Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) by Oliver Strange Page A
Authors: Oliver Strange
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“I
have, sort of, but let’s hear yore’s first,” the visitor replied.
“I’ve
nothin’ fresh to tell yu,” Luce returned despondently. “I’ve been all over the
ground, an’ it happened like yu said. Two fellas was firm’ at Kit, an’ one of ‘em holds him while the other injuns round an’ drills
him from behind. Couldn’t follow their tracks, they’d took care o’ that. Found
some .38 an’ .44 shells where they cut down on him first, an’ that’s the sum
total.”
“Where’d
yu happen to be yesterday afternoon.? ”
“Right
here in town.”
“An’
yore hoss is a grey an’ ain’t shy a nail on the off
fore?”
“Silver
is a grey, an’ the on’y hoss I possess. Weldon shod him all over las’ week.”
“That
means there’s another fella in these parts who uses a .38 rifle an’ rides a
paint hoss with a nail missin’ in the off fore,” Sudden said, and told of the
attempt on Strip Levens.
“ There’s paints aplenty, an’ nails can be replaced,” Luce
commented hopelessly. “We gotta find that gun.”
“Keep
a-smilin’; we’ll do it,” the C P foreman said.
Chapter
VIII
A
WEEK slipped quietly by, and Sudden found himself settling down at the C P. He liked Purdie, liked the men he had to work with,
and the companionship of his old friend, Yago, meant much to one who, for the
last year or two, had lived the semi-solitary life of the wanderer.
Convinced
that the Burdettes meant mischief, and uncertain what form it would take, he
had been constantly on the alert and had not visited the town. Luce, he knew,
was still about, and must be having a lonely time, for the fact that he had
been driven away from the Circle B, and was being ignored by his three
brothers, convinced most of the citizens of his guilt. It was Nan Purdie who
put it in the foreman’s mind to ride into Windy. Meeting him on her way to the
corral, she put a plain question :
“Have
you heard anything of Luce Burdette, Mister Green?”
He
told her what he knew, and added, “Seems kinda hard when nothin’s been proved.”
“It
is cruel,” the girl said hotly. “Even his own brothers condemn him—the cowards.
The Burdettes are bad, root and branch, but Luce is—different.”
She
made a very pretty picture, her face flushed and her eyes flashing with
indignation.
The
foreman smiled sardonically at the reflection that, after all, perhaps Luce was
not so much to be pitied. All he said, however, was, “I reckon yo’re right,
ma’am; the Circle B has some reason for pinnin’ the deed on Luce. I’ll be in
town this afternoon; mebbe I’ll see him.”
Her
eyes thanked him, and as she went away the foreman’s gaze followed the trim,
shapely figure speculatively.
“Must
be kinda nice to have a pretty girl that concerned about yu,” he mused, and
then, savagely, “Come alive, yu idjut.”
When,
late in the afternoon, he reached Windy, he found the place bubbling with
excitement over a new outrage. Goldy Evans, a prospector, had been struck down
on his way back to town, and robbed of about a thousand dollars in dust.
Goldy’s claim was situated on the lower slope of the southern wall of the
valley. His story was that, having worked all day, he started to trudge the
three miles home. The trail, which he had made himself by his daily journey,
passed through a narrow rift in the rock.
“It’s
damned dark in that gully,” the robbed man had explained when he told his tale.
“The
blame’ walls near meet overhead, an’ I
have, sort of, but let’s hear yore’s first,” the visitor replied.
“I’ve
nothin’ fresh to tell yu,” Luce returned despondently. “I’ve been all over the
ground, an’ it happened like yu said. Two fellas was firm’ at Kit, an’ one of ‘em holds him while the other injuns round an’ drills
him from behind. Couldn’t follow their tracks, they’d took care o’ that. Found
some .38 an’ .44 shells where they cut down on him first, an’ that’s the sum
total.”
“Where’d
yu happen to be yesterday afternoon.? ”
“Right
here in town.”
“An’
yore hoss is a grey an’ ain’t shy a nail on the off
fore?”
“Silver
is a grey, an’ the on’y hoss I possess. Weldon shod him all over las’ week.”
“That
means there’s another fella in these parts who uses a .38 rifle an’ rides a
paint hoss with a nail missin’ in the off fore,” Sudden said, and told of the
attempt on Strip Levens.
“ There’s paints aplenty, an’ nails can be replaced,” Luce
commented hopelessly. “We gotta find that gun.”
“Keep
a-smilin’; we’ll do it,” the C P foreman said.
Chapter
VIII
A
WEEK slipped quietly by, and Sudden found himself settling down at the C P. He liked Purdie, liked the men he had to work with,
and the companionship of his old friend, Yago, meant much to one who, for the
last year or two, had lived the semi-solitary life of the wanderer.
Convinced
that the Burdettes meant mischief, and uncertain what form it would take, he
had been constantly on the alert and had not visited the town. Luce, he knew,
was still about, and must be having a lonely time, for the fact that he had
been driven away from the Circle B, and was being ignored by his three
brothers, convinced most of the citizens of his guilt. It was Nan Purdie who
put it in the foreman’s mind to ride into Windy. Meeting him on her way to the
corral, she put a plain question :
“Have
you heard anything of Luce Burdette, Mister Green?”
He
told her what he knew, and added, “Seems kinda hard when nothin’s been proved.”
“It
is cruel,” the girl said hotly. “Even his own brothers condemn him—the cowards.
The Burdettes are bad, root and branch, but Luce is—different.”
She
made a very pretty picture, her face flushed and her eyes flashing with
indignation.
The
foreman smiled sardonically at the reflection that, after all, perhaps Luce was
not so much to be pitied. All he said, however, was, “I reckon yo’re right,
ma’am; the Circle B has some reason for pinnin’ the deed on Luce. I’ll be in
town this afternoon; mebbe I’ll see him.”
Her
eyes thanked him, and as she went away the foreman’s gaze followed the trim,
shapely figure speculatively.
“Must
be kinda nice to have a pretty girl that concerned about yu,” he mused, and
then, savagely, “Come alive, yu idjut.”
When,
late in the afternoon, he reached Windy, he found the place bubbling with
excitement over a new outrage. Goldy Evans, a prospector, had been struck down
on his way back to town, and robbed of about a thousand dollars in dust.
Goldy’s claim was situated on the lower slope of the southern wall of the
valley. His story was that, having worked all day, he started to trudge the
three miles home. The trail, which he had made himself by his daily journey,
passed through a narrow rift in the rock.
“It’s
damned dark in that gully,” the robbed man had explained when he told his tale.
“The
blame’ walls near meet overhead, an’ I
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