Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (25 page)

 
          
“We
start in half an hour,” he said gruffly.

 
          
“Where
are you taking me?” she asked, but got no answer.

 
          
The
hot, strong liquid put a little heart into her, but she could not touch the
food. Presently the fellow returned and, taking the lantern he had left,
motioned her to follow him. Passing through a long, dark tunnel, they climbed a
flight of rude steps. Here another man was waiting and, despite her protests,
they fastened her wrists together and tied a handkerchief over her eyes. Then
came
a repetition of the previous day’s discomfort. Unable
to see the trail ahead, she was entirely at the mercy of her mount, and was
jerked and bumped about in the saddle until every bone in her body ached. She
had no conception as to where she was being conducted, but she guessed they
were still in the mountains, because of the keenness of the morning air and the
fact that every slope they descended was followed by a corresponding rise.
Greatly to her relief the journey proved shorter than that of the day before.
It ended at the hut in the pines.

 
          
An
examination of her prison promised little prospect of escape. The walls of stout,
untrimmed logs, embedded in a floor of tightly-packed earth, and a massive door
secured by a heavy padlock, made the place ideal for the purpose to which it
was being put. A mere
hole
a foot square admitted
light and air; from it the prisoner could see only a gloomy curtain of pine
branches. The furniture consisted of a pile of spruce tops covered by a dubious
blanket, a bench, and a table constructed out of a packing-case which had once
contained tinned goods. Phil shuddered as she remembered her own trim little
bedroom at the Lazy M. A clang of metal at the door warned her that someone was
coming in, and she seated herself on the bench and prepared to present as brave
a front as possible. The man who entered was not one of the four who had
captured her; he was taller and of slighter build. He did not trouble to remove
his slouched hat, and through the slits in his mask she saw ruthless, covetous
eyes devouring her.

 
          
“Why
have I been brought here?” the girl demanded, trying to hide the tremor in her
voice.

 
          
“Yu’ll
know that—later,” he replied. “All I’m goin’ to say now is that yu got one
chance, an’ on’y one. There’s a visitor comin’ to see yu an’ he’ll put a
proposition. Agree to that an’ yu go free.”

 
          
“And
if I refuse?” Phil inquired, and saw a hateful gleam in his eyes.

 
          
“I’m
shore hopin’ yu will,” he chuckled, “for then me an’ the boys will have to draw
lots to see which of us yu come an’ keep house for—first.”

 
          
The
blood drained from her face as she realised his meaning.

 
          
“When
is this—visitor—coming?” she asked.

 
          
“Oh,
he’ll be along,” the man replied casually, and went out, leaving her a prey to
emotions in which fear predominated.

 
          
Mingled
with it was curiosity as to the identity of the “visitor”. This, she decided,
must be Severn. All the doubts Bartholomew had instilled came back, and, added
to what she herself had discovered, almost convinced her that the foreman,
scheming to obtain the Lazy M, was coming to bargain with her. Bitterly she
regretted her break with the Bar B owner. Her chief remaining doubt centred
about Larry; she could not bring herself to believe that he was in the plot
against her.

 
          
Consumed
with impatience, she disobeyed the injunction of the tall outlaw, and was often
peeping out of the apology for a window. But only one man passed, a short,
stoutish fellow, under whose pulled-down hat brim she could see a grey beard
and the edge of a black patch which covered one eye. In a flash she remembered
him as the pedestrian Bartholomew had savagely assaulted in Hope the morning she
spoke so plainly. With hunched shoulders he slouched past, not even glancing
towards the hut.

 
          
SOLITARY
confinement is the most dreaded of all prison punishments, and after
forty-eight hours the girl’s nerves were in a pitiable state. During that time
she had seen only the man who brought her food, and from him she failed to
extract a syllable. Then, on the third morning, when she had almost given up
hope of the expected visitor, she heard footsteps and the welcome rattle of the
padlock chain. The door opened, and she sprang out with outstretched hands; the
man who stood there was Bartholomew.

 
          
“You?”
she cried. “Oh, thank
God !
I was afraid it would
be—someone else.”

 
          
The
big man looked down at her, an odd smile on his thin lips; this was a moment
for which he had waited long. Perching himself on the makeshift table he rolled
a cigarette.

 
          
“‘Lo,
Phil,” he said easily. “Pretty mess yu got yoreself into, eh, through trustin’
strangers an’ turning down old friends.”

 
          
The
girl flushed; she felt the rebuke was merited. “I can’t understand it all,” she
said miserably.

 
          
“It’s
as plain as the biggest kind o’ print an’ just as I suspected an’ warned yu
first off,” he replied. “Embley an’ yore foreman mean to get the Lazy M.
These scum
here are in Severn’s pay an’ yu are his prisoner.
What he’s aimin’ to do with yu, I dunno, but my idea is that they mean to force
yu to marry that pup, Barton. That’ll give ‘em yore property, an’ if an
accident happens to yu—”

 
          
He
broke off suggestively and the girl gazed at him with horror. “I can’t believe
that men could be so vile,” she faltered.

 
          
“Yu
don’t know ‘em, Phil,” he assured her. “Mebbe it’ll surprise yu to hear that
Severn killed yore dad—it’s been proved now—robbed the bank an’ shot Rapson.”

 
          
The
girl wilted under the blow. She had long given up hope of seeing her father
again, but to learn definitely that he had been wantonly slain was a severe
shock.

 
          
“An’
if I’m figurin’ wrong,” continued Bart, watching her narrowly, “what’s Embley
doin’ in this camp?”

       
“Judge Embley—here?” she cried in
amaze.

 
          
Bartholomew
contented himself with a nod. Phil tried to think, to find some reason for the
presence of her father’s friend in this den of thieves, but she could not; the
Bar B rancher must be right, she concluded.

 
          
“But
you’ll take me away, won’t you?” she asked eagerly. “I’m afraid—horribly
afraid.”

 
          
The
man’s cunning eyes gleamed with satisfaction; this was the frame of mind he
wanted her in.

 
          
“Can’t
say as I blame yu,” he returned. “As for gettin’ yu away, that won’t be easy;
it’ll depend on yu.”

 
          
“On
me?” she queried.

 
          
“Shore,”
Bartholomew smiled. “Now, here’s the
point :
these
fellas are tough, but they ain’t anxious to tangle with Black Bart. In other
words, they won’t interfere with anythin’ or anybody belongin’ to me. Savvy?”

 
          
“I’m
afraid I don’t,” she said doubtfully.

 
          
“I’m
proposin’, Phil,” he smiled. “Not, I reckon, in the way a girl likes to have it
done, but yu gotta admit the position is a mite peculiar. On’y as my wife
will
these rogues let me take yu away. The Judge is here to
tie the knot, an’ if Severn’s gamblin’ on makin’ yu marry his
sidekicker,
won’t it be a jar to find yu got a husband
already, huh?”

 
          
Phil
listened with a sinking heart. However guilty the foreman and his friend might
be, she did not want to wed Bartholomew. Yet there seemed to be nothing else to
do. Slumped against the wall of the hut she strove to compose her thoughts.

 
          
“The
Judge may not be willing,” she temporised.

 
          
“When
I’ve had a talk with him, I figure he will be,” Bart said grimly. “I know
more’n he thinks.”

 
          
The
girl closed her eyes wearily, and in sheer desperation was about to consent
when a sibilant whisper reached her ears. “He’s lyin’. Don’t give in; play for
time.”

 
          
Her
start of surprise passed unnoticed by the rancher, who was awaiting her answer
with a smile of expectant triumph. Though she had no idea who the mysterious
adviser might be, she was ready to clutch at any hope, and the thought of a
possible friend gave her courage.

 
          
“You
must let me have time to consider,” she said.

 
          
The
big man’s face darkened with disappointment. “We ain’t got
none
to waste,” he reminded her. “I took a big risk comin’ here, an’ to hang about
is a bigger one. There’s somethin’ else I oughta told yu. `Severn’ ain’t the
real name o’ yore foreman; he used to be pretty well knowed as `Sudden’. Yu’ve
heard o’ him, I guess.”

 
          
Her
face blanched. Sudden, the outlaw! She remembered the tales told of his
reckless courage, marvellous marksmanship and the dexterity with which he time
after time eluded capture. She did not know that, although ostensibly a hunted
criminal, he was actually working on the side of the law, and that the crimes
attributed to him were committed by others. Such a man as she conceived Sudden
to be might be guilty of any outrage and would show no mercy.

 
          
`Well,”
Bartholomew said, “knowin’ that, yu still wantin’ time?”

 
          
“Don’t
weaken,”
came
the warning whisper.

 
          
“Yes,
I musn think,” Phil said faintly.

 
          
Bartholomew’s
patience was becoming exhausted; his voice had a very palpable sneer in it as
he retorted, “
Oughtn’t
to need much thinkin’ about—the
choice o’ leavin’ here as my wife or stayin’ to be the playthin’ o’ these cow
thieves.” Instantly, by her expression, he saw that he had made a mistake, and
hastened to mend it by adding, “I overheard some of ‘ern talkin’.”

 
          
But
the damage was done; the fact that he had used the same threat as the outlaw
had engendered suspicion in the girl’s mind, and Bart’s explanation, quick and
plausible as it was, did not remove it. So that it was with a frowning face and
nothing settled that he left her, with the stated intention of interviewing the
Judge.

 
          
“An’
when I’ve fixed things with him yu’ll have to make up yore mind, Phil,” he
warned. “I ain’t goin’ to be fooled with.”

 
          
He
went out and she heard the key grate in the lock. She had but one hope—the
unknown whisperer. A scrutiny of the wall behind her showed that two of the
logs did not quite meet, the space enabling the listener to hear and make
himself
heard. Was it the outlaw trying to trick her into
throwing away her chance of escape? She did not think so; the voice had seemed
agitated. She could not see through the crack, and, though she waited eagerly,
the silence remained unbroken.

 
          
Bartholomew
had not far to go, a mere twenty paces through the trees brought him to another
hut, similar to the one he had just left. Inside this, lolling easily on a
bench and puffing a cigarette, he found the Desert Edge jurist. For a moment
the prisoner blinked in the sunlight which poured through the door, and then,
recognising the visitor, greeted him sardonically.

 
          
“Mornin’,
Bartholomew, have they got you, too?” he asked. “Or are you the chief, by any
chance, of this collection of gaol-fodder?”

 
          
“Wrong
both guesses,” replied the rancher.

 
          
“Ah,
well, then I haven’t to thank you for my arrival here?” Embley proceeded.