Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) by Oliver Strange Read Free Book Online Page A

roughly sawn boards; a few boasted two storeys, others had the false
front so prevalent in frontier settlements, but for the most part the shack and
dug-out predominated.
                 At
a first glance the town appeared to consist almost entirely of saloons and
gambling dives, with a few stores intermingled, but closer inspection revealed
hotels, boarding and eating-houses. Plank sidewalks protected the pedestrian
from the roadway—if the almost knee-deep strip of dust, which after rain became
a morass of mud—could be so-called. Stumps of trees, boulders, and piles of
lumber impeded progress and testified to the feverish haste to which the place
owed its being.
                 The
population was as varied as the architecture. Men of every colour, white,
yellow, bronze and black, thronged the sidewalks; blue-shirted, bare-throated,
bearded miners, their homespun trousers thrust into the tops of their boots,
gaily-sashed Mexicans, slant-eyed Chinamen, and occasionally, a plumed Indian,
wrapped in his gaudy blanket, dignified, aloof, unreadable .
In the road itself, wagons drawn by patient-eyed oxen and piloted by
perspiring, vitriolic-tongued drivers ploughed up clouds of fine dust to the
extreme discomfort of passers-by.
                 Overhead,
in a pale blue sky, the sun blazed.
                 Into
this welter of humanity the newcomers plunged and were at once submerged.
                 Sudden
and his friend arrived at one end of the street and Gerry prepared to dismount
at the first saloon.
                 “That
can wait,” Sudden said. “First we gotta find out where we live.” Having left
their mounts at a livery stable, they emerged into the street again in time to
witness a curious scene. A bent old man, clad in a shabby black coat, was
retreating before a group of young roughs who were pelting him with stones and
refuse. There was something of dignity in the victim’s silence, but Sudden
caught a look of appeal in the dark eyes.
                 “What’s
the old fella done?” he asked a red-headed youth who appeared to be the
ringleader.
                 “How
long you bin peace-officer?” came the impudent retort, shot over a shoulder.
                 Sudden’s
long arm reached out and swung the speaker round. “I ain’t,” he said quietly, “but
when I ask a civil question I expect the same sort o’ answer.” Red-hair’s hand
had gone to his waistband, where the butt of a gun protruded, but fell away
when he saw the type of man he had to deal with. This cold-eyed person who wore
two weapons might be a cowpuncher, gunman, or both, and in any case, did not
look easy. He decided to temporize.
                 “Dunno
as he’s done anythin’,” he replied surlily. “He’s a Jew, that’s what.”
                 “Which
is no crime in a free country,” the puncher said. “What’s the penalty for hein’
a cowardly coyote pup?” The contemptuous question, deliberately insulting,
upset the young ruffian’s poise, and his face became as red as his hair. He did
not know what to do; this sarcastic, confident stranger, little older than
himself in mere years but twice his age in experience, had him “buffaloed.” The
shamed bully looked round at his following and for a few tense seconds the
issue hung in the balance. But Gerry had been whispering to the nearest of the
gang, the word had passed round, and with no more than ugly glares they
slouched away. Red-hair, the last to leave, alone found his tongue.
                 “I’m
rememberin’ this,” he snarled.
                 “Yo’re
gettin’ sense a’ready,” Sudden complimented.
                 The
old man, who had watched the scene with inscrutable eyes, now came forward. “My
friends, I thank you,” he said, voice and manner entirely out of keeping with
the shabby attire.