Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) Read Online Free PDF

for
cattle-rustlin’. Ain’t yu gettin’ a mite particular?” Green asked
sardonically.
                 The
saloonkeeper’s thin lips lengthened, which was his nearest approach to a smile.
He had not expected to get any details of the fellow’s past, and in reality he
cared little. Lawless was a sanctuary for the law-breaker, and only a man of
that type could hope to keep any semblance of order. The puncher’s lean, hard
face, level eyes, and firm lips were not those of a weakling.
                 “Yore
kind o’ young,” Raven objected.
                 “Suffered
from that since I was born,” Green said lightly. “The doctors say I’ll grow out
of it. Well, what’s the word?”
                 “The
pay is two hundred dollars a month,” the other said.
                 “Which
ain’t over generous,” Green commented.
                 “An’
pickin’s, the same bein’—to the right man—considerable,” Raven slowly added.
                 “With
another hundred for a deputy,” the puncher suggested, and when the saloonkeeper
shook his head, “See here, I ain’t a machine; there’s times when I wanta sleep
some.”
                 “Awright,
a deputy goes. Yu better pick a good one an’ tell him to shoot first an’ argue
afterwards,” Raven said. He dipped into a drawer of the desk. “It so happens I
got a coupla stars, an’ here’s the key to yore quarters.” Handing the articles
to Green, he dismissed the new officer with a curt “See yu later.”
                 For
a little while Raven sat thinking, weighing up the man who had just left him.
He recognized that Green was not the ordinary type of desperado; his cool,
smiling confidence contrasted oddly with the blustering, bullying attitude of
the average gun-fighter.
                 “A
useful fella if he comes to heel—an’ if he don’t—” His lips twisted in a sneer.
“But there’s a sheriff somewheres who’d be glad to
meet him.”
                 And
in this he was entirely right.
                 When
Green returned to the Rest House he found the bar empty, save for Barsay
sprawling in a chair with his feet on a table and snoring lustily. The
marshal’s face became that of an imp of mischief. Gently he pinned one of the
stars he had received to the sleeping man’s vest, and pulling one of his guns,
fired into the floor. The violence of the slumberer’s awaking start flung him
to the ground but in a second he was on his feet, gun out, and eyes glaring. A
moment later Durley came flying into the bar, only to find Green, weak with
laughter, a smoking gun in his hand, leaning against the wall.
                 “Yu
natural damn fool,” the victim admonished, when he realized the joke. “Mighta broke my blamed neck.”
                 “No
fear—that’s slated for a rope,” Green retorted. “Fine deputy-marshal yu
are—caught nappin’ right away.”
                 Barsay
then noticed the decoration he had unconsciously acquired and his eyes widened.
                 “Yu
got it?” he cried, and when his new friend nodded, he turned to Durley and
said, “Well, what d’yu know about that, huh?”
                 “I
shore hope yu got a month’s pay in advance,” the landlord replied. “It’s about
yore one chance to draw any.”
                 “Mother’s
cheery little comforter, ain’t yu?” Green grinned. “Yu oughta be in the
undertakin’ business.”
                 Durley
laughed too, and then his face grew serious again. “Puttin’ jokes aside, gents,
I shore wish yu all the luck there is, but yu’ll have to watch cases mighty
close,” he warned.
                 “We’er
aimin’ to do that same,” the marshal assured him. “An’ we’re reckonin’ on one
friend anyways.”
                 “You
can