Read Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) for Free Online Page B

plainly what she did believe.
Hopelessness again claimed him.
                 “I’ll
find the skunk,” he gritted. “If my people had anythin’ to do with it, I’ll
disown the lot of ‘em.”
                 He
meant it—the savage intensity of his voice showed that—but the girl shook her
head.
                 “It
is no use, Luce,” she said sadly. “That would only mean more trouble. We belong
in different camps, and this must be the end of our—friendship. We both have to
be loyal to our own kin.”
                 The
finality with which she spoke silenced him. Miserably he watched as she wheeled
her pony and rode away, the proud little head bent, and—though he did not know
this—the blue eyes well-nigh blind with unshed tears. When the trees had hidden
her, a bitter laugh broke from his lips.
                 “Loyal
to our own kin,” he repeated harshly. “If the Burdettes shoot men in the back
they’re no kin o’ mine, an’ that’s somethin’ they’ve gotta learn mighty soon.”
                 With
a grim look on his young face he stepped into his saddle and loped off in the direction
of the Circle B ranch.
                 No
sooner was he out of sight than a man rose from behind a clump of undergrowth
on the outskirts of the glade. He was tall, nearing the middle thirties in age,
with broad shoulders and a powerful frame. His black hair, eyes, and moustache,
added to perfectly-formed features, produced a face at which most women would
look more than once. Even his own sex had to admit that Kingley Burdette was ‘a
handsome devil,’ and this Mephistophelian attractiveness was accompanied by a haughty,
insolent bearing which made his first name singularly appropriate. Just now his
thin lips were set in a saturnine sneer.
                 “So
that’s the way of it, huh?” he almost hissed. “Ready to round on his own folk
for the sake of a skirt, but mebbe he won’t get the chance.” His dark eyes
narrowed. “Damn him! He’s got ahead o’ me. Who’d ‘a’ thought ‘o him shinin’ up
to that Purdie gal?—not that she ain’t worth it.” He pondered for a moment, and
then an ugly smile lit his lowering face. “I reckon that’ll fix yu, my friend,
fix yu good an’ plenty,” he muttered.
                 He
too mounted and trotted leisurely away, his mind full of a young, slim girl
with curly, honey-coloured hair and wide blue eyes, who now would one day own the C P ranch.
                 Sudden
spent the evening in “The Lucky Chance.” It was a fair-sized place, with a
sanded, boarded floor on which tables and chairs were dotted about, and a long
bar which faced the swing-doors. Light was afforded by three big kerosene lamps
slung from the roof, and a few gaudy chromos formed the only decoration save
for a large tarnished mirror immediately facing the entrance. Behind the har
stood the proprietor, Mick Magee, whose squat, turned-up nose and twinkling
blue eyes proclaimed his nationality before he opened his mouth. A genial man
until roused, and then he was a tornado. Tough as the frequenters of “The Lucky
Chance” were, few of them had any desire to tangle with the sturdy Irishman
when he “went on the prod.”
                 Just
now he was all smiles, for business was brisk; most of the tables were occupied
and the faro, monte, and other games were being well supported. The crowd
presented the usual medley to be found in any cow town at that time, save that
there were more miners, oldish men for the most part, with craggy, weather-scarred
features, bent backs, and fingers calloused by constant contact with pick and
shovel. Lured on by the will-o’-the-wisp of a “big strike,” they spent their
days grubbing in the earth for gold and their nights in dissipating what little
they found. There were those among them who remembered the hectic days of ‘49,
others who had