Shoot-out at Split Rock Page 2

  with a whoop of defiance, vanished over the edge. The cowboy followed, but by the time he reached the top the fugitive was half a mile distance on an open plain. When Sudden returned the girl rode to meet him, a grateful smile on her firm lips.

  "Thank you," she said, holding out a slim, gauntieted hand. Then, as her frank brown eyes studied this stranger who had so providentially come to her rescue, she saw blood on the collar of his shirt. "But you are hurt," she cried.

  "On'y a scratch, mebbe," he smiled. "Might as well make shore allasame."

  He rode back down the ravine, swayed easily over in his saddle to pick up the arrow which had grazed him, and examined it closely. Then he returned to scrutinize the contents of the dead brave's quiver. He was grinning when he joined her again.

  "Which I'm plumb lucky—that hombre grabbed a hunting shaft in his hurry," he told her.

  Seeing that she did not comprehend, he explained that the Indian had both hunting and war arrows with him, and that the flint heads of the latter were dipped in rattie-snake venom, making the least wound dangerous or even fatal. The girl shivered.

  "We'll wash and tie up that scratch," she said, and though he protested, had her way.

  "I am Carol Eden," she told him. "The S-E ranch house is only about eight miles from here and my father will want to thank you."

  "Why, there ain't no need—'* he began, but she cut the protest short.

  "He will think there is, and I agree with him. Besides, there may be other Indians about."

  This was an unanswerable argument and again Sudden had to give in; he was beginning to realize that here was a young woman who usually got what she wanted.

  "You shouldn't be ridin' alone so far from home," Jim said.

  "I know it. Dad warned me, but I thought the Indians were quiet now. You see, I have been East, at college, for some time."

  "Injuns is never quiet tiU they're like—^him," the young

  14

  man said grimly, with a jerk of his thumb backwards. "Dimno as you can blame 'em much—they've had a pretty raw deal, but redskins is pizen anyways. I'd oughta got that other; I've a himch I'll be seein' him again."

  "I hope I don't," the girl said fervently. "I'll never forget that hideous painted face. If you hadn't come ..."

  To take her away from the subject he mentioned that he too had recently returned from the East, and she looked at him with a new interest.

  She went on to speak of herself. He learned that she was not really an Eden, the rancher having adopted her some years earlier, when the death of her father—his old friend—left her improtected.

  "He has been very, very good to me," she finished, sofdy.

  But Sudden was not as talkative. He told her his name and that was all. When she ventured a half-question, she received—as she had feared—only a half-answer:

  "I'm just takin' a look at the country," he said.

  "I'm glad you chose this bit of it today," Carol smiled. "We are near the ranch now; I must prepare for a tongue-lashing from Dad."

  "He needn't to know," Sudden pointed out. "Yo're safe now; I can fade—"

  "No, I'll take my medicine," she told him, and in mock reproach, "I shall begin to think you don't like your company."

  The cowboy's eyes crinkled at the comers. "I could bear to be widi you a whole lot, ma'am," he said gravely.

  On the broad, covered porch, which extended along the front of the S-E ranch house two men were sitting. The elder, short, big-shouldered, dressed in range rig, was Sam Eden, owner of the ranch. The other man was of a different type. Baudry was by profession a gambler, though he was now sitting in a bigger game. His expressionless gaze studied the man before him.

  "So you are going to take the chance, Sam?" he said.

  "Shore I am—nothin' else for it," the rancher replied. "You see, Jethro, I want things clear for Carol—case any-thin' happens to me, sabe?"

  "You don't think I'd press her, do you?" Baudry asked.

  "No, but yo're mortal too, an* gamblin' ain't the safest callin'," Eden replied bluntly.

  "I can take care of myself," Baudry said with a thin smile. "Still, there's a chance. Setting that aside, you know I'm willing to wait?"

  "Shore, you've been mighty good lettin' me have the coin, Jethro," the rancher said warmly. "But think of it, man; a hundred thousand acres that, in a few years' time, may be worth as many dollars as I've paid cents for 'em. Wouldn't you wanta feel it really belonged to you?"

  Actually the gambler was feeling just that, but his bland features expressed nothing of the greed which possessed him.

  "Natural enough, but these big drives are risky they tell me," he rejoined. "You may lose your herd."

  "I'm losin' 'em anyway," the cattleman said bitterly, and reading the question in the other's eyes, "Yeah, rustlers, o' course. It's an easy play; the beasts is scattered in the brush an' a lot must be unbranded; our roundups ain't been too thorough the last year or so—I couldn't afford a large outfit—an' what was the use when all you could get for a steer was a few dollars for the hide an' taller? An' for that you gotta drive 'em to a coast town, which cut the profit to near nothin' at all.

  "You see, Jethro, durin' the war, the ranches were neglected, the cattle ran wild, an' the natural increase was amazin'. When the fightin' finished, every Texas cattleman found himself with more cows than he could count, an' no market. Now, they tell me, it's different; the East needs beef; the gov'ment wants it to feed the Injuns on the reservations—when they can git the war-whoops to stay on 'em; the northern ranchers have discovered that the buffalo grass on their big plains wiU fatten cows an' they're lookin' for stock. There's a shippin' point at Abilene, Kansas, an' beasts worth Uttle more'n nothin' here wiU fetch as much as fifteen dollars or more apiece."

  "Certainly sounds good," the younger man said. "If you can make it."

  "I gotta make it, or bust," Eden said grimly. "Anyways, yo're sittin' pretty, Jethro; if I win through, you get yore dinero; if I don't the ranch is yores; you needn't to worry."

  "I don't intend to," Baudry assured him, and again a

  fleeting smile swept over his pale face. Then he asked casually: "Any news of that son of yours?"

  The rancher's brows met in a heavy frown. "I've no son," he said harshly. "When he went from here he stepped outa my life; I'll be glad if youll remember that, Jethro." And, after a pause, "No, I ain't heard nothin'.'*

  The other made no comment, but in his eyes there was a gleam of satisfaction.

  "When do you expect to start north?'*

  "Soon as we can father an' road brand a sizable herd. Hello, who's that with Carol?"

  The girl and her companion, having left their mounts at the corral, had suddenly appeared round the end of the ranch house. Baudry rose and bowed to the lady, whose expression did not convey too warm a welcome.

  "Dad, this is Mister Green, and I've brought him, much against his wish because I knew you would want to thank him."

  In a few words she told the story of her adventure and Sam Eden's face paled beneath its tan as he comprehended the terrible fate she had so narrowly escaped. Impulsively his hand went out.

  "Young fella," he said. "If there's anythin' I've got an' you want, name it You couldn't 'a' done me a greater service.**

  Sudden gripped the proffered fist. "It don't need speakin* of, seh," he said. "I happened to be handy, an'..."

  The rancher realized his feelings; he knew the breed— they would rather be blamed than thanked. He turned to the girl.

  "As for you, miss, didn't I tell you—" Eden began stem-

  ly.

  "Now don't be an old bear; III fess up," she smiled. "Of course you warned me, and I was wrong to go so far, but I didn't think of Indians."

  "It ain't on'y them pesky critters," the old man growled. **You might 'a' met up with some o' Rogue's Riders—his hide out is somewhere around." He looked at the cowboy quizzically. "You don't happen to belong to that gang, do you?"

  Sudden
shook his head, grinned, and repeated the

  reply he had given the girl. "I'm from south; havin' a look at the country."

  The explanation satisfied the cattleman; he was aware that the range rider was a restless animal, hable to fork his horse and set out, at short notice or none at all, in search of fresh fields. He hked the look of this loose-limbed, competent-appearing stnanger.

  At the meal to which they sat down later, Eden reverted to the momentous step he was contemplating," asking the cowboy if he had any experience of trail-driving.

  "On'y short distances," Sudden told him. "Never been north, but I hear it ain't no picnic."

  The rancher nodded grimly. "Others have done it, an' I'm goin' to," he said. "Like to come along? I can do with a couple more men." He saw the hesitation, and added, "Think it over—we won't be ready yet awhile."

  Sudden promised he would do so, and asked the probable size of the herd.

  "I'm hopin' for three thousand head," Eden said. "Take some handhn' but I got a good outfit. The pay is thirty a month an' every man gets a share when we sell' the cattle.

  The cowboy nodded. He liked the rancher, recognized him as a good specimen of the bluff, straight-forward frontiersmen who, penetrating and settling in the wildest parts of the country, were preparing the way for the civilization which would inevitably follow. Baudry he did not take to, instinct telling him that under the smooth exterior lurked passions by no means in keeping with it. Once or twice he caught him looking at the girl, plain desire in his eyes.

  "Miss Carol, of course, wiU remain here," the gambler said.

  "Miss Carol, of course, wiU—not," the lady promptly stated.

  Her father looked at her in astonishment. "Don't talk fooUsh, girl," he said. "There's no place for a lone woman on a trail drive."

  Carol's reply appeared to be irrelevant. "Aren't you taking Peg-leg?"

  "Shore I am, we'd do fine without a cook, wouldn't we?"

  'Then youTl have to take his wife—Judy won't let him go without her—so I shan't be a 'lone woman,' you see." The rancher's face was clouding up but she did not wait for the storm to burst. "Can't I ride, rope and drive catde as well as the boys?" she asked, and when he nodded a grudging assent, she added, "Well, then, you get a top hand for nothing, and yoif grumble. But of course, you were only teasing; you meant I should go all the time. I must tell Judy."

  "I can handle the savagest steer or woolliest cowboy that ever forked a pony, but when it comes to what some funny fella called the 'weaker sex,' I'm beat," he confessed. "That bit o' impudence does what she likes with me.

  Sudden left soon after the meal, returning the way he had come. The body of the dead Indian had vanished; his companion must have returned. The circumstance was to bear significance later, but now he gave it no thought. His brain was busy with the offer he had just received. It seemed to present a means of getting out of the mire into which chance had so unceremoniously thrown him, and moreover, the very enterprise itself appealed to his adventurous nature. The task of shepherding three thousand wild cattle through eight or nine hundred miles of fierce, untamed country seemed worthy of a man. But he would not decide yet, for though, when necessity demand-^ed, he could think and act with lightning speed, he was a dehberate person. And because of that, he would not mention his afternoon's experience—even to Sandy.

  "I'm bettin' he's straight," he told himself. "But our friendship is some recent."

  When he reached the valley he found the men loafing outside the large cabin, smoking and yarning. Having disposed of his horse, he joined them. Rogue had apparently not yet returned. They watched him curiously as he seated himself on a bench next to Sandy, who was looking uneasy.

  "Supper's through," that young man remarked, and then, in a whisper, "Suthrn's up, dunno what, but watch out."

  He had already sensed the air of expectancy with which his arrival had been greeted, and guessed that some at-

  tempt to "try him out" might be made. These men, desperadoes all, were not the sort to accept tamely a man on his reputation. He smiled grimly.

  Navajo and Ropey, standing six or seven yards away, were engaged in an argument, their voices rising. Sudden noticed that the other men were watching them. Presently Ropey, who was rolling a cigarette, snapped out an oath, and cried:

  "Texas? I can tell you what I think of it right now. When a Texan dies, an' goes to hell—as they all do—^he shore figures he's in heaven."

  He had turned as he. spoke and his narrowed eyes were glaring at the visitor. It was a direct challenge, as aU knew, and the chatter ceased. Sudden, lounging on the bench, took no notice, and Ropey, with a grin of contempt, struck a match. Ere he could apply it to the cigarette between his lips a gun flamed from the lounger's hip and the light was extinguished.

  "What th' hell?" the man gasped.

  "I'm from Texas," Sudden quietly stated, and waited.

  But Ropey had nothing to say; the fragment of wood remaining in his fingers appeared to hypnotize him. Sudden addressed himself to the others generally:

  "Any fella is free to damn Texas," he said, "but if he looks at me while he's doin' it, I take it as personal."

  Ropey made a desperate attempt to save face. "I was on'y joshin'."

  "Same here," Sudden told him, with a cold smile. "If I hadn't been, I could 'a' put yore hght out pretty permanent."

  Later in the little cabin they were to share. Sudden and Sandy referred to the incident.

  "My Gawd, I never seen anythin* like it," Sandy remarked. "I ain't a mite surprised they named you 'Sudden.' "

  "My friends call me *Jim,* ** came the meaning reminder.

  "I reckon this crowd'll think twice before it niffles yore feathers again. Ropey ain't so bad. Navajo put him up to it—^he don't like you—much."

  "I got the edge on him there—I don't like him at all."

  "See many folks on yore ride?" Sandy asked presently.

  "Well, I wouldn't say the country was thickly populated," was the smiling reply. "What's doin' tomorrow?"

  "Like I told you, brandin', damn it. They fetched in *bout three score mavericks this afternoon an' we gotta put the 8-B iron on 'em."

  "Who owns that brand?'*

  "Couldn't say. There ain't no 8-B ranch around here that I knows of, but Rogue gets four dollars a head for all he can turn over."

  Sudden was surprised; this was legitimate enterprise, for in those days of free range, uiibranded cattle were the property of the finder unless the real owner could prove a claim.

  The explanation was to come in the morning, when the valley presented a scene of animation. A few hundred yards from the pool, a fire had been Mghted, and to this each steer had to be dragged or driven, thrown and tied, while the hot iron was applied. Sudden found that he had been assigned the ticklish job of hog-tieing the victims. He had tied the first brute before he noticed the branded letters, S-E.

  "Hey, this critter's got a label a'ready," he said to Ropey, who came up swinging a long iron with a curved, red-hot end.

  That individual grinned maliciously. "Well, well, fancy that," he said. "Say, Navajo, the boys brougjit in one o' Sam Eden's cows yestiddy: what we goin' to do about it?"

  The half-breed slouched over. "S'pose we oughta take her back an' 'pologize, but I guess we won't," he rephed, and grabbing the iron he added a few deft touches to the old brand, joining the ends of the S and the horizontal strokes of the E. "There, she's an honest-to-goodness 8-B now an| as cows can't talk, nobody'll know any different." He gave Sudden an ugly grin. "Mistakes wiU happen, an* I wouldn't be s'prised if there's a few more."

  The arrival of another steer, hauled by the ropes of two perspiring, blasphemous riders, ended the incident. From then on. Sudden was kept busy, and, as he now expected, four out of every five of the beasts he handled bore the S-E brand. So it was plain rusthng. Nevertheless, he did his work with a thoroughness which earned reluctant approval even from Navajo.

  **That hombre knows his job," he admitted to Ro
pey.

  "Shore does," that worthy agreed. "Never seed anyone tie 'em so slick."

  "Mebbe, but I don't Hke him," Navajo said.

  *Tm plumb astonished," was Ropey's unvoracious retort

  Three

  The outlaw leader returned that same evening, and from his cheerful mood, it was evident that his errand had been successful. After supper, he called Sudden aside.

  "Been helpin' the boys brand?" he asked casually.

  "Been helpin' 'em blot brands," Sudden corrected.

  Rogue's brows ridged in a httle frown. "You didn't think this was a Methodis* community when you come here, did you?" he asked acidly, and then, "Shucks, what's a few cows anyway? I ain't keen on the rustlin' but it means somethin' to do an' money for smokin'. I got a big thing on now, Jim, one that'll give you a chance o 'gettin' away for a time. Savvy?"

  Sudden nodded, and the other went on exultantly. "Here's the layout: Eden is takin' a hefty herd—three thousand head—north, an' a fella I know is hopin' it won't get there." He smiled felinely. "In fact, he's hopin' so hard that he's willin' to pay pretty handsomely if it don't, an' buy—at a fair price—all the S-E cows offered him."

  "Failure to make the drive would bust Eden wide open, huh?"

  "Yeah, it's his last hope, I reckon; he's been buyin' land an' got in deep. But that don't concern me; a fella has to take care of hisself. Now, he'll want riders, an, I'm pro-posin' that you an' Sandy get took on—can't use the other boys, their faces is known. You can see how it would help me to have a coupla men on the inside. We'll be on the heels o' the herd an' can keep in touch with you. Far as yo're concerned, it gives you a trail outa present trouble an' a tidy wad into the bargain. What d'you say?"

  "I'll drop in at the S-E in the momin'," Sudden told him. "Where d'you aim to break the drive?"

  "That'll depend on how things pan out, but not tUl