Sudden--Strikes Back (A Sudden Western #1) (14 page)

‘
But surely,’ the girl argued, ‘all differences cannot be
settled with guns? Surely sometimes sane men can sit down and come
to a sensible solution without spilling blood?’

Dave was
just nodding in agreement when, without warning, a whirring rattle
sounded by the side of the trail, and Grace’s mount shied
violently, all but unseating the girl. Her horrified eyes espied
the reason for her mount’s panic: there, by the side of the road,
poised to strike, was a huge rattler. Even as her mind encompassed
the deadly threat of those flickering fangs, a shot rang out from
beside her, and the reptile’s head disappeared, while the thrashing
body was carried bodily back into the brush by the force of the
bullet. Grace turned to see Dave holstering his smoking six-gun,
his normally friendly eyes slitted and cold. The look was quickly
replaced by his crinkling smile, and he led her pony back on to the
trail.

‘
Yu was sayin’ that sensible men can allus sit down an’ talk
things over,’ he said, as though nothing had happened. His calm
voice soothed the girl’s jumpy nerves, and she marveled at his iron
control. ‘However: some folks is like that rattler back there.
Poison mean. Yu can’t discuss nothin’ with them; they don’t give yu
no time, an’ they ain’t interested in bein’ reasonable. Yu get
reasonable with a rattler an’ yu wind up dead. There’s only one
course o’ action left open.’ He patted the holstered revolver, and
the girl shuddered as she recalled the terrible swiftness with
which this smiling young man at her side had meted out death to the
threatening reptile by the roadside.

‘
Mr. Barclay was telling me about some of the things which have
been happening in Sweetwater Valley,’ Grace began, after a short
silence.

‘
Funny, that,’ Dave commented.

‘
What’s funny?’ Grace frowned.

‘
Me talkin’ about rattlers led yu into talkin’ about Barclay.
What yu might call a natural progression.’ His normally handsome
face was twisted into a scowl. ‘Miss Grace, take my advice an’
don’t believe anythin’ Zack Barclay told yu. He’s so crooked that
when he dies they’re goin’ to have to screw him into the
ground.’

‘
He told me that these mysterious Shadows are behind most of
the troubles,’ Grace persisted. ‘Why hasn’t anyone tracked them
down?’

‘
Well there’s two answers to that question,
ma’am. Yu can take yore pick. First, there’s Sheriff Brady’s
opinion that the Shadows have got a hideout in the hills so well
hid that it would take an army to find it; or yu have the other
school o’ thought—to which I subscribe, and so did yore Pa and so
does Jim—that them
hombres
are what you might call a figment o’ the
imagination.’

‘
But how can they be?’ gasped Grace. ‘Surely they have been
seen many times? Mr. Barclay told me they had robbed the bank at
Hanging Rock!’

‘
That they did,’ replied the cowboy, ‘an’ they’re supposed to
have done pretty nearly everythin’ that’s happened around these
parts, includin’—beggin’ yore pardon, ma’am—ambushin’ yore Daddy
and Jim Green. But when yu think about her, she don’t ring true,’
he finished.

Grace’s
face mirrored her curiosity, and the cowboy went on to explain,
ticking off points on his fingers. ‘One: how come the Shadows
knowed when yore Pa and Green was leavin’ town? Two: How come
everythin’ they’ve done—apart from robbin’ the bank—has been a
direct help to Barclay? Three: how can they vanish every time
without trace? An’ four: why haven’t they given Zack Barclay any
trouble?’

‘
Oh, come now, David,’ interrupted the girl. ‘You are making
the facts fit the theory, instead of the other way around. Are you
seriously suggesting that Barclay is in league with these
bandits?’

‘
Suggestin’ he—heck! I’m sayin’ it!’

‘
But that’s silly when he has the money to buy whatever he
wants without any need to resort to violence.’

‘
Then answer me this,’ asked the cowboy. ‘Just what do the
Shadows want?’

Grace
fell silent, for indeed, this was a problem to which she had given
much thought. If the Shadows had murdered her father as Barclay had
suggested, what had been their motive? Revenge? Revenge for what?
Why had they attacked the Slash 8 at all, or any of the other
ranches? Could it really be to enable Barclay to buy the ranches
that had been abandoned? Barclay said he could have bought them
anyway. He had said his ranch was too big, too strong, for any
outlaw, band to dare to mount an attack upon, but if the Shadows
were working for some other, obscure purpose, why had they not
attacked the Box B?—rumor had it that they were a large band. She
could not answer Dave’s question—indeed, he could not answer it
himself; Deep in thought, the two rode in silence through the
towering ravine between Thunder Mesa and the river, where the trail
narrowed to only a few yards in width. Here, her voice half-lost in
the swirli.ng noise of the rushing river, Grace spoke
again.

‘
Green told me he was going to sell some cattle in South Bend,’
she shouted. ‘Surely he can’t be thinking of bringing a herd
through here?’ She gestured at the narrow trail and the towering
walls of rock above them.

‘
Well, short o’ carryin’ them on his back across
Thunder

Mesa, I
can’t think of any other way he could take ’em,’ replied Dave
jauntily, although in truth the girl’s question echoed his own
thoughts as they rode through the canyon. Bringing a herd through
here would be dangerous at any time; if there was trouble of any
sort, it could be nothing short of suicidal for all
concerned.

‘
I hope he knows what he is doing,’ she said. Dave spoke more
reassuringly than he felt.

‘
Don’t yu worry none, ma’am,’ he told her. ‘Jim knows what he’s
doin’. If he says he’s takin’ a herd through to South Bend, he’ll
take it there, hell or high water.’

Grace
Tate did not answer this remark. In fact, she did not speak again
until, half an hour later, they were in the main street of the
little town of South Bend. A virtual replica of Hanging Rock, it
differed from that place mainly in the bigger proportion of houses,
rows of which lined the hills behind the town. Many of the miners
who worked on Thunder Mesa had their homes there; South Bend was
far less a cattle town than its nearest neighbor. Though both Dave
and Grace had visited South Bend before, neither had any real
knowledge of its layout, but an inquiry to a passerby elicited
information as to the whereabouts of Judge Pringle’s house. The man
goggled at Grace Tate as if she were an angel fallen down from
heaven, and Dave noticed many heads turn to follow the pretty young
girl as she rode proudly down the street.

Judge
Pringle’s house was a small frame building with an ell roof,
painted white and green; it lay on the far side of the town just
off the road which led, eventually, to Las Crucas.

The
Judge, whose title was a genuine one and not a courtesy title such
as was often found in the West, turned out to be an elderly man of
about sixty-live. His tall, stooped frame and pale blue eyes spoke
of many hours spent poring over the small print in legal tomes
under uncertain light; but his voice was strong, his face rugged
and kindly, and his jaw still jutted with determination. His hair
was as white as snow. ‘

‘
So you’re George’s daughter? he said, when Grace introduced
herself. ‘You favor your mother. My, how time flies. The last time
I saw you, you had pigtails down to here and freckles all over your
face.’ He smiled at the recollection. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I
was to hear of your father’s death, my dear. He wrote to me just
before … it happened, you know?

‘
Yes, I know,’ Grace told him. ‘That’s really the reason I am
here. My father left me a note saying that I must come and see
you.’

‘
Correct,’ the Judge said. ‘Grace, there are a number of things
I want to talk to you about, not the least of them being the
running of your affairs. Why don’t you sit down and make yourself
comfortable? My housekeeper can bring us some coffee.’

Dave
waited until Grace was seated, and then retreated towards the
door.

‘
I’ll jest meander down the street, ma’am,’ he offered, ‘an’
come back in about an hour. Yu an’ the judge has got a lot to talk
about in private, I’m thinkin’.’

‘
Oh, David, don’t be silly. Judge, this is David Haynes, who
works at the Slash 8. Surely there is nothing which he cannot
hear—unless Judge, you have any objection? She raised her eyebrows
in a questioning look, and the judge shook his snowy
head.

‘
No, no, my dear,’ he told her. ‘The situation is relatively
simple. Your father sent me what is called in law a power of
attorney. That entitles me to handle all his affairs as I see fit,
hinging upon two stipulations which your father made. One was that
the young man named James Green, in whose abilities your father
expressed the greatest confidence, runs all the day-to-day
activities of the ranch; and secondly, that you should inherit full
title to and control of the Slash 8 upon your twenty-first
birthday. Which, I understand, will be in three months’
time.’

Grace
nodded affirmatively, and the lawyer continued, ‘Your father’s
letter contained information about James Green which I am not at
liberty to reveal to you at this time. Suffice it to say that I
have made certain inquiries about the young man, and you need have
no fear of either his ability or his trustworthiness. I will tell
you that one of his references was Governor Bleke of Arizona. The
recommendation of a man like Bleke is all the information I need.
In view of that, I had no hesitation in allowing Green to continue
as foreman of the Slash 8. Had there been any doubt in my mind, or
any fear that your father had been hoodwinked, I would have sought
an injunction against Green in the Territorial courts. In view of
the fact that there is no such doubt, I have executed your father’s
will in accordance with his wishes.’ The old man smiled faintly.
‘You must forgive me if I sound like a lawyer, my dear.’

Grace
smiled in return, while on her right Dave glowed with the knowledge
of his friend’s good standing. Now that her suspicions that she
could not take control of the ranch from Green were confirmed,
Grace Tate felt piqued, yet at the same time, relieved.

‘
So, in effect,’ the old judge was saying, ‘I become your
guardian for the next three months—a duty which I am honored to
undertake.’

‘
Thank you, Judge,’ said the girl. ‘I am correct, then, in
saying that I have no power whatsoever at the Slash 8?’

‘
Oh, goodness gracious, no, my dear,’ replied the Judge, ‘such
is anything but the case. You may do entirely as you wish. You have
a generous allowance, and all the freedom you wish. All I ask—and I
ask, mark you, not order—is that whenever possible you inform Green
of your intentions?

‘
And if I wished to sell the Slash 8 and go back
East?’

‘
Then you could do so—after you are twenty one. Surely no
reasonable purchaser would balk at waiting for three
months?’

‘
Yes,’ persisted Grace, ‘but if I wanted to sell
now?’

‘
I am afraid I would have to ask Green’s recommendation for
such a course of action, my dear. I know little about the running
of a ranch, and I’d take the opinion of an expert. I’m sure Green
would accept my advice about matters legal in the same
spirit.’

The old
judge’s tone was kindly, but Grace knew from his words that the
lawyer was phrasing his reply in such a way only to avoid hurting
her feelings. At the same time, he was forestalling her next
question, which would have been to ask whether she could dismiss
Green. Her frown deepened.

‘
It looks very much as though I must suffer Sweetwater Valley
and Mr. Green for three months whether I like it or not,’ she
sighed.

The
judge looked surprised. ‘Has Green given you any
trouble?’

‘
I don’t like him,’ Grace spoke bluntly, ‘any more than I like
the valley. He acts as though he owns the Slash 8.’

‘
In a manner of speaking, that is how things should be. If he
did not then he would be failing in his duty; until you attain your
majority, my dear, I am holding Green responsible for every cent of
the Slash 8’s value. He must act as though he owns it—in every
way.’

Seeing
Grace’s downcast expression, the lawyer tried to reassure her. ‘My
dear, I think you ought to give yourself a chance. You have only
been here a short while, and much has happened. Surely, you must
realize you could not run the ranch yourself, even if you had
control.’

Grace
had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that this was true, but she said
half-defiantly, ‘But then I wouldn’t need to. Mr. Barclay has
already offered to buy the Slash 8 at any fair price I care to
name. It seemed to me that selling the ranch would have brought all
the troubles in the valley to an end.’

‘
Obviously neither your father nor Green thought so, Grace,’
the old man told her. ‘Your father wrote at some length about Mr.
Barclay.’ His tone indicated that none of what her father had
written had been complimentary to Barclay, and that Pringle himself
seemed to entertain no high opinion of the owner of the Box B.
Grace realized that her visit to South Bend had been fruitless, and
stood up to leave; Pringle misinterpreted her woebegone
expression.