Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940) (20 page)

 
          
“Forget
it,” Tom told him. “Hocussed liquor makes their job easy.” 114

 
          
“That’s
different. I’m obliged to yu, friend.” Having put his horse in the hotel
stable, and carried his saddle and rifle up to his room, he went in search of a
meal. He found one, plentiful enough but poor as regards quality and cooking.

 
          
“Mrs.
Gray is spoilin’ me,” he reflected as he came out. “She’d make a fortune here.”

 
          
Drywash
was a busy place, for despite the heat, there was a certain amount of bustle
and activity.

 
          
Pedestrians
of both sexes hurried or sauntered along the sidewalks, and outside the
drinking dives men lounged, chatting and smoking. One of these spoke as the
marshal swung past.

 
          
“Another
sucker for Blick an’ his like to trim,” he laughed.

 
          
Further
along the street, the object of their interest abruptly slid behind the
projecting corner of a store as a familiar form stepped out; it was Galt. With
his hat pulled well over his eyes, Sudden followed until the rustler
disappeared into a building, on the door of which was the name, “S. Lyman.” The
marshal came away, and proceeded to try out a plan he had conceived.

 
          
Entering
a saloon, he ordered a drink, and reaching out the brass box—which now
contained tobacco—began to construct a cigarette. None of the other customers
evinced any interest, and leaving, he repeated the process at a number of
places, but without meeting any success.

 
          
“There’s
nothin’ to it,” he decided. “It was a long shot, at the best.” Night was coming
on when at length he paid a visit to the Square Deal. It was large, and
vulgarly ornate, the planed log walls garishly decorated with gaudy,
gilt-framed mirrors, and pictures which owed nothing to art or decency. The
shining mahogany bar, with its resplendent array of bottles, was an imposing
feature. To the right were the various games of chance provided by the
establishment, and to the left a portion of the boarded floor was devoted to
dancing; the space between contained tables and chairs.

 
          
The
women present, for the most part, were employed by the house to dance and drink
with the customers; their painted faces and tawdry attire proclaimed the fact.

 
          
The
saloon was filling up, and the jangle of the ill-treated piano mingled with the
medley of voices. No sooner had the marshal entered than a golden-haired girl
in a crumpled muslin frock which displayed her figure somewhat freely, minced
up and caught his arm.

 
          
“Buy
me a drink,” she invited. “I like cowboys.” Sudden slipped a bill into her
hand.

 
          
“Get
yoreself one,” he said. “I’m playin’ another game tonight.” She shrugged her
bare shoulders. “Dame Fortune is hard to woo,” she said. “You would find me
less difficult.” She thrust the money into the breast of her dress, and her
bold eyes softened. “Good luck, friend, but—don’t buck the wheel —for much.”
The last words were a mere whisper, spoken as she skipped away to be instantly
caught in the arms of another man and dragged to the dancing floor.

 
          
The
marshal joined the crowd round the roulette board, and soon saw that the girl’s
warning had been well-meant; the wheel was under the control of the operator,
who allowed small bets to win; worth-while wagers almost always lost. He
collected a few dollars and drifted to the bar. A frowsy, half-tipsy fellow of
about forty was arguing with the man behind it.

 
          
“You
know me, Len,” he said. “I’ve spent a lot o’ coin here, an’ now, when I’m
cleaned, you won’t stake me to a drink.”

 
          
“You
know the rule, Lumpy,” Len replied, and jerked a thumb at a big notice behind
him which read, “No trust.”

 
          
“Have
one with me,” Sudden suggested, laying down a dollar.

 
          
“Why,
that’s mighty gen’rous o’ you, stranger,” Lumpy said, and grabbed the glass
eagerly.

 
          
“
Shucks !
” was the smiling reply. “I’ve been thirsty my own
self.”

 
          
“I dunno nothin’ wuss,”
Lumpy said. “I once went three year
without a man’s drink,
an’ ”

 
          
He
stopped, staring amazedly at his benefactor, who was rolling a smoke. “You ain’t
him, but you got his baccy-box, or the twin of it,” he muttered.

 
          
“Know
a fella who carries one o’ these?” the marshal asked carelessly.

 
          
“Useter,
but ain’t seen him for a long whiles.”

 
          
“This
atmosphere would poison a dawg. I’m for fresh air. Comin’?” The other finished
his liquor and followed. In the dark of the street, lessened only by the glow
of an occasional lighted window, Sudden spoke again:

 
          
“I’d
give twenty bucks to find the owner o’ that box.” The drunkard’s eyes gleamed;
he would have parted with his soul for that amount. His story was brief. He had
known the man, who called himself “Ezra Kent,” some two years earlier, in
Bentley, but could not say what had become of him.

 
          
Sudden
thought this over. The name fitted the initials, of which his informant had no
knowledge. Bentley was about a hundred miles north, and possessed a prison; he
remembered the enforced abstinence, smiled, and asked what Kent was doing
there?

 
          
“Time,”
was the laconic answer. “He was in with his buddy—fellow Ezra called `
Jesse’—but I
didn’t know him. What were they like? Well, now
you got me—men look pretty much the same in the pen. Both was biggish built, an’
favoured each other some. No, I ain’t set eyes on neither of ‘em since.”
Satisfied that the fellow could tell him no more, Sudden handed over the
promised reward, and returned to the hotel.

 
          
Darkness
was only beginning to give way to daylight when an urgent rap on the door
awakened him. It proved to be the bar-tender.

 
          
“There’s
a man for breakfast this mornin’, friend, an’ if I was you I wouldn’t wait for
none,” he said. “We’ve a back way to the stables, an’ by keepin’ behind the
buildin’s you can git clear o’ the town without bein’ seen.”

 
          
“A
killin’, huh?” the marshal asked. “What I gotta do with that?”

 
          
“Nothin’,
I reckon, which is why I’m warnin’ you, but he was last seen alive in yore comp’ny,
when you took him out’n the Square Deal. Where’d you go after?”

 
          
“That fella?
Why, we talked a bit outside an’ then I came
along here. He told me somethin’ I wanted to know an’ I gave him twenty
dollars.”

 
          
“He
was found, stabbed in the back with his own knife, an’ pockets empty. They’re
routin’ out the sheriff now, an’ knowin’ his methods, you ain’t got a chance.”

 
          
“Runnin’
away will pin the crime on me,” Sudden objected.

 
          
“Mebbe,
but it’ll make it possible for you to go on breathin’,” the barman said drily. “I
know this burg.” The marshal saw the argument was sound. So, with a word of
thanks to this friend in need, he hurried to the stable, saddled his horse, and
slipped away unobserved.

 
          
He
covered the first few miles at full speed, and then, satisfied that he was safe
from pursuit, since they could not know which way he had taken, slowed down,
his brain busy with what he had discovered. He shook his head in despair.

 
          
“Nig,
I’m gettin’ my rope all snarled up,” he confided. “Stretch yore legs, yu black
rascal, an’ head for breakfast; I never could think on an empty belly.”

 
          
“WHERE’S
the body?” was the greeting the marshal received from Dave on his return.

 
          
“I
left it behind,” he replied, truthfully enough.

 
          
Not
another word could be got out of him until he had dealt fully with the food
Sloppy hastened to prepare for him.

 
          
“Havin’
fortified yore system against famine for the next twenty-four hours, is there
anythin’ else yu need?” Dave inquired, with elaborate sarcasm.

 
          
“Yeah,
a smoke,” Sudden smiled, and got out his makings. As he rolled the little tube,
he added casually, “Ever heard of
a jasper
named Ezra
Kent?” Both shook their heads, but into the elder man’s eyes
crept
the apprehensive look which the marshal had seen before.

 
          
“We
gotta find him—he owns that box. Also, Mister Lyman—who is shorely one o’

 
          
Nature’s mistakes—has
Sark hawg-tied, which requires lookin’
into.” Dave was gazing out of the window. “
yu
got yore
chance right now,” he remarked. “There’s Jesse, agoin’ into the Red Light.”

 
          
“Good,”
the marshal said, getting up. “No, yu two stay put—we don’t want a crowd.” He
found Nippert and the rancher alone; the latter accosted him genially.

 
          
“‘Lo,
marshal, glad you come in. I’ve just bin backin’ down to Ned, an’ that goes for
you too. Reckon I was all wrong ‘bout Jake—he’s crooked, that fella, an’ I’m
through with him; he’s made trouble enough for me a’ready.” Sudden exchanged
glances with the saloon-keeper, noted the slight nod, and replied fatuously, “Why,
that’s good hearin’, Mister Sark. Me, I never was one to nurse a grudge.”

 
          
“Fine,”
the Dumbbell man said, with a great show of heartiness. “Set ‘em up, Ned.” He
laughed ruefully as he raised his glass. “It won’t be pleasant to eat crow to
John Owen, but I’ll have to, I guess.”

 
          
“Here’s
to a better understandin’,” the marshal toasted.

 
          
They
drank, and Nippert’s grin told that he had grasped the inner meaning of the
last word. When the visitor called for cigars, Sudden decided in favour of a
cigarette. The appearance of the brass box made Sark start violently, and when
he spoke, his voice was not quite the same.

 
          
“That’s
an unusual thing for a cowpunch to carry,” he said hoarsely. “Where’d you git
it?”

 
          
“Picked
it up—recent,” was the offhand reply.

 
          
“Dessay
there’s hundreds aroun’, but it’s the first I’ve seen. What’ll you take for it?”
The marshal made a negative gesture. “I’ve got fond o’ the durned contraption,
an’ it keeps my baccy moist.” He lighted his cigarette and put the box away. “I
hear Drywash is gettin’ to be quite a town; I must look it over one day.”

 
          
“I ain’t bin there in weeks,” Sark lied.
“Too
many saloons an’ dance-halls.
I’ve bin thinkin’ it’s time I settled
down, with a woman o’ my own.”

 
          
“If
you’ve come a-courtin’, Welcome ain’t got much to offer,” the saloon-keeper
said.

 
          
“
Bah !
” Sark cut in. “There’s on’y one woman I’d look twice
at her an’ that’s Mary Gray.”

 
          
Receiving
no comment, he went on eagerly. “It’d mean a lot for her to be back where she
oughta be.”

 
          
“Yeah,
but I fancy I heard she didn’t cotton to the idea,” the saloon-keeper
suggested.

 
          
“That’s
so, but I was oiled an’ overplayed my hand. Anyways, I’m goin’ to put it to her
again. I reckon she’ll see which side her bread is buttered.”