Having pronounced them man and wife, the minister recorded the event, all present signed their names, and the ceremony was over. The witnesses went out, richer by easily-earned dollars, and the minister handed a copy of his entry to the bride.
`Take good care of that, my dear, and I hope you will be very happy,' he said.
`Thank you,' she murmured, and for an instant there was a gleam of warmth in her sombre eyes.
Drait laid a bill on the table. Will that cover yore fee?' he asked.
`More than five times,' the little man smiled.
He watched them walk up the street, mount, and ride away. All was not well there, but he could do nothing. `A pretty lass,' he mused. `She reminds me of someone; but it was long ago.'
Clear of the town, the newly-wedded couple came to where the trail forked, and Mary Drait, without a glance at her husband, said acidly : `Where are we going, to your ranch?'
'I don't have any,' he replied. `An' in case yo're beginnin' to regret Bardoe, you may as well know that he was a cattle-thief, an' worse. His "ranch" was just a place where he kept stolen steers till it was safe to sell 'em.'
`You said you had never heard of him,' she reminded.
`Shore,' he admitted. `His gun was out an' mine warn'tthen.'
`Is it worse to steal cattle than money?'
`Guess not, but Bardoe would 'a' stripped me s'pos'n the luck had gone the other way. Besides, if you'd been what I figured, the coin was due to you, an' that's why yo're sittin' on it right
now; I should 'a' pointed you for the nearest town an' that would 'a' been the finish.' He read the unbelief in her eyes and a gust of anger swept over him. `Ten miles along that trail to the right'll fetch you to Midway; it can still be the finish--if you want.'
With a furious look, she snatched the quirt hanging from the horn of the saddle and for an instant he thought she was about to strike him. Bun the lash fell on the flank of her horse, and sent it dashing along the trail to which he had pointed. Drait swung into the other. In less than five minutes he heard the pad of pounding hooves, and smiled mirthlessly, but did not slacken his pace.
`Better the devil you know,' he muttered. `Reckon I guessed correct--for once.'
He was not travelling fast, and she soon overtook him. `Changed yore mind, huh?' he asked.
`I come with you only on your promise to keep secret this--marriage,' she said.
`Ashamed of it?'
`Yes,' was the furious retort.
`Folks will have notions,' he offered.
`I don't care what they think. You promise?'
`Suits me,' he replied indifferently. `An' now, Miss Darrell, we've got quite a piece to go afore we get home.' There was a gibe in the last word.
Chapter II
Two riders were loping lazily along a little-worn track which had begun to dip down into a patch of scrub and larger trees. They made an odd couple, for apart from being obviously cowpunchers, they were entirely unlike.
The elder, lean, longlimbed, and wide of shoulder, was not yet thirty, but his tanned, clean-shaven face, with its firm jaw and steady, grey-blue eyes, was that of a man who has seen life and its many problems, and death, which solves them all, and is prepared to face either unflinchingly. To the casual observer, the crossed cartridge-belts slung about his hips, and the shiny butts of two six-shooters protruding from their holsters, would have proclaimed a person perilous to provoke. The casual observer would have been right, for this was `Sudden'--wanted, unjustly, as an outlaw in faraway Texas, and reputed throughout the South-West for reckless daring and dexterity with any weapon.
His companion did not appear formidable. Still in his teens, he was of small but wiry ouild, his features thin and angular, with eyes ever alive. He wore one gun only, but his hand was never far from it, a fact the older man noted with a smile.
`Expectin' trouble, Yorky?' he asked presently.
`Guess not, but there's no harm in bein' ready,' the youth replied. `She's liable to be just round th' corner. Don't you reckon we'll get some excitement this trip, Jim?'
`You're a bloodthirsty young devil,' came the answer. `This is just a holiday, an' we're mindin' our own business, yu sabe?'
`Figure you can, Jim?' Yorky asked slyly.
`Meanin'?' with an assumption of fierceness.
`Well, if you'd made that a rule, I'd be fillin' a hole in th' ground right now, an' Dan an' Doc Malachi wouldn't be arguin' over which of 'em has th' finest kid.'
The grin which made a boy of him again sofnened Sudden's saturnine features. `Awright, yu win,' he said, and then checked his mount as a rasping voice reached them.
`Anythin' to say, Drait, afore we jerk you into the next world?'
Sudden twisted his reins round the saddle-horn, pulled both guns, and forced his horse through a break in the underbrush. Yorky followed.
The scene upon which they burst was a curious one: a man with hands bound behind, standing beneath a tree. From an overhead branch dangled a lariat, the loop around his neck, and the other end in the hands of two burly ruffians. A couple more stood a few yards away, gazing with malevolent satisfaction at the prisoner, whose expression was one of sneering contempt. On one side of the open space, four horses nibbled contentedly at tufts of grass, and on the other a further two, on one of which sat a girl, wrists tied and head bent. A dark-faced, broken-nosed fellow was raising a hand as a signal to the executioners when Sudden spoke.
Put 'em up, pronto,' he said, and there was a bite in his voice which told that delay would certainly be dangerous.
The command was promptly obeyed, the pair holding the rope letting go as though it had suddenly turned into a rattlesnake. This stranger on the black horse appeared to know
exactly what he wanted and to be capable of raising Cain if he did not get it. True, they were four to two, but each of them was well aware that a bullet could travel faster than the hand of
the greatest gunman. The unknown accepted their obedience as a matter of course.
`Now that we're all comfortable, mebbe one o' you will tell me what's goin' on?' he suggested.
`We're stringin' up this fella,' the broken-nosed man snarled. `Ain't that plain enough?'
`As plain as yore face, an' that's Gawd-awful plain,' Sudden replied, adding sharply, `What's yore name?'
`Lanty,' was the unthinking reply, and nhen, `What's it gotta do with you, anyway?'
`I might need it for yore tombstone.' Lanty looked alarmed; this two-gun stranger was not his idea of a humorist. `Why are yu hangin' this man?'
`He's a cattle-thief.'
`Appearances shorely are deceivin'; I'd 'a' picked yu for that part, Mister Vigilante,' Sudden said. `I don't see any cattle. Have yu searched him?'
It was the accused who answered, with a grin. `Did so, an' all they found was a couple o' calves--on my legs; they took my wad instead.'
`That warn't noways right, Mister Vigilante,' came the reproof. `Dollars ain't evidence; they might 'a' been earned honest.'
'My name's Dirk,' Lanty snapped. `We didn't need no proof. That's Nick Drait, a nester, an' they all steal stock. That hoss the gal's on bears Bardoe's brand.'
`I borrowed it for the lady,' came the prompt explanation. 'Was Bull there at the time?' Lanty wanted to know.
`Shore, an' raised no objection.' This with a grim smile. Sudden did not understand, but his heart warmed to a man who could find anything amusing in his present situation. `One of us,' he reflected, and turned his attention to the other horses.
`You ridin' for the S P?' he asked, and got an affirmative nod
Drait spoke again. `An' that's a lie. The S P has a new cook; ask 'em to tell you the colour of his hide.'