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

then:
                 “Bordene
is hard hit,” he said.
                 “He’ll
get over it,” Green replied. “Ol’ Man Trouble sits lightly on the shoulders o’
youth an’ is easy shook off.”
                 Silence
again ensued, and presently the deputy tried once more:
                 “Ever
run acrost this jasper, Sudden?” he asked, and this time he got a surprise.
                 “Yeah,
I know him pretty well,” the marshal returned. He looked at his assistant
reflectively for a moment, and then, with the air of one who has at last come
to a decision, he went on, “Pete, yu ain’t got no more brain than a sage-hen,
but I think yo’re white, an’ I’m goin’ to gamble on it. Yu heard me pull up
young Bordene pretty brisk just now an’ mebbe wondered why?”
                 “Shore
did,” Pete agreed.
                 “Well,
here’s the reason,” Green resumed. “The fella that did this job an’ brought off
the other plays in this part o’ the country ain’t the genuine Sudden; he’s just
shovin’ the blame on another man, yu sabe?”
                 “How’d
yu know?” queried the deputy.
                 “Because
I happen to be the real Sudden,” came the amazing
answer.
                 For
some moments Pete stared goggle-eyed at the man who had calmly claimed to be
one of the most famous—or infamous—outlaws in the South-west, and then he shook
his head knowingly and laughed.
                 “I’d
never ‘a’ guessed it—me havin’ no brain,” he grinned. “Mighta suspected yu o’ being
Julius Caesar or OF King Cole, but—” He stopped short as he read the other’s
expression.
                 “May
I be whittled to chips if he don’t believe it hisself;
musta bin eatin’ loco-weed.”
                 “I’m
givin’ yu the straight goods, yu idjut,” the marshal said seriously. “I’m the
man they call Sudden down in Texas an’ New Mexico. I came here to find Mister
Sudden the Second—the fella who’s buildin’ me a reputation an’ doin’ well out
of it. I don’t claim to be no plaster saint, but I’ve had too many things hung
on me a’ready an’ I aim to stop it. I reckoned yu had to know who yu were
trailin’ with.”
                 Bar
say got up, and if there was a smile on his face it was but an attempt to hide
the feeling in his voice. “Jim,” he said, “I don’t care if yo’re forty outlaws
rolled into one; I’m backin’ yore game to a fare-yu-well.”
                 The
marshal gripped the outthrust hand. “I knowed I wasn’t makin’ a mistake,” he
said.
                 “I’m
thankin’ yu, Pete.”
                 The
plump little puncher scuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable. “Shucks!” he
muttered.
                 The
marshal’s reply put them back on their old easy footing. “Awright,
just listen to me.
                 What
I’ve told yu has gotta be kept tight behind yore teeth. If Lawless gets to know
there’ll be a necktie party an’ we’ll be the guests. Now, I’m goin’ to trail
Mister Bushwhacker. Yu go back with the body an’ see if yu can learn anythin’
in town.”
                 This
arrangement was not to Barsay’s liking, but his chief smiled away all his
objections and forthwith departed. He left the little man with plenty to occupy
his mind. Remarkable as was the revelation to which he had listened, doubt of
it never occurred to him.
                 “I
just knowed he warn’t no ordinary puncher,” he muttered. “Sudden,
huh? He’s all o’ that, I reckon.”

  CHAPTER
VI
                 For
a mile or more the marshal was able to maintain a fair pace, the tracks of the
horse which had been tied behind the shack being plain. Presently, however,
they turned off the beaten trail to