Sudden Rides Again

306 Pages·1938·0.88 MB·English

by  Strange Oliver

Sudden Rides Again
Oliver Strange
*
Chapter I
"It may be that I'm sending you to your death."
Ominous words, delivered in a quiet, even tone by one to whom the masking
of emotion had become a habit. Short, stockily built, of middle age, attired in a
suit of sober black, with a "boiled" shirt and neat cravat, there was little to
distinguish him from the common herd. But looking into the shrewd grey eyes,
one realized the sound judgment, courage, and determination which had
placed him in authority. For this was Governor Bleke, of Arizona, a name
respected, feared, or hated throughout that lawless land.
"Ain't tryin' to throw a scare into me, are yu, seh?"
The whimsical question evoked a flicker of a smile on the Governor's grave
face; the speaker had not the appearance of one to be easily frightened. The
long, wiry, narrow-hipped, wide-shouldered frame, clean-cut, tanned features,
level, spaced, grey-blue eyes and firm jaw, all proclaimed that here was one
with whom it would be unwise to trifle. Two guns, hanging low on his thighs,
the holsters secured to his leathern chaps to ensure swift withdrawal, supplied
a further warning. His range-rider's garb was plain and serviceable.
For a moment the elder man was silent, studying his companion, noting the
curious glances at the shabby parlour, which was the best accommodation he
had been able to find in the primitive little settlement dumped down in a waste
of sagebrush desert.
"Wondering why I wanted you to meet me here, Jim?" he asked, and
without waiting for an answer, "Well, Tucson would have been too risky--my
movements are watched--and it is important to my purpose that your
connection with me should remain a secret."
The cowboy smiled as he recalled the directions he had received: he was to
be at Sandy Creek on a day named; in a saloon bar he would meet a
"stranger," who would challenge him to a bout of poker, for which they would
adjourn to the so-called hotel.
"I sorta guessed yu wouldn't travel a hundred miles to this dog's-body of a
town just for a hand o' cyards," he said.
"No, it's a much more serious game and the stakes are high," Bleke
replied. "You may lose your life, and I--a friend."
"Thank yu, seh," the cowboy said. "I'm sittin' in."
A gleam of appreciation shone in the Governor's eyes, but what he said
was, "Damnation, I knew it, and I hate to ask you, but I believe you're the only
man who can put it across."
"Shoot, seh," the other invited coolly.
Bleke lit a cigar, rolled another over the table to his guest; and, after a few
contemplative puffs, began:
"There is a man in north-west Arizona who is defying me, the law I
represent and was appointed to enforce; he has to be dealt with." His keen
gaze was on the younger man's face, but it told him nothing. "Have you heard
of Hell City?"
The cowboy's eyes widened just a fraction. "Word of such a place has come
to me, seh," he said. "Sorta hideout where a desperate man can find a
welcome an' safety, no matter what he's done. I set it down as just a tale for a
tenderfoot."
The Governor's face was grim. "Unfortunately, it is a true tale," he replied.
"It accounts for most of the outrages in that part of the Territory and for the
continued existence and activity of some most undesirable citizens."
"yu know the location?"
"Yes, but that doesn't help much. Hell City has been described to me as a
walled fortress which would need an army and artillery for its capture; I have
neither. From it, bands of armed ruffians raid and rob in every direction, and
for a hundred miles or more the country is in a state of terror. When
complaints first began to come in, about a year ago, I sent a man to
investigate. For months I had no news, and then he came back--in a coffin.
Pinned to his breast was a jeering note inviting me to try again."
"They ain't very well acquainted with yu, seh."
The Governor's voice hardened. "No, the challenge was unnecessary," he
went on. "I sent again, and now I have--this." He passed over a sheet of paper
and the cowboy read:
DEAR GOVERNOR, your second spy was as clumsy as his predecessor. I
shall return him when he ceases to be useful. He makes a fine target for pistol-
practice, as the enclosures will show. Why not send a good man?
Adios, SATAN.
"That is the fantastic title this master-brigand has assumed," The Governor
explained. "His followers he calls `Imps,' and their vengeance is so feared that
no man dares to offend one of them."
The cowboy was still studying the document. The writing was neat--that of
an educated person--and the signature flaunting in its bold freedom. The
callous ferocity, however, raised a doubt.
"Mebbe he's just puttin' up a bluff," he suggested.
"The enclosures were ears; a pair, perforated by bullets," Bleke replied.
"Well, if it's a bluff, I'm calling it. I'll send a good man--my best--if he will
go."
"Third time lucky," the other smiled. "Them ears has kinda got me
interested."
The Governor's expression remained grave. "Thank you, Jim," he said, but
his tone betrayed a lingering reluctance; the very readiness of this reliant
young fellow perturbed him, though he had depended upon it. "You don't have
to," he continued. "Think it over. This is a dangerous job; the man is reputed
to be a marvellous shot."
"King Burdette an' Whitey didn't waste much lead neither," came the
reminder, a reference to a previous exploit' which brought a ghost of a smile
to the older man's lips.
"Oh, I know you can shoot, boy," he said, "but there's more than gun-play
in this. The soundrel is clever and well organized. You'll need to play your
cards mighty close, but there will be an ace amongst them which may turn the
trick. Can you guess what it is?"
"If yu mean my name ...?"
"Exactly, this is one time when your bad reputation should help us. The
others failed because, in some way, it became known they belonged to me, but
I doubt if even the devil himself would suspect me of employing `Sudden,' a
noted outlaw, wanted for robbery and worse in Texas. It is more than likely
that this Satan fellow will welcome you; join his band and gain his
confidence."
The cowboy's face bore a bitter expression. "I guess that won't be
difficult," he said. "He's the on'y sort that has any use for me."
The Governor nodded soberly; he knew something of the story of this black-
haired young man who called himself "James Green," but was more widely
known as "Sudden," a name already beginning to rank with those of the great
gunmen of the West for daring and dexterity with his weapons.
Though he had no proof, he was convinced that the charge which had put a
price on the youth's head was unfounded. "I'm using you, Jim," he said
quietly.
The grey-blue eyes were instantly contrite. "I'm right sorry," Sudden said.
"Yu saved my self-respect; I ain't goin' to forget that--ever."
"Nonsense, I got me a good man, that's all," Bleke rejoined hastily--he had
all the Westerner's aversion to being thanked--adding, with a dry smile, "and
I'm doing my best to lose him."
"Shucks, I'll make it," the cowboy said, with a confidence which was in no
way boastfulness. "I can't get over them ears; sort o' caper yu might expect
from a Greaser, but yu say he's white."
"His skin, yes, but his soul must be as black as the Pit," the Governor
replied. "But he has a brain, a madman's, possibly, but the more cunning on
that account. Move cautiously, Jim; remember that he'll suspect every stranger
of coming from me, so don't show any eagerness to join him. I'm guessing that
is where both my fellows slipped up, though I warned Dolver--the second--
against it."
Sudden smiled sardonically. "Governor, I never knowed any parents," he
said. "I was raised by redskins, an' the first thing they taught me was how to
walk in the water. Mister Satan will have to ask me, an' mebbe more than
once--before I throw in with him."
Bleke nodded approvingly. "I expect I can leave you to make your own plan
of action. All the same, I wish I didn't have to send you, but you're my best bet,
and this snake has to be scotched. Also, I'm worried about Dolver."
"Any ranches around there?"
"Several, and, of course, they are losing stock. The biggest appears to be
the Double K, owned by Kenneth Keith. The nearest settlement is a place
called Dugout."
Sudden stood up. "I guess I got all I want," he said.
The older man smiled and shook his head. "Not quite, I think," he replied,
producing a bag which clinked musically as he set it on the table. "Golden
bullets, Jim. you'll need them; sometimes they're even more effective than
those you feed to your gun."
"I got money," the cowboy objected.
"Glad to know it, but you're working for me. Also, you are about to make
war, and that can't be done without a well-provided pocket. That's all I can do
except give you a free hand: clean that gang up if you have to shoot every
crooked scamp in it." The grey eyes were hard as granite, the firm lips
clamped like a vice. "I'm wishing you luck."
"Thank yu, seh," the puncher said, and gripped the proffered palm.
Through the murky pane of the window, Bleke watched him swing lightly to
the saddle of the waiting horse and ride slowly down the sordid little street,
unconcerned, inscrutable.
"Damned if I can fathom him," he muttered. "For all his record, I'll wager
he's white, and nerve--you might think I'd just sent him to the store for baccy.
If anyone can outwit and outshoot that fiend ..."
Chapter II
The man on the black horse halted at the crest of the steep bluff which for
nearly half an hour he had been laboriously climbing, and sat, rolling a
cigarette, taking in the view. It was Nature in the raw. Immediately before him,
the ground fell away in a long, rocky slope, sparsely clad with storm-stunted
vegetation and terminating at the bottom of a vast basin like the crater of a
gigantic extinct volcano. The floor of this enormous hollow was scarred and
fissured with what looked to be cracks but which he knew for deep gorges,
twisting and mounting to the encircling rim-rock. Forests of black firs,
stretches of green park carpeted with tall grass and flowers, small deserts, their
yellow sand greyed with sage, provided a bewildering panorama. In the far
distance, a range of purple hills.
"Shore is a good country to hide in," the rider soliloquized. "A fella could
be real lonesome here, if he was honin' to be."
As if in direct contradiction, the report of a rifle rang out and the bullet
whined through the air above his head. Immediately following it came a
command:
"That's just a warnin'. H'ist yore han's, come right ahead an' explain
yoreself."
The face of the man to whom the words were addressed wore a comical look
of chagrin. "Just 'cause yu ain't glimpsed a soul for twenty-four hours yu act
like yu was never goin' to again," he told himself. "Why didn't yu toot a horn,
light a fire, or somethin'--not but what standin' there on the skyline was just as
good." A querulous call interrupted his self condemnation. "Gettin' impatient,
huh? Well, seein' yu got the drop ..."
Dissipating wisps of smoke some hundreds of yards below showed whence
the shot had come, and with a shrug of his shoulders, he began the descent of
the slope. He was angry, not only with himself for his lack of ordinary caution,
but with the other man. That bullet was entirely superfluous. Missing him by
little, had he moved at the moment he might have got in the path of it.
"I said for yu to put yore paws up," came a rough reminder.
"Shore yu did, but my hoss needs 'em--he ain't no catamount," the other
retorted, as he picked a way down the decline. "Allasame, I'd as lief break my
neck as be shot."
Having complied with the command he leaned back in the saddle, guiding
the animal with his knees towards the boulder behind which the ambusher was
waiting. He was within a few yards of it when the black slithered on a strip of
shale and almost fell. The violent lurch appeared to nearly unseat the rider,
who only saved himself by a quick snatch at the saddle-horn. When his hands
went up again they did not go far and each held a six-shooter. The face of the
fellow who emerged from his retreat to see what had caused the clatter was
ludicrous with surprised disgust. It was not an attractive face, the eyes were set
too close, and the uncared-for beard failed to conceal a loose-lipped mouth
garnished with tobacco-stained teeth in which there were gaps. His rifle was in
the crook of his arm, a fact which drew a hard smile from the man on the
black.
"Thought yu had a shore thing, huh?" he said. "Drop that gun, pronto, an'
then unbuckle yore belt an' step away from it. Any funny business an' yu'll be
rappin' at the door o' hell just as soon as it takes yu to get there." When the
order had been obeyed, he sheathed one of his guns and pointed hisremarks
with the other. "One ca'tridge is all I need to kill a coyote, an' there's six in
this li'l persuader. What's the idea, holdin' up an unoffendin' traveller?"