Free Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940) by Oliver Strange Page B

feeling that the marshal’s first bullet would render the result
of the fight a matter of indifference to him. Then Providence intervened. A
growing thunder of hammering hooves, and along the
trail a compact body of riders raced into view. Nippert drew a deep breath of
relief; the Bar O had come. A few more seconds and they were at the scene.
                 “What’s
goin’ on here?” Owen asked, and when he had heard the story, turned to Sark.
                 “Sore
at havin’ failed to hang a man for somethin’ he didn’t do, huh?” he said
contemptuously.
                 “He’s
an outlaw—wanted in Texas ”
                 “He’s
wanted a damn’ sight more in Welcome, judging by this precious gathering; the
on’y thing I’m surprised at is that they had the pluck to try it in daylight,”
came the scathing answer. “I s’pose you made ‘em good an’ drunk first. Got any
proof of what you say?”
                 “That
fella knows him.” The Bar O owner regarded Javert with distinct disapproval. “I
wouldn’t destroy a dawg on his evidence,” he said bluntly. “What’s it gotta do
with you, Sark, anyways?”
                 “I
was invited by the citizens o’ Welcome to come in–.”
                 “Meanin’
Mullins an’ the lousy loafers from Dirty Dick’s?” Owen interrupted. “Well, you
are now invited to get out, pronto.” The Dumbbell man writhed under the lash of
that bitter tongue. “ yo’re takin’ a high hand,” he
said. “I ain’t here alone.”
                 “I’d
noticed it, an’ if you want trouble …” Sark was not eager—the odds were no
longer in his favour; the majority of the townsfolk would side with the Bar O,
whose custom was of moment to many of them. Also, the riders from that ranch
were known to be willing fighters, ready to storm the gates of Hell itself at
the bidding of their boss. And the marshal … Sark reckoned up the chances and
made his decision.
                 “That’ll
come later,” he promised. “For now, I’m pullin’ out.” He swung his horse
towards the hills where his own ranch lay, and his men followed him in silence.
                 John
Owen turned to Masters. “I’m obliged to you, young man,” he said. “We were
delayed, an’ if you hadn’t got here when you did …”
                 “I’d
be hearin’ harps right now,” Sudden finished. “Yo’re flatterin’ yoreself, ol’-timer,”
                 Dave
laughed. “When did you get religion?”
                 “Jim’s
a methodis’, an’ he has Welcome mighty near convened,” Nippert said solemnly.
                 “There
goes some who ain’t converted yet,” Gowdy remarked ironically, indicating
another group heading for town. “Don’t you make the mistake o’ thinkin’ you’ve
finished with them, marshal. ”
                 “I
won’t,” Sudden smiled. “But I feel like forgivin’ even Jake and Javert to-day.”
It was true; relief from the intolerable and ever-present burden of grief was so
great that he could harbour no rancour against any. But someone was missing—Sloppy.
                 “Had
to leave him in town—said his feet was wore off to the
knees,” Owen explained.
                 “My
idea is that he reckoned we’d be too late an’ he couldn’t face it.”
                 “There’s
a good deal of a man hid somewhere in that fella,” Sudden observed. “Welcome
ain’t troubled to look for it.” A mount was found for the marshal and he rode
with his friend, almost in silence. But each knew the other’s mind, and was
content; sentiment would have made both uncomfortable. At length, Dave said:
                 “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with yore eyes, Jim?” Sudden removed
his spectacles and stowed them in a pocket. “No,” he