Free Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) by Oliver Strange

inside. When Pete returned he
found the patient stretched on his bed and the marshal bandaging his hurts.
                 “This
fella’s pretty sick. See here, he’s bin shot in the leg as well, an’ never let
out a chirp about that,” Green said admiringly. “An’ here’s vu—a white
man—yowlin’ like a lost soul over a mangy bed.”
                 “It
ain’t a mangy bed—or it wasn’t till yu put that doggone aborigine in it,” Pete
retorted.
                 He
looked at the still senseless form. “Reckon he’ll make it?”
                 “Shore
thing. Injuns is hard to kill—as Uncle Sam knows,” the marshal replied. “I’ve a
hunch he’ll pay for savin’, an’ anyways, I couldn’t do nothin’ else.”
                 He
went on to tell the story of his trailing, and Pete whistled when he heard of
the guerrilla leader.
                 “El
Diablo, huh?” he said. “Yu’ve stirred up a lively nest o’ hornets there; he’s
rank pizen an’ as vain as a peacock, they say. It’s a safe bet he’s got friends
in Lawless too.”
                 “Yu’ll
have me scared to death in a minit,” his chief smiled.
                 Pete
looked at him. “Fella can crowd his luck too close,” he replied. “Wonder where
that bushwhackin’ coyote hid up?”
                 “Doubled
back, likely as hot,” the marshal opined. “Wouldn’t astonish me none if he’s
right in Lawless now. Rustle some chuck; I’ve an idea our guest has missed
meals lately.”

  CHAPTER
VII
                 On
the following morning the enquiry into the taking off of Andrew Bordene was
held in the dance-hall attached to the Red Ace, where all public meetings of
importance were convened.
                 Nothing
new transpired. Potter, the banker, deposed to the dead man having drawn out
five thousand dollars, stating that he had a debt to pay. Andy related his
story and the marshal told of his investigation, but he did not produce the
empty shells he had picked up, nor make any reference to what had happened over
the Border. The jury returned a verdict of wilful murder against the outlaw
known as “Sudden,” and the whole assembly adjourned to discuss the affair at
the bar. Here the marshal found Raven, with two men he did not know. The
saloonkeeper beckoned.
                 “Marshal,”
he said, “meet Reuben Sarel of the Double S, and Saul Jevons, foreman o’ my
ranch, the 88.”
                 The
fat man extended a moist, flabby hand, but Jevons merely nodded. He was about
the same height as the marshal but older by ten years. He possessed a powerful
but angular frame, a lean, hatchet face, and his dark, straggling moustache
failed to hide a slit of a mouth. From ear to chin on his left cheek was a
puckered white scar, relic of an old wound, which gave the impression of a
perpetual sneer. The marshal disliked the fellow at sight.
                 “Bad
business this, marshal,” Sarel remarked. “Bordene was a white man an’ a valued
citizen. We’re lookin’ to yu to put a crimp in this fella Sudden.”
                 “He’s
gotta be found first, Reub,” Jevons said, and there was a suspicion of a jeer
in his tone. “Yu ain’t suspectin’ that Injun yu toted in, are yu?” This to the marshal.
                 “Not
any,” that officer replied. “I picked him up on the trail; he’d bin shot,
stripped, an’ set afoot.”
                 “What
nation?” asked Raven.
                 “Claims
to be Mohave, but I figure he’s a stray,” the marshal told him. “He ain’t
talked much yet.”
                 “Bah!
Better ‘a’ left him; I’d as soon fetch home a hurt rattler,” Jevons said
savagely.
                 “Redskins is all liars an’ thieves.”
                 “Saul
is a bit sore