Read Sudden--Strikes Back (A Sudden Western #1) Online
Authors: Frederick H. Christian
Tags: #cowboys, #western fiction, #range war, #the old west, #piccadilly publishing, #frederick h christian, #oliver strange, #sudden, #the wild west
Burley
Linkham did not find Curt Parr. Curt Parr found Linkham. He was
camped off the trail, waiting for darkness before he ventured on
the open trail again. He saw the horseman coming, recognized
Linkham’s paint pony immediately, and made a snap decision. If he
told Linkham Green’s real identity, added that Green had gone to
the Hideout, that the Slash 8 man had divined the secret of the
Shadows, Burley would have a chance to clear out before the John
Laws arrived. He would be grateful. He would rescind his order to
have Parr killed on sight. He might even review his decision about
giving Parr a grubstake. So Curt Parr stood up and flagged with his
arms and called ‘Burley! Burley Linkham! I got to talk to yu! For
God’s sake, Burley, I got to talk to yu.’
Linkham
reined in. His astonishment could not have been more complete if he
had rubbed a silver dollar and made a wish, and immediately seen it
granted. There was Parr, waving, yelling something
incomprehensible, outlined clearly against the bright yellow of the
sun. Linkham shot him down without a qualm and rode off, leaving
the huddled form of the former Slash 8 rider where it had fallen.
He turned his horse’s head towards the Hideout.
He rode
the distance to the Hideout in high good humor, still almost unable
to believe his luck. Just to be sure, he took out of his pocket the
ring he had wrenched from his victim’s finger, and saw the initials
CP engraved on it. He smiled, and jogged into the canyon mouth. His
smile disappeared as he reached the middle of the canyon without
being hailed.
‘
That damned Pardoe!’ he muttered. ‘How many times has he got
to be told about keepin’ a guard posted? Damned if I don’t bust his
beak again for him.’ So saying he dug his spurs into the paint’s
Hank and rocketed along the trail towards the cabin. He came around
the bend fast and wide and into Sudden’s view. The Slash8 man
stretched himself warily, and moved away from the window to behind
the door. A quick glance at Pardoe showed that the man was still
unconscious.
The
slowing thunder of Linkham’s angry arrival ceased in the yard, and
Sudden heard the heavy tread of the man’s boots on the steps of the
porch. The door burst open and Linkham pushed into the room.
‘Pardoe!—what the hell—’ was as far as he got before Sudden stepped
out from behind the door and slashed the barrel of his six-gun
downwards. Fast as his movement was, however, Linkham’s reaction
was faster. He was incredibly quick for such a big man, and
Sudden’s blow, intended for Linkham’s head, bounced relatively
harmlessly off the Box B man’s shoulder. With a bear-like growl,
Linkham snatched at his gun, but this time Green’s aim was
unerring, and a chop with the gun barrel across Linkham’s wrist
broke the man’s hold. Linkham’s gun skittered across the bare board
floor. Even as Sudden struck, however, Linkham was moving. His left
arm came over in a lopping, sweeping blow which caught Sudden on
the side of the head and lifted him off his feet, slamming him
against the wall. He slid backwards, scrabbling for balance, as
Linkham came boring in for the kill.
‘
Mister Snooper Green, eh?’ grunted Linkham. ‘We’ll fix yore
wagon good this time!’ His long arms reached for Sudden’s throat,
but the Slash 8 man regained his balance in the same instant and
brought the .45 up to cover the oncoming Linkham.
The Box
B foreman stopped, his piggy eyes gleaming. He looked from the bore
of the gun up into Green’s narrowed eyes, and then
shrugged.
‘
Yu goin’ to kill me, Green? he asked.
‘
On’y if I got to,’ Sudden replied.
‘
What I thought,’ nodded Linkham, and without a second’s
hesitation, threw himself bodily at Sudden. Only a short, vicious
punch from the Slash 8 man’s left hand, which threw Linkham off
balance, prevented him from finishing the fight then and there. He
landed sprawling, then raised himself on one knee. He glared at
Sudden.
‘
Yu better kill me, Green,’ he growled. ‘Elsewise I’m goin’ to
come after yu until I whup yu or yu shoot me. Are yu goin’ to fight
like a man?’
For a
long moment, Sudden regarded this huge bear of a man. The contest
would be uneven, for Linkham outweighed and outreached him.
Nevertheless, since he did not want to kill the man, and it was
obvious that Linkham would only fear a man who was his physical
master, there was little choice. In a strange way, he found the
man’s courage admirable.
‘
Yo’re quite a man, Link,’ he said. Linkham saluted him
mockingly as Sudden unbuckled his gun belt. This he threw to one
side, and it was fortunate for him that he did not make the reflex
action of watching where they landed, for the moment the belt had
left his hand, Linkham surged to his feet and rushed in again, his
huge arms swinging. A nailing blow glanced Sudden’s cheek, while
another set bells ringing in his ears. He retaliated with a flurry
of hard, punishing blows to Linkham’s paunchy middle, then skipped
warily out of range of the huge ham fists. Balanced on the balls of
his feet, Sudden awaited Linkham’s next onslaught which was only
seconds in coming. With a bull-like roar, Linkham dived at Sudden’s
legs and flung his arms wide in an attempt to sweep the lighter man
off his feet by sheer weight. Sudden had seen Linkham’s try coming,
however, and was ready for it. He moved, just enough to the right,
and clubbing his fists together, brought them smashing down on
Linkham’s neck as the huge body neared horizontal at Sudden’s waist
level. Linkham hit the floor with a resounding crash that set tin
plates rattling on the crude shelves along the wall. He lay there
for a moment, prone, gathering himself for the next onslaught.
’
‘
Why don’t yu fight like a man,’ Linkham gasped, ‘ ’stead o’
dancin’ around an’ dodgin’ like that.’
‘
Yu fight yore fight an’ I’ll fight mine,’ panted Sudden. ‘I
ain’t aimin’ to get stomped to death.’
‘
Well . . .’ Linkham raised himself slowly, ‘Yo’re gonna
be!’
And he
leaped yet again at Sudden, showering a tremendous flurry of blows
at his opponent. To his surprise, this times the Slash 8 man did
not move away, but traded blow for blow with him. For perhaps two
terrible minutes the adversaries stood toe to toe, their blows
smashing solidly into each other. Blood spattered the floor.
Sudden’s shirt was half torn from his body, his face a mass of
bruises. One of Linkham’s eyes was closed, the other badly puffed.
Finally, sobbing for breath, the two fell apart. Sudden stood, head
hanging slightly, pumping air into his laboring lungs, while
Linkham swayed, his face purple with exertion, whistling for
breath.
‘
Damn yu!’ he muttered through broken teeth, ‘I shoulda
finished yu the night that old fool Tate got his.’
As this
callous statement escaped Linkham’s lips, a murderous hatred slid
slowly into Sudden’s eyes. The Box B man saw it, and despite his
fuddled state, realized the enormity of his error. Now Green
advanced upon him like a stalking tiger, a lethal light in his
eyes. All traces of fatigue had dropped from the Slash 8 man’s
shoulders, and for the first time, Linkham began to give ground,
shrinking from the pent fury in front of him. To cover his fear he
launched a wild blow at Sudden, which was parried almost
contemptuously. Then, almost as if Linkham were some inanimate
object, Green methodically walked forward, his sinewy arms moving
like steel pistons, driving blow after blow into the wilting
Linkham.
The
unconscious Pardoe had awakened during the brawl. Lying in the
bunk, he whispered an awed ‘My Gawd!’ as the Slash 8 man followed
the hulking wreck of Linkham around the room, coldly and
efficiently beating the bigger man to his knees. Linkham’s
desperate attempts at counter attack were almost effortlessly
beaten aside, while Sudden prowled forward, his blows landing with
solid, merciless regularity. It could not last. Slowly, with what
seemed to the watching Pardoe almost like a sigh of relief, Linkham
toppled. Like an old, old tree, he leaned slowly sideways,
teetered, then crashed to the scraped board floor, where he lay
like a dead man.
As
Pardoe watched, his eyes like saucers, the killing light faded from
Green’s eyes; the bandit saw a frown appear, then something almost
like regret cross Green’s face. Slowly, the Slash 8 ramrod
straightened up. Crossing the room he picked up his gun belt and
strapped it on.
‘
I reckon that’s the whole story, now,’ he said to no one in
particular.
He
seemed to see Pardoe for the first time; stooping, he untied the
man’s bands and helped him to his feet.
‘
Come along, Bull, an’ don’t give me no trouble. We got some
ridin’ to do. Give me a hand with Linkham.’
Chafing
his wrists, Pardoe got to his feet and hastened to do the Slash 8
man’s bidding. After what he had seen that day, if Green had told
him to fly to Hanging Rock, Pardoe would have flapped his arms and
given it a try rather than bring that cold, empty light back into
Green’s eyes.
Hanging
Rock was full to bursting. News of the forthcoming sale of the
Slash 8 had aroused so much interest throughout the neighboring
area that practically everyone who could get to the town had done
so; the Slash 8 was well known to be one of the finest ranches in
the Territory, and even though they really had no hope of raising
the money to buy it, people had come in from far and wide to clap
eyes on the man who could. In addition, there was a large
contingent of miners from Thunder Mesa, and Pat Newman was with
them. This contingent of hard-drinking, hard-knuckled lighters gave
a ribald cheer as Sheriff Brady was seen rushing by the saloon on
some errand; indeed, several of the town’s leading citizens were
given ribald raspberries by the ham-fisted coal heavers.
On the
streets, the broadwalks were crowded with a jostling chiaroscuro of
humanity, Mexicans, Indians, even one or two Chinese who worked as
cooks in the mines could be spotted. Down at Diego’s Zachary
Barclay was toasting his imminent ownership of the Slash 8 with his
men; damning, the while, the girl who had foiled his chance to
upset de Witt’s complete control over his destiny.
The
Slash 8 contingent arrived at about midday, and Grace Tate went
immediately to the hotel, where Mrs. Mulvaney, who by some
mysterious means already knew about Grace’s having thrown Barclay
off the Slash 8, greeted her like a long lost daughter. Dave and
the rest of the crew repaired to Dutchy’s, and were greeted with a
yell of welcome from those of the miners who remembered them from
the cattle drive over the mountains. Judge Pringle disappeared on
some errand of his own. Pat Newman approached Dave, and drawing him
to one side, asked, ‘Is it true yu can’t raise the money,
son?’
Dave
nodded miserably.
‘
I was looking for Green to tell him that I’d be glad to take a
few more head o’ beef off the Slash 8 if it would help. Where is
he?’
‘
I don’t know,’ Dave told the mine manager. ‘I expected to see
him here, an’ if he don’t turn up soon, I’m goin’ to be askin’ some
people a few leadin’ questions.’
Newman
nodded, pulling on his pipe. ‘Yu get in any trouble, yell. My boys
will back any play the Slash 8 makes. I like that feller
Green.’
‘
We all do,’ interjected Gimpy, who had just turned up. ‘But I
ain’t worried about him—he ain’t the kind to get hisself salivated
by the kind o’ scum we got in these parts?
‘
I hope yo’re right.’ Out of the corner of his eye, Dave saw
Zachary Barclay enter the saloon. Behind him, puffed with his own
importance, came Shady Brady, and a few moments later, de Witt came
in. Dave kept his eye on the door until he saw Grace come in,
accompanied by Mrs. Mulvaney. Holding up his hand, he caught her
attention, and the two women came over to his side.
‘
When will it start?’ Grace asked him.
‘
Right about now, I’d guess,’ he told her, motioning to where
Sheriff Brady was climbing on to the bar. Someone beat on a table
until the uproar died down.
‘
Folks, we’re here today to conduct an auction,’ announced
Brady. ‘Yu probably all know that the Bank is foreclosin’ its
mortgage on the Slash 8, formerly the property o’ George Tate,
deceased. Are the owners represented here?’
‘
They are, sir,’ judge Pringle pushed to the front of the
crowd, and with a courtly bow, ushered Grace Tate into one of the
chairs which had been set up alongside a table.
‘
This is not a legal proceedin’,’ Brady continued. ‘I am,
therefore, placin’ the conduct o’ this business in the hands of Mr.
de Witt, the president o’ the Bank o’ Hangin’ Rock.’
‘
Thank Gawd for that!’ called someone as Brady clambered down
from the bar, and Jasper de Witt rose from his chair facing Grace
Tate and judge Pringle across the cleared floor and walked to the
bar, where he stood facing the room. Dave reflected that de Witt
looked remarkably different, although there was no change in the
man’s actual appearance. It was something else, thought the Slash 8
man. An air of triumph, perhaps? He whispered as much to
Gimpy.
‘
He’s just shore o’ hisself, boy. He figgers he’s got us sold
lock, stock, an’ barrel. An’ he’s more’n pleased about it, for some
reason.’
‘
He shore ain’t no friend of ours,’ muttered Dave.