Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (30 page)

 
          
A
little later Trenton led the way across the basin, his men in pairs behind, the
girl and Garstone in the rear. Excitement shone in her eyes, and there was a
tinge of colour in the slightly-tanned cheeks. A wave of passion swept over the
man by her side. He bent towards her.

 
          
“My
dearest ambition has come to pass this morning,” he whispered.

 
          
“We
haven’t found the treasure yet,” she replied, wilfully ignoring his meaning.

 
          
“I
have found mine already, and have been deputed by your uncle to take care of
it—for to-day. I would like the task to last longer—a lifetime. Do you
understand, Beth?”

 
          
The
words, spoken in a low, ardent tone, quickened her pulses and brought a hot
flush to her face. For days she had expected the avowal, had almost decided to
accept, but now that the moment had come, she hesitated.

 
          
“Yes,
I understand,” she said gently. “But we have known each other such a little
while.

 
          
You
must give me time.”

 
          
“Well,
that’s fair, my dear,” he replied. “Perhaps when this trip is over, you will
know me better.”

 
          
She
thanked him with a look which bred a desire to take her in his arms then and
there, but he fought down the impulse; with this girl—even had they been
alone—it would be an act of folly.

 
          
“What
has become of the Circle Dot people?” she asked. Evidently, Trenton had told
her only that they were to unearth the hidden wealth.

 
          
“We
are on our way to visit them,” he said. “They are camped on or near the spot we
wish to search.”

 
          
“Do
you think Mister Dover will be—difficult?”

 
          
“No,
since your uncle knows where to look, and he doesn’t, a wise man would admit
that he has lost.”

 
          
“I’m
afraid he’s not very wise.”

 
          
“A
hot-headed young fool describes him better,” Garstone said. “If he asks for
trouble, he’ll get it.”

 
          
By
this time the gorge was reached. Beth Trenton was conscious of a cold tremor as
she looked at the barren, sterile walls, broken only by stunted growths
clinging precariously where fissures in the cliff provided a semblance of soil;
she had a premonition of impending tragedy.

 
          
Despite
the bright sun, and the twittering of birds in the bushes which lined their
path, the place seemed to convey a threat. A sharp command rang out.

 
          
“That’ll
be far enough, Trenton.”

 
          
The
Wagon-wheel owner dragged on his reins. “Who the devil are you to give me
orders?” he called.
“Afraid to face me?”

 
          
Dover
stepped from behind a shrub some twenty paces away. “No, but I’d think twice o’
turnin’ my back on you,” was his cutting reply. “What’s yore errand here?”

 
          
“None of yore business.”

 
          
“I’m
makin’ it mine.”

 
          
“How
long have you owned the hills,” Trenton retorted. “I go where I please.”

 
          
“An’
it pleased you to follow my trail, foot by foot,” Dan sneered. “Quit lyin’;
you’ve come to steal somethin’ that belongs to me, but I got here first.”

 
          
Anger
and surprise betrayed the rancher into forgetting his customary caution.
“You’ve found it?” he cried.

 
          
Dan’s
laugh was not mirthful. “The cat’s out,” he said. “Found what? The charmin’
view you came all this way to show yore niece, an’ fetched along five armed men
to help you locate it?”

 
          
The
taunting tone and the fear that he might be too late after
all,
roused the rancher to fury. “You damned whelp,” he stormed. “If it weren’t for
my niece—

 
          
“Skittles!”
Dan interposed. “She’ll be in no danger ‘less
you all try to hide behind her. Set yore dawgs on when you’ve a mind.”

 
          
Without
looking round, Trenton gave an order. “Scatter and take cover; we’ll cut this
cockerel’s comb right now.”

 
          
Even
as they moved to obey, he snatched out his revolver and fired at Dover. He was
too late; the young man had guessed right and vanished just in time. A volley
from the Wagon-wheelers followed but was ineffective since they had not even a
protruding rifle-barrel to aim at. Trenton, with a curse of disgust at having
missed, jumped his horse for the bushes. At the first shot, Garstone had seized
the rein of Beth’s mount and dragged it to the side of the gorge.

 
          
“Get
off and sit down,” he ordered, and set the example. “We should be safe here if
the idiots don’t aim low.” He noticed her expression of surprise. “I’m from the
East, and I don’t hold with these primitive ways of settling differences,” he
went on. “Maiming or killing an opponent only proves proficiency with a weapon,
so the greater ruffian is always right.”

 
          
She
did not reply; it was all very plausible, but even with her own Eastern
upbringing, the sight of this big fellow sitting beside her in probable
security while his friends fought, seemed wrong.

 
          
“What
did Dover mean by saying the treasure belongs to him?” she asked.

 
          
“Obviously
a lie,” he replied carelessly.

 
          
The
crash of the firing increased as the defenders of the gorge got busy, and
several bullets zipped through the branches above their heads, sending down a
shower of twigs and leaves.

 
          
“Damn
them, they’re shooting wild,” Garstone muttered. “Lie close.”

 
          
He
took her hand, but she drew it away. “I’m not afraid,” she told him.

 
          
“I
am—for you,” he replied warmly, but got no response.

 
          
The
spiteful crack of the rifles continued for a space, and then came a long-drawn
groan. Garstone, peering from their retreat, saw Trenton, his gun falling from
nerveless fingers, stagger from the bushes and fall headlong in the open.

 
          
“Damnation!
the
swine have got Zeb,” he cried.

 
          
Beth
scrambled to her feet. “I must go to him,” she said, and disregarding his
remonstrance, ran to where her uncle was lying.

 
          
Bundy
was already kneeling beside him, apparently searching for the injury. Garstone
followed the girl, calling out for the firing to cease, and energetically
waving a white handkerchief. He need not have troubled; even the appearance of
Dover and Malachi produced no shot. The latter’s examination was brief.

 
          
“He’s
not dead,” he announced. “But the wound is serious.”

 
          
“Can
we take him away with us?” Garstone enquired.

 
          
“Yes,
if you want him to die,” the doctor replied tersely, and looked at Dover. “His
only hope is to remain here, and in my care.”

 
          
“Anythin’
you say, Doc,” Dan agreed. “We’ll do all we can.”

 
          
“I
shall stay to nurse my uncle,” Beth said quietly, her steady eyes challenging a
refusal.

 
          
Dover
lifted his shoulders. “I ain’t objectin’, but we’re not fixed to entertain yore
sex.”

 
          
The
Easterner drew Beth apart. “My mind is made up, so please don’t attempt to
dissuade me,” she told him.

 
          
“I
should not dream of doing so,” he said. “
you
are
acting bravely and rightly, but there is something I must tell you. These
scoundrels have tried to kill your uncle because he alone knows exactly where
the treasure is hidden; they have failed to find it. You will admit that they
should not benefit by this dastardly deed.”

 
          
“I
will do anything to prevent that,” she replied, her
face
cold and set.

 
          
“Good.
Zeb had set his heart on securing this money and so saving the Wagon-wheel. We
must try to carry out his wishes. Listen: he may become feverish and talk, or
recover consciousness long enough-to confide in you. Keep everyone away from
him, except the doctor, of course, and if you learn anything, let me know at
once.”

 
          
“How
can I do that?”

 
          
“You
know the place where we sheltered? I will come there every evening soon after
dark in the hope of seeing you. Is it agreed?”

 
          
“Yes,”
she replied. “I care little about the money, but I want to see this gang of
murderers defeated.”

 
          
By
this time the wounded man had been bandaged and laid on a blanket. “Two of you
take him to our camp,” Dan directed, and when Bundy and Flint at once stepped
forward, added brusquely, “Not you.”

 
          
The
scowling pair fell back; Tiny and Hunch raised the burden and carried it
carefully away. The doctor and the girl went with them. Dan turned to Garstone.

 
          
“You
an’ yore pack o’ curs can scratch gravel, an’ if you got any regard for yore
skins, you’ll keep clear o’ here,” he warned.

 
          
“You’re
taking a high hand, Dover,” the other replied. “Miss Trenton is my promised
wife, and I shall certainly come to see her.”

 
          
“At
yore own risk; if I catch you near my camp, I’ll shoot you, an’ that goes for
yore thievin’ bunch too. Now, roll yore tails; the play’s over.”

 
          
Garstone’s
face became ugly. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he snarled. “This is just the
first act—there’s a second to come.”

 
          
His
four followers were behind him, waiting for a word. But Dover’s men were back
now; Sudden, thumbs hooked in his belt, watching sardonically, Hunch,
indifferently swinging his great axe in one hand so that the sun flashed on the
gleaming blade; Dan and the big cowboy, alert and ready, and Yorky, his new gun
gripped in both fists, eyes alive for the least movement.

 
          
Garstone
did not give the word—the odds were not sufficiently in his favour. So he
sneered and went in search of his horse. The others tailed in after him, but
presently Bundy spurred alongside.

 
          
“We
could ‘a’ cleaned ‘em up,” he said regretfully. “But where’s the use? Zeb
didn’t have it on him.”

 
          
“Didn’t
have what?”

 
          
“The paper, o’ course, tellin’ where the dollars is cached.
Why’n hell d’you s’pose I downed him?”

 
          
For
an instant Garstone gazed at him, petrified, unable to credit his ears, and
then,

 
          
“You—shot—Trenton?”

 
          
“Shore,
I’d never git a better chance,”
came
the callous
reply. “He was just in front o’
me,
an’ with all that
firin’ …”

 
          
He
paused, aghast at the fury in the other’s face. “You clumsy bungler,” the big
man rasped. “Why don’t you leave the planning to those whose heads are not
solid bone throughout?