Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (6 page)

 
          
“Had
any existed, there would have been no enquiry,” Malachi added. “Foxy, when my
commodious abode needs white-washing, the job is yours.”

 
          
“Who
was it
spoke
for the Wagon-wheel?” Sudden asked.

 
          
“The
foreman, as nasty a piece o’ work as the Lord ever put breath into,” Dan
replied.

 
          
“Sent
a-purpose, an’ the sheriff knew it.”

 
          
“That
sawbones ain’t much respect for the Law.”

 
          
“Devilin’
Foxy is just pie to him, but it’s a dangerous game. He’s a queer cuss, but I
like him.”

 
          
That
afternoon another oblong heap of heavy stones was added to the little cemetery,
a scant half-mile from the town. It was a pretty place, a tiny plateau of short
grass, sprinkled with gay-coloured flowers, and ringed in with shrubs and trees
through which the sun sent flickering shadows. Rainbow did not possess a
parson, so there was no-ceremony. The men present stood around, hats off,
watching silently. When all was done, Dan, looking down upon the pitiful pile
through misty eyes and gripping the brim of his Stetson with tense fingers,
registered a vow:

 
          
“They
shan’t beat us, Dad,” he muttered, and turned away. As the empty buckboard,
with its escort of stern-faced riders moved slowly towards the town, a stout,
ruddy-cheeked horseman slowed up to allow the young cattleman to join him.

 
          
“I’m
powerful sorry, boy,” he began. “I’ve knowed the Ol’ Man since you were
knee-high to a sage-hen, an’ knowed him well. He was hard-shelled, but inside
he was the pure quill. He never let down a friend, or let up on a foe, an’ for
anybody in distress, he was a safe bet. Losin’ yore mother shook him terrible,
but if the
preachers is
right, mebbe they’re together
agin.” He was silent for a moment. “What I wanted to say was, if there’s
anythin’ I can do, any time, come to me.”

 
          
“That’s
mighty nice o’ you, Bowdyr,” Dan replied. “I’ll not forget. Guess I’ll be
needin’ friends.”

 
          
“Yore
new hand looks a likely proposition. What do you know about him?”

 
          
“Not
a thing; I took a chance.”

 
          
“Fella
has to—times,” Bowdyr agreed. He studied the puncher—who was riding on the
other side of the buckboard —for a while. “I’d ‘a’ done the same—with him.”

 
          
When
they reached Rainbow, Bowdyr drew rein at the Parlour Saloon, of which he was
the proprietor, and voiced an invitation.

 
          
“I
don’t feel like drinkin’, Ben,” Dover said.

 
          
“A
livener won’t do us any harm, son,” Bowdyr argued. “Frettin’ ain’t goin’ to fetch
the of boy back, an’ I want a word with you.”

 
          
The
Parlour was very similar to Sody’s but rather smaller. It had a long,
highly-polished bar—the pride of its owner—facing the swing-doors. In front of
it were tables and chairs. A roulette
wheel,
and other
forms of gambling were to be found on the right side, while to the left was
space for dancing, and a piano.
Mirrors,
and
brightly-coloured Navajo blankets served to relieve the bareness of the wooden
walls.

 
          
“Drinks
are on the house this time, boys,” the saloon keeper told the Circle Dot
riders, all of whom he knew, save one. Dover remedied this by introducing the
new man.

 
          
“Ben,
this is Jim Green; he’s goin’ to ride for us.”

 
          
“Glad
to meetcha,” Bowdyr replied, and with a grin, “I own this joint, though the
Circle Dot fellas sometimes act as if they did.”

 
          
“If
they make trouble, Ben—

 
          
“Skittles,
I was joshin’. They’re a good crowd. I reckon a cowboy with no devil in him is
no more use than a busted bronc. Ain’t that so, Green?”

 
          
“It
shorely is,” Sudden agreed.

 
          
“We’ll
take our liquor over there,” Bowdyr suggested, pointing to a table in one
corner.

 
          
“No
need to tell everybody our affairs.” When they were seated, he resumed. “Now,
Dan, I’m goin’ to ask a straight question, an’ I want the same kind o’ answer.
In Sody’s this mornin’ you practically declared war on the Wagon-wheel. Did you
mean that?”

 
          
“Every
damn word,” the young man replied harshly. “They’re tryin’ to smash the Circle
Dot; they shoot down our riders, an’ now they’ve murdered Dad. Mebbe I’m next
on the slate, but until they get me, I’m fightin’ back.”

 
          
“Good
enough,” the saloonkeeper said. “What I can do, I will.”

 
          
“Thanks,
Ben. They had their alibi all fixed, but it was a mistake to send a liar like
Bundy.”

 
          
“It’s
got me guessin’,” Bowdyr remarked. “The Trentons was allus high-handed an’
disregardful of other folks’ rights, but this ambushin’ ain’t like ‘em.”

 
          
“That’s
so, but the fella who’s been givin’ the orders at the Wagon-wheel for some time
is that Easterner, Chesney Garstone. I figure he’s got Zeb hawg-tied.”

 
          
“An
Easterner,
an’ runnin’ a cattle-range?” Sudden
queried. “Oh, Trenton does that; this jasper just runs Trenton,” Dan explained.

 
          
“Been
around long?”

 
          
“Less’n
twelve months, but that’s too long. Hell, there he comes. Don’t often favour
you, does he, Ben?”

 
          
“No,
an’ I ain’t regardin’ it thataway neither,” the saloonkeeper replied bluntly.

 
          
Chesney
Garstone was a big man, physically, and in his own estimation. About midway
between thirty and forty, heavily-built, his close-cropped fair hair, blue
eyes, and somewhat square head gave him a Teutonic appearance. He was
meticulously attired; trousers neatly folded into the tops of his
highly-polished riding-boots, a silk shirt, loosely-tied cravat, and soft black
hat.
Altogether a striking figure in any company.
To
their surprise, he stepped towards them.

 
          
“I
came in to see you, Dover,” he began. “I want to say how sorry I am—only heard
the news two hours ago, when I rode in from the Bend.”

 
          
Dan
ignored the outstretched hand. “So you were there, huh?”

 
          
Garstone’s
eyebrows rose. “Certainly; I rode over yesterday morning and took the train to
Washout, where I had business, and spent the night.”

 
          
“Havin’
given yore orders before you went.”

 
          
“What
the devil are you driving at?”

 
          
“Just this, Garstone.
At the time my father was murdered,
you claim to have been in Washout, Bundy says yore entire outfit was ten mile
away, an’ I s’pose Zeb has his tale all ready too.”

 
          
“Are
you suggesting—?”

 
          
“Not
any—I’m statin’ facts.”

 
          
Garstone’s
eyes were furious, but he kept his temper. “Look here, Dover, you are talking
wild,” he said placatingly. “This must have been a terrible shock to you, and
I’m willing to make allowances. My only object in coming here was to express
regret, and see if we can come to terms. Listen: you have more water than you
need, and we are short. Why not sell us the strip of land which would enable us
to use the stream? I’ll give you a fair price.”

 
          
“How
long have you owned the Wagon-wheel?”

 
          
“I
don’t, but I’m representing Trenton. What do you say?”

 
          
“One
thing only: bring me the houn’ who shot my father an’ I’ll talk with you.”

 
          
Garstone
made an impatient gesture. “You ask the impossible. Dave Dover had enemies, no
doubt; he was the type to make them, stubborn, overbearing—” He paused as the
young man’s right hand moved threateningly towards his hip. “I’m not armed.”

 
          
“No,
an’ I ain’t got my back turned on you, have I?” Dan said meaningly. “Take
notice, Garstone; if I hear o’ you blackenin’ Dad’s name again, that excuse
won’t work; I’ll horsewhip you.”

 
          
Even
this deadly insult failed to break the other’s control, and he showed no sign
of the fire raging within him. He appealed to Bowdyr.

 
          
“You
are a witness that I tried to make peace,” he said.

 
          
“This
hot-head boy insists on war, and by God!
he
shall have
it—war to the knife.”

 
          
“Meanie’
a stab in the back, o’ course,” Dan retorted. “Meaning the end of the Circle
Dot,” Garstone snapped.

 
          
As
he went out of the saloon, the young rancher’s voice followed him:

 
          
“Get
yoreself a gun, Easterner; you’ll
be needin’
one.” He
sat down again, drew a deep breath, and added, “That clears the air some.”

 
          
Bowdyr
shook his head. “He’s a cunnin’ devil; knowed you’d turn his offer down, but it
puts the blame for any trouble on you, an’ there’s those in town will see it
thataway.”

 
          
“I
ain’t carin’,” Dan replied. “What you think of him, Jim?”

 
          
“He’s
dangerous,” Sudden said. “An’ I wouldn’t gamble too high on his not totin’ a
gun.”

 
          
“I
hope he does,” was the sinister answer. “Time to be movin’, Bill.”
This to the foreman, who promptly collected his men.

 
          
The
ride home was very different to the usual hilarious return from town. Death was
no stranger to any of them, but to-day farewell had been said to one they liked
and respected, who, but yesterday, had been their leader. Stern-faced, the
three cowboys paced behind the buckboard, speaking only rarely and then in
lowered tones.

 
          
“Young
Dan shorely made hisself clear to that dude,” remarked Bob Lister, who was
commonly addressed and referred to as “Blister.”

 
          
“He
did so, an’ I’ll bet he warn’t wide o’ the mark neither,” Tiny—the heftiest of
the outfit—replied. “What you think, Noisy?”

 
          
“Yeah,”
the third man said.

 
          
Tiny
turned to the first speaker.
“Allus the same.
Ask that
fella a simple question an’ out comes a torrent o’ talk like a river in
flood-time. Honest, Noisy, if you don’t hobble that tongue o’ yores you’ll git
a bad name.”

 
          
“He
has that
a’ready,
” Blister pointed out, and
inconsequently, “There’s goin’ to be bustlin’ times in this neck o’ the woods.
I’m likin’
the look o’ that new hombre—if he’s on our side.”

 
          
“Bill
spoke well of him an’ he’s a good judge—he engaged me,” Tiny said modestly.

 
          
“Yeah,
I heard him apologizin’ to the Ol’ Man,” Blister grinned, and Tiny—having no
retort ready—the conversation languished.

 
          
The
Circle Dot reached, horses unsaddled and turned into the corral, the rancher
and Sudden were making for the house when a man emerged from a little shack
near the wood-pile and came towards them. He was old, as his dead-white,
untrimmed hair and beard bore witness, but in his prime he must have been both
tall and powerful. Even yet, the broad but bowed shoulders suggested strength
above the average. In one hand he was swinging a heavy axe, the blade of which
shone like silver in the rays of the sinking sun. As he drew near, Sudden noted
that his eyes were dull, expressionless.