Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (27 page)

 
          
“There
can be no mistake. Here is a list of the numbers of the larger notes taken and
I gave the sheriff a copy of it after the robbery. You can see for yourself.”

 
          
He
held out the list and the notes. Severn compared them and nodded; the numbers
of the notes he had cashed were undoubtedly there. The
banker
flapped open
a book, took a slip of paper and wrote rapidly. When he had
finished he passed over the slip.

 
          
“There
are the numbers of the notes I paid you,” he said.

 
          
The
foreman studied the list and knitted his brows in an effort to solve the
mystery. How it had come about was more than he could fathom, but he recognised
that the evidence was conclusive and that he was in a very tight corner.
Slipping the list into his vest pocket he laughed and looked at Tyler.

 
          
‘Well,
I dunno how yu did it, sheriff, but it shore looks a neat frame-up,” Severn
said. “I s’pose yo’re goin’ to charge me with helpin’ to loot the bank?”

 
          
“Yu betcha—’mong other things.
The shootin’ o’ Rapson for
one,” snapped the officer.

 
          
Severn’s
features expressed concern. “My gracious, did I shoot yu, Rapson? I’m right
sorry.”

 
          
“An’
the murder o’ Philip Masters,” the sheriff added crushingly.

 
          
But
the accused declined to be crushed; he only laughed. “Yore memory ain’t what it
oughta be, Tyler,” he quizzed. “Yu’ve forgotten to put in the assassination o’
President Lincoln.”

 
          
Furious
with rage at the laugh which this raised, Tyler started to pull his gun,
remembered that this man had easily beaten Bart to the draw, and thought better
of it. But his movement did not pass unnoticed.

 
          
“If
yo’re
wantin’
a pack o’ cards I’ll get ‘em, Hen,” came
a sarcastic voice from behind.

 
          
The
badgered officer darted an angry glance in the direction of the speaker. “I can
do without a pack o’ fools anyway,” he snorted, and, turning to his two men, he
added, “Take his guns. Neither of the deputies betrayed any great eagerness for
the task and the puncher smiled.

 
          
“Better
go slow, sheriff,” he warned. “I’m a peaceable man up to a point, an’ I got
every respect for the law—for the law, I said, sheriff, not for the pin-eyed
parasites who sometimes misrepresent it—but I don’t like bein’ rushed.”

 
          
“Huh!
if
I say the word, we can blow yu apart,” the officer
blustered.

 
          
Severn
did not seem to change his lolling attitude, yet with a motion that baffled the
sight his guns were out levelled from the hips.

 
          
“Give
yore orders, Tyler—to the undertaker,” he mocked.

 
          
The
blood fled from the sheriff’s face and the crowd surged back towards the door,
as eager to get out as it had been to enter; the bank had not been built for
gun-fights. The man with the drop watched with saturnine amusement.

 
          
“No
need for panic, gents,” he said. “The sheriff an’ his deppities will elevate
their paws an’ hear what I’ve to say.” The command was obeyed without
hesitation.

 
          
“Yo’re
resistin’ arrest—that constitutes another charge,” Tyler protested.

 
          
“Well,
yu can’t hang me but once, which is a consolation when yu come to think of it,”
the puncher grinned. “An’ I ain’t resistin’ anyways, but I gotta little matter
to arrange before I accept yore kind invite, sheriff. Yu see, there’s no one in
charge at the Lazy M an’ the boys are liable to paint for war when they hear
about this. I want someone to take ‘em word from me that they ain’t to sit in,
an’ Judge Embley, at Desert Edge, has to be told; he’ll know what to do.”

 
          
There
was a movement near the door and Snap Lunt pushed his way unceremoniously
through the onlookers. His face betrayed no recognition of the Lazy M foreman.

 
          
“I’ll
take
them
messages, Mister,” he offered. “I was agoin’
to Desert Edge anyhow.”

 
          
“I’m
certainly obliged to yu,” Severn said gravely.

 
          
“Here,
I reckon I got a word to say ‘bout this,” the sheriff interposed.

 
          
Lunt
looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Yu claimin’ to interfere with my movements?”
he asked acidly.

 
          
Tyler
had nothing to say to this challenge and with a gesture of contempt the little
gunman headed for the door. He had almost reached it when a foot scraped.
Instantly Snap was facing the sheriff, with both guns out and venom in his
slitted eyes. A few seconds of blood-chilling silence and then
Snap
realised that no sinister move was intended; his
leathery features wrinkled into a hard grin.

 
          
“Sorry
folks,” he apologised. “My nerves ain’t just right these days.”

 
          
After
he had backed through the door and vanished the sheriff gave vent to an audible
sigh of relief. One of the deputies expressed the general feeling.

 
          
“He
oughta get them nerves seen to,” he said.

 
          
“He’ll
find thisyer town too hot if he comes any more o’ them capers,” Tyler growled,
his courage returning when the danger was over. “Now, Severn, what’s the word?”

 
          
The
cowpuncher unbuckled his gun-belt and held it out. “Havin’ made my arrangements
I’m entirely at yore service, sheriff,” he mocked. “Yu got the wrong man, but a
trifle like that won’t worry yu, I’m shore.”

 
          
The
officer did not reply to the insult; this tame surrender of a man he regarded
as desperate and dangerous made him uneasy.

 
          
HOPE
AGAIN not being sufficiently civilised to boast of a regular gaol, offenders
against the law had to be content with a cell, specially constructed for the
purpose at the back of the sheriff’s quarters. The walls were of ‘dobe, two
feet thick with a core of stout logs, light and ventilation being provided by
an unglazed opening a foot square defended by a strong iron bar. This last must
have been added for effect, since only a small child could have passed through
the aperture. The door was massive, and secured by a heavy lock. A round hole
in the upper part enabled the inmate of the cell to be spied upon. A pallet bed
and a bench comprised the furniture.

 
          
Severn,
having noted these details, rolled a cigarette as well as his bound wrists
permitted, lighted it, and gave himself up to meditation.

 
          
“I’ll
begin to believe I did rob
the durn
bank presently,”
he muttered.

 
          
Painstakingly
he turned the matter over in his mind, seeking for some clue that might provide
an explanation, and suddenly it came to him. When the bandits had raided the Lazy
M and stolen the girl, the money had not been taken, though it was in a place
where the most casual search must have unearthed it. At the time it had struck
him as curious that such men should forego an opportunity for plunder.

 
          
“They
rung the changes on me,” he soliloquised. “Took my notes an’ left stolen ones
in their place.
But why?
Shadwell might a’done it outa
spite, but he warn’t the sort o’ man to pass up most of two thousand plunks,
an’ it wouldn’t be his way o’ evenin’ up.”

 
          
Though
he was satisfied that he had solved the mystery of how the stolen money had
come into his possession, he could see no way of proving it, and as many of the
inhabitants of Hope had suffered by the bank robbery, he knew his chances of
clearing himself were slim indeed. So far as the murder charge was concerned he
did not give that much thought, regarding it as mainly a bluff on the part of
Tyler. Nevertheless, he did not propose to remain idle; there was
a certain
evidence he hoped to be able to hand to Embley.

 
          
“I
gotta get outa this,” he muttered, and began to consider how that might be
achieved.

 
          
Nothing
could be done until his hands were free, and he strained at the thongs; they
did not yield in the least. Then he tried the knots with his teeth, but the man
who had tied them knew his job. An idea occurred to him. Going to the door, he
yelled, and immediately one of the deputies appeared.

 
          
“What’s
yore trouble?” he growled.

 
          
“Thirst,”
replied the prisoner promptly. “This damned hole is like an oven.”

 
          
The
man grinned and went away, to return presently with a pail of water and a tin
dipper, putting them down just inside the door.

 
          
“There
yu are, an’ don’t make a beast o’ yoreself,” he said facetiously.

 
          
The
prisoner did not reply to this pleasantry, but having made sure that the man
was not watching him from the spyhole, he took a
drink,
and kneeling down by the bucket, plunged his bound wrists into the water and
kept them there. At the end of half an hour he had the satisfaction of finding
the rawhide give a little. Working at the bonds and renewing the soaking at
intervals, he succeeded after some hours in stretching them sufficiently to
slip them off when he wished.

 
          
Darkness
was drawing on before he made his next move. Tyler, he surmised, would spend
his evening, as usual, at the “Come Again” and the two deputies would be left
in charge. As the dusk deepened he again began to shout through the door, and
the man who had answered the previous summons showed himself.

 
          
“What
yu belly-achin’ about now?” he asked.

 
          
“Belly-achin’
is right,” Severn snorted. “Don’t yu feed folks in thisyer
Bumptious
ho-tel?”

 
          
“Damme
if I didn’t forget about yu,” the man chuckled. “See what I can do.”

 
          
“So
will I,” murmured the prisoner, and smiled felinely as he slipped his hands
free of the bonds.

 
          
The
deputy returned soon with a hunk of meat and bread. Unlocking the door, he came
in, put the provender on the floor and straightened up.

 
          
“Ain’t
got
no
cof—” he began.

 
          
Before
he could finish, Severn leaped forward, his fist shot out and the guard went
down under the bitter blow like a poleaxed steer. A few seconds sufficed to tie
and gag him.

 
          
“Thank
the Lord he was totin’ his gun,” murmured the captive, and making sure that it
was loaded, slipped it into the band of his pants and buttoned his vest over
it.

 
          
He
listened at the door but heard nothing—the falling body on the earthen floor
had made but little noise—and satisfied that all so far was well, he stepped lightly
along the passage which led to the street. As he passed the half-open door of
the sheriff’s office, a voice called
out :

 
          
“That yu, Jake?
Where yu off to?”

 
          
“Back
right away,” Severn said gruffly.

 
          
“Huh!
Hen’s
orders was
to stay on the job,” said the other.

 
          
“To
hell with Hen,” Severn grunted, edging nearer the exit. “He’s stayin’ on it
hisself, ain’t he?”