Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) by Oliver Strange Read Free Book Online

saloonkeeper said. “What I can do, I will.”
                 “Thanks,
Ben. They had their alibi all fixed, but it was a mistake to send a liar like
Bundy.”
                 “It’s
got me guessin’,” Bowdyr remarked. “The Trentons was allus high-handed an’
disregardful of other folks’ rights, but this ambushin’ ain’t like ‘em.”
                 “That’s
so, but the fella who’s been givin’ the orders at the Wagon-wheel for some time
is that Easterner, Chesney Garstone. I figure he’s got Zeb hawg-tied.”
                 “An Easterner, an’ runnin’ a cattle-range?” Sudden
queried. “Oh, Trenton does that; this jasper just runs Trenton,” Dan explained.
                 “Been
around long?”
                 “Less’n
twelve months, but that’s too long. Hell, there he comes. Don’t often favour
you, does he, Ben?”
                 “No,
an’ I ain’t regardin’ it thataway neither,” the saloonkeeper replied bluntly.
                 Chesney
Garstone was a big man, physically, and in his own estimation. About midway
between thirty and forty, heavily-built, his close-cropped fair hair, blue
eyes, and somewhat square head gave him a Teutonic appearance. He was
meticulously attired; trousers neatly folded into the tops of his
highly-polished riding-boots, a silk shirt, loosely-tied cravat, and soft black
hat. Altogether a striking figure in any company. To
their surprise, he stepped towards them.
                 “I
came in to see you, Dover,” he began. “I want to say how sorry I am—only heard
the news two hours ago, when I rode in from the Bend.”
                 Dan
ignored the outstretched hand. “So you were there, huh?”
                 Garstone’s
eyebrows rose. “Certainly; I rode over yesterday morning and took the train to
Washout, where I had business, and spent the night.”
                 “Havin’
given yore orders before you went.”
                 “What
the devil are you driving at?”
                 “Just this, Garstone. At the time my father was murdered,
you claim to have been in Washout, Bundy says yore entire outfit was ten mile
away, an’ I s’pose Zeb has his tale all ready too.”
                 “Are
you suggesting—?”
                 “Not
any—I’m statin’ facts.”
                 Garstone’s
eyes were furious, but he kept his temper. “Look here, Dover, you are talking
wild,” he said placatingly. “This must have been a terrible shock to you, and
I’m willing to make allowances. My only object in coming here was to express
regret, and see if we can come to terms. Listen: you have more water than you
need, and we are short. Why not sell us the strip of land which would enable us
to use the stream? I’ll give you a fair price.”
                 “How
long have you owned the Wagon-wheel?”
                 “I
don’t, but I’m representing Trenton. What do you say?”
                 “One
thing only: bring me the houn’ who shot my father an’ I’ll talk with you.”
                 Garstone
made an impatient gesture. “You ask the impossible. Dave Dover had enemies, no
doubt; he was the type to make them, stubborn, overbearing—” He paused as the
young man’s right hand moved threateningly towards his hip. “I’m not armed.”
                 “No,
an’ I ain’t got my back turned on you, have I?” Dan said meaningly. “Take
notice, Garstone; if I hear o’ you blackenin’ Dad’s name again, that excuse
won’t work; I’ll horsewhip you.”
                 Even
this deadly insult failed to break the other’s control, and he showed no sign
of the fire raging within him. He appealed to Bowdyr.
                 “You
are a witness that I tried to make peace,” he said.