Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) Read Online Free PDF Page B

part, he was quickly corrected.
                 “ Don’t yu get no wrong ideas about them fellas,” his
informant observed. “Ain’t none of ‘em lackin’ sand, an’ if they done it an’
took the notion, they’d be here brazenin’ it out, yu betcha. Bad? Shore they’re bad, but there ain’t a smidgin o’ fear in the whole bilin’, no
sir.”
                 Then
came the interment; the puncher followed the procession to the little cemetery
less than half a mile to the north of the town. There, on a grassy slope shaded
by cottonwoods and birches, in a silence broken only by the gay chirping of the
birds and a few remembered fragments of the burial service pronounced by the
doctor, the boy was laid to rest. When the two miners who officiated had filled
in the grave, the spectators resumed their hats and melted away.
                 Sudden
was the last to leave, save for the sturdy figure with folded arms and bowed
head gazing with unseeing eyes at the newly-made mound which held all his
hopes. The puncher would have liked to utter a word of comfort, but he did not
know what to say, and his cowboy’s inherent dread of emotion in any form kept
him tongue-tied. At length he too turned to retrace his steps to Windy. He had
not gone far when Purdie caught him up.
                 “Stranger,”
the cattleman said in a deep voice, “I reckon I ain’t thanked yu right for what
yu did.”
                 Sudden
gripped the outstretched hand. “Why, there ain’t any need,” he returned. “I
wish I could ‘ve …” He paused awkwardly, and the other
man nodded his comprehension. “It’s shore tough, but life is like that,” he
said, and despite his iron control there was a tremor in his tone.
                 “Yu see, he was pretty near all I had—I lost his mother
when he was no more’n a li’l trick; there’s on’y Nan now.”
                 He
was silent for some moments, and then he straightened up, squaring his shoulders
as though making a conscious effort to free them of a burden. “Yu aimin’ to
stay around here?” he asked bluntly.
                 “I
ain’t decided,” the other replied. “I’m kind o’ footloose about now. Got tired
o’ Texas an’ New Mexico, an’ figured I’d have a look at Arizona; heard there
was gold here too.”
                 The
elder man shot a quick look at him. “There is if a fella knowed where to
search,” he said.
                 They
were entering the town when a young man came striding rapidly towards them; it
was Luce Burdette. Sudden’s eyes went to his companion, but the ranch-owner’s
features had the fixity of stone itself. Burdette did not hesitate; he stopped
square in front of them.
                 “I’ve
just struck town, Purdie, an’ heard of yore loss,” he said. “I want yu to know
that I’m terrible sorry.”
                 The
cattleman looked at him, his eyes like chilled steel, his lips clamped tightly.
“Murder is one o’ the things that bein’ sorry for don’t excuse,” lie said
harshly.
                 Burdette’s
eyes opened in bewilderment and then, as understanding came to him, his cheeks
flushed redly under the tan.
                 “Yu
tryin’ to tell me I killed yore son?” he cried.
                 “Nothin’
less,” was the stern reply. “He was found in Echo Valley with a .38 slug
through his back, fired by a fella who rode a grey; there’s yore hoss an’ gun,
an’ you was seen headin’ that way a bit before. If yu wasn’t a Burdette, or if
we had a marshal worth a busted nickel, yu’d be stretchin’ hemp right now.”
                 “It’s
a damnable lie,” the young man said hotly. “I never had any grudge against
Kit—in fact …” He hesitated and then burst out, “It’s absurd. Why, if things
had been different, him an’ me might