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

on warpaints just now,” Raven explained. “He’s bin losin’ a few
steers an’ he’s blamin’ them for it.”
                 “Well,
I got no use for Injuns, but I reckon it’s more likely them toughs in Tepee
Mountain is liftin’ yore beef, Raven,” the Double S man offered.
                 After
a while the other two sat down to play cards, and Raven led the marshal into
his office.
                 “Yu
got any private opinion ‘bout this killin’?” he asked.
                 “I
said all I had to say at the enquiry,” was the reply.
                 “Young
Andy could ‘a’ done it,” the saloonkeeper suggested. Green shook his head.
                 “Pete
an’ me checked up the times; we know when the old man left Lawless an’ when
Andy started from the Box B; he’d have had to ride mighty good to reach the Old
Mine before his dad,” he pointed out. ” ‘Nother thing, Andy carries a .44,
which takes the same fodder as his Winchester.”
                 Seth
could not gainsay this. “O’ course, I was on’y givin’ yu a possible line. Andy
is in pretty deep with me, an’ the old man didn’t know it.”
                 “Anyways,
he couldn’t ‘a’ held up the stage, being at the Box B all that day.”
                 “Huh!
Bound to be the same fella, yu think?”
                 “Shore
as shootin’.”
                 Raven
picked up a large sheet of coarse paper. “What yu think o’ this?” he queried.
                 It
was a notice, printed in large capitals, offering a reward of one thousand
dollars for the capture of the man known as “Sudden,” or information leading
thereto. No particulars of the outlaw were given, but the horse was described.
The document was signed by the saloonkeeper.
                 “Might
produce somethin’,” the marshal agreed. “We gotta do somethin’. This is the
fourth play he has put across in a short while. It’s up to yu an’ Barsay,
marshal,” Raven said.
                 “We’ll
get him,” Green said confidently, and picking up the notice, went to nail it
outside the saloon door.
                 Seth
Raven puzzled him. Apparently a public-spirited citizen, anxious for the
welfare of the community, there was an elusive something which evaded the
marshal. With an innate feeling that the man was crooked, he had to admit that
so far he was not justified in that belief. A little later, when he entered his
quarters, and went in to see the sufferer he found him still occupying Barsay’s
bed, and awake. The black eyes, no longer fierce, looked up at him gratefully,
reminding him of a devoted dog: and as any sort of sentiment rendered him
uncomfortable, his tone was almost abrupt as he asked, “Feelin’ better?”
             “Me well now,” the patient replied, and made
to rise. The Indian is both proud and punctilious; he would crawl outside to
die rather than remain an unwelcome guest. The marshal motioned him to lie down
again.
                 “Make
a job of it, amigo,” he said, and his smile meant more than the words.
                 The
sick man sank back with a grunt of relief; even that slight exertion had been
too much for his exhausted frame. “Black Feather no forget ,”
he whispered.
                 Pete
looked up as the marshal re-entered the office. “When do we start?” he asked
hopefully.
                 “We
don’t,” Green said. “I’m agoin’ to see Sheriff Strade over to Sweetwater, an’ I’m leavin’ yu in charge—o’ the patient.”
                 “Well,
of all the hawgs,” ejaculated Barsay. “Why can’t yu nurse the nigger an’ let me
see Strade?”
                 “He
might recognize yu,” Green replied, his eyes twinkling. The appalling impudence
of this remark struck the deputy dumb,