to find out. G'wan, yu cinder
from hell." The big black swung its head round, lips lifted to
show the strong teeth, and the rider grinned sardonically.
"Playin' yu'd like to bite me, huh? Yu old fraud," and he
stroked the sleek neck.
The trail, which might have been no more than a runway
for wild creatures, dropped down in a zigzag from the mesa
and plunged into a big patch of pines. Pacing leisurely
beneath the pillared arches of the forest, the puncher's
thoughts reverted to the little man who had sought him out
to send him on this errand of danger. He knew that by doing
so Bleke had saved him from a worse fate. Saddled,
unjustly, with the reputation of an outlaw, hunted in certain
parts of his own country, Texas, for offences of which he
was not guilty, it would have taken little more to turn him
into a desperado. Bleke had known it. Sudden himself knew
it, and was conscious of a sense of satisfaction in being
definitely arrayed on the side of law and order; though, as a
young man will, he affected a quizzical disdain, even to
himself.
"We're respectable folk now, Nig, workin' for Uncle Sam,
an' we gotta be good," he drawled. "No more hellin' round,
no fights—the soft answer that turneth away wrath for us
every time; we gotta let ourselves be tromped on, yu sabe?"
The animal shook its head and whinneyed softly.
"Makes yu laugh, huh?" the rider continued. "Well, I don't
blame yu at that, but allasame, if I catch yu chewin' up
another gent's hoss I'll just naturally larrup the linin' outa
yu."
Emerging from the pines, they came upon evidence of
civilization. Facing a small valley was a one-storeyed log-
cabin, with a truck-patch and rude corral. Lounging in the
doorway was a man of middle age, whose sullen eyes
surveyed the intruder curiously. Chewing on the stem of a
corncob pipe, his right hand was behind the door-jamb, and
Sudden guessed that the fellow had a weapon handy; he
was clearly suspicious of this capable-looking stranger who
reined up and greeted him with a grin.
"Howdy, friend! Might this be the way to Windy?"
"It might, for a man who ain't in a hurry."
"So I've strayed some, huh?" the rider smiled. "Well, I got
all the time there is." His gaze took in the slovenly building,
noted the half-hearted attempt at cultivation and the few
cattle feeding in the valley. "Yu shore picked a nice
location."
The sneer on the man's face deepened. "Place is all right if
a fella was let alone," he said; "But what's the use o' gettin'
ambitious when yo're liable to be run off any time? `Nesters'
ain't popular in these parts, nor in any others fur as I can
make out," he added bitterly.
"If I'd filed on a bit o' land like this it'd take a lot to
stampede me," the puncher stated.
"Mebbe, an' then again, mebbe not," the homesteader
retorted, his querulous voice rising. "Buckin' the Burdette
boys ain't paid nobody yet."
Ere Sudden could reply to this a horseman galloped round
a bend in the trail just beyond the cabin and pulled his pony
to a slithering stop in front of them. He was young—little
more than twenty—with a freckled face and blue eyes which
had a frosty glint in them as they rested on the nester.
"What yu belly-achin' about the Burdettes for, Fosbee?" he
asked, and when the man did not reply, he asked, "Who's
yore friend?"
"Dunno," Fosbee said sulkily. "Stopped to ask the way to
Windy."
The young man turned an interested gaze upon the
puncher, who, lolling easily in his saddle, returned it with
amused indifference. A likeable enough youth, he decided,
but somewhat over-imbued with his own importance. He got
out the makings, rolled and lighted a cigarette, waiting for
the question he knew would come. The freckled one
fidgeted with his reins for a moment.
"Yo're a stranger here?" he said.
Sudden smiled. "Someone musta told yu," he replied with
gentle sarcasm.
The young man flushed. "What's yore business in Windy?"
he asked bluntly.
The cow-puncher was still smiling. "Well, it ain'tadvertisin',"
he replied meaningly.
The snub brought the hot blood again into the boy's
cheeks, and for a moment it seemed that he would give
vent to his anger. Then, with a little lift of the shoulders, he
swung his pony round and spurred away without another
word. Sudden watched him disappear with a speculative
eye, and then turned to Fosbee, whose countenance was
more lugubrious than ever.
"Member o' the Royal Family, I take it," he said, and seeing
the man did not get his meaning, he added, "One o' the
Burdettes, huh?"
"Yeah, that was Luce—they called him Lucifer 'count of his
havin' a red head like a match," Fosbee explained. "An' he's
the best o' the bunch, though that ain't sayin' a lot."
"He certainly don't actually despise hisself," the puncher
grinned. "How many o' the tribe is there?"
"King Burdette an' three brothers—use ter be five in the
family, but the Ol' Man got bumped off three-four months
back; shot from cover, he was, over on War Axe Ridge.
Nobody knows who done it, but the Burdettes blame the
Purdies—there's allus been bad blood between 'em. If I was
young Kit Purdie I'd leave the country."
"Folks would take it he was guilty," the puncher pointed
out.
"Mebbe, but he'd be alive," the other said dourly. "Yu mark
my words, the Burdette boys will get him."
Sudden changed the subject; he did not want to betray
more than the natural curiosity of a stranger in local affairs.
"What chance for a cow-wrastler around her?" he inquired.
"Middlin' slim," was the reply. "There's the Circle B —that's
Burdette, the C P—Purdie's ranch, an' the Box S —a small
one owned by Slype, the marshal, who's too mean to spit.
Purdie is yore best bet; he's a white man."
"Yu don't recommend Burdette, huh?" the puncher smiled.
"If yo're quick with a gun an' ain't pertic'ler, yes," retorted
the other. "I'm takin' it yo're honest."
"Thank you," the visitor said gravely. "Likely I'll go gravel-
grubbin' for a spell; I'm told there's gold around here."
"That's so—Windy started on a gold boom, but it soon
petered out. Yu can get `colour' a'most anywheres in the
sand o' Thunder River, but that's all yu do get. There's fellas
still pannin' an' pocket-minin' the slopes o' the valley, but
they don't hardly make more'n a grub-stake."
"If they could strike the mother-lode —"
"Yu ain't the first to think o' that," Fosbee cut in. "I reckon
every man in town has searched one time or another. Some
claims it's up on Ol' Stormy, an' mebbe that's why " He
paused suddenly. "I'm jawin' too much," he added. "See yu
later, p'raps."
He turned abruptly into the house, leaving the traveller no
choice but to ride on, thoughtfully considering what he had
learned. Actually it did not amount to much. Fosbee did not
impress him favourably—a sour, disgruntled fellow who
would vent his venom on any more successful than himself,
but his fear of the Burdettes was evident.
"An' I'm bettin' that boy ain't bad," the puncher mused. "O'
course, his manhood is some recent"—he himself was but a
few years older—"an' I expect he ain't had much
experience, but I liked the look of him."
Less than half an hour brought him to the rim of a widish
gully, the sloping sides of which were covered with
vegetation—spruce, juniper, cactus, and tall grasses. Along
the bottom ran a tiny, twisted stream fringed with willows
and cottonwoods. The sight of the water made him thirsty,
and he was casting about for the best place to descend
when the angry crash of a rifle awoke a succession of
echoes, giving the impression of a fusillade. There was but
one shot, however, and a ballooning puff of smoke, a little
way up the opposing incline, showed whence it came. In a
flash the puncher was out of the saddle and crouching
behind an outcrop of rock. A moment later he realized that
he was not the target, for, from a dense mass of brush
almost on the floor of the gully, a rifle spoke in reply. Two
simultaneous reports from the other side followed, and
leaving his horse, Sudden searched for a break in the
foliage.
Meanwhile the strange duel continued, but now only two
were firing, one against the other. Had the third man been
wiped out? The puncher, whose sympathy had instinctively
been for the weaker party, found himself hoping that this
was the case. Presently he happened upon a spit of grass-
covered rock which jutted out, and, by worming along it on
his belly, was able to overlook the spot where the lone
marksman was ensconced. Kneeling behind the prostrate
trunk of a windfall, his rifle in readiness, a man dressed in
the garb of the range was peering intently across the gully.
For a while nothing happened, and then from the opposite
slope came a single shot. Sudden saw the man below raise
his rifle, but ere he could press the trigger another report
rang out and he slumped down, the weapon dropping from
nerveless fingers. High up on the rising ground behind the
stricken fighter, smoke curled from the midst of a tree. The
watcher cursed as he realized what had taken place.
"Damnation, they've outplayed him," he muttered, and
scrambling back to the rim of the gully, grabbed his rifle
from the saddle, and began to run in the direction from
which the fatal shot had come. Before he could reach it,
however, the thud of hoofs on the trail told him that he was
too late. And so it proved. Hundreds of yards distant he had
a momentary glimpse of a grey horse, and fired at it. He
knew the shot was useless, but it relieved his feelings. He
found the tree, a big spruce, the abraded trunk of which
showed how the killer had climbed up to get a clear shot at
his victim. Save for an empty shell, a Winchester .38, and
some faint footprints, there was no further evidence. The
puncher hoisted himself into the branches, and, as he had
expected, found that nothing interrupted his view of the
dead man.
"Pie like mother made," he said savagely. "One coyote
keeps him busy while the other sneaks round an' plugs him
from behind. I'd shore like to meet them hombres."
With grim, unblinking eyes he searched the valley, but
beyond the frequent flash of a bird's wing no sign of life
rewarded his scrutiny. Satisfied that the assassins had
decamped, he dropped from the tree, and, leading his
horse, began to work his way down to the scene of the
tragedy. This took time, for he had often to force a passage
through the tangle of undergrowth, and detours to avoid
miniature precipices were necessary. So that it was nearly
half an hour before he stood, hat in hand, beside what, only
a short time ago, had been a human being in all the vigour
of early manhood.
One thing the puncher saw at a glance—it was not, as he
had suspected, young Burdette. Though about the same
age, the dead man had dark hair, and the glazed eyes which
stared up at the blue sky when Sudden turned the body over
were a deep brown. Death had been instant, for the bullet,
entering under the left shoulder-blade, had penetrated the
heart. A whinny took him to a neighbouring thicket, where
he found a tied pony bearing the brand C P. At the sight of
this his frown deepened.
"Looks like them Burdettes has got even," he muttered;
and then, "That fella Luce was ridin' a grey. Well, s'pose I'll
have to take him in; can't leave the body here for the
buzzards."
He draped the corpse, face downwards, across the saddle
of its own pony, securing it with the lariat hanging from the
horn, and then, riding his own horse and leading the other,
headed into the valley, where he found a dim trail which
appeared likely to take him to the town. Pacing soberly
along, his thoughts naturally dwelt upon the grisly burden
jolting spasmodically on the back of the other animal. That it
was a corpse concerned him little—violent death was no
new thing to him, but the manner in which it had been
brought about put a savage set to his lips and gave the
grey-blue eyes a flinty expression.
"It shore looks bad for Mister Luce," he mused. "I wouldn't
'a' said he was that sort."
It was possible that the slain man was only one of the C P
outfit, but remembering what Fosbee had said, Sudden
shook his head at the thought; he was only too sure that the
nester had been a true prophet.
"It'll mean trouble, ol hoss," he confided to his mount
—"big trouble; an' what I'm packin' in will certainly start it,
but I couldn't do nothin' else."
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
* *
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
About two hours later the new foreman of the C P rode into
Windy, added his horse to the dozen or so already
attached to the hitch-rail outside "The Plaza," and
stepped inside. Smaller than "The Lucky Chance," the
saloon differed in little else save that it was rather more
ornate; mirrors, and pictures of a sort, adorned the
walls, which were of squared logs, and the tables and
chairs were of better quality. In many little ways the
hand of a woman made itself evident.
But if "The Plaza" was no more than a commonplace
Western saloon, it possessed one feature which raised it
above the rut—its owner. Seated behind the bar, she
looked like a fine jewel in a pinch-beck setting. Her
beautiful black hair, plaited and coiled upon her small
head, was held in place by a great Spanish comb set
with red stones. A flame-coloured dress of silk revealed
neck and arms, and on her white bosom, suspended by a
slender chain of gold, was a single ruby, gleaming like a
new-spilt spot of blood. She had been chatting to the
bar-tender and regarding the scene with the
indifference of use, but her eyes lit up when Sudden, hat
in hand, stepped up to the bar.
"Ah, my so brave caballero has come to veezit ze poor
—how you say—tenderfoot?" she greeted.
"Shucks," he smiled, as he took the slim white hand
she extended. "I ain't no more a caballero than yu
are a Greaser, an' that pony warn't wantin' to get
away from yu—hosses have sense."
She clapped her hands softly. "A compliment, not so?"
she laughed.
"Yu oughta know," he said. "Reckon yu get a-plenty."
A little shadow flitted across her face. "True, my friend,"
she said soberly. "And what are they worth? I'd give
them all for one honest word of censure." Then the
dancing lights came back into her eyes. "Not that I
don't get any of that, you know. Oh yes, from my own
sex especially. I am a wicked woman, a brazen hussy,
and you'll lose your character if you speak to me."
The cow-puncher grinned. "Fella can't lose what he
ain't got—I'm a pretty desperate person my own self,"
he bantered, for the bitterness behind her gay tone
was very apparent. "Also, I never did allow anyone to
pick my friends for me."
He saw her face change. "Hell! what's that fool trying
to do?" she cried.
Trouble had started at a neighbouring table. A big,
blue shirted miner with a coarse, liquor-bloated face was on
his on his feet fumbling for a gun at his hip and mouthing
curses.
In an instant the girl had slipped from her seat.
"Lemme 'tend to this," Sudden suggested.
"No, I can handle it," she replied.
Raising the flap, she stepped from behind the bar and
three quick strides brought her to the trouble-maker just as
his weapon left the holster. The men he had been playing
with were standing, hands on their own guns, watching him
uncertainly.
"Put that gun back and get out of here," the woman said
sharply.
The man looked at her, standing slim and straight before
him, and for a moment it seemed that he would obey. Then
from somewhere in the room came a laugh which bred
shame in the drink-sodden mind.
"Yu go to hell," the fellow said thickly. "Think I'm goin' to
be ordered about by a booze-slingin’…"
Hardly had the vile epithet left his lips when the girl's hand
swept across his cheek with a slap which rang out like a
pistol-shot and drew an oath of pain and surprise from the
recipient.
"You dirty beast!" she cried, her tone tense with passion.
"Vamoose, or I'll send you out on a shutter."
For a few seconds the bloodshot, liquor-glazed eyes fought
with the flaming black ones, and fell. In the girl's left hand,
held steadily at her hip, was a tiny nickel-plated revolver—a
toy, a man would have said—but it was sufficiently powerful
to take life at such close range. Without another word the
drunkard turned and staggered weavingly from the saloon.
When Mrs. Lavigne returned to her place behind the bar her
look at the puncher was defiant, as though she dared him to
criticize her action.
"I won't stand for that sort of thing here," she said.
"Yu shore have nerve, ma'am," Sudden said, and meant it.
His admiration brought the smile back to her lips.
"Pooh! He knew the boys would blow him to bits if he laid a
finger on me," she pointed out.
"Fella in that state is liable to act without thinkin'," he said,
and then, "For a tenderfoot, yu got that gun out pretty
pronto."
"I was born and bred in the West," she explained, and
when he smilingly suggested that she had lost a customer,
shrugged her dainty shoulders.
"He'll be in to-morrow to beg my pardon," she told him
confidently. "Liquor, if he takes enough of it, will make a fool
of any man."
"An' yet yu sell it," he said, and was immediately sorry
when he noted the tiny furrow between her brows.
"Someone else would if I didn't, and I have to live," she
retorted, and then the even white teeth shut down on a
single word, "Damnation!"
A newcomer had entered the saloon, a tall, dark man,
carefully dressed in cowboy costume and wearing two guns.
Though this was the first time he had seen him, Sudden
knew this must be Kingley Burdette. With a condescending
nod here and there, the fresh arrival strode to the bar and
swept off his hat so elaborately as to make the gesture a
mockery.
"Evenin' honeybird. Who's been rufflin' yore pretty
plumage?" was his familiar greeting, and then, without
waiting for a reply, "Gosh, but I'm thirsty."
"Ted will serve you," she said coldly, and beckoned to the
bar-tender.
"He will not," Burdette answered. "A drink poured by yore
fair hands will taste ten times nicer than one from Ted's
paws, which, though doubtless useful, are far from
ornamental."
"As you will," she said indifferently, and filled a glass.
"Here's how, carissima," he toasted. His eyes dwelt
possessively upon her and then travelled to the
cowpuncher?” "Yo're Green, I reckon; I wanted to see yu."
"Yo're King Burdette, I reckon; take a good look," Sudden
mimicked, in the same insolent tone the other had used.
"I hear yo're huntin' a job," Burdette went on, and the
sneer was very palpable.
"Someone's been stringin' yu—I ain't doin' no such thing,"
the puncher replied.
"Well, it don't matter, but Luce havin' cut adrift from the
Circle B I could use another rider," King said carelessly.
"When yu get tired a' washin' dirt yu might look me up."
Sudden smiled sardonically; the patronizing air both galled
and amused him. He struck back. "Mebbe I will, but I warn
yu I'm shy o' practice with a runnin' iron."
He saw the blood show redly in the sallow cheeks and the
dark eyes narrow to pin-points. Burdette's voice now had an
edge on it.
"Meanin'?"
"Just what I said. Dessay I could change a C P into a Circle
B—it's an easy play. See yu later—mebbe."
He lifted his hat to Mrs. Lavigne, nodded casually to
Burdette, and went out. The Circle B man stared after him,
perplexed and scowling.
"Fresh fella, huh?" he growled. "What the hell was he
drivin' at? An' where does the C P come in?"
"He's riding for Purdie," Lu Lavigne pointed out.
“The devil he is," King said, and his frown was darker.
"Damn him, he was laughin' at me." He glanced up and
found that the puncher was not the only one to take such a
liberty; there was a demure twinkle in the girl's eyes; she
was avenging herself for his insolence in the presence of a
stranger.
"Tickles yu, does it?" he sneered. "Think yu got another
admirer? Forget it. When he's been at the C Pa day or so
an' met Nan Purdie he won't give yu a second thought. She's
growed up, that kid, without anybody noticin', an' I'm tellin'
yu, she's the prettiest bit o' stuff this side o' the Mississippi.
Add too, with Kit outa the way that she'll get the C P, an' is
good, an' yu can reckon up yore chances."
The colour flamed in her face at the coarse, insulting
speech. She knew that he was payin' her back—that he
meant to hurt—he was that kind of man. When possessed
by passion he was ruthless, hard, ridden by the bitter
temper he could usually control.
"You brute," she raged. "I hate you!"
"No, yu love me, little tiger-cat," he smiled, content that
the lash of his tongue had stung her. "Though at the
moment I do believe yu'd like to stick a knife in me. Now
Nan Purdie would never think o' doin' that."
"Damn Nan Purdie, and you," she stormed. "She's welcome
to you if she can swallow the murder of her brother."
King laughed lightly; he was in a good humour again now
that he had made her angry. "An unfortunate incident," he
said. "The Circle B has made its position clear by turnin'
Luce adrift an' disownin' him. If Purdie forces trouble it'll be
his own—funeral."
Though his lips smiled there was a sinister emphasis on the
last word, and the girl's eyes sought his in an endeavour to
read the truth, but learned nothing. Then, as he looked at
her, his ill-temper seemed to vanish like a storm from a
summer sky. Leaning across the bar, he whispered tenderly:
"Come, sweetness, we mustn't quarrel. I'm sorry I hurt yu,
but it was yore own fault—yu didn't oughta waste those
star-like eyes on no-'count punchers."
Lu Lavigne was used to these sudden changes; the warmth
in the pleading voice, the devotion in the dark eyes, were no
new things to her, and yet she allowed herself to be
persuaded by them; jealousy is a potent advocate with a
woman. But vanity demanded a small victory.
"You said—Nan Purdie—was prettier," she pouted.
"Shucks, Lu, I didn't mean that," the other protested. "Yu
got me goin'. She's a good-looker, shore enough, but too
pussy-kitten for my taste."
"Even with the C P thrown in?" she asked with a tremulous
smile.
"Yeah, even then," he replied, and his voice became harsh
again. "Listen to me, girl. If I want the C P ranch I'll take it,
an' without any apron-strings tied to it. Sabe?"
He swallowed another drink, and refusing several
invitations to join in a game, went out of the saloon. The
eyes of the woman behind the bar followed him, and had he
been able to read their expression rightly, he might not
have felt quite so pleased with himself.
On leaving "The Plaza," Sudden went to the hotel, where
he found Luce Burdette, moping alone in his room. The
young man welcomed him eagerly; he was finding the part
of a pariah a bitter one to play.
"I'm damn glad to see yu, Green," he said. "Ain't got no
news, I s'pose?"
"I have, sort of, but let's hear yore's first," the visitor
replied.
"I've nothin' fresh to tell yu," Luce returned despondently.
"I've been all over the ground, an' it happened like yu said.
Two fellas was firm' at Kit, an' one of 'em holds him while
the other injuns round an' drills him from behind. Couldn't
follow their tracks, they'd took care o' that. Found some .38
an' .44 shells where they cut down on him first, an' that's
the sum total."
"Where'd yu happen to be yesterday afternoon.?”
"Right here in town."
"An' yore hoss is a grey an' ain't shy a nail on the off fore?"
"Silver is a grey, an' the on'y hoss I possess. Weldon shod
him all over las' week."
"That means there's another fella in these parts who uses
a .38 rifle an' rides a paint hoss with a nail missin' in the off
fore," Sudden said, and told of the attempt on Strip Levens.
"There's paints a-plenty, an' nails can be replaced," Luce
commented hopelessly. "We gotta find that gun."
"Keep a-smilin'; we'll do it," the C P foreman said.
CHAPTER VIII
The rays of the rising sun were invading the misty hollows
of the foothills around the base of Old Stormy when a rider
loped leisurely up the trail and pulled his mount to a stop in
front of the C P ranch-house. At the sight of the girl lazily
swinging in a hammock on the verandah a look of mingled
admiration and satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. He swept
off his broad-brimmed hat and bowed low over his horse's
mane as she descended hastily but gracefully from her
perch, staring at him in amazed surprise. Still holding his
hat, he surveyed her slowly from head to foot, and
something in his eyes sent the hot blood to her face and
neck.
"My word, yu've growed up into a mighty han'some
woman, Nan," he said, and there was a caress in his tone.
"Miss Purdie, please," Nan retorted, and then, "I presume
you didn't ride up here to pay me compliments?"
King Burdette laughed. "No one couldn't blame me if I did
—there's plenty excuse," he said. "Why, when yu were a
little tad of a school-kid, yu used to think a lot o' me."
It was true, though she had never suspected that he knew.
Years back, when she was in her early teens, this dashing,
spectacular young rider had figured largely in her dreams,
though the two families were by no means friendly. She had,
as a young girl will, made a hero of him. But, as time went
on, stories of King Burdette filtered through and dispelled
her childish illusions. She came to know him for what he
was, handsome undoubtedly, but utterly without principle.
Yet, as he sat there easily in his saddle, his lazy eyes
drinking in her beauty, she was conscious of his fascination,
and fought against it. Her voice was studiously cold when
she spoke :
"I'm still waiting to hear the object of your visit, Mister
Burdette."
"Shucks! Come outa the ice-box, Nan," King laughed, and
seeing that her face did not change, he added, "Oh, well, is
yore dad around? I wanta see him."
"Really?" she said with mild sarcasm. "Has it occurred to
you that he may not share that desire?"
Burdette smiled to himself. "Beauty, brains, an' spirit," he
reflected. "I gotta hand it to yu, Luce, but she's for yore
betters." Aloud he said, "Please tell him I'm here, Miss
Purdie; if he's got any sense, he'll see me."
Apparently sure of the result, he got down, trailed his reins,
and taking a seat on the verandah, began to roll a cigarette.
Nan went in search of her father. When the ranch-owner
appeared, alone, he found the unwelcome visitor smoking
and surveying the landscape.
"Mornin', Purdie," he greeted. "Fine view yu got here."
"Mebbe, but I don't know as yu improve it," came the blunt
answer. "What's yore errand?"
Before Burdette could reply, a thud of hoofs announced
another arrival—the marshal. Getting down in front of the
verandah, he nodded heavily to the pair.
"The C P is gettin' precious popular seemin'ly," Purdie said
sarcastically. "What might yu be wantin', Slype?"
"Heard King was headed this way an' thought I'd better
come along," the officer replied.
"Which of us was yu aimin' to protect?" asked the rancher
sneeringly.
"It's my job to prevent trouble," Slype replied.
"Yu needn't to have bothered, Sam," Burdette said easily.
"There won't be none—o' my makin'—but seein' yo're here,
yu might as well listen to what I have to say to Purdie."
"Fly at it," the cattleman said curtly.
"Well, Purdie, I'm here to propose peace," Burdette began.
"We're the two biggest outfits in Windy, an' if we start
scrappin', the whole community'll suffer. Where's the sense
in it?"
"My boy lies over there," the old man said grimly, waving a
hand towards the valley. "Killed by a cowardly coyote who
carries yore name."
"It ain't been proved, an' anyways, until he clears his-self,
he's a stranger to the Burdettes," King pointed out. "I reckon
that puts the attitude o' the Circle B pretty plain."
"Mart did that the other night in `The Lucky Chance' when
he said Luce had done a good job," Purdie said incisively.
"Mart was drunk," King replied, adding meaningly, "An' he
thought a lot o' Dad."
"The C P had nothin' to do with that," Purdie rasped.
"Yu say so, an' I'm tellin' yu the same about Kit," Burdette
retorted. "If Luce bumped off yore boy it was a personal
matter. What else yu got against the Circle B?"
At this moment Sudden stepped from the house on to the
verandah and paused when he saw that his employer had
visitors. Purdie presented his new foreman as such, and a
little frown creased the brow of King Burdette.
"Yu didn't tell me yu was takin' charge here when I offered
yu a job," he said.
"Did I have to?" the puncher asked coolly.
"What was yu sayin' this mornin' 'bout some steers yu
found, Green?" the rancher cut in.
The foreman told of the re-branded cattle he had
discovered hidden on the range, and the face of the Circle B
man flamed as he heard the story.
"Yu accusin' me o' rustlin' yore cows?" he asked stormily.
"What's the great idea?"
"Well, when the brands are healed the cattle could be
sneaked over an' thrown into yore herds, or they could be
found where they are, when it would look like we'd been
stealin' from yu," Sudden pointed out. "On'y yore outfit
would be interested in puttin' yore brand on our beasts."
"Bah! Chicken-feed," King sneered. He turned to the
marshal. "Looks to me like a plain frame-up—tryin' to pin a
rustlin' on the Circle B."
"Shore does," the officer agreed.
"See here, Purdie," King went on. "It's the first I've heard of
this, but I'll look into it, an' if I find any o' my outfit have
been usin' a straight iron I'll hand 'em over to yu, even if it's
my own brothers. Can't say fairer than that. Now all this
chatter ain't gettin' us nowhere. I'm offerin' yu my hand; will
yu take it?"
The rancher's jaw was set, his eyes cold. "I'd sooner shake
with a rattlesnake than a Burdette," he said harshly. "Fetch
me the murderer o' my son, with a rope round his neck, an'
mebbe I'll tell yu different."
Burdette looked at the marshal, and Sudden could have
sworn there was satisfaction in the glance; the man had
hoped for such a termination to the interview. He stood up,
lifting his shoulders in a gesture of hopelessness.
"Yu heard that, Sam?" he said, and there was little of
disappointment in his tone. "Good thing yu happened along;
yu can bear witness that I did my utmost to dodge trouble,
but this old fool wants war. Well, by God, he shall have it,
an' that goes."
The exultation in the savage, sneering voice was plain
enough now; the man had cast off all pretence.
Purdie too had risen, his hand not far from his gun. He
laughed scornfully. "Yu can't bluff me, Burdette," he said.
"Mebbe I'm what yu called me, but I ain't blind. Yu egg yore
brother on to kill Kit, an' yu stand aside an' let him bear the
blame; yu brand my cattle an' leave 'em where they'll be
found so's I'll start somethin'. Then yu come here with lying
offers o' peace which yu know damn well I don't listen to o'
purpose to put me in wrong with the town."
"Lookit, Purdie…" the marshal protested.
"Shut yore trap," the old man told him, and to Burdette,
"Get off my land, pronto, an' take yore tame dawg with yu."
Sudden saw the man's face whiten under the tan, sensed
the passion that was urging him to pull his gun and shoot
Purdie then and there, and realized that only his own
presence prevented it. For a brief moment Burdette fought
his fury, and then came an ugly snarl: "Yu take the pot—this
time, but I'll get yu, yore ranch, an' yore girl, Purdie, even if
yu pack yore place with two-gunmen."
With a glare at Sudden he swaggered from the verandah,
sprang into the saddle, and spurred his horse down the trail.
The marshal would have spoken, but a contemptuous
gesture from the cattleman stopped him.
"Get agoin'," Purdie said. "Yore master will be whistlin' for
yu."
When the pair had vanished, the ranch-owner turned and
looked at his foreman. "What yu think of it?" he asked.
"I reckon yu got their measure," was the reply. "Funny
'bout them cattle, though; I don't believe he knowed of 'em."
Purdie laughed incredulously. "When yu savvy the
Burdettes as well as I do, yu'll figure 'em at the back o' most
o' the dirty work around here," he said. "Anyways, they
know what I think of 'em. King would 'a' drawed on me if yu
hadn't been here."
The puncher's eyes twinkled. "Yeah, but I was, an' not bein'
a fool, he didn't forget it," he replied.
"What d'yu guess'll be their first move?"
"I expect they'll try to abolish that two-gun hombre King
mentioned."
The rancher's face grew grave. "Jim, I'd no right to rope yu
into my trouble—this ain't no ordinary foreman's job," he
said. "If yu wanta reconsider…"
"Forget it, seh," Sudden smiled. "I came here knowin', an'
when I start anythin' I aim to finish it."
Purdie's relief was evident. In declaring war on the Circle B
he had relied greatly upon the aid of this lean-jawed, level-
eyed stranger, of whom he knew nothing and yet trusted
implicitly.
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
* * *
CHAPTER XVI
The marshal draped his spare form against the bar of "The
Lucky Chance," wrapped his fingers round the glass of liquor
he had just poured out, and gave a comprehensive glance at
the company. The place was fairly full, but the man he
sought was not present. Mart Burdette, however, was lolling
on a near chair, and a brief look of understanding passed
between them.
"Evenin' Sam," the saloon-keeper greeted. "Anny news o'
th' missin' man yit?"
"Nope," the officer replied, "but I'm expectin' a fella who
may be able to gimme some, an' here he is."
"Is it Green ye mane?" Magee asked, as the C P foreman
and Yago entered. "What will he be after knowin' about it?"
"I'm here to find out," the marshal said somewhat loudly.
"Hey, Green, I want yu."
The cow-puncher detected hostility in the tone but he
smiled as he inquired.
"What's the charge, marshal?"
"There ain't none—yet," was the retort. "Just a few
questions, that's all."
"Toot yore li'l horn an' go ahaid," Sudden replied, as he
leaned lazily against the bar and sampled the drink Magee
pushed forward.
"It's about—Cal," Slype began slowly. "I hear yu was the
last man to see him alive."
"Why, is he dead, then?" the puncher inquired.
"Mebbe he is an' mebbe he ain't," the marshal snapped.
"I'm doin' the askin', an' I wanta know whether yu was up at
his shack the day he disappeared?"
Sudden did not reply immediately; the question had taken
him by surprise. A hush had come over the gathering, and
he divined that some of those present had known of the
marshal's intention. Save for Purdie, Yago, and the
prospector, only the assassin had been aware of his visit to
the shack, and if the latter had talked it could only be for a
purpose.
"I certainly had a chat with Cal that mornin'," he said.
Slype's small eyes gleamed triumphantly at this admission.
"What took yu that way?" he asked.
"It's part of our range," the puncher pointed out. "Didn't
know the old chap was located there till I happened on him.
He was alive an' kickin' when I left."
The marshal's face shot forward, an ugly grin on his
bloodless lips. "Yu said it," he sneered. "A fella would be apt
to kick if he was slung into the Sluice."
A threatening growl from some of the auditors greeted this;
Sudden stared in bewilderment at the speaker.
"Yu suggestin' I throwed the old man in the river?" he
cried. "Yu must be drunk or dreamin'."
"Don't think it; I'm sayin' that's just what yu did do," the
officer retorted. "An' then yu went back an' stole his dust."
The accused man glanced round the room and despite the
black looks he met with, laughed scornfully.
"Someone's been stringin' yu, Slype," he said. "Yu got the
story all wrong."
"I wasn't just expectin' yu to own up," the marshal said
with heavy sarcasm. "As for stringin', I had it from Riley o'
the Circle B, who chanced to be on the other side o' the
river, an' saw the whole affair."
The name told the puncher much of what he wanted to
know. "Yeah," he commented reflectively. "Wasn't it Riley
who claimed he saw Luce tryin' to bump me off?" And when
Slype nodded. "Useful fella that—reg'lar johnnyon-the-spot,
ain't he? The Circle B shore oughta pay him well."
The marshal made no attempt to reply, but another did.
Heaving his big bulk out of his chair, Mart Burdette thrust
forward an ugly, threatening face and said with savage
intensity.
"Meanin'?"
The foreman was now sure that the whole scene had been
pre-arranged, but it made no difference to his attitude.
"That Riley is a liar, an' that yu an yore brothers know it,"
he said deliberately.
This was fighting talk; every man there knew it, and
wondered when he saw that Mart was not wearing his belt.
A Black Burdette without a gun was a sight no one of them
could remember. Sudden's keen eyes had noted the
omission as soon as the fellow stood up, and sensed its
significance. There was an evil satisfaction in the big man's
gaze as he replied to the puncher's accusation.
"Fella with a gun can allus talk biggity to the chap what ain't
wearin' his," he sneered. "If yu got the guts to shuck that
belt, I'll kill yu with my bare hands."
He spread the fingers of his great paws as he spoke,
opening and closing them with a slow, gripping motion
horribly suggestive of his purpose. His leering look of savage
anticipation told that this was what he had been hoping for.
The challenge was one the cow-puncher could not decline,
and he had no thought of it. The Burdettes had "framed"
him, and he must go through with it. He smiled grimly at the
thought that he had taught them to respect his gun-play.
"Forgot to put yore belt on, huh?" he said acidly. "Or
mebbe yu remembered not to put it on. Anyways, yu played
it safe."
By this time games were forgotten, and the players were
congregated in a circle round the two men. Willing hands
pushed tables and chairs out of the way until a space was
cleared for the contest. Excited voices offered and accepted
bets and wrangled over the merits of the combatants. Most
of those present favoured the bigger man, who was deemed
the best rough-and-tumble fighter in that part of the
country, and certainly the huge mass of him and the bulging
muscles of his mighty limbs suggested that they were right.
But a few studied the other with appraising eyes, noted the
lean, wiry frame, remembered the swift, pantherish action of
his body, and divined the steely sinews which rippled
beneath his skin at every movement.
"He's fit from the toes up—all bone an' gristle—an' Mart is
too fat," Weldon, the blacksmith, remarked. "Green looks
like he's fought afore too. I'll take twenty to ten about him."
"Go you," replied the other. "Burdette'll break him in two
when he gits holt of him."
"Yeah—when," agreed the smith. "Well, he's a-goin' to
have his chanct."
For the puncher was unbuckling his belt and passing it to
Yago. The little man's face expressed both anger and
concern.
"Yu must be loco, Jim," he whispered. "He's big enough to
swaller yu."
"I'll stick my elbows out, amigo," Sudden smiled. "What yu
want I should do—run away?"
Bill did not, and said so—ornamentally. "Couldn't yu see
they was layin' for yu?" he asked testily.
"Shore, an' they got me," his friend said easily. "Ever hear
o' the biter bein' bit?"
Yago apparently had not. "He'll do that if he gits a chanct,"
he returned seriously. "Everythin' goes, bar weapons, in this
sort o' scrap."
Sudden's face assumed a whimsical look of pity. "Bill, did
yu ever have a grandmother?" he asked solicitously.
The little man stared at him. "I reckon so. Why?"
"Then I expect yu tried to instruct her in the art of
extractin' nutriment from an egg by means o' suction," his
foreman said gravely, but his eyes were twinkling. "Now,
keep yore hair on, Bill, yu can't afford to lose any."
"This ain't no time for laughin'," Bill snorted.
"Why not ol'-timer? Mebbe my face won't be in no shape
for it presently," Sudden grinned.
A harsh, sneering voice stilled all the others. "If yu done
dictatin' yore last will an' testyment, what 'bout makin' a
start?"
Mart Burdette, eager for the fray, and confident of victory,
stood waiting. He had discarded his vest, and the rolled-up
sleeves of his shirt disclosed a powerful pair of arms in
which the knotted muscles stood out as he clenched his fists
and squared his shoulders. A stillness succeeded the
hubbub as the puncher also removed his vest, slung his hat
aside, and stepped forward. The physical disparity between
the two men became more apparent as they faced one
another in the cleared space.
"Two to one on Goliar," shouted a would-be wit, whose
early teaching had not entirely left him.
"Yu can double that an' be safe," the big man boasted. "I'm
a-goin' to show yu where this fella steps off when he ain't
got a gun."
Dropping his head, he made a sudden plunge at his
opponent. If he had hoped to take his man by surprise he
was woefully disappointed, for the puncher slipped aside,
drove a fist into the thick, corded throat, and stood waiting,
a little smile of derision on his lips. Again and again
Burdette, with lowered head, rushed in like a charging bull,
and each time the other planted a vengeful blow and got
away unhurt. These tactics did not suit the bulkier man's
backers; they saw that their man was making no progress,
and moreover, it was not their idea of a battle. They were
not slow to voice disapproval.
"Stand up to him, cowboy; this yer's a fight, not a perishin'
foot-race," growled one.
"Shut yore face, keep back, an' give 'em space, or I'll shoot
some toes off," Yago snapped, and drew a gun.
"Shucks, they got plenty room to scrap," was the disgusted
rejoinder, and despite Bill's threat, the ring closed in.
Partly owing to this, and to the fact that Burdette realized
that he could not finish the fight offhand against such a
nimble opponent, the character of the contest changed. It
was now Mart who held off, and to Yago's utter disgust and
despair, Sudden went after his man, giving blow for blow,
taking what punishment came, and hurling his fists with
venomous ferocity into the gross body. In a few moments
the battle had become one of blind fury.
The blood-stained, staggering principals, hemmed in by a
circle of sweating, brutal faces eager to see every phase of
the fight; the dull slap of fist on flesh and the grunt as a
blow went home; the swaying lights, half-obscured hy clouds
of tobacco smoke and the dust of stamping, struggling feet;
lips dripping profanity as the tide of fortune ebbed and
flowed, all formed a picture Hogarth alone could have done
justice to.
Sudden knew that he was wrong—that it was sheer
madness to disregard his friend's frenzied entreaty to keep
out of Burdette's reach, but for once, passion had overcome
his patience, and he allowed himself to be dominated by the
desire to pay the brute before him in his own coin; the urge
of the primitive man was upon him, and he lusted to batter
those bestial features. Time after time he took a blow he
might have avoided, simply to satisfy this craving, and Yago
was rapidly swearing himself to a standstill in consequence.
Then what his friend had feared happened. Sudden's foot
slipped on the sanded floor and in an instant he was caught
in a grip like that of a grizzy bear. Vainly he struggled to free
himself from the vice-like grasp under the pressure of which
his ribs were already bending. The giant, his swollen, evil
eyes alight with murderous triumph, teeth bared like those
of an animal, the hot breath coming in gasps from his
bruised lips, slowly tightened his hold. The puncher realized
that he could not break away, and suddenly let his whole
body go limp.
"Yu got him, Mart. Break his blasted back," croaked a voice
from the mist of smoke and dust, and Sudden had a
momentary glimpse of the twisted, gloating face of Riley.
The abrupt downward drag of the relaxed body took
Burdette by surprise; he stumbled, and they fell together, a
quick turn on the part of the under man saving him from the
full weight of the other. The fall loosened Burdette's grip,
and the puncher was able to breathe again. Twisting,
thrashing on the floor, each striving to pin his enemy down,
Sudden was conscious of a hand clawing at his face, the
questing thumb seeking for an eyeball; the beast was trying
to blind him. In a flame of fury he smashed his fist into the
thick neck below the chin. Gasping, choking, the big man
sprawled sideways, momentarily helpless, his agonized
throat well-nigh paralysed. The puncher got up, weak and
dizzy, to stand waiting, much to the surprise of the
spectators.
"Now's yore chance, boy; beat hell out'n him," cried the
blacksmith.
The advice was fully in accordance with the ethics of the
time, but the puncher's only reply was a lop-sided grin; he
did not fight that way. Yago knew this, and though he
inwardly cursed his foreman's ideas of fair play, he said
nothing. Mart Burdette soon recovered. The pain of the
blow, crippling for the moment, had lessened, and with a
rumbled curse he climbed to his feet.
"Damnation, I'll tear yu apart for that," he threatened.
Sinking his head, he rushed in, his right fist shooting
forward with the force of a mule's kick—a blow which might
well have proved fatal. But Sudden was watching. With a
lightning snatch he caught the descending wrist, twisted
round, bent his back, and dragged the arm forward and
down over his shoulder. As though propelled by a catapult,
the big man shot up over the curved shoulders to land full
length on the floor with a crash which shook the building.
For some moments he lay there, supine, only the great
heaving chest showing that life was still in him. Then the
swollen eyes opened, he raised himself on one elbow and
turned, glaring dazedly at the now silent spectators.
Gradually understanding came to him, he realized that he
had been beaten, and by the slim, blood-stained, battered
man who now stood waiting for him to do something. A fury
of hate flamed through his veins. Fumbling at the belt of his
pants, he snatched out and levelled a gun.
"I'll git yu anyways, yu " he snarled.
Even as he pulled the trigger, however, Sudden flung
himself forward and struck up the barrel; the bullet buried
itself in the roof, and an instant later the weapon was
wrenched from the assassin's grasp and turned upon him.
"Yu cowardly, white-livered cur," the puncher rasped. "So
yu had a gun hid out on me?"
Facing those blazing eyes, with the gleaming steel barrel
at his head, and the knowledge that the slightest movement
of the finger nudging the trigger would send him into
eternity, the bully's courage broke. There would be a jarring
thud, a searing pain, and then—what? He shrank back.
"Don't—shoot," he gasped weakly, and held up his
trembling hands.
The puncher hesitated for a few seconds, and then thrust
the weapon behind his waist-band. "Get," he said tersely.
"Outa the country, or I'll send yu out—in a box."
With an effort the beaten man stood up, collected his
belongings, and staggered out, the onlookers parting to let
him pass. He dared not raise his eyes, for he knew that
there would not be a friendly face. Rough, unscrupulous,
hard-shelled as these men were, they had a code of their
own, and he had outraged it. To have lost meant little had
he fought fairly, but ... His reeling brain was conscious of
only one thing—he must get away, and far, since wherever
the story followed he would be a figure for scorn. Moreover,
that damned puncher was not bluffing. He must see King,
though the prospect of the elder brother's anger and
contempt was hard to face. Wearily he dragged himself into
the saddle and headed into the darkness.
Back in the saloon the victor was receiving the
congratulations of most of those present. He had put up a
straight and clean fight, and moreover, had dealt a crushing
blow to the supremacy of the Burdettes, a fact certain
citizens appreciated. These well-wishers, however, did not
include the marshal, who had slipped away immediately
after Mart's discomfiture.
"Sorry Slype's gone, I wanted him to hear the truth about
my visit to Cal's shack," Sudden said. "S'pose yu tell the
boys, Bill, while I clean up some."
So Yago told the story of that day's events, and the eyes of
his hearers bulged, profane exclamations of amazement
punctuating the narrative; all these men knew the Sluice.
"So, yu see, Green couldn't 'a' chucked Cal in, 'cause I saw
him potterin' round his place later," Bill concluded, having
said nothing of the old man's reputed discovery.
"Who the hell tumbled Green in?" asked Weldon.
"Mister Riley oughta he able to tell us," Bill replied.
But the Circle B man, like the marshal, was, as one of the
company phrased it, "plenty absent". He too had got away
unobserved in the excitement of Mart's downfall. When
Sudden returned, having removed such marks of the conflict
as could immediately be dealt with, he was not surprised to
learn of Riley's retreat.
"Did yu expect he'd wait?" he asked sardonically, and then,
"I'm feelin' some used up—like I'd had a busy day. What
'bout headin' for home?"
Yago surveyed the cut and bruised features critically. "Yu
look better'n yu did a piece back, but I wouldn't say it was
the time to have yore picture took," he replied. "Yu trail
along an' I'll foller—got a li'l matter to see to."
The foreman achieved a painful grin. "Yu idjut," he said. "I
wouldn't leave yu, but I know yu won't find him."
Outside the saloon he made a discovery—his horse was
missing. Had Mart turned it loose from spite, or had he
himself tied it insecurely? In either case he did not think
Nigger would stray far, and set out on the search. It proved
a longer job than he expected, for it was nearly an hour
before he located the truant. The reins were twisted round
the saddle-horn. This was clear proof that the animal had
been set free, for had the reins been trailing, Nigger, a well-
trained cow-horse, would not have drifted. Attributing it to
petty malice on the part of his fate antagonist, the foreman
mounted and rode slowly back to the ranch.
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
"DEAR NAN,
LuCE."
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
FOR a while after his visitors had gone Luce Burdette sat
slumped in a chair, fists clenched, eyes staring into vacancy,
his heart filled with a bitter fury against the man who had
done this thing. The darkly handsome, satirical face, with its
mocking smile of triumph, rose before him, and coupled with
this knowledge of King's cruel, callous nature, suggested
fearful possibilities.
"An' he's kin to me," the boy groaned. He struck the table
fiercely. "He shan't have her, damn him, not while I live."
Two hours later he was threading a thicket of live-oaks
which masked the slope at the rear of the Circle B ranch-
house. Fortunately for his purpose the night was dark.
Leaving his horse among the trees and carrying his lariat, he
approached on foot, walking Indian-like on the balls of his
feet and testing each step lest a cracking twig should betray
him. It was a slow business, but presently he reached a strip
of open ground where he would have to risk being seen.
Here he paused, scanning the building. There was a lighted
window just opposite to where he was crouching—the
kitchen, which was his objective. For the rest, the place was
in darkness, so far as he could tell. Light shone from the
bunkhouse, fifty yards distant, and he could hear voices;
some of the outfit would be there, playing cards, and
yarning. Stooping, he sprinted across the shadowy space,
reached the window and looked in. As he had expected and
hoped, Mandy, the old coloured cook, was alone. Familiar
taps on the pane brought her waddling hurriedly; she
peered out and then cautiously raised the sash.
"Foh de Ian's sake, it cain't be yo, Massa Luce," she
whispered tremulously.
"Shore is, Mammy," he replied, calling her by the name he
knew she liked him to use. "Say, who's in the house?"
"Dey ain't nobody but me," she told him. "Dem King an'
Sim done went out; mebbe dey is in de bunkhouse wid de
boys. Yo don' oughta be hyar, honey; dat King, he
massacree yo if he cotch you aroun'."
There was a mingling of fear and affection in her voice —
Luce had always been her favourite; for his brothers she had
little but dread.
"Good old Mammy," the boy said. "I ain't goin' to be
`cotched.' " He bent forward so that he could see her face
and said earnestly, "Are yu shore there is no one in the
house but yoreself?"
At this question Mandy recoiled and the whites of her eyes
showed big. "Lawdy, ain't I tol' yo?" she quavered, but Luce
interrupted sternly :
"Come clean, Mammy; it ain't like yu to lie to me." Still she
hesitated, pulled two ways by affection for the lad before
her and terror of his elder brother; the former triumphed.
"King'll sho'ly take the hide off'n my back if he knows," she
said huskily. "Dey's a gal locked up in yo ol’ room. I dunno
who she is—they done hustled me outa de way when she
was fotched in."
"It's Nan Purdie, Mammy," Luce told her. "God! It makes
me ashamed to know I'm a Burdette."
The deep disgust and anguish in his voice made the old
Negress look at him strangely. This was not the merry
lighthearted lad to whom she had been a mother. A sudden
decision firmed her face.
"Yo needn't to be, honey. Yo ain't a Burdette, an' yo nevah
was one," she said, and then, as she read his expression,
"No, I ain't out o' ma haid—I'm tellin' yo true. Long time
back, when we was crossin' Injun country on de way hyar,
Ol' Man Burdette fin' yo cryin' in de brush—yo was 'bout
knee-high to a jackrabbit. Pretty soon we light on a burned
cabin an' two bodies; dey was white an' dat was all we—but
I don' need to tell yo 'bout dem red devils. Mis' Burdette
figured dey was yo folks an' 'lowed she'd 'dopt yo. The Ol'
Man say, `Brand an' throw him in de herd, de damn li'l
maverick; he'll make a Burdette one day.' But yo nevah did,
honey; allus dere was a difference. Now, don't yo care ..."
To the boy the revelation and all it meant to him swept
everything else from his mind. He did not doubt the story,
and, looking back, found much to confirm it. Father and
brothers had always treated him with a sort of good-natured
contempt, an attitude he had put down to his age. Even
after the Old Man's death he had not been admitted to the
family's councils, nor invited to join in those periodic
mysterious expeditions from which the men returned weary
with riding and sometimes wounded. These things had hurt
him, but now he was glad. Nameless and of unknown origin
he might be, but he was not a Burdette, and Nan ... At the
thought of her he drew himself up, his eyes shining.
"Care?" he echoed. "Why, Mammy, it's the grandest news I
ever heard."Hell, if yu'd on'y told me afore."
"I was feared o' grievin' yo," the old woman said.
"Shore, yu couldn't know," Luce told her. "Now, I gotta get
Miss Purdie outa this. If you hear anythin', warn me."
He melted into the shadow of the building, stealing along
Until he stood beneath the window of his old room. It was
nearly ten feet above his head—for the Circle B ranch-house
boasted two storeys—but he was prepared for that. Close by
stood a big cottonwood, a stout branch of which passed
above the window. Hanging the lariat round his neck, he
began to climb the tree, almost smiling as he recalled how
often, as a boy, he had done the same thing with no other
object than to enter unknown to his fatherand brothers.
Dark as it was, he soon found the familiar hand and
footholds, and in a few moments had swung himself along
the branch. Kneeling upon the sill, he thrust up the
unlatched sash and whispered :
"Miss Purdie—Nan."
A muffled mumble was the answer. He struck a match,
shielding the light in his cupped hands that it might not
show outside. The girl was seated on the bed—his bed once
—her hands and feet tied, a handkerchief knotted over the
lower part of her face. With great staring eyes she gazed at
him, and then an expression of joy drove the fear away. She
trembled as he removed the gag.
"Luce—you?" she breathed. "Oh, take me from this
dreadful place."
"That's what I'm here for," he assured her, as he severed
the bonds. "Yu ain't—hurt—any?" His voice shook as he
asked the question.
"No," she whispered. "Only frightened of that,horrible man.
Your brother."
"He ain't that, an' I'm not a Burdette, Nan," Luce told her
exultantly. "No time to explain now—we gotta hustle. Do yu
reckon yu can walk?"
"Yes, of course," she replied, stretching her cramped limbs
experimentally.
"The door's locked, so I'll have to let yu down from the
window," he went on, and slipped the loop of his rope
beneath her armpits. "All yu gotta do is sit on the sill an'
slide off."
All went well. With feet braced against the wall, Luce paid
out the rope slowly when he felt the girl's weight upon it,
and soon a whisper from below apprised him that she had
landed safely. Then he retraced his way along the branch
and in a moment was by her side.
"Where do we go now?" she asked.
A mocking laugh answered her. "Yu don't," said a hated
voice, and a lifted lantern drove away the darkness. King
Burdette was standing a few yards in front of them, one
thumb hooked in his belt and a jeering grin on his face. Like
a flash Luce whipped out his gun and covered him.
"Stand outa the way or I'll send yu to hell pronto," the boy
rasped.
The threatened man laughed. "Yu couldn't kill one o' yore
own kin, Luce," he said.
"Yu ain't that, thank God," came the retort.
King laughed again. "Found that out at last, huh?" he
sneered. "Well, it shore was funny to see yu swaggerin'
around, puttin' on frills as one o' the family when allatime yu
was on'y a nameless brat."
"I'd a thousand times sooner be that than a Black
Burdette," Luce retorted passionately, and, as his finger
tightened on the trigger, "I've warned yu that there's nothin'
to prevent me shootin' yu down..."
The elder man snarled a curse. "Nothin' to prevent yu?" he
repeated. "Why, yu young fool, there's a dozen guns
coverin' yu right now. Fire, an' be damned to yu; we'll go
together, an' instead o' one admirer Miss Purdie'll have quite
a number."
The fiendish threat underlying the last words drove the
blood from the rescuer's cheeks. He looked around and saw
dark forms with levelled revolvers step from the shadows
into the lamp-light. He was trapped. Doubtless King had
been watching for some such attempt—Luce knew Mandy
would not betray him—and had enjoyed allowing it to almost
succeed; it was in keeping with the cruel humour of the
man. With a smothered groan he holstered his weapon. He
might have killed King, but he would lose his own life and
leave Nan at the mercy of men who did not know the
meaning of the word. Once more the hateful laugh rang out.
"Learnin' sense, huh? Well, I'm a good teacher," King said.
"Unbuckle yore belt an' let it drop."
"That's a trick I taught yu," Luce reminded him, as he
complied with the order.
The gibe sank in; King's face became a mask of malignity.
"Don't push on yore reins, boy," he hissed. "I'll be learnin' yu
aplenty afore I'm through." He turned to his men. "Tie an'
lock 'em up—apart, an' then cut that damn tree down."
Luce looked at his fellow-prisoner. "I'm sorry, Nan," he said
miserably. "Reckon I've on'y made things worse for yu."
The girl smiled bravely. "No, it was fine of you to come,
Luce," she replied, and her tone was a caress. "I'm not
afraid now."
"Better tell him good-bye; yu won't be seein' him again,"
King mocked.
The threat did not have the effect he expected—it only
roused the girl's fighting spirit. "I'll do that," she said quietly.
"Thank you, Luce, and in case this coward means what he
says ..." She reached up and kissed the astonished boy full
on the lips. "I'll never forget, dear—never," she whispered.
To have his taunt flung back in his face was more than
Burdette had bargained for, but he repressed his rage and
substituted a sneer: "Make the most of it, my fine fella—it's
the on'y one yu'll get; the rest'll be mine." He growled an
order to his followers, "Take 'em away. Sim, I hold yu
responsible till I come back."
"Yu needn't to worry—they'll be here," the younger brother
assured him.
King nodded, went to the corral for his horse, and was soon
on the way to Windy. He was in an exultant mood, things
were going as he had planned—with one exception —the
escape of California. Luce must be made to tell where the
miner was hiding, and then, if the move he was now about
to make proved successful, the game was won.
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
THE END