Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (40 page)

 
          
“I
can’t—unless I know. It won’t harm me—to listen.”

 
          
Stonily
silent, the wounded man heard a brief recital of what had taken place. Only
when Malachi concluded somewhat bitterly, “So your friend Garstone is safely on
the way back to Rainbow with your niece and the plunder,” did his expression
change; fire flamed from the cavernous eyes in the emaciated face as he said
hoarsely:

 
          
“My—friend—Garstone.
Doc, you must patch
me up—strong enough to get to Rainbow—an’ settle with that doublecrossin’ hound
an’ his murderin’ tool, Bundy.
I’ll obey any orders, meet any bill—”

 
          
“Never
mind that,” the doctor smiled. “
you’re
better, and I
hope I haven’t set you back telling you this.”

 
          
“I’ll
rest easier,” the rancher assured. “It wasn’t all news. I was awake when Green
found me; didn’t know what he was after, so I shammed dead. Later on, Bundy an’
Lake arrived, an’ I played the same trick on them; Bundy had his gun out.” He
paused for a moment. “I lay limp an’ still; he shook my shoulder, lifted my
hand—which was cold—an’ let it fall.

 
          
“`He’s
cashed,’ I heard him say.

 
          
“They
went outside an’ Lake suggested plantin’ me, but Bundy wouldn’t agree. They
quarrelled, there was a shot, an’ Bundy dragged Lake’s body into the tent an’
dumped it on the floor.

 
          
“‘One
from three leaves two,’ he said. `Now it’s between me an’ you, Mister
Garstone—the gal
don’t
count. As for you, Trenton, I’m
sorry yo’re dead. For years you’ve hazed me, an’ I wanted to squeeze the breath
out of your rotten carcass with my hands. May you roast in the hottest corner
of
hell.
’ With that, he drove a boot into my ribs, an’
I didn’t know anythin’ more till this mornin’.”

 
          
Trenton
sank back with a sigh of relief; the story had called for
an
heroic effort. Malachi was concerned.

 
          
“I
ought to be kicked myself,” he said contritely.

 
          
“Don’t
think it,” the old man said. “
you’ve
given me
somethin’ to live for, an’ by Heaven I’m goin’ to live.” A ghost of a grin
trembled on the thin lips. “Appetizin’ smell from somewhere.”

 
          
“Yorky
is stewing some of that deer. Are you hungry?”

 
          
“I
could eat it raw.”

 
          
The
doctor’s negative was emphatic. “You may have some of the broth,” he conceded.

 
          
“All
right, broth goes,” the patient said resignedly.

 
          
As
Malachi continued his “round”—as he termed it, he met Dover. “How’s Trenton?”
the young man asked.

 
          
“Conscious
and hungry,” Malachi smiled. “He knows the facts, and is wise to Garstone and
company.”

 
          
Dan’s
eyes rested dismally on the hole where the treasure had been. “Help me put that
stone back, Phil; it makes me damned mad every time I see it,” he said.

 
          
Garstone
had hoped that the despatch of the two men would satisfy the girl, but in this
he was disappointed. His suggestion of an immediate start produced only the
plea that she was tired—which could not be gainsaid—and needed a rest.

 
          
“But
you will be riding,” he protested.

 
          
“Is
that so easy in these hills?” she parried. “Apart from that, I wish to wait
until my uncle joins us.”

 
          
Garstone
concealed his anger; he alone knew how futile her desire was. “It means a loss
of precious time for no useful purpose—Zeb could not possibly travel at the
speed we must go.”

 
          
“I
should see him, and be sure he is getting better,” she persisted.

 
          
“It
will probably retard his recovery to find us here,” he retorted. “If I know
Zeb, he will be absolutely furious.”

 
          
This
was a powerful argument; she was well aware that the old man had all the
Trenton temper. “What is the reason for the urgent haste to reach Rainbow?” she
queried.

 
          
This
was the question he had been waiting for. “Do you remember my telling you how
important the finding of the treasure was to your uncle?”

 
          
“Yes,
you said it meant keeping or losing the ranch.”

 
          
“That’s
the position. The Wagon-wheel and Circle Dot are both deeply in debt to the
bank. The mortgages expire in a few days, and if the money is not paid, the
bank will sell the properties.”

 
          
“But
surely Mister Maitland—”

 
          
“A
branch manager—an insignificant cog in a machine,” Garstone said
contemptuously.

 
          
“Had
Zeb or I been there, something might have been arranged, but in our absence …”
He finished with an expressive shrug

 
          
“I
see,” she said. “Of course, you found the money?”

 
          
“Good
Lord, fancy forgetting to mention it,” he laughed.

 
          
“Yes,
we found it, thanks to you, and there it is, strapped to my saddle.
About seventy thousand dollars, enough to clear the Wagon-wheel and
realize Trenton’s dearest ambition, the purchase of the Circle Dot.”

 
          
“Mister
Dover may not wish to sell.”

 
          
“Possibly,
but the bank will,” he replied. “We have that young pup where the hair is
short.”

 
          
She
was silent, disturbed by a sentiment she did not trace to its source. In spite
of his rudeness, she could feel no animosity towards the red-haired young
rancher, and no satisfaction in the prospect of his humiliation and ruin. She
did not want to dwell on it.

 
          
“Uncle
Zeb should be very grateful to you,” was all she could find to say.

 
          
This
gave ‘him an opportunity to strike another blow, lest she should still be
obstinate.

 
          
“Oh,
I’m no philanthropist,” he smiled. “I’m working for myself too. You see, when I
came to your uncle, I put all I possessed into the Wagon-wheel, taking a third
share. I am not anxious to be a pauper—especially now—but that’s what I’ll be
if we reach Rainbow too late.”

 
          
She
stood up. “We will get away at once,” she told him. “I did not understand how
much depended on us.” ’

 
          
“Of
course not,” he rejoined. “These matters of finance are not for pretty heads to
worry over, but you’re a true Trenton—you have to know, and then you see it
through, sink or swim.

 
          
That’s
the quality I most admired in Zeb.”

 
          
They
set off. Garstone dispensed with the pack animal, deciding that they could
carry sufficient supplies without it.

 
          
“Shouldn’t
take us more than a couple of days,” he said. “Bundy gave me the direction.”

 
          
Quick-witted
as he believed himself, it had not occurred to him that the foreman might
designedly have pointed out a much longer route than was necessary, and he
certainly did not realize that finding a path through the tangled mass of
up-ended country which lay ahead of them was no task for a “tenderfoot.”

 
          
Two
days after the rancher had been brought to the cave, Sudden and Yorky were
returning along the gorge from a hunting expedition, the spoil being the most
toothsome portions of a young buck.

 
          
“Say,
Jim, this is th’ life, ain’t it?” the boy said jubilantly. He had shot the
deer, under his companion’s guidance, and it was his first. “I don’t care how
long them cripples takes gittin’ well.”

 
          
“Yo’re
a selfish li’l devil,” the puncher replied, with a severity which was only on
the surface; he had planned that the lad should love this outdoor life, as he
did himself. “So you want Dan to lose his ranch, an’ them crooks to win out,
huh?”

 
          
“Cripes!
I didn’t think,”
came
the hasty denial.

 
          
His
companion was not listening—to him.
From somewhere near had
sounded the call of a horse.
Sudden uttered a long, low whistle, and
waited. A crash in the undergrowth, and out stepped his own mount—Nigger. An
instant it stood, looking at him, and then, with a little whinny, trotted to
his side and rubbed its muzzle on his sleeve. The puncher pulled one of the
soft ears.

 
          
“Where
yu been, yu black rascal?” he asked. The animal’s head dropped, as though it
sensed reproof in the tone, but lifted again when a shrill neigh came from
behind; two other horses were standing in the open. “C’mon,” the puncher
ordered. “Yore vacation is over; we’ll collect them playmates o’ yourn afore
long.”

 
          
With
never another glance round, Nigger followed its master like a docile dog.

 
          
This
acquisition greatly improved the position of the party. That afternoon, Sudden
rode away carrying three ropes on his saddle-horn. He made no attempt to guide
his mount, riding with a slack rein, and, as he expected, Nigger went in search
of its companions. In a grassy glade about a mile from the camp they came upon
four. Sudden ran down and roped three of them, tying each as it was secured,
and after a busy couple of hours, returned with his unwilling captives.

 
          
“I
got yourn, Dan, Yorky’s, an’ the big roan that lets Tiny stay on him,” he
reported, with a grin. “I’ll try again tomorrow, an’ yu might have a look round
their camp; they must ‘a’ let some go.”

 
          
So
the morning found the rancher combing the neighbourhood on the other side of
the basin. He unearthed, and caught two ponies, one he believed to be
Trenton’s, and the other—still saddled—he surmised to have belonged to Lake. On
his way back he stopped at the camp, got down, and entered the tent. Everything
had been taken away, no, not quite everything, for a gleam of yellow caught his
attention. He picked up the object, an oval locket of gold. From within, a face
smiled at him, familiar, yet not the same, and older; a relative, no doubt.

 
          
He
slipped it into a pocket—he would send it to her. He frowned at the thought
that he might have to address her by another name. Well, she would still be a
Trenton.
And Zeb?
He could have left him there to die,
but the Dovers fought fairly, even against a treacherous foe. He did not want,
or expect, thanks.

 
          
“It’ll
hurt the devil more the way it is,” he reflected.

 
          
Arriving
at the cave, he found that Sudden had been equally successful, so their remuda
was complete. The question of when they could start for home was the subject at
supper. Everything depended on Malachi’s report.

 
          
“You’re
all right, Hunch, aren’t you?” the doctor asked.

 
          
The
old man looked up, nodded, and went on feeding. But for his bandaged head he
appeared much the same, save that he did not know them, and the big axe, once
so carefully tended,
was
now stained and rusty.

 
          
“Possibly
Tiny could sit a horse,” Malachi said doubtfully.