Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) (39 page)

 
          
“Take
care o’ the houn’ till I come back,” King cried, and darted after the fugitives.

 
          
They
had not got far—the steepness of the rise made speed impossible. Fiercely as he
hated leaving their deliverer, Luce knew he must obey orders, so, bidding the
girl follow him, he went doggedly on, breaking a way through the dense
vegetation which, while it impeded also served to hide them. From below they
could hear someone thrashing through the brush in pursuit. Lacerated by thorns
they had no time to avoid, and with leaden legs, the runaways scrambled on, but
Luce knew that the terrific exertion was telling upon his companion. She did
not complain, but her panting breath and lagging steps were eloquent. King
Burdette, following a path already made and not hampered by a slower person who
needed help at difficult places, gained ground on them rapidly. They could hear
him, stumbling, cursing, not far away, and behind him, others. Presently, at
the foot of a steep wall of rock which shot up out of the verdure, Nan slipped
and fell.

 
          
“I
just can’t go on, Luce,” she groaned wearily. “I’m sorry—to be—such a drag.”

 
          
“Yu’ve
been splendid,” he replied, and drew his pistol. “This is a good place to stand
‘em off; they can’t get behind us anyways.”

 
          
The
crackling noise of trampled twigs and branches was very near now and then came
a louder crash and a rumbled oath; someone had tripped and fallen. The boy’s
face grew hard. Nan was on her feet again, and they were standing in the deeper
shadow of a big bush which partly masked the wall of the cliff. It was too late
to resume flight, for in another moment their pursuers would be upon them. And
then the miracle happened.

 
          
“Hey,
Luce, duck in here,” a husky voice murmured.

 
          
The
boy turned, saw a ghostly hand beckoning from the blackness, and seizing Nan by
the wrist, hurried her towards it as King Burdette burst from the bushes.
Following whispered instructions, they squeezed through a jagged crevice in the
rock wall, stooped to crawl along a narrow tunnel, to find
themselves
in a small cave. Here the light of a solitary candle showed them that their
deliverer was none other than the missing miner.

 
          
“He,
he,” the old man chuckled as he saw their amazed expressions. “Didn’t figure on
findin’ me hyarabouts, huh?”

 
          
“Shore
didn’t, an’ we’re mighty glad to see yu, Cal,” Luce replied. “Yu got us out of
a tight place, unless…”

 
          
The
prospector read his thoughts. “Don’t yu worry, son,” he said. “King won’t find
us.

 
          
Why,
I’ve bin livin’ here since yu took me outa that hut. No, sir, we’ve
razzledazzled that triflin’ relative o’ yores this time.
How
come he’s chasm’ the pair o’ yu?”

 
          
The
young man told the story, and the miner’s bright, squirrel-like eyes twinkled.
“So yu ain’t a Burdette, arter all? Well, that’s good hearin’,” was his
comment. “Reckon King has bit off more than he can chaw for once.” A string of
dull, muffled explosions reached their ears, and the old man dived into the
tunnel. In a moment or so he was back again, his shoulders shaking with malign
mirth.

 
          
“They’s
a-fightin’ down there,” he told them. “I’m guessin’ the C P is takin’ a hand in
the game. What’s in yore mind, son?”

 
          
Luce
was moving towards the exit. “I’m afraid they’ve got Green,” he explained.
“Mebbe I can do somethin’”

 
          
California
shook a gnarled finger at him. “Didn’t he tell yu to stay with the gal?” he
asked.

 
          
The
boy looked uncomfortable. “Yes, but…” he began.

 
          
“Ain’t
nò buts’,” the other cut in. “Yu gotta obey
orders.
When that foreman fella talks he sez somethin’; lots o’ folk just make a
noise.”

 
          
“
Yo’re right
, Cal, but I owe him more’n yu know, an’ it’s
hard to sit still when …”

 
          
Leaving
the sentence unfinished, he seated himself by the side of Nan on the shakedown
of spruce-tops covered by a blanket, which was all the furniture the place
could boast. In a moment, however, he was on his feet again, holding under the
candle-light a chip of rock he had picked up from the floor.

 
          
“Why,
Cal, there’s gold here,” he said excitedly. One glance at the grimy, scored
face told him the truth. “Yu knew?” he added. “So yore mine ain’t on Ol’
Stormy?”

 
          
The
old man’s face split into a grin. “He, he, fooled yu too,” he cackled in his
high-pitched voice. “This of gopher ain’t
so
dumb as
some o’ yu reckons. Wouldn’t King r’ar up if he knowed the gold he was tryin’
to steal laid right under his nose?”

 
          
“Ain’t
yu scared I’ll tell, Cal?” the boy bantered.

 
          
The
miner shook his head knowingly. “Not any, son,” he said soberly. “Yo’re goin’
to be my pardner. Yessir, if it hadn’t
bin
for yu I’d
likely be toastin’ my toes where gold melts mighty quick.”

 
          
“But,
Cal…”

 
          
The
protest was cut short. “Like I told yu, afore, there ain’t nòbuts.’ I’ve spent
all my life lookin’ for the durn stuff, an’ now I’m ‘most sorry I’ve found it;
won’t have nothin’ to live for.”

 
          
Luce
looked at the girl in amused surprise; youth can rarely realize that
achievement is not an unmixed blessing. “Yu’d think he’d lost a fortune ‘stead
o’ findin’ one,” he whispered. “It’s going to mean a lot to us.”

 
          
She
smiled teasingly. “I didn’t hear that I was included,” she said. “I’m glad you
are to be rich, Luce.”

 
          
“Yu
know what I mean,” he told her tenderly. “I’d be the poorest man in the world
without yu, Nan.”

 
          
A
cool little hand slid into his, and he was still holding it when Cal, who had
slipped down to the entrance of the cave, came back. He coughed ostentatiously
as he emerged into the light.

 
          
“Been
young myself once, though yu mightn’t think it,” he chuckled. “The ruckus is
still proceedin’, an’ I reckon we better stay put till we know who’s goin’ to
win out.”

 
          
Save
that they kept well away from Windy, Purdie and his men used the regular trail
until they were near the Circle B, when they dismounted and approached on foot.
Split up into pairs, spread out in a line along the slope facing the ranch
buildings and securely hidden in the scrub, they waited for the signal. Out of a
deeper blotch of blackness which they knew must be the ranchhouse a lighted
window gleamed like an eye; elsewhere was darkness.

 
          
Somewhere
an owl hooted dismally, and at intervals a stealthy movement in the brush
denoted a four-footed prowler in search of prey. Waiting proved weary work, and
as the moments crawled sluggishly by, Purdie grew impatient.

 
          
“Damn
this doin’ nothin’—looks like things has gone wrong,” he grumbled. “We’ve been
here an hour.”

 
          
“Day
ain’t broke yet,” Yago pointed out. He could understand the cattleman’s
anxiety; if the foreman failed…? This suggested a new angle. “S’pose we don’t
git that signal, what then?” he asked.

 
          
“We
gotta fade—without firin’ a shot—an’ Burdette takes the C P,” Purdie said
heavily.

 
          
“Jim
is our one hope. I dunno what he was aimin’ to do …”

 
          
“He
ain’t the chatterin’ kind—didn’t tell me neither—but I’m bettin’ he’ll make the
grade,”

 
          
Bill
said confidently. “We’ll git the word all right.”

 
          
His
employer grunted doubtfully; the silence and suspense, coupled with the
inaction, were telling on his nerves. In a lesser degree some of the other men
were feeling the same. Flatty and Moody, holed up together in a clump of brush
from which, when they stood up, the front of the ranchhouse was visible, were
also getting restive. The night air was cold, and they dared not smoke.

 
          
“Wish
they’d start the damn dance—my toes is froze,” Moody complained. “An’ yu would
pick a catclaw to camp in, wouldn’t yu?”

 
          
“She’s
a good place,” his friend replied complacently, although inwardly he was
cursing the fact himself. “Afeard o’ gettin’ yore lily-white skin scratched,
huh?”

 
          
Moody’s
reply was a quiet but vigorous slap on his own thigh. “Got any spiders yet?” he
inquired.

 
          
“Gawd, no.
Was that?”

 
          
“Yeah,
tarantula—on’y a little ‘un, though,” Moody lied, and chortled as he heard his
friend’s feet fidgeting; he well knew Flatty’s antipathy for that poisonous
pest. “If yu feel a ticklin’ shall I come an’ pat yu?” he went on solicitously.

 
          
“No,
I’d sooner be bit,” was the unthankful retort. “Ain’t that blasted day ever
comin’?”

 
          
“
She
shore is,” Moody said.

 
          
Behind
the Butte a pale grey glow was spreading over the sky, rimming the surrounding
ridges with silver, but the valley was still a sea of ink. Then
came
a shout from the plateau, shattering the silence, and
the bunkhouse came to life. Lights appeared, a door gaped, and dark figures
tumbled out in answer to the call of their leader. The men in ambush watched in
perplexity; they had strict orders to wait for the signal. Chris Purdie swore;
he did not know what to do.

 
          
“I’m
feared Jim has slipped up,” he said gruffly.
“Can’t we do
nothin’, Bill?”

 
          
“Stay
put,” the little man advised, though it was against the grain. “If he wants us
he’ll let us know.”

 
          
They
could not see what was happening on the plateau, but it had set the Circle B
humming like a hornets’ nest. Then, above the shouts and curses, once—twice—the
eagerly-awaited signal rang out.

 
          
“Let
‘em
have
it, boys, but keep under cover,” Purdie
cried.

 
          
From
a dozen points along the slope vicious spits of flame stabbed the gloom, and
before that unexpected hail of lead the Circle B riders fled for shelter. One
of them, racing for the ranchhouse, stopped suddenly, and then toppled over.

 
          
“Tally
one for the C P,” Moody called out exultingly. “See that, Flatty? I got him,
an’ he was a-runnin’ too.”

 
          
“On’y
proves what I said,” Flatty retorted. “If he’d stood still …”

 
          
“Aw,
go to blazes, an’ don’t forget this yer catclaw ain’t bullet-proof, or yu
will,” the marksman warned, peering out cautiously in the hope of a second
success.

 
          
But
the Circle B men had all gone to ground and were lying close. That first volley
had told them they had a job of work to do, and they meant to put it over. Unable
to see the enemy, they fired at the flashes, and it soon became evident that
Burdette’s followers knew how to use a rifle. The growing light would give them
a greater advantage, for the cover of the attacking force was woefully thin,
and to cross the open plateau to rush the ranchhouse would be little less than
suicide. Purdie recognized this, but, satisfied that his girl was no longer a
prisoner he was determined to give the abductors a lesson they would not
forget. After the first furious fusillade, the firing on both sides slackened
and became a matter of marksmanship. A movement in the scrub or a shadow near
one of the shattered windows of the building instantly brought the questing
lead. Moody, furtively shifting a cramped limb, swore in sudden agony as a
bullet zipped past.