Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) by Oliver Strange

           “He’s
riding for Purdie,” Lu Lavigne pointed out.
                 “The
devil he is,” King said, and his frown was darker. “Damn him, he was laughin’
at me.” He glanced up and found that the puncher was not the only one to take
such a liberty; there was a demure twinkle in the girl’s eyes; she was avenging
herself for his insolence in the presence of a stranger.
                 “Tickles yu, does it?” he sneered. “Think yu got another
admirer? Forget it. When he’s been at the C Pa day or so an’ met Nan Purdie he
won’t give yu a second thought. She’s growed up, that kid, without anybody
noticin’, an’ I’m tellin’ yu, she’s the prettiest bit o’ stuff this side o’ the
Mississippi. Add too, with Kit outa the way that she’ll get the C P, an’ is
good, an’ yu can reckon up yore chances.”
                 The
colour flamed in her face at the coarse, insulting speech. She knew that he was
payin’ her back—that he meant to hurt—he was that kind of man. When possessed
by passion he was ruthless, hard, ridden by the bitter temper he could usually
control.
                 “You
brute,” she raged. “I hate you!”
                 “No,
yu love me, little tiger-cat,” he smiled, content that the lash of his tongue
had stung her. “Though at the moment I do believe yu’d like
to stick a knife in me. Now Nan Purdie would never think o’ doin’ that.”
                 “Damn
Nan Purdie, and you,” she stormed. “She’s welcome to you if she can swallow the
murder of her brother.”
                 King
laughed lightly; he was in a good humour again now that he had made her angry.
                 “An
unfortunate incident,” he said. “The Circle B has made its position clear by
turnin’ Luce adrift an’ disownin’ him. If Purdie forces trouble it’ll be his
own—funeral.”
                 Though
his lips smiled there was a sinister emphasis on the last word, and the girl’s
eyes sought his in an endeavour to read the truth, but learned nothing. Then,
as he looked at her, his ill-temper seemed to vanish like a storm from a summer
sky. Leaning across the bar, he whispered tenderly:
                 “Come,
sweetness, we mustn’t quarrel. I’m sorry I hurt yu, but it was yore own
fault—yu didn’t oughta waste those star-like eyes on no-‘count punchers.”
                 Lu
Lavigne was used to these sudden changes; the warmth in the pleading voice, the
devotion in the dark eyes, were no new things to her, and yet she allowed
herself to be persuaded by them; jealousy is a potent advocate with a woman.
But vanity demanded a small victory.
                 “You
said—Nan Purdie—was prettier,” she pouted.
                 “Shucks,
Lu, I didn’t mean that,” the other protested. “Yu got me goin’. She’s a
good-looker, shore enough, but too pussy-kitten for my taste.”
                 “Even
with the C P thrown in?” she asked with a tremulous smile.
                 “Yeah,
even then,” he replied, and his voice became harsh again. “Listen to me, girl.
If I want the C P ranch I’ll take it, an’ without any apron-strings tied to it. Sabe?”
                 He
swallowed another drink, and refusing several invitations to join in a game,
went out of the saloon. The eyes of the woman behind the bar followed him, and
had he been able to read their expression rightly, he might not have felt quite
so pleased with himself.
                 On
leaving “The Plaza,” Sudden went to the hotel, where he found Luce Burdette,
moping alone in his room. The young man welcomed him eagerly; he was finding
the part of a pariah a bitter one to play.
                 “I’m
damn glad to see yu, Green,” he said. “Ain’t got no news, I s’pose?”