Read Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940) for Free Online Page A

out a paw and said gruffly, “Marshal, I’m
thankin’ you. Fur as I’m concerned, Jake must do his own dirty work.”
                 “That’s
good hearin’,” Sudden replied. “Persecutin’ a woman is somethin’ Welcome won’t
stand for.” Later in the afternoon Sloppy came into the office wearing a broad
grin. “What you done to Toler?” he asked. “Yestiddy he was tellin’ the world
Mrs. Gray couldn’t cook an’ now he sez she’s the best ever.”
                 “Why
put it on to me? Can’t a fella change his mind without my help?” Sudden fenced.
                 “Some
folks is fussy ‘bout food, ‘ specially if their livers
ain’t actin’ right.”
                 “Meanin’
no offence, yo’re a pore liar,” Sloppy replied. “You oughta see Jake’s face.”
                 “Sooner
see his back, any time,” the marshal said.
                 He
was very satisfied with the way things were going. If Toler, one of her rival’s
intimates, spoke in her praise, the Widow would get support. It was working out
better than he had hoped.
                 As
the days went by, the fame of the new eating-place grew, and Mullins had the
mortification of seeing his customers drop away until only a handful of friends
remained. Well aware to whom he owed this state of affairs, he vainly sought a means of striking back. He had sent to verify what he had
been told of the marshal, but his messenger had not yet returned. His attempt
to bully the butcher failed dismally.
                 The
climax came when Reddy and his bunkie, Shorty, rode in and were promptly
convoyed by the marshal to the new establishment. While the meal was in
preparation, they were permitted to tiptoe into the bedroom to see the baby.
The pudgy, red-faced, blue-eyed morsel of humanity regarded them stolidly.
                 “What
is it?” Shorty wanted to know.
                 “What
indeed,” the mother repeated, with pretty indignation. “It’s a boy.” And then
laughed at her own slip.
                 Reddy
thrust out a thumb and the infant’s tiny fingers closed on it. “He’ll shore be
a go-getter, ma’am,” the cowboy said. “What’s his name?”
                 “David, after my father.” The marshal’s face clouded. “I
knowed a Dave—once,” he said.
                 “ Them steaks must be mighty close to done.” An hour later,
three fully-fed men stepped again into the street. The cowboys were loud in
their approval.
                 Jake’s
savage eyes watched them enter the Red Light. This was the final blow.
Hitherto, the Bar O boys had always given their patronage, but now … A tempest
of passion possessed and made him reckless. When the cowboys came out and were
crossing the street, he met them; the marshal had stayed behind a moment,
talking to Nippert.
                 “Ain’t
you fellas fed yet?” Mullins began.
            “Shore, over at the Widow’s,” Reddy
replied.
                 “Her
cookin’ is bad.”
                 “If
that’s so, an’ it ain’t, yu never oughta touch a pan,” Shorty said bluntly.
                 Jake
gave him an ugly look, but the man he burned to quarrel with was now joining
them.
                 “So
the marshal raked you in, huh?” he sneered. “ He shore
knows how to fill his pockets at the expense of his friends.”
                 “Meanin’?”
Reddy asked.
                 “That
he’s back o’ the Widow, o’ course. She does the work an’ he corrals the coin,
sorta sleepin’ pardner, in more ways than one.” He chuckled at the vile
aspersion. “An’ there’s others, even that bum, Sloppy ” He got no further. One long stride, a lightning blow, and the traducer was hurled headlong. The marshal’s eyes were blazing.