Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 10 - Sudden Plays a Hand(1950) (2 page)

 
          
When
she awoke, the day was but a few hours old. On the other side of the fire,
Drait was preparing breakfast. He pointed to the creek.

 
          
“A
sluice’ll
freshen
you up, an’ you’ll be needin’ food,’
he said. “We got some hard ridin’ ahead.’

 
          
The
roughness had gone from his voice, but she was too crushed to notice. Wearily
she went to the stream, and kneeling, bathed her face and hands in the ice-cold
water. Back at the fire, she swallowed mechanically the bread, fried bacon, and
coffee he passed to her. She was vaguely conscious that he was regarding her
with an air of puzzlement. At length the silence proved too much for him.

 
          
“Why’n
hell didn’t you tell me—‘bout yoreself?’ he burst out. “How was I to know? I
figured you were—’

 
          
“Bardoe’s
plaything, and therefore, anybody’s,’ she finished stormily, roused by his
attempt to put the blame on her. “I wasn’t—I never saw him until an hour before
we met you. He offered me work—at his ranch.’

 
          
Drait’s
lips curled in a sneer. “An’ you believed that?’

 
          
“Why not?
Are all men liars?’ she retorted. “I’d run away,
and was lost in the woods.’

 
          
“What
were you runnin’ from?’

 
          
‘Another
beast like you,’ she flashed back.

 
          
Bit
by bit, he got the story. She had lost her parents early, and was raised in an
orphanage. At sixteen, she had been found employment with a small farmer. She
had been well-treated, and for nearly four years, was happy. Then misfortune
came, the family returned to the East, and she took another situation. Here she
was wretched; the wife was cruel, and the husband wanted to be kind—too kind.
In the midst of a terrible scene, she fled, not even waiting to collect her few
possessions.

 
          
“What’s
yore name?’ Drait asked.

 
          
“Mary,’
she replied shortly.

 
          
“We’ll
be on our way,’ he said.

 
          
He
fetched and saddled the horses, packed the gear, and threw water on the blazing
sticks; whatever laws he might break, that of guarding against the forest fires
was not one of them. She was struggling to get astride the big horse when two
strong arms lifted her into position. In another moment, he was in his own
saddle and heading for the trail.

 
          
At
the end of five miles, they paused on a lofty bench which gave them a view of
the surrounding country. Away on their right, several columns of smoke indicated
a settlement.

 
          
“Burnt
Hollow,’ he muttered. “Find what we want there, mebbe.’

 
          
“What
are you going to do with me?’ she asked fearfully. “Marry you,’ he replied
bluntly.

 
          
The
reply deprived her of speech; she could only stare at him round-eyed. The hard
jaw and sombre expression told her he was not joking; he would do it, and she
was powerless. Dimly, she understood that he was trying to put things right,
but her animosity remained. She shrugged her shoulders in contemptuous despair;
what did it matter?

 
          
The
tiny township of Burnt Hollow was just awakening when they rode in. Drait drew
rein outside a building labelled “General Store,’ through the open door of
which a man in his shirtsleeves was sweeping yesterday’s dirt.

 
          
“Got
any duds for a woman?’ he asked.

 
          
“Shore,’
was the reply. “Step right in.’

 
          
They
hitched their horses and followed him into the store. “I want a complete outfit
for this girl,’ Drait said. “Can you do it?’

 
          
“Well,
if you ain’t lucky,’ the tradesman smiled. “Got one for the darter o’ Lem
Wilkins, the big cattleman, you know.’ He cast a measuring eye over the girl. “She’s
just about yore build, ma’am. My
missus ‘ll
fix you
up.’

 
          
An
angular grey-haired woman answered his call, and when he had explained, said to
the girl, “Come with me, my dear,’ and to Drait, “It’s goin’ to cost you
somethin, Mister.’

 
          
“Go
the limit,’ he told her, and turned to the storekeeper. “I need some cartridges
an’ smokin’. Got a parson?’

 
          
“I
don’t stock ‘em, but there’s one in town—‘bout twenty yards along the street,’
the merchant grinned.

 
          
The
customer nodded, perched himself on the counter, and rolled a cigarette. He
smoked that one and another before the woman reappeared, and then he had to
look twice ere he recognised his fellow-traveller. The calico dress had been
replaced by a neat riding-skirt, with a shirt-waist, and a light coat; the
clumsy shoes by high boots, and the sun-bonnet by a soft, black felt hat
beneath which the trimmed, golden-brown curls showed to advantage. In one hand,
the girl carried a small grip. The clothes set off the shapeliness of her
youthful body, and Drait suddenly realised that a smile on the cold, immobile
face would have made it beautiful.

 
          
“
There’s extras
in the bag,’ the woman said anxiously. “You
said for to make a good job of it.’

 
          
“You’ve
done fine, ma’am,’ Drait replied, as he paid the bill. “I’m obliged.’

 
          
They
went out and walked down the street. The storekeeper laughed. “That’s a
weddin’-dress you’ve sold, mother,’ he said. “Askin’ for a parson, he was.’

 
          
“Looks
more like she’s goin’ to her funeral,’ the woman retorted.

 
          
Meanwhile,
the pair they were discussing had stopped at a small log cabin on the door of
which a notice announced, “Josiah Jones, Minister.’ Drait rapped, and the man
himself appeared. A frail figure, prematurely grey, utterly unfit it would seem
to “fight the good fight’ in a place where the laws of neither God nor man were
of little avail. Yet there was a simple dignity, derived, no doubt, from his
calling.”We want you to marry us,’ Drait said.

 
          
The
minister nodded and took them into the parlour. It was a small room, neatly but
poorly furnished with plain wood chairs, a desk, and table on which lay a Bible
and prayer-book. They sat down, and he asked their names, ages, and whether
either had been married before, entering their replies in a book. He knew quite
well that he could not prove or disprove anything they told him, but the
formality satisfied his conscience.

 
          
“Mary
Francis Darrell, twenty-one, and Nicholas Drait, twenty-seven, both single,’ he
read out. “We shall need two witnesses; my good neighbours usually oblige.’

 
          
He
went out and presently returned with two youngish men who favoured the bride
with an immediate stare of admiration, which ceased abruptly when the groom
turned his own narrowed eyes upon them.

 
          
“Cut
out the frills, Padre, we’re pressed for time,’ Drait requested.

 
          
A
runaway pair, the minister decided.

 
          
He
began the service, omitting all out the essential portions. The girl listened
with a face of stone, but made her responses clearly and firmly.

 
          
“With
this ring…..’ The minister paused and looked expectantly at the bridegroom.

 
          
Drait
bit back an oath, then grinned, and fumbling in the breast of his shirt,
produced a narrow gold band hanging round his neck by a string. Snapping this,
he slipped the ring on the bride’s finger and became aware that her hand was
icy.

 
          
Having
pronounced them man and wife, the minister recorded the event, all present
signed their names, and the ceremony was over. The witnesses went out, richer
by easily-earned dollars, and the minister handed a copy of his entry to the
bride.

 
          
“Take
good care of that, my dear, and I hope you will be very happy,’ he said.

 
          
“Thank
you,’ she murmured, and for an instant there was a gleam of warmth in her
sombre eyes.

 
          
Drait
laid a bill on the table. Will that cover yore fee?’ he asked.

 
          
“More
than five times,’ the little man smiled.

 
          
He
watched them walk up the street, mount, and ride away. All was not well there,
but he could do nothing. “
A pretty lass,’
he mused. “She
reminds me of someone; but it was long ago.’

 
          
Clear
of the town, the newly-wedded couple came to where the trail forked, and Mary
Drait, without a glance at her husband, said acidly: “Where are we going, to
your ranch?’

 
          
‘I
don’t have any,’ he replied. “An’ in case yo’re beginnin’ to regret Bardoe, you
may as well know that he was a cattle-thief, an’ worse. His “ranch” was just a
place where he kept stolen steers till it was safe to sell ‘em.’

 
          
“You
said you had never heard of him,’ she reminded.

 
          
“Shore,’
he admitted. “His gun was out an’ mine warn’t then.’

 
          
“Is
it worse to steal cattle than money?’

 
          
“Guess
not, but Bardoe would ‘a’ stripped me s’pos’n the luck had gone the other way.
Besides, if you’d been what I figured, the coin was due to you, an’ that’s why
yo’re sittin’ on it right now; I should ‘a’ pointed you for the nearest town
an’ that would ‘a’ been the finish.’ He read the unbelief in her eyes and a
gust of anger swept over him. “Ten miles along that trail to the right’ll fetch
you to Midway; it can still be the finish—if you want.’

 
          
With
a furious look, she snatched the quirt hanging from the horn of the saddle and
for an instant he thought she was about to strike him. Bun the lash fell on the
flank of her horse, and sent it dashing along the trail to which he had
pointed. Drait swung into the other. In less than five minutes he heard the pad
of pounding hooves, and smiled mirthlessly, but did not slacken his pace.

 
          
“Better
the devil you know,’ he muttered. “Reckon I guessed correct—for once.’

 
          
He
was not travelling fast, and she soon overtook him. “Changed yore mind, huh?’
he asked.

 
          
“I
come with you only on your promise to keep secret this—marriage,’ she said.

 
          
“Ashamed of it?’

 
          
“Yes,’
was the furious
retort.

 
          
“Folks
will have notions,’ he offered.

 
          
“I
don’t care what they think. You promise?’

 
          
“Suits
me,’ he replied indifferently. “An’ now, Miss Darrell, we’ve got quite a piece
to go afore we get home.’ There was a gibe in the last word.

 
          
Two
riders were loping lazily along a little-worn track which had begun to dip down
into a patch of scrub and larger trees. They made an odd couple, for apart from
being obviously cowpunchers, they were entirely unlike.

 
          
The
elder, lean, longlimbed, and wide of shoulder, was not yet thirty, but his
tanned, clean-shaven face, with its firm jaw and steady, grey-blue eyes, was
that of a man who has seen life and its many problems, and death, which solves
them all, and is prepared to face either unflinchingly. To the casual observer,
the crossed cartridge-belts slung about his hips, and the shiny butts of two
six-shooters protruding from their holsters, would have proclaimed a person
perilous to provoke. The casual observer would have been right, for this was “Sudden’—wanted,
unjustly, as an outlaw in faraway Texas, and reputed throughout the Southwest
for reckless daring and dexterity with any weapon.