Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (34 page)

 
          
“C’mon Flint.
We must be most on to him now.”

 
          
“Don’t
like this damn place—too much like a perishin’ grave,” was the grumbling reply.

 
          
“I’m
for goin’ back; can’t see his light even.”

 
          
“Must
‘a’ died on him, ‘bout here too. Thought you wanted this hombre?”

 
          
“Shore
do, I’d like to flay him alive.”

 
          
“Sam
here,
an’ I ain’t losin’ a—Christ!”

 
          
The
imprecation was succeeded by a blood-curdling shriek of terror, and then a
second, dulled, like a weird echo, appearing to come from the depths below.

 
          
“What’s
happened, Rat?” Flint cried anxiously. “Where are you?”

 
          
A
match spluttered in flame. Evidently the surviving ruffian was investigating.
Then
came
a horror-stricken “Gawda’mighty!” and the
pad of hurried footsteps dying away in the direction of the cave.

 
          
Sudden
pawed about, managed to find and light his precious pine-knot, and then
assisted the girl to stand up. She was unhurt, but trembling as one in an ague.

 
          
“He
has died—a terrible death,” she whispered. “Why did I come to this awful
country?”

 
          
Sudden’s
reply had a touch of sternness. “Don’t blame the country because there are evil
men in it, they are everywhere, in the big cities as well as the small
settlements. What has happened is just that one o’ them has gone to the hell
waitin’ for him, an’ the world is the better for his goin’. Now, we ain’t quit
o’ trouble yet—we gotta find a way out.”

 
          
His
cold-blooded view of the tragedy steadied, if it did not convince her. They
resumed their journey, the puncher slightly in advance, and keeping a wary eye
for further pitfalls. Beth was silent for some time, and then asked:

 
          
“What
do you suppose has happened in the cave?”

 
          
“Most
probably yore friends are on top by this,” he replied dryly. “Tiny and Yorky
were out of it when I left, an’ Dan was battlin’ against three—big odds for any
man.”

 
          
“Why
did you run away and leave him?” she demanded, and there was something of anger
in her tone.

 
          
The
darkness hid his grin. “I was scared,” he said.

 
          
The
answer, coming from one who had recently dared that desperate leap, was too
absurd. “I don’t understand.”

 
          
“Scared
you would suffer Rattray’s fate,” he told her.

 
          
The
blood raced into her pale face, and she was thankful he could not see it.
“Forgive me,” she murmured. “You knew of that awful place then? I should have
guessed there was a good reason for your leaving Mister Dover. You saved me,
and I haven’t even thanked you.”

 
          
“I’d
like yu to forget it, ma’am,” he said, supremely uncomfortable. “Ain’t that a
blink o’ daylight ahead?”

 
          
She
failed to see anything, and small wonder, for it was still night outside, as
the puncher well knew, but it served his purpose. Presently he noticed she was
limping, and asked the reason.

 
          
It
is nothing—just a bruise, when we fell,” she explained. “Why didn’t you leave
me on the other side? Those men would not have harmed me.”

 
          
“They
were shootin’, in the dark, an’ might have hit yu,” he pointed out. “Mebbe I
took a risk, but there warn’t much time to chew things over.”

 
          
After another silence.
“You could have warned Rattray.”

 
          
“Did
yu hear what they wanted to do to me?” he asked caustically, and when she could
not answer, added, “They would have thanked me with bullets.”

 
          
They
plodded on, resting on the ground at intervals. Progress was tedious, for the
friendly pine-knot had burned out, and they had to grope their way through the
blackness. At length, however, Sudden was conscious of
a
freshness
in the heavy atmosphere, and away in the distance there really
was a spot of faint light. Beth saw it also, and it revived her flagging
energy.

 
          
“An
opening,” she breathed. “Heavens, I feel as though I had been buried alive.”

 
          
They
reached it, and stepped out into the chill air of the dawn. They were on the
side of a steep hill; the country below was shrouded in mist, and from out of
it came the roar of a river.

 
          
In
the cavern, the battle was over. Tiny, smiting lustily, had held his own
against Garstone and Lake until a wild shot from Bundy, intended for his own
antagonist, struck the big cowboy above the knee and brought him down. Having
first secured his six-gun, the released pair went to help the foreman, who was
wishing he had taken on an easier task than the owner of the Circle Dot.
Awakening to find himself already in Bundy’s clutch, Dan had fought furiously.

 
          
Hammered
relentlessly, the attacker had to let go, and both pulled their guns. Dodging
about in the uncertain light of a fire, however, does not make for good
shooting, and beyond a graze or two, both were unhit.

 
          
“Best
give in, Dover, we’re three to one,” Garstone urged, as he and Lake arrived.

 
          
“You
can go plumb to hell,” the young man panted.

 
          
They
came upon him from all sides. He fired once, doing no damage, and then the
weapon was struck from his hand. He had a glorious moment when he felt his fist
smash into Garstone’s lips, and that was the end; someone jerked his feet from
under him, and though he continued a hopeless struggle, they soon had him bound
and helpless. The Easterner, blood drooling from his gashed mouth, bent down,
eyeing him with malevolent satisfaction.

 
          
“Well,
Dover,” he jeered. “You’ve made a pretty mess of things. But for you, we’d
never have found this place. Thanks.”

 
          
“Which
takes in the pretty mess I’ve made o’ yore face, I s’pose,” Dan countered.

 
          
“No,
I’ll be showing my gratitude for that later,” Garstone frowned.
“After we’ve collected the dollars.”

 
          
Dan
managed a laugh. “Oh, I can wait; I ain’t one o’ them impatient fellas.”

 
          
“
What’s
a few hours anyway?”

 
          
“If
you think Zeb’ll talk that soon, yo’re wrong; you did too thorough a job.”

 
          
It
was the other man’s turn to laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong—he has talked,”
he said triumphantly. “I had the news I was waiting for last evening.”

 
          
This
time he scored. Dan understood; it was the girl who had brought this disaster
upon them. In fairness, however, he could not blame her; she was on the other
side, and he should have remembered. He had missed a bet.

 
          
“What’s
come o’ the two men who were outside? Did you kill them?”

 
          
“Certainly not.
We had to tie them up, and I fancy your aged
lunatic got a rap on the head. You have yourselves to thank for any rough
treatment.”

 
          
“We
can take it,” Dan retorted. “I noticed you picked on the kid for yore share.
Where’s Green?”

 
          
The
taunt penetrated the big man’s skin. “I neither know nor care. When Miss
Trenton lost her wits and ran screaming for that opening at the back of the
cave, he appeared to lose his courage, and followed her. Two of my men went in
pursuit, and have not returned.”

 
          
Even
as the words left his mouth, Flint staggered into the firelight. His labouring
lungs told that he had been hurrying. “Well, did you get them?” Garstone asked.

 
          
“Get
them?” the man repeated.

 
          
“Yes.
Green and Miss Trenton.”

 
          
“My Gawd!
Was she there too? Funny, I had a notion Green was
chasm’ somebody; that explains it.”

 
          
“Explains
what, you idiot? Tell a straight tale,” Garstone said impatiently.

 
          
“Me
an’ Rat was scrappin’ with Green when, all unexpected, he grabs a chunk o’ the
fire, shoves it in our faces, an’ runs hell for leather into that hole over
there, with us on his tail. It’s a kind o’ underground passage, black as the
inside of a nigger, but we could see his light dancin’ ahead so we kept on. It
was chancy work, runnin’ in the dark, an’ he was goin’ fast. We couldn’t gain
any, so we spilled lead, but that didn’t stop him. Then he seemed to slow down,
an’ his torch dropped an’ went out.”

 
          
Flint
paused to draw a deep breath, and resumed, “Rat was a bit in front, an’ called
me to hurry. Afore I can git to him, there’s an awful screech, follered by
another, kind o’ smothered, like it came from deep down. I yelled to Rat but
got no answer, so I crept forward on han’s an’ knees, feelin’ the floor in
front till—there ain’t no floor. I struck a match, an’ I was kneelin’ on the
edge of a big crack, wide—an’ deep?
well
, I’d ‘a’
figured it dropped clear to hell if I hadn’t heard runnin’ water below.”

 
          
His
ghastly effort to be facetious drew no smile from his audience.

 
          
“What
do you suppose happened?” Garstone asked sharply. “I guess Green an’ the gal
got catched in the trap,
an
pore of Rat blundered in
after ‘em.”

 
          
Garstone’s
face showed no emotion. “We’ll look at this place,” he said.

 
          
“Turn
me loose,” Dan pleaded. “I give you my word I won’t try anythin’—I just wanta
help.”

 
          
“No
doubt—help
yourself
,” was the sneering reply. “Flint,
you and Lake keep an eye on the
prisoners,
see that
they don’t `try anything.’ You come with me, Bundy.”

 
          
Armed
with lights, the pair traversed the tunnel and reached the chasm. The foreman
lowered his torch and pointed to some small footprints.

 
          
“She
got as far as this, anyway,” he remarked. “Obviously,” Garstone agreed curtly.

 
          
He
stepped to the brink of the rift and stood peering down into the abysmal
depths, listening to the murmur of the subterranean river hundreds of feet
below. Callous as he was, the vision of Beth, young, beautiful, instinct with
life, hurtling to a dreadful death in the darkness chilled him. But the feeling
soon passed; there were many other women in the
world,
and ere long, his crafty brain was considering how he might turn even this
tragedy to his advantage.

 
          
“It
would seem that Flint was right,” he said. “A fine athlete could get over, if
he knew the danger was there, but with the girl …” He shook his head to
complete the sentence. “Bad news for Zeb; she was his only relative.”

 
          
“If he cashes, who gits the Wagon-wheel?”
Bundy enquired. “I
have an interest in it,”

 
          
Garstone
told him. “I shall arrange with the bank to take over the ranch.”