Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (43 page)

 
          
The
applause which followed this outspoken statement brought a flush to Maitland’s
pale face. “Have you the money to pay off the mortgage?” he asked.

 
          
“You
know thunderin’ well I ain’t,” the foreman replied. “Dan went to git it, an’
may be here any of time.”

 
          
Beth
Trenton rose. “Mister Maitland, the Wagon-wheel will advance the necessary sum
to the Circle Dot,” she said.

 
          
Garstone’s
expression became one of fury. Gripping the girl’s arm, he forced her to sit
down, whispering savagely, “Don’t be a fool, Beth.” Turning to the banker, he
went on, “The Wagon-wheel will do nothing of the kind, Miss Trenton is allowing
her heart to overrule her head; we expect that from her sex, but it is not
business. What is the amount owing to you?”

 
          
“Forty thousand dollars.”

 
          
“I
will buy the Circle Dot for that figure if there is no better offer.”

 
          
None
came, and Maitland smiled his satisfaction; that the bank should not lose was
his sole concern. He had risen to terminate the meeting when the Easterner
again whispered.

 
          
“Mister
Garstone has something to say to you,” he stated.

 
          
Standing
there, big-framed, carefully-dressed, a genial look on his fleshy face, the man
made an imposing figure. He dispensed with any preamble.

 
          
“I
am going to tell you why Zeb Trenton is not here to do this job
himself
, and it’s quite a story. Most of you have heard of
Red Rufe’s Cache. Well, some weeks ago, Trenton, his niece,
myself
,
and some of our men went in search of it.” Several in the audience sniggered.
“Yes, I know others have tried and failed, but we succeeded, and there it
is”—he pointed to the satchel—“somewhere about seventy thousand dollars.”

 
          
There
were no sniggers this time, but envious eyes rested on the container of so much
wealth. It had been for anyone to find.

 
          
“Unfortunately,
a gang of ruffians from the Circle Dot—”

 
          
“You
better lay off that kind o’ talk,” Burke warned, and was supported by a growl
from his men.

 
          
“Were
also after it,” Garstone went on. “They attacked us, but we fought them off.
Two of our men, Rattray and Flint, were killed, and Mister Trenton so severely
wounded that I had to leave him in the charge of Bundy and another, since it
was urgent I should be here to-day. So Miss Trenton and I came on, and though
it was a terribly arduous journey, I could not wish for a
more
plucky
fellow-traveller.”

 
          
Beth
received the compliment with stony indifference, but the speaker was too full
of his own success to notice. As owner of two ranches, Rainbow must learn to
recognize his importance. These hucksters and the like had to be told that he
was no mere servant, and Beth brought to heel.

 
          
“It
may interest you to know that I own one-third of the Wagon-wheel; should
Trenton not recover, it becomes two-thirds, the rest going to his niece. The
will, which I have here, substantiates this. It is in accordance with his
desire, often expressed to me, that we should wed, and the lady, I am happy to
say, has consented.”

 
          
If
the spectators expected blushes and confusion they were woefully disappointed.
Red of cheek she certainly was as she sprang to her feet, and her eyes were
flaming.

 
          
“That,
like some of your other statements, is a lie,” she said, in a clear, ringing
tone.

 
          
“Nothing
in this world would induce me to marry you. As regards the two men who died,
Rattray perished by accident, and Flint was shot by Bundy, as you well know. My
uncle—”

 
          
“Is
here to speak for
himself
,” a weak but stern voice
interrupted.

 
          
Through
the door leading to the living part of the establish ment, near the platform,
Trenton, supported by Dover and the doctor, followed by Tiny and Yorky,
entered, Garstone’s features underwent a swift transformation from rage to joy,
and he was the first to reach the rancher’s side.

 
          
“My
dear Zeb, so those two fellows have got you here at last. I never was so
pleased to see anyone,” he cried, and in a whisper, as he dragged forward a
chair, “All is fixed; we have the Circle Dot. I can explain everything.”

 
          
Trenton
did not reply. Sinking into the seat, he looked round the room, and then darted
a finger at Garstone. “That man is a liar and a cheat,” he said. Heads craned
forward, and no one now thought of leaving. “His story of what happened in the
mountains is as false as his own black heart. We attacked the Circle Dot, an’ I
was shot by Bundy, my own foreman. When the money was found, this skunk cleared
out an’ left me, dyin’ an’ helpless, alone in the wilds, to be the prey of any
savage beast. Later, he sent Bundy an’ Lake back to finish me. They thought I
was dead a’ready, an’ I heard them talkin’. They quarrelled about buryin’ me,
an’ Bundy shot Lake, threw him down beside me, an’ put a pistol by my hand to
make it look I’d done it. The Circle Dot found an’ fetched me home. On the way,
Bundy saw us, an’ tried again to get me, but Green got him.”

 
          
He
paused, breathing heavily, Garstone, who had listened to this terrible
indictment with well-simulated incredulity but a very pallid face, addressed
the doctor:

 
          
“He’s
mad, raving; illness has turned his brain.”

 
          
“No,”
Malachi said sharply. “He is saner than you are.” Trenton spoke again.
“One thing more.
That rascal has no share in my ranch, an’
the so-called will of which he is boastin’ is another lie.”

 
          
Garstone
whirled on him. “Lost your memory too, eh?” he sneered. “That document was
dictated to me by you a few days before we started for the hills, and the
signature was witnessed by two of your men, Flint and Rattray.”

 
          
“Who
are conveniently dead,” the rancher retorted.

 
          
“I
shall hold you to it, and claim one-third the value of the ranch, and the same
proportion of this,” Garstone replied, striking the bag beside him on the
table.

 
          
“That
is mine,” Dover put in quietly. “We were camped on the spot where it lay when
the Wagon-wheel took us by surprise. Moreover, it was put there by my father’s
brother, an’ therefore—”

 
          
“It
belongs to me,” another voice broke in.

 
          
All
eyes went to this new actor in the drama, a man who had been sitting unnoticed
at the side of the room, chin on chest, had slouched over his brow, and
apparently taking little count of the proceedings. Now he rose, leant forward,
and pushed his hat back.

 
          
“Do
you know me, Zeb Trenton?” he asked vibrantly.

 
          
The
rancher might have been looking at an apparition. Others, too, stared in
speechless amazement, for despite the absence of the unkempt white beard and
long hair, they recognized the gaunt, stooping frame of Hunch, the silent
woodsman of the Circle Dot. But this fierce-eyed old man was very different to
the one they had known as a semi-witless vagrant.

 
          
It
was a full minute before the answer came.
“Rufus Dover, by
God!”

 
          
“Yes,
Rufus Dover, the man you drove out o’ Rainbow.”

 
          
“You
killed my father.”

 
          
“True,
but not as he killed mine—by shootin’ him from ambush,” was the stern reply. “I
met Tom Trenton the night he died; boastin’ of his deed, he dared me to draw; I
beat him to it—he was dead before he could pull trigger. There was no witness.
You called it murder, raised the town against me, an’ I had to fade. In
California I was knowed as Red Rufe, made my pile, an’ runnin’ with a rough
gang, cached it, an’ sent two messages to my brother. Then a tree fell on me,
an’ when I recovered my mind was a blank. Years later, I drifted in to the
Circle Dot, blind instinct, I reckon, for I didn’t even recognize Dave. But he
knew an’ took care o’ me. He showed me the first message I’d sent, but it
recalled nothin’; the second did not reach him.” He bent his piercing gaze on
the sheriff, who was sitting near Maitland. “An’ you know why, Foxwell.”

 
          
The
officer seemed to shrink into his clothes; he read danger in those accusing
eyes. “He was dead when I found him,” he quavered. “I on’y—”

 
          
“Stole
the letter an’ sold it to Trenton for that badge you disgrace,” the old man finished.

 
          
“Who
murdered my brother Dave?”

 
          
The
sheriff shivered. “I—I dunno,” he said hoarsely. Sudden stepped forward.
“Trenton, where did yu get that thirty-eight we found on yore saddle?”

 
          
The
rancher’s reply came promptly. “Bundy gave it me, just before we left for the
hills; my forty-four was out of order.” The puncher looked at Foxwell. “An’
Bundy had it from yu; don’t trouble to lie. Scratched on the stock are the
letters, L.P., the initials of Lafe Potter, the Circle Dot rider whose
belongings yu
sold,
mebbe. Dave Dover was drilled by a
thirty-eight, an’ the empty shell was left in plain sight, with
a dottle
o’ baccy beside it.
yu
smoke a pipe, don’t yu, Trenton? An’ then he plants the gun on yu—the on’y one
o’ that calibre in the district, so far as I could learn. That was why yu
wasn’t keen on weighin’ the bullet at the enquiry; yu knew the guilty man.”

 
          
“I
didn’t,” the sheriff protested. “I never thought o’ Bundy. I figured it was—”
He stopped, his frightened eyes on the owner of the Wagon-wheel.

 
          
Trenton
stiffened in his chair, and his fingers closed convulsively. “
you
suspected me, you whelp?” he rasped. “By Heaven, if I
had my strength—
The
cowering wretch was not to
escape. In two strides, Dan had him by the throat, his badge was torn off, and
after being shaken until his teeth clashed in his jaws, he was flung on the
floor.

 
          
“Get
out before I tear you apart,” the young man panted. “If yo’re in town one hour
from now, you
hang
.”

 
          
Foxwell
did not doubt it. Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled towards the door, amid
the jeers and curses of the onlookers, many of whom struck at him as he passed.

 
          
“That
lets you out, Trenton,” Red Rufe said. “I’ve one thing to thank yore people
for: when they clubbed me up on Ol’ Cloudy, they brought back my memory, though
I didn’t let on—for reasons. Sorry I had to make a fool o’ you, Doc.”

 
          
“You
didn’t—I’ve always been one,” Malachi smiled. “But I’m wiser now.” His gaze was
on Kate Maitland.

 
          
Rufe
addressed the banker. “I’ll trouble you to hand over my money.”

 
          
Maitland,
conscious that he was wading in deep waters, did not know what to do. He
appealed to Trenton, and got a snapped, “Give it to him, of course.”

 
          
It
took both arms and an effort on the banker’s part, but Red Rufe held it easily
with one hand. “Now I’ll tell you somethin’ else, Mister,” he said. “The Circle
Dot is also mine—Dave was on’y my manager, an’ he had no power to raise cash on
it. Yore mortgage ain’t worth a cent.”

 
          
Maitland’s
face grew white. “But, though I don’t like yore methods, the Dovers pay
debts—of any sort. You’ll get yores, on one condition.” He bent over and
whispered.