Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) Read Online Free PDF Page B

himself. “Allasame, I’ll gamble he’s white, an’ somethin’ is sayin’ mighty
loud that I’ll need friends.”
                 His
window overlooked the corral and he could see his horse, Nigger, placidly
nibbling the grass. He raised the sill and looked down; the ground was but a
dozen feet below—it would be easy to leave that way if necessary. So far, save
for Lagley, things had gone well. The men he had punished belonged to the
mysterious “Satan” he had come to find and deal with, and he had deliberately
made the most of the opportunity the girl’s advent offered.
                 “If
he’s the sort I figure, he’ll wanta see the man who, single-handed, beat up
four of his toughs,” he reflected aloud. “An’ it’s possible Keith might be grateful, which’ll level up for Lagley.” His mind
reverted to material needs. “Fightin’ must make a fella peckish; I could eat a
hoss—a’most.”
                 He
went downstairs to find a meal waiting for him in the parlour behind the bar,
and a shining-faced, buxom negress who bobbed a
curtsey when he entered.
                 “Suah
hope it ain’t spoiled, sah,” she said. “Done ask dat man o’ mine to tell yo’
but he don’ think o’ nothin’ but de ol’ bar.”
                 “It
was my fault, ma’am,” Sudden smiled. “I was just dreamin’. My! that steak looks good.”
                 She
waited while he ate a mouthful, and departed with his praises ringing in her
ears. The puncher had made another friend, unmeaningly, for the meal was
perfect. Having despatched it, he went into the bar. Business was booming, and
evidently the proprietor had been talking, for the afternoon’s fracas appeared
to be the sole topic of conversation. The smith, a big fellow, with a rugged
but not unpleasing face, stepped at once to the cowboy.
                 “Mister,
my name’s Naylor, an’ I’d like to shake with you,” he said. “The way you played
with them sots was good to see.”
                 They
shook hands, Sudden mentioned his name, and was, in turn, presented to Jansen,
the store-keeper, Polter, who ran an eating-house, and a dried-up, rather
silent little man called Birt, who owned a freight-wagon, and was the town’s
link with the outside world.
                 “It
was time someone showed ‘em they don’t own the place,” the store-keeper
supplemented. “Few weeks ago, Roden comes in, selects some goods, an’ starts to
walk out. When I remind him he ain’t paid he looks ugly, an’ sez, `Ain’t my
credit good?’ I tells him I don’t give none. `Yo’re be
beginnin’ to-day,’ he replies, an’ backs out with his gun on me. Well, life’s
worth more’n ten dollars.”
                 “They
got a lesson this afternoon, but there’ll be doin’s when the news of it gits to
Hell City,” Polter opined.
                 Sudden
asked a question; it was the smith who answered:
                 “It’s
the stronghold of the worst band of rustlers an’ road-agents in Arizona, the
last refuge o’ the hunted outlaw. The blacker a man’s record is, the warmer his
welcome. Satan, their leader calls hisself, an’ it ain’t no boast. Him an’ his Imps has got this country
buffaloed. That was four of ‘em you manhandled.”
                 “Yu
think they’ll talk?” the puncher asked. “Me, I’d be dumb as a clam.”
                 “Satan
fin’ out, sah,” Sam said dolefully. “He hear eberyt’ing—he have de magic.”
                 Sudden
laughed and slapped a gold piece on the bar. “That’s his magic, ol’-timer,” he
replied. “The most powerful in the world, save this.” He drew a cartridge from
his belt and stood it beside the coin. “Lead lets the life out’n a man an’ all
the gold in creation won’t put it back. If he does hear, I guess yu needn’t