Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (14 page)

 
          
The
foreman went back to his quarters in a thoughtful mood. At first his suspicions
had suggested Phil, searching for further evidence of her father, though it was
difficult to believe her guilty of so mean an action.

 
          
The
evening passed without incident, and though Geevor’s appearance was discussed
and speculated upon, Severn did not tell the others of the man’s real object.
Bones, who had met an XT rider on the range, brought the news that
the doctor gave Rapson one chance in ten to recover.
He was too ill to
make any statement, and the search for the hold-ups had been abandoned as hopeless.

 
          
The
foreman did not join in the “kid’s poker”, which was the outfit’s name for the
ten cent limit game they played among themselves. On the step of his shack, his
back against the side of the open door and a cigarette between his lips, he
squatted, gazing at the diamond-dusted sky.

 
          
“Mister
`Friend’ is the joker in the pack,” he mused. “If I could locate him it would
shore
be
helpful.”

 
          
But
though he stayed there for more than an hour thrashing the matter out, he was
no nearer a solution at the end of it, and at last gave it up in disgust and
turned in.

 
          
It
must have been near to midnight when a warning growl from the dog aroused him.
Slipping from his bed, he crept noiselessly to the window and peered out. The
night was dark but the stars provided a little light, and he had an impression
of a blurred, shadowy form slinking in the direction of the ranch-house.
Hurriedly he got into his clothes, and not waiting to buckle on his belt,
seized one of his guns and stepped outside; he did not take the dog. Softly but
swiftly he made his way to the house, watching warily for any movement.

 
          
The
place was in darkness, and there was no sign of a marauder, but Severn was not
satisfied; he was almost sure he had seen someone. A careful examination of the
front of the house showed nothing suspicious, and the foreman went round to the
back. Here he found an open window, and climbing through, realised that he was
in the kitchen. The door of this opened upon a large hall, from which a flight
of stairs led to the upper floor. At the foot of these Severn paused in doubt.
The window could have been overlooked, and his eyes might have deceived him.
What would Miss Masters think if he were discovered wandering about the house
at midnight? He could vision her scornful disbelief of his story, and was on
the point of beating a retreat when a low, harsh voice pulled him up. He could
not distinguish the words, but it was a man speaking, andhe was upstairs.
Noiselessly Severn mounted and halted at the top of the flight, listening to
locate the room.

 
          
Phil
Masters, awakened out of a deep sleep, stared in terrified amazement at the
dark, slouch-hatted figure standing by her bedside. Before she could speak the
intruder
said :

 
          
“Keep
quiet an’ yu won’t be hurt.”

 
          
“
Geevor !
” she cried, recognising the voice. “What are you
doing here? How dare—”

 
          
“Shucks,
war-talk won’t get yu nowhere,” the man returned easily. “Tell me where the
money is an’ I’ll go.” Then seeing the look of bewilderment on her face, he
added, “I mean the two thousand bucks Severn got for the XT herd. He drew it
out just before the bank was gutted, though how he got wise beats me.”

 
          
I
know nothing about it,” the girl told him, her courage beginning to assert
itself. “If Severn drew it out I suppose he must have it.”

 
          
“It
ain’t in his shack, for I’ve searched, an’ he wouldn’t tote that amount around
with him, so it must be here somewheres,” Geevor returned doggedly.

 
          
“You
cur,” she said. “I don’t know where the money is, and if I did I would not tell
you.”

 
          
“We’ll
see about that,” he growled.

 
          
A
sudden dart of the long arms and his fingers, claw-like, gripped her shoulders,
tearing the frail fabric of her night attire, and exposing the white flesh
beneath; the man’s eyes gleamed bestially at the sight.

 
          
Frantically
she beat him with her fists, but in that iron grip she was almost helpless, and
the leering face with its lustful lips came nearer and nearer as he dragged her
towards him. His liquor-laden breath told her he had been drinking heavily.’

 
          
“Bartholomew
will hang yu for this,” she panted, and with a last despairing effort her nails
scored the evil face now so near her own. With an oath of pain and rage he drew
back.

 
          
“Yu
cursed cat!” he snarled. “I’ll close yore mouth for goodan’. The man was mad
with passion, beyond all control; his lust was now for blood. His right hand
flew to his belt and shot into the air, gripping a knife. The girl’s terrified
eyes wavered between the gleaming blade and the murderous mask of the ruffian
who held it. Another second and it would have been buried in the round white
throat, but Severn’s gun barked from the doorway, and Geevor, a look of wide
surprise on his face, buckled at the knees and fell prone. The girl,
half-fainting, gave an inarticulate cry, and sank back upon the bed. Sliding
into the room, Severn did not pay any attention to her, but seizing the dead
man by the ankles, hauled him on to the landing outside. When he returned, Phil
had utilised the opportunity he had given her to don a dressing-gown.

 
          
“Ain’t
hurt yu, has he?” he asked, and when she shook her head, “Yu needn’t to worry
any more. I reckon he was playin’ a lone hand, but I’ll have the house
watched.”

 
          
On
the floor lay the knife, winking wickedly in the faint light. Severn picked it
up and went out of the room without waiting for any reply. At the top of the stairs
he found Dinah, staring aghast at the corpse. She had heard the shot and come
up from her room beside the kitchen.

 
          
“Foh
de deah Lawd’s sake—” she began, but the foreman cut her short.

 
          
“Yore
mistress has had a shock; go an’ stay with her,” he said, and slinging the body
over his shoulder, carried it out of the house by the way he had come in.

 
          
Early
on the following morning when he returned from breakfast at the bunkhouse, he
found Phil waiting outside his door. She was looking pale and drawn, but her
eyes had lost the frostiness hitherto always there when they met.

 
          
“I
want to thank you for coming to my aid last night,” she began.

 
          
The
foreman flushed and looked uncomfortable. “It
don’t
need speakin’ of,” he replied, and added something about it being part of his
job.

 
          
“I
cannot understand how you came to be there,” she said.

 
          
“I
caught sight o’ someone sneakin’ up to the house, an’ followed,” Severn
explained, and then as Quirt came trotting up and thrust a cold nose into the
girl’s hand, he added, “There’s the fella yu gotta thank. If he hadn’t roused
me—”

 
          
“Then
I ought to be very glad you—bought him,” she said shyly.

 
          
The
foreman smiled, and there was a warmth and boyishness utterly foreign to his
customary rather stern expression when with her.

 
          
“We
both got reason to be glad, I reckon,” he returned whimsically. “This ain’t the
first good turn he’s been guilty of.”

 
          
He
went on to tell of the rattlesnake incident, and the girl’s gaze widened in
horror as she listened.

 
          
“Hideous,”
she cried. “The man who could conceive such a thing is not fit to live. Did you
find out who it was?”

 
          
“Yeah,”
he said, “Mister Ignacio played that prank.”

 
          
Phil’s
eyebrows rose, and with a touch of her old manner towards him she said, “Someone
told me just lately that he had left the country.”

 
          
“That’s
true, but an understatement; as I told yu—he’s dead,” Severn said.

 
          
“But
you can’t prove it,” she protested.

 
          
“No,”
he agreed gravely. “I can’t prove it, but it’s so.”

 
          
For
a moment there was an awkward silence. The foreman knew her suspicions were
returning, and the little oasis of kinder feeling produced by the events of the
previous night was being engulfed by a desert of doubt. Deliberately he changed
the subject.

 
          
“Yu
oughtn’t to stay alone in that house,” he remarked.

 
          
“I
have Dinah,” she said. “And her husband usually sleeps there, though last night
he stayed in his kitchen at the bunkhouse.”

 
          
“I’d
let yu have Quirt, but I’m afraid he wouldn’t stay put,” he smiled.

 
          
She
was about to reply when she saw his face change; the old Severn was back, the
mouth hard and cynical, the eyes cold. She followed their gaze. Bartholomew was
dismounting in front of the ranch-house.

 
          
“Again,
thank you—and Quirt,” she said, and walked away.

 
          
THOUGH
she had resented the foreman’s suggestion to be accompanied on her rides, Phil
soon discovered that the escort added to her enjoyment. On the first morning
Larry, rifle across his knees, had loped at a decorous distance behind her,
until she smilingly told him to sheathe the weapon and ride by her side. The
cowboy needed no second invitation. These excursions were the most wonderful
thing that had ever happened to him, and his glance, whenever it dared to rest
upon her, was full of adoration. The trim figure, poised so buoyantly in the
saddle, the proud little head, and the firm but wilful lips had got him, in his
own phraseology, “thrown an’ tied”. And she—well, she liked his merry eyes, his
boyishness and the shyness which she could dissipate with a smile. It was youth
calling to youth.

 
          
He
did not talk much of himself, but by questioning she learned that he had “no
folks” and had been “in cattle” since he was big enough to “straddle a hoss”.
Also that he had “drifted a bit”, which, on investigation, turned out to mean
that he had travelled and -worked-Over several thousand miles of the country.
It amused her to note that when they got down to rest or admire a view he
always took his rifle from its scabbard.

 
          
“I
don’t believe there is any danger,” she said, when the third ride had passed
without incident. “I should be quite safe alone and it is a waste of your
time.”

 
          
“Do
yu want that I shouldn’t come?” he asked.

 
          
The
warmth in his tone and gaze sent the hot blood to her cheeks and she was
conscious of a thrill of pleasure. She was considering how best to put this
daring young man in his place when he leaned forward and grabbed the bridle of
her horse. Instantly she saw why. Round a curve in the gully, less than a mile
away, six horsemen had trotted. They had white blotches where their faces
should have been, and at the sight of the girl and her companion they quickened
their pace.

 
          
“The
White Masks,” Phil gasped.

 
          
“Looks
like,” Larry agreed. “Mebbe they don’t want us, but I ain’t takin’ chances. We
gotta punch the breeze.”

 
          
Whirling
their horses, they headed for the ranch at full speed. A savage whoop came from
behind and, turning, Larry saw that the unknown riders were spurring hard in
pursuit. For a while the fugitives held
their own,
and
then it became evident that the pursuers were gaining, slowly but surely.