Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 10 - Sudden Plays a Hand(1950) (4 page)

 
          
On
the fringe of the brush the charred remains of a log hut were still smoking.
Only when they were close did they see, hanging from a tree-branch, the horror
awaiting them. A little while earlier it had been a man, but now, the sagging
head, with its bloated features, outthrust blackened tongue and goggling eyes
presented only a hideous travesty of God’s handiwork. The girl
screamed,
Yorky’s face whitened, but the two men stared at
the thing in hard-lipped silence; they had seen the like before. Drait rode
forward, and standing in his stirrups, slashed through the rope and lowered the
body gently to the ground. Then it was he saw the paper pinned to the shirt.
Printed in crude capitals, it read: “Get out, Drait. Yo’re next.’

 
          
He
folded and put it in a pocket. Then
came
the hammer of
hurrying hooves, as four riders raced up and slid to a stop. At the sight of
the dead man they removed their hats.

 
          
“So
they got Eddie,’ commented one of them, a small, grizzled bowlegged cowboy,
older than the others. “We didn’t know that.’

 
          
“What
do you know,
Quilt
?’ Drait asked.

 
          
“Mighty little.
We
was
up at the
other end, blockin’ the outlet like you said. We saw smoke an’
come
a’bilin’. O’ course, they spotted us an’ ran, the damn
cowards. We see it was on’y the cabin an’ took after ‘em, loosin’ lead, but
havin’ no luck. They’d got too big a start, an’ when they split in the brush we
lost ‘em.’

 
          
“How many?’

 
          
“Nine,
I reckoned. No, couldn’t pin a name to any—we on’y saw their tails. There was a
biggish chap who might ‘a’ bin
Cullin
, but I wouldn’t
swear to him.’

 
          
Drait’s
eyes went again to the limp, pitiful figure, over the contorted face of which
he had put his own hat. “
Think
of it,’ he said
bitterly. “He was crippled for life—his hoss rolled on him—an’ the bastards had
to hang him, for no reason ‘cept he worked for me. By God! Eddie, they shall
pay, in full.’

 
          
“Haven’t
yu got a sheriff?’ Sudden asked.

 
          
“I
ain’t, but the cattlemen have,’ was the ironic reply. “They appointed him an’
he
wants to keep his job; figure it out for yoreself.’ He
got back into his saddle. “Quilt, you an’ the boys take care o’ Eddie—next that
Palo verde he used to sit under. Where’s Beau?’

 
          
“Took
the buckboard to Midway for them supplies you ordered. Be along any time now.’

 
          
The
nester nodded. “Want you all to feed at the house this evenin’. We gotta talk
things over.’

 
          
Some
two hundred yards further along the valley brought them to the house. A low
building, constructed of squared logs, it covered considerable space. There was
a raised veranda along the fronn, and at the back the ground had been cleared
halfway to the overshadowing cliff. On the left was a small horse-corral, and a
little to the right was the bunkhouse. Flaying unsaddled and corralled the
horses, they walked to the house. A stout, middle-aged Negress met them at the
door.

 
          
“Lo, Lindy,’ the nester greeted.

 
          
“Sho’
am pow’ful glad to see yoh, Massa Nick,’ she replied. “What happened?’

 
          
“Eddie
tells me go hide in de brush ‘case dere’s trouble. He went to fin’ out what dem
riders was afteh. I ain’t seen Eddie no mo’.’ she ended fearfully.

 
          
“You
won’t—they murdered him.’ He saw her mouth open and eyes fill with tears, and
spoke roughly. “He died doin’ his duty, an’ weepin’ won’t help.’ He pointed to
an open door. “Jim, there’s the parlour; you an’ Yorky make yoreselves to home;
grub’ll be ready soon.’

 
          
When
they had gone he turned again to the black woman. “Lindy, this is my friend,
Miss Darrell; she’s stayin’ here. Do all you can to make her
comfortable.
Jusn now she’s tired an’ would like to wash an’ tidy up. See to it, an’ then
fix a meal here for all of us.’ For the moment the Negress forgot her grief,
and beamed. “Yuh come
wi
’ me, honey,’ she said. The
girl hesitated, and Drait said quietly, “
You
can trust
Lindy, as I would, with anythin’ I possessed.’

 
          
Plainly
fitted as the bedroom was, it should have represented luxury to Mary Drait, but
the events of the past twenty-four hours, culminating in the awesome sight of
the murdered man, had produced in her a snate of stunned hopelessness; it
seemed like a terrifying nightmare from which she could not wake up.

 
          
The
Negress helped her remove hat and coat, and poured water into the basin. Her
motherly gaze noted the white, drawn face, the haggard eyes.
“Yoh
et sence mawnin’?’
And when the girl shook her head, “I jes’ knowed it;
dat Nick thinks we all strong as bullocks, like hisself. Now yoh lie down an’
rest while I git a meal foh yoh an’ nine’ —her voice faltered— ‘eight hungry
men.’

 
          
She
hurried away, and the exhausted girl threw herself on the bed and presently
slept.

 
          
Having entrusted his “guest’ to the care of the black woman, Drait
joined his guests in the parlour.
It was a large room, and the big
centre table suggested hospitality, the solid chairs, comfort. A high,
old-fashioned dresser with cupboards, and a writing-desk relieved the bareness
of the walls and rugs of cured skins did the same for the board floor.

 
          
“Guess
we’ll have to wait a spell for our meal,’ he said. “It’s a bigger party than
Lindy was lookin’ for, an’—Eddie used to give her a hand.’ Yorky stood up.
‘Helpin’ cooks is my strong suit,’ he said. Despite their host’s protest, he
grinned and vanished in search of the kinchen. Sudden laughed. “Leave him be,’
he said. “When he had it to do, he hated it; now he
don’t
have to, it’s a treat. That’s human nature.’

 
          
He
proceeded to give the boy’s story in brief, concluding with, “There ain’t much
of him but it’s good, an’ he’s just full o’ sand. I promised him a holiday when
I left the Circle Dot, an’ I guess he’s been livin’ for it.’

 
          
“I
hope runnin’ into me ain’t goin’ to spoil things for you.’

 
          
Sudden
chuckled. “Just before we met up with yu he was complainin’ we hadn’t had any
excitement.’

 
          
When
Yorky returned to say the food was coming, and the men arrived in a bunch,
Drait went to fetch his wife. His knock aroused her, and thinking Lindy had
come back, she opened the door.

 
          
“Supper
is ready,’ he said.

 
          
“I’m
not hungry,’ she replied, and remembering her former use of the same words,
added, “
Didn’t
you oring your quirt?’ The sarcasm
produced no effect. “I want to present the boys to you, an’ there’s a lot to
discuss,’ he replied evenly.

 
          
“I
don’t wish to meet them, and your affairs are no concern of mine,’ she said
stubbornly.

 
          
“Yo’re
wrong there. This business of pore Eddie has brought matters to a point when I
gotta know how I stand. I’m puttin’ my cards on the table an’ givin’ everyone
the opportunity to duck out from here. That includes you.’

 
          
She
was silent for a moment, studying him with scornful eyes. “What happened to the
women who wore this before me?’

 
          
In
the palm of her hand was the ring he had placed on her finger.

 
          
“There
was on’y one, an’ she is dead.’

 
          
“You
killed her?’

 
          
“A good guess.
She was my mother, an’ died to bring me into
the world,’ he replied sternly. “Come.’ And when she did not move, “This
mornin’ you promised to love, honour, an’ obey; I ain’t insistin’ on the first
two, but I will have obedience.’

 
          
In
the parlour seven men were sitting round the table, at one end of which were
two empty seats. All stood up when Drait and his companion entered.

 
          
“Boys,
this is Miss Darrell, my—guest,’ the nester said.

 
          
The
announcement produced surprise, mingled in one or two cases, with a half-shamed
expression. Sudden surmised that the girl had been discussed in the bunkhouse,
and probably allotted a less complimentary status.
Quilt,
the oldest, spoke for all.

 
          
“We’re
mighty glad to meetcha, ma’am,’ he said, and a murmur of assent came from the
others. Her “Thank you’ was almost inaudible, and her frozen features failed to
conjure up even the semblance of a smile. “An’ we shore hope you’ll make a long
stay, ma’am.’ This from a tall, black-haired cowboy whose handsome face was
marred by
an
habitual sneer.

 
          
“I’m
obliged,’ Drait said, and turned to his wife. “That was Beau Lamond, the dandy
o’ the outfit; Quilt there is foreman, an’ has the levelest head; next to him
is Smoky, a good cowhand but a gamblin’ fool—he’d sooner bet an’ lose than not
bet a-tall; the other two are the Horns, Long an’ Short; they’re twins—one of
‘em beat his brother into the world by about twenty minutes, an’ they’re still
arguin’ which it was. Now you know ‘em all, so let’s eat; we can talk
afterwards.’

 
          
The
next half-hour was devoted almost exclusively to what, for men who have been in
the open all day, is the serious business of feeding. Juicy steaks, swimming in
rich brown gravy, with roast ponatoes, bread, and a dried-apple pie, the whole
washed down with mugs of steaming black coffee disappeared magically before the
onslaught of these sons of the saddle. Sudden leaned back in his chair with a
sigh of satisfaction, and smiled at his host.

 
          
“That’s
my best meal for many a day,’ he said. “Yu
shore have
a fine cook.’

 
          
“We
know, but don’t advertise it, Jim.’

 
          
Lindy,
clearing the table, grinned delightedly.

 
          
When
she had retired, Drait rapped on the table.

 
          
“I’m
goin’ to tell you the story o’ Shadow Valley,’ he began. “Less’n a year ago, a
fella named Rawlin bought the land from the State, built an’ furnished this
place, an’ settled down with his wife an’ three kids, the eldest a boy o’
sixteen. Rawlin was from Kansas, a harmless critter, but with a streak o’
obstinacy; he was warned he’d have trouble but wouldn’t listen.

 
          
“It’s
my land an’ I’ve a right to stay on it,” he argued.

 
          
“He’d
fetched in some twenty head o’ stock. Well, there was feed in the valley for
many more’n that, an’ all round for miles the range was free—but not for him. A
few months went by an’ nothin’ happened. Then he gets an unsigned paper tellin’
him to pull his freight, carries it to the sheriff, an’ is advised to obey. He
took no notice. Two weeks later, in broad daylight, eight masked men rode up
the valley, returning in about half an hour. Rawlin asked what they wanted.

 
          
“We’ve
been lookin’ over yore herd,” one of ‘em said. “Nine unbranded calves in
it,
an’ the ear-notches show that they belong to ranches
around here.”

 
          
“I
ain’t got
no
calves,” Rawlin replied. “Somebody must
‘a’ put ‘em there.”

 
          
“You
bet somebody did,” the fella said. “Stealin’ cattle is a hangin’ matter in
these parts, Rawlin, but we’re givin’ you a chance.”

 
          
“They
ordered him to hook up his wagon, pack his family into
it,
with whatever few possessions they had room for, an’ drift. While he was
arguin’, the boy—who had been huntin’ at the end o’ the valley—came runnin’ up,
an’ one o’ the skunks shot him. They escorted Rawlin’ damn near to Midway, an’
left him with a warnin’ that if he tried any come-back, he an’ his would be
wiped out.