Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 10 - Sudden Plays a Hand(1950) (24 page)

 
          
They
swung their horses round and disappeared into the darkness, leaving a most
uncomfortable peace-officer with an unwelcome corpse, a few sceptical
spectators, and a gnawing fear in his mind. How much had Tomini ‘talked’?

 
          
AT
the S P the routine of ranch life was being resumed. The excitement of
arranging her new home over, Mary began to take an active interest in the
outside work. Here she found Yorky invaluable, for though he was far from being
the complete cattleman, Sudden and the Circle Dot outfit had taught him a great
deal, and his sharp wits enabled him to apply his knowledge. So the girl was in
a position to tackle her task not entirely as a novice.

 
          
“That
lawyer chap at Rideout must be either dumb or crooked to let these figures get
by,’ Yorky remarked.

 
          
They
were examining Gilman’s record of expenditure; the book was an amazing specimen
of inefficiency or carelessness, to put it mildly. There were no receipts,
dates often omitted, and payments made without any reason being given. All the
riders appeared to have drawn “advances’ but there was nothing to show these
had been repaid. A constantly recurring item was “Stores,’ always purchased—as
Mary had already learned from Milton—by the foreman.

 
          
“An’
if he spent forty bucks an’ charged fifty, nobody’s any th’ wiser,’ Yorky
pointed out.

 
          
The
girl was studying the book with knitted brows. “It seems no me that none of the
outfit is entitled to wages for at least a month,’ she said.

 
          
“I
wouldn’t gamble on that, ma’am,’ he replied. “They all say Gilman was easy to
deal with, allus ready to make an advance, but he never forgot to deduct it on
pay-day. I’ll bet he pocketed those repayments, an’ with full wages entered
agin his name, how’s
th
’ hand goin’ to prove he made
‘em? Either Seale never saw this book, or he was gettin’ a rake-off.’

 
          
“But
he’s a lawyer.’

 
          
“Th’
more a fella knows ‘bout the laws
th
’ easier for him
to break ‘em.’

 
          
“I’ll
destroy the wretched thing, start another, and keep it myself.’

 
          
“Don’t
you,’ Yorky urged. “Take care o’ that book; there’s evidence to send Gilman to
th
’ pen for a long spell.’

 
          
“But
I’ve no wish for that. It’s clear he robbed the ranch, but he did not know I
existed.’

 
          
“He
did his durndest to get an innocent man strung up for rustlin’,’ the boy
reminded. “An’ failin’, tried to bump him off.’

 
          
“What
do you mean?’ she cried.

 
          
Yorky
had ridden into Midway that morning, where he heard various versions of the
bushwhacking
episode,
and from them had gleaned a
fairly accurate statement of the facts. White of face, she listened to his bald
recital, and in a voice which had a strain of harshness, gave her decision:

 
          
“I
will put the book in a safe place.’

 
          
“There’s
another reason for keepin’ it. You ain’t had yore bill from Seale yet, have
you?’

 
          
“Why,
no, but—’

 
          
“Mebbe
if you ask him to explain it, he’ll take a more modest view of his services,’
Yorky grinned. “Life’s a game, an’ you can’t afford to throw away good cards.’

 
          
She
laughed too, and shook a finger at him. “You are older than your age.’

 
          
“I
growed fast—fella had to where I was raised.
Don’t you trust
th’ law-sharp, ma’am.
Jim reckons he’s a twister.’

 
          
“And
Jim is always right.’
In a tone of gentle raillery.

 
          
“Shore
thing,’ Yorky said stoutly. “If he said I was a waster, I’d believe it.’

 
          
“I’m
not saying a word against your Jim—I owe him too much. I only hope he approves
of poor me.’

 
          
“I’ll
say he does, or you wouldn’t be here—Jim don’t help
th
’
wrong ‘uns,’ Yorky asserted, and then frowned in perplexity. “But he helped me,
an’ I was pretty ornery.’ His face cleared as he arrived at a solution. “Reckon
there’s a spot o’ good in me I don’t savvy.’

 
          
He
went out, unmindful of the fact that her eyes were moist. The thought of the
bushwhacking chilled her blood. Two inches lower and Shadow Valley would have
lost its master, and she…. No, that was unthinkable—horrible.

 
          
Sturm,
when she informed him of her decision about the ranch accounts, looked somewhat
glum. “Meanin’ you don’t trust me?’ he asked bluntly.

 
          
“Certainly
not,’ she replied. “You have enough to do, and I need something to occupy my
own time. One thing more: I want to know how much stock I have. Please have the
cattle collected, counted, and properly marked.’

 
          
Yorky
had told her, “rounded up, tallied, and branded,’ but nervousness in giving the
first real order to her foreman brought forgetfulness. Sturm received the
suggestion without enthusiasm.

 
          
“That’s
a big job, ma’am, an’ we ain’t got the men to handle it,’ he objected. “Likewise,
with the Fall roundup due in a few months—when it’ll have to be done again—it
shore looks a waste o’ time. You ain’t crowded here, the grass is good, an’
stock not liable to stray. I’m advisin’ you to wait; in the meantime, the boys
can carry strait irons, an’ watch out for unbranded beasts.’

 
          
“I’ll
think it over, Sturm,’ she said, and went to where her pony was waiting.

 
          
The
morning ride was something she would not willingly miss.

 
          
She
did not ride far, however, confining her excursions to an area within easy
reach of the ranch-house. Frequently, after traversing a shaded aisle, or
emerging from a brake, she would come upon groups of longhorned, fierce-eyed
cattle which scattered at the sight of her, but putting into practice Yorky’s
advice to “edge up on ‘em like you wasn’t interested,’ she was able to make out
the brand. On this morning the discovery of several on which it was missing
brought Sturm’s suggestion to her mind again. She must have another opinion.

 
          
Returning
to the ranch-house, she saw the foreman conversing with a visitor; it was
Cullin. Sturm led her pony away as she greeted the rancher.

 
          
“Just
had to come,’ he said. “
Seems a long time since I saw you.’

 
          
“But
it isn’t,’ she protested.

 
          
“I
said ‘seems’,” he reminded. “My, but the air up here certainly suits you.’ The
warmth in eyes and voice told her it was no empty compliment, and the flush it
caused added to her charm.

 
          
“A
hard-working cattle-woman has no leisure for pretty speeches,’ she said
lightly. “A little advice would be more acceptable.’

 
          
“About countin’ yore stock?’
Yeah, Sturm mentioned “It ‘peared
uneasy at havin’ to oppose you. But he was right, you know.’

 
          
“If
I haven’t the hands now, I shan’t have them in the
Fall
,’
she argued.

 
          
“Let
me explain,’ he said. “For the
Spring
an’ Fall
roundups the cattlemen work together, arranging the time for each ranch. When
yore turn comes, you will have two riders from the Big C, Double V, an’ 8 B. In
return, you will help them out the same way. This saves all of us the trouble
an’ excuse o’ takin’ on extra hands for short periods. Of course, if yo’re set
on it, I could spare—’

 
          
“No,
I see it is unnecessary,’ she interrupted. “I should have had more faith in my
foreman.’

 
          
“Well,
he might have made it clearer,’
Cullin
excused. “He’s
mighty anxious to please you an’ I envy him the opportunity.’ She ignored that,
and he went on, “House open for inspection yet?’

 
          
There
was no escape. “The sitting-room is presentable,’ she admitted.

 
          
They
went in, and, as at Shadow Valley, he was struck by the neatness, taste, and
comfort. The furniture he had seen before, in the former owner’s time, out now
it was polished until it shone; a large square of carpet hid the board floor,
dainty curtains draped the long glass door leading on to the veranda, and a
sheaf of flowers—the waxen blooms of the Spanish bayonet—decorated the table.
Cullin sank into one of the roomy chairs.

 
          
“Wonderful!’
he said, and it was evident that he meant it. “You mustn’t give me all the
credit,’ she said earnestly. “Aunt Lindy helped enormously.’

 
          
“I’m
not interested in Aunt Lindy,’ he replied.

 
          
Mary
repressed a smile; the Negress felt that way too. His eyes followed her
covetously as, remembering her duty as hostess, she produced whisky, a tumbler,
and water.

 
          
“This
was the easiest bit of our shopping,’ she laughed. “I was cautioned that no
ranch-house would be complete without it.’

 
          
“Must ‘a’ been a cattleman or a saloonkeeper who said that.’
He helped himself and lifted the glass. “Here’s—my love to you.’ Her swift
gravity warned him, and he hurried an excuse. “That’s a common toast to the
ladies where I was raised; don’t you like it?’

 
          
“No,’
she said.

 
          
Curiously
enough, her prudishness pleased him; here was a woman worth winning. “I haven’t
had much to do with yore sex,’ he told her. “You must forgive me if I blunder
sometimes.’

 
          
He
looked so crestfallen that her smile came back. He went on to speak of the
great cities he had seen, the crowds, hustle and bustle, the big stores, and
places of amusement.

 
          
Having
created the desired impression, he took his departure. From his saddle he
smiled down upon her. “You must show me yore range. I’m a lonely man, an’ it
does me good to talk to you.’ Without waiting for an answer, he rode away.

 
          
Recalling
the conversation, Gregory Cullin chuckled several times. He was, in fact,
entirely pleased with Gregory Cullin, and also with Mary Darrell. Why he, who
had always despised women, should now so passionately desire this one, he could
not explain. But he knew it was so, and that there was no length to which he
would not go.

 
          
“Blast
those clumsy fools,’ he muttered. “Two inches lower….’

 
          
Shortly
after
Cullin
left, the S P had another visitor. Mary,
day-dreaming in a chair on the veranda, awoke to find her husband regarding her
quizzically.

 
          
“Runnin’
a ranch shorely keeps one on the jump,’ he said.

 
          
“I’ve
been
riding,
and I suppose I dozed,’ she excused. “Won’t
you step in?’

 
          
He
followed her, and gazed round with both amazement and appreciation. “Fine,’ was
his verdict. “You certainly have the gift.’

 
          
“Of
what?’ she asked.

 
          
“Home-makin’,’
he replied, and the look in his grave eyes brought the warm blood into her
face.