Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) by Oliver Strange Read Free Book Online Page B

she
made inquiries, to find that his favourite horse was missing, but that no one
had seen him leave. When another day dawned without news of her father, the
girl’s anxiety became acute, for the tragic fate of Stevens at once recurred to
her. Much as she disliked doing so, she went to Severn, but he could tell her
nothing.
                 “He
had a deal on with the XT—mebbe he’s gone there,” he suggested. “Or p’raps he
went to Desert Edge an’ couldn’t make it back to the ranch.”
                 Phil
shook her head. “He’s never gone anywhere without telling me,” she said, and
then, as one of the men approached, “What is it, Darby?”
                 The
man looked uncomfortable. “I just wanted a word with the foreman, Miss Phil,” he
replied.
                 The
girl’s face grew pale. “If it is about my father I want to hear what you have
to say,” she said sharply.
                 Seeing
that the cowboy still hesitated, Severn said, “Go ahead, Darby; what’s yore
news?”
                 “The
Old Man’s hoss has just drifted in—it’s down there by the corral.”
                 Phil
said nothing, but, white to her trembling lips, walked towards the corral, the
two men following. As they did so, Darby contrived to whisper
:
                 “Can’t
yu keep her away? There’s blood on the saddle.”
                 Severn
shook his head, and indeed it was too late, for the girl’s quick strides soon
brought her to where the horse was standing, muzzle drooping, and evidently
played out. The reins were over the horn, where they might have lodged
accidentally as the rider lost his seat, the rifle was gone, and on the
saddle-flaps ominous dark stains were visible. The girl stared at them with a
growing horror in her eyes, and as she realised what they might mean, a gusty
sob burst from her lips. It was Severn who broke the tension.
                 “Get
busy, boys,” he said. “ Hosses, guns an’ grub; we gotta
comb the range.’ The sharp order brought the girl out of her stupor of misery.
                 “I
shall need my horse, too,” she said, almost defiantly, looking at Severn as
though expecting opposition.
                 But
the foreman made no demur. “Shore, yu’ll want to help,” he said. “An’ yu know
the country.”
                 Split
up into pairs and with orders to stay together, the men were sent on their
quest, each couple having a section of the range to cover. Phil was coupled with
Rayton, one of the older hands, while Severn, the last
to leave, was alone, save for his dog. He had allotted himself the task of
searching the country towards the Pinnacles, where Stevens’ body had been
found.
                 Turning
things over in his mind as he rode, he had to confess himself puzzled. The
return of the horse was unexpected, for in the cattle country no man
deliberately sets himself afoot, and this, with the bloodstains and missing
rifle, seemed to point to an unexpected disturbance of Masters’ plans. Had he
met the fate of the old foreman, and, if so, who was the assassin? Clearly
Black Bart could not be involved, since his interests depended upon the
ranch-owner being alive. Had Masters unknowingly incurred the entity of the
mysterious White Masks? Impatiently he dismissed the hopeless problem from his
mind and set himself to the task in hand.
                 But
his search proved abortive, and when he returned to the Lazy M, it was to find
that the others had also been unsuccessful. Day after day the hunt went on,
messengers being sent to Hope and Desert Edge, but no trace could be found of
the missing man. It was early on the morning of the sixth day that Severn,
going to the ranch-house, found Bartholomew and Phil on the veranda. The big
man was explaining that he had been away, and had only just heard of