"Yu can go plumb to hell," the puncher said contemptuously.
Another silence, for the killer, too, had not expected defiance. Then he rasped, "I'm sendin' you on ahead."
Vicious face thrust forward, shoulders hunched, his left hand moved in the direction of his holster, but not swiftly. Sudden's right, fingers outspread, was dropping over his gun-butt when the other's right hand flashed upwards to his arm-pit, whipped a second weapon from beneath the black coat, and fired.
A woman's scream was followed by a gasp of amazement from the spectators. They had heard but one report, yet it was Butch who lurched blindly, gave at the knees, and slumped heavily to the floor. One spasmodic attempt to raise the pistol still gripped in his nerveless fingers, and that was the end. Then they noticed that blue smoke was wisping from the cowboy's left hip, and that there was a red streak along one cheek. Sudden gave a glance at the man he had been compelled to kill, sheathed his revolver, and wiped the warm smear from his smarting face.
"It ain't but a scratch," he said, when the saloon-keeper offered to tend it. "That was a cute move, goin' for the other gun; it mighty near fooled me."
Morbid curiosity brought the crowd pushing and jostling one another to get a glimpse of the dead man. Among them was Scar, who thrust a way through, took one look, and with a malicious leer at the cowboy, said: "I reckon the Chief'll want to hear o' this."
"Yu needn't to worry, Roden," Sudden said quietly. "I'll carry the news myself."
"Since when do we take orders from you?" the fellow scowled.
"From now on," the puncher retorted.
"I'll see you in--"
He was given no time to finish. Sudden took a long stride, gripped his throat, shook him till his head rocked on his shoulders, and flung him away so forcibly that a table he collided with collapsed utterly. Lying amongst the fragments, he looked up into a blood-stained face, the fierce eyes in which conveyed a plain message. Scar read it, and having no desire to die, forgot that he had a gun.
"No ideas?" the cowboy gibed. "Yo're shorely wise." He faced the evil throng. "Listen: the Chief has put me in charge--after hisself. Any one o' yu who ain't satisfied can speak up now, an' leave Hell City by sunrise."
Deliberately turning his back, he stepped to the bar. He knew that if they chose to call his bluff he could be overwhelmed in a few minutes, but he was gambling on their fear of Satan, and now, of himself. Violence was the only argument they understood, and his prompt and savage scotching of Scar's incipient mutiny would impress them more than anything else. No one spoke until that worthy arose from the debris of the table, and with a poor effort at a grin, said: "You win, Sudden; I'm stayin' put. What the Chief sez, goes, for all of us, I guess; if he's give you Butch's job, there ain't no more to say."
The others appeared to accept this decision, and the cowboy nodded to the man behind the bar.
"Good enough," he said. "The drinks are on me; we'll celebrate my promotion."
Scar drank with the rest, but Sudden had no faith in the ruffian's submission. He had remained in Hell City because he was afraid to leave it, or, more possibly, to await an opportunity of squaring his account with one who had bested him three times. The body of the gunman was removed, and the saloon soon presented its customary appearance. The puncher remained for a while, and then, having bathed the graze on his cheek, went to see Satan.
"So you--won?" was the greeting he received.
"Not much of a guess, seein' I'm here," he replied.
"Only fools guess," Satan said, his gaze dwelling on the livid mark of the killer's bullet. "He almost got you."
"I was a mite careless," Sudden admitted. "Posin' as a one-gun man an' usin' a hide-out ain't nothin' new, but it would trick some."
"Was it necessary to beat up Roden?"
"Shore, he was insolent. If I gotta handle these fellas they have to understand I can do it. Scar can figure hisself lucky not to be travellin' the one-way trail after Butch; I was in the mood."
The bullying air did not blind the bandit to the fact that this man who had beaten Butch might be a braggart, but was also dangerous, and likely to be--difficult. Yes, that was the word. Well, there were ways ... He glanced almost involuntarily at the picture behind which the dead gunman had stood only a few hours earlier. Sudden saw the look.
"Gives me the creeps, that paintin' o' yores," he remarked. "Him there with his six-shooter trained on me allatlme. D'yu mind if I put a coupla pills through his eyes, just to show him?"
"I certainly do mind," was the instant reply. "I have fondness for that canvas, it is a work of art, and bullet-holes wouldn't improve it."
Sudden laughed; he had noted the gleam of apprehension in the dull eyes, and it told him that his suspicion was correct--the Chief was well protected.
"Shucks, I was on'y joshin'," he said. "Sold them steers I stole?"
Satan looked sharply at him, but the cowboy's expression was serious. "Not yet, the beasts must be worked on first," he replied.
"I'm pretty good at blottin' brands."
"No doubt, but that can wait--the herd is in a safe place. Are you short of money?"
"Not any," Sudden assured him, adding with a grin, "Them Double K boys don't know the first thing 'bout poker."
He came away from the interview conscious of two failures. The attack on Scar had been intended, mainly, to drive the man and his intimates from Hell City, thus weakening the bandit force. His enquiry about the cattle was inspired by the hope of a hint as to their whereabouts, but Satan was giving nothing away. Well, he must find them.
Others also were concerned about the stolen stock, though they knew where it was to be found. Roden, and his three shadows, sitting round a table in the saloon, were ostensibly playing poker, but the game was but an excuse for a conference. And, naturally, Sudden was the subject of the discussion.
"There ain't room in Hell City for him an' us," Scar said. "We gotta down the--."
"Yeah, an' make a quick getaway," Squint added. "Even if he don't know--an' there ain't much he misses--the Chief will pin it on to us, an' we ain't too popular in that quartc just now."
"For which we gotta thank that cursed cowpunch," Coger said.
"We'll thank him--our own way," Scar growled. "I'd like to see Muley take the flesh off'n him in strips. The point is, we don't wanta go empty-handed."
"You said it all," Daggs agreed. "The Chief must have a lot o' coin hid up in his place. What about us interviewin' him, strictly private, an'--"
Scar's scornful laugh cut him short. "Ever seen him play with a gun? Thought not. I'm tellin' you, he's better than Butch or Sudden. One bright fella tried yore idea an' was dead before he could pull. Besides, there's allus Silver behind you. No, gents, that flea won't jump. Also, I know a safer dodge--the cattle."
Daggs, who was dealing, slapped the pack on the table with an expression of approval. "Scar, yo're a great man," he said. "There's on'y them two Mex boys in charge."
"Git the herd away to a safe place where we can lie doggo for a spell, change the brands, drive north, an' sell," Scar went on.
"The Chief'll think the Double K has stole 'em back," Squint chortled. "Won't he be wild?"
"That's a good notion--we'll make it look thataway," Scar greed. "I'll mosey over to-morrow an' sound the Greasers--they's pretty sore over Pedro gettin' his. If they'll throw in with us, we can use 'em; it's a big bunch to handle."
"Shore is, but it means splittin' the dinero six ways," Coger objected.
"Does it?" the other retorted meaningly. "Four of a kind allus beats a pair."
Which promised ill for the Mexican herders.
Chapter XVI
"Wonder what's fetched that hombre out'n his blankets this early?"