"Shore did," Pete agreed.
"Well, here's the reason," Green resumed. "The fella that did this job an' brought off the other plays in this part o' the country ain't the genuine Sudden; he's just shovin' the blame on another man, yu sabe?"
"How'd yu know?" queried the deputy.
"Because I happen to be the real Sudden," came the amazing answer.
For some moments Pete stared goggle-eyed at the man who had calmly claimed to be one of the most famous--or infamous--outlaws in the South-west, and then he shook his head knowingly and laughed.
"I'd never 'a' guessed it--me havin' no brain," he grinned. "Mighta suspected yu o' being Julius Caesar or OF King Cole, but--" He stopped short as he read the other's expression.
"May I be whittled to chips if he don't believe it hisself; musta bin eatin' loco-weed."
"I'm givin' yu the straight goods, yu idjut," the marshal said seriously. "I'm the man they call Sudden down in Texas an' New Mexico. I came here to find Mister Sudden the Second--the fella who's buildin' me a reputation an' doin' well out of it. I don't claim to be no plaster saint, but I've had too many things hung on me a'ready an' I aim to stop it. I reckoned yu had to know who yu were trailin' with."
Bar say got up, and if there was a smile on his face it was but an attempt to hide the feeling in his voice. "Jim," he said, "I don't care if yo're forty outlaws rolled into one; I'm backin' yore game to a fare-yu-well."
The marshal gripped the outthrust hand. "I knowed I wasn't makin' a mistake," he said. "I'm thankin' yu, Pete."
The plump little puncher scuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable. "Shucks!" he muttered.
The marshal's reply put them back on their old easy footing. "Awright, just listen to me. What I've told yu has gotta be kept tight behind yore teeth. If Lawless gets to know there'll be a necktie party an' we'll be the guests. Now, I'm goin' to trail Mister Bushwhacker. Yu go back with the body an' see if yu can learn anythin' in town."
This arrangement was not to Barsay's liking, but his chief smiled away all his objections and forthwith departed. He left the little man with plenty to occupy his mind. Remarkable as was the revelation to which he had listened, doubt of it never occurred to him.
"I just knowed he warn't no ordinary puncher," he muttered. "Sudden, huh? He's all o' that, I reckon."
CHAPTER VI
For a mile or more the marshal was able to maintain a fair pace, the tracks of the horse which had been tied behind the shack being plain. Presently, however, they turned off the beaten trail to the Box B, following a mere pathway which twisted tortuously through the brush. Green noted that the fugitive was heading south and making no effort to hide the fact. Pausing at the top of a slight ridge, he scanned the surrounding country.
There was no sign of his quarry, and, indeed, he had not expected there would be; in such country, the man might have been but a few hundred yards distant and still unseen. The marshal moved down the slope of the ridge, threaded a narrow arroyo, and pulled up again. In front lay an expanse of semi-desert, a broad stretch of sand relieved only by clumps of bunch-grass, cactus, and mesquite. The trail led straight on to this and abruptly vanished. For a moment the trailer was at a loss, and then he noticed that his hoof prints had also gone, the fine granular sand trickling back and filling up the depressions almost as soon as they were made.
"This fella ain't no stranger," the marshal muttered. "Well, Nig, if he's headin' for the Border we gotta go on."
Holding a straight line, he crossed the little desert, and after a short search picked up the trail again on the other side. Two miles brought him to a wide-banked, slow-moving river which he guessed must be Lazy Creek; the opposite bank was Mexico. At this time of the year the stream was shrunk to half its winter width and he had no difficulty in crossing. He found the familiar hoofprints on the other side only to lose them soon afterwards in a long narrow cleft, the floor of which consisted of weathered rock, detritus from the bare walls on either side.
He rode through the gully, emerging into a strip of park-like country interspersed with wooded knolls. Passing one of these, he heard a voice, harsh, speaking in Spanish.
"See if you can loosen his tongue, Lopez," it said.
Trailing his reins, the marshal crept cautiously up under cover of the chaparral. The sight was a singular one. At the side of a little glade an Indian was standing, his wrists tied behind him to a sapling. He was a tall fellow, of indeterminate age, his body emaciated by illness or starvation. He was naked save for a ragged pair of deerskin trousers. But for the fierce eyes he might have been a statue of bronze. Facing him was a yellow-skinned Mexican of the lowest type, in a huge sombrero, dirty blue shirt, and tattered overalls. He was holding a wicked-looking quirt, passing the lash through his fingers and eyeing the Indian gloatingly.
A few yards distant was the man who had spoken, a dark, swarthy fellow of middle age and stature, whose straight black hair framed one of the cruellest faces Green had ever seen. The nose was almost flat, the eyes narrow and near, and the thick, sensual lips were drawn back in a snarl, disclosing big, stained teeth. His attire was a parody of a uniform; a slouched hat pinned up at one side with a silver brooch; a flaming red tunic loaded with gold braid; faded blue pants tucked into high boots garnished with huge wheel spurs. From the gaudy sash round his middle peeped the butts of two pistols and the haft of a dagger.
At a nod from this man, and before the marshal could interfere, the peon swung his quirt and lashed the Indian savagely across the chest, the thong, knotted at the end, cutting an open weal from which the blood flew. Before the force of the blow the victim staggered, but instantly drew himself up and became again an inanimate thing. Only the clamped lips and bunched jaw-muscles betrayed his agony.
"Speak, dog, where is the gold?" thundered the man in uniform.
The Indian remained silent, his face a mask of pride, hatred, and contempt. The man in uniform read the expression aright, and it goaded him to fury.
"Continue, Lopez," he hissed. "I'll find his tongue if I have to strip the flesh off his bones to do it."
With an eager grin the peon swished his bloodstained lash round his shoulder, but ere he could bring it down Green's gun crashed and he dropped in a huddled heap; his torturing days were ended. At the sound of the shot, the other man's hand went to his belt but came away empty at the sight of the newcomer's blazing eyes and levelled weapon.
"Reach, yu yellow skunk," came the terse order.
The man complied, but his expression was poisonous. "May I point out, senor, that you are on the wrong side of the line?" he observed.
"I'm on the right side o' this gun," Green grimly retorted. "What are yu up to? "
The Mexican shrugged his shoulders. "Bah! Only an Indian," he sneered. "He knows where there ees much gold, senor, but the dog ees obstinate."
The marshal did not reply. Stepping up to the man he drew the pistols from his sash and flung them, one after the other, into the brush. The dagger he used to free the captive and then turned again to the Mexican.
"Take off yore coat," he ordered.
An expression of surprise showed in the sallow face. It was not like an Americano to rob a man of his clothes, though, of course, the garment was a desirable one, and as he did not wish to lose it, the wearer ventured a protest.
"It may interest the senor to learn that I am El Diablo," he said softly. "He weel have heard of me?"