Читать онлайн «Sudden Takes The Trail»
Автор Оливер Стрэндж
Chapter I
"MURDERER!" The man on the big horse spoke the word aloud, and never had the sound of it seemed so sinister, for he was applying it to himself. Then, as had happened many times in the past few days, his moody gaze swept over the vast expanse of semi-desert he was crossing. High overhead, an eagle, winging its unhurried way against the pale blue sky, was the only visible evidence of other living creatures.
"Reckon we've razzle-dazzled 'em, of hoss," the rider went on.
The black head of the animal came round to nuzzle its master's knee. He bent and stroked the silken nostrils.
"Fella can get away from his own kind but not from his-self," he mused. "Mebbe I'd oughta stayed an' took my chances, but hell ! there warn't no chances. " His mind slipped back to that fatal evening only a week before, recalling the scene and the swift sequence of events which had forced him to flee for his life.
Absently he searched a vest pocket for cigarette papers and discovered a metal star which, in the bright sunlight, seemed to wink at him maliciously.
"Runnin' off with the marshal's badge makes me a thief too," he said with a mirthless smile. "Shucks, they can buy another with the pay I didn't collect. " He had been peace-officer of Pinetown for some months, and his habit of doing thoroughly any task he undertook speedily made him unpopular with the unruly--and larger--section of the community. But if they hated, they also feared this hard-faced stranger, who bore a name which bred hesitancy in the boldest when it came to defying him. For this was Sudden, cowpuncher, gunman, and outlaw, whose speed on the draw and accuracy of aim with a six-shooter had earned for him an unenviable reputation in the South-West. Because of it, he had been appointed marshal, for only such men could maintain any semblance of decency and order in a land where every man carried his own life in the holster slung at his hip.
"Masters is in trouble at Miguel's. Hurry.
" He heard again the whispered message which a white-faced boy had crept into the saloon to bring, sent by a man whose face the messenger could not see. Sudden had not hesitated. What was Dave doing in Miguel's--a squalid hovel owned by a Mexican, where the vileness of the liquor was equalled only by the scum who consumed it? Outside the saloon, he had paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust themselves to the darkness before stepping swiftly along the boarded sidewalk. Then, in a few tense seconds, the tragedy happened: the shadow of a building across the street was stabbed by two shafts of flame, an in- visible hand seemed to snatch at Sudden's hat, and the wind of the other bullet fanned his cheek. Instantly his guns were out, spitting lead at shapeless deeper patches of shade, and a groan, followed by a curse, told him he had not fired in vain. A point puzzled him; if these were the men he suspected, there should have been three shots.Then came the clatter of hastening feet from behind. He whirled round, peering through the gloom, and as the indistinct figure stumbled past a lighted window he caught the gleam of a drawn gun. This must be the other man. His weapon spoke again, and he smiled grimly as he heard the thud of a falling body. For a brief space he waited, watchful, alert, but no more shots came and he retraced his steps. It was plain now that the message had been but the bait to lure him into an ambuscade, but he wished to make sure. A form, sprawling untidily face downwards on the sidewalk, arrested him. He stooped and struck a match. The hat had fallen off, and the upper half of the head was an ugly blur ofred, but one glance told him that he had shot the only man in Pinetown he could call a friend.
