Free Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) by Oliver Strange Page B

him. “Fact is , we are losin’ some—few head at a time.”
                 “It
don’t need no artist with a runnin’ iron to turn a C P
into a Circle B,” Sudden said reflectively. “An’ it would be a good way o’
rilin’ up Purdie.”
                 “Which
it didn’t do, Purdie havin’ the same idea.”
                 “So
they try somethin’ stronger, an’ shoot his son, huh?”
                 “Jim,
yo’re whistlin’,” Yago ejaculated. “They’ve allus wanted this range—it’s worth
five times their own, an’ besides”—he hesitated—“it’s generally reckoned that
somewheres in these rocks behind us is the source o’ the goldfound in the
river. Yes, sir, the Burdettes are out to drive the Purdies off an’ glom on to
their property; it ain’t just a matter o’ revenge.”
                 Sudden
was staring at Battle Butte, remembering the limp, pitiful form he had packed
into town like a piece of merchandise. His face was hard, merciless, no trace
of youth remaining.
                 Yago
knew that expression; he had seen it when the wearer was years younger—no more
than a boy.
                 “We’re
goin’ to have suthin’ to say about that, Bill, yu an’ me,” the foreman said
harshly.
                 “Outfit to be depended on?”
                 “Shorest
thing yu know,” the other replied.
                 “Purdie
said there was one of mosshead who would mebbe make trouble,” Sudden said slyly, and Bill Yago swore.
                 “Yu’ll
have that trouble yet if yu overplay yore hand,” he threatened. “What’s that
smoke mean?”
                 They
had worked northwards, and were riding down the lower slope of the mountain,
passing over rolling, grassy country studded with thickets, and broken here and
there with brush-cluttered depressions. It was from the midst of one of these
that a smudge of smoke corkscrewed into the still air, and they heard, faintly,
the cry of a calf. The foreman looked at his companion.
                 “Any
o’ the boys carry irons?” he asked.
                 “Nope,”
Yago said, and even as he spoke, the tell-tale smoke died out. “We better look
into this.”
                 Side
by side they raced for the spot, slowing up as they neared it. A wall of dense
scrub sent them circling in search of an opening. They found it, a narrow,
cattle-trampled path which zigzagged downwards to where a rude pole hurdle
blocked the way. Removing this, they reached the edge of the brush, and saw
that the floor of the hollow was grass-covered and bare of trees. A dozen cows and as many calves were grazing, but there appeared to
be no humans. For some time the two men watched.
                 “They’ve
punched the breeze,” Bill said. “We just missed ‘em, cuss the rotten luck!”
                 They
walked their mounts to the nearest of the feeding beasts. One glance told the
story; the C P brand had been rather clumsily changed to a Circle B. The state
of the wounds showed that this had only just been done.
                 “Raw
work,” Bill commented, as he studied the rough conversion of the C into an
indifferent circle and the added lower loop to the P. “But if they stayed
cached here till the scars healed who’s to say it ain’t but a careless bit o’
brandin’?”
                 “Mebbe,”
Sudden said thoughtfully, “though I’ve a hunch they was meant to be found.
                 Guess
we’ll leave ‘em here—there’s plenty feed an’ a spring. Don’t
say nothin’ to anyone. If Purdie hears o’ this he’ll paint for war
immediate an’—if I’m right—play into their hands.”
                 On
the far side of the hollow they found another narrow pathway, which accounted
for their not having seen the