Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) by Oliver Strange

became an 8, He
laughed quietly, shot a sly look at his host, and said again, “Ver’ preety.”
The saloonkeeper was not to be drawn; he was wearing his poker face. Moraga
harked back.
                 “Who
was the man?” he asked.
                 “From
yore description I’d say it was young Bordene o’ the Box B,” Raven told him.
                 “Whose
father was also—removed,” Moraga said reflectively; and then, “So the Box B
weel provide the steers thees time, senor?”
                 Seth
Raven looked at the malicious, sneering face and had hard work to keep his
temper.
                 “See
here, Moraga, better not horn in on what don’t concern yu,” he advised. “It was
a fool play to come ridin’ in at the head of a young army as if yu owned the
town.”
                 “Would
you have me sleenk in and out like a cur, senor?” the Mexican returned
haughtily. “I am El Diablo.”
                 “Which
is why I’m warnin’ yu,” Raven replied, a touch of acid in his tone, “On yore
side o’ the line yu may be ace-high, but this side”—he smiled sourly at his own
humour—“ yo’re the deuce. If yu take my tip, yu’ll git
back to yore own bank o’ the ditch, pronto.”
                 “Moraga
does not run away,” the other said boastfully. “I stay till evening.”
                 The
saloonkeeper shrugged his shoulders and offered no further protest. Probably
there would be no trouble, but knowing Lawless, he wished his guest on his way.
                 Raven
was not present when, later on, the guerrilla chief made his appearance in the
Red Ace. A few of Seth’s friends nodded a greeting, but most of the men present
either sniggered or scowled as the garishly-clad figure strutted arrogantly to
the bar. He had almost reached it when he saw the marshal, who, chatting with
Pete, had not noticed his arrival. For an instant Moraga stood motionless, his
eyes distended, his lips working, and then he snatched out his pistol.
                 The
marshal caught one glimpse of the scarlet-coated form and acted. A powerful
thrust with his left hand sent Pete reeling away and at the same time a spurt
of flame darted from his right hip. The bullet, striking Moraga’s gun, tore it
from his numbed fingers. His left hand was reaching for his second pistol when
a warning came.
                 “Don’t
yu,” the marshal said, and the cold threat in the words penetrated even the
brain of the infuriated Mexican. He hesitated, and before he could make up his
mind, two men had grabbed his arms, holding him, cursing and struggling, while
others got out of the line of fire. In the midst of the uproar Raven came
surging in.
                 “What
in hell’s broke loose?” he thundered.
                 A
dozen excited voices told him the story, and as he listened his face settled
into a heavy scowl. He turned to Green.
                 “I’ll
attend to this,” he said, and signed the men to release the captive. Then, with
a fierce whispered word, he led the Mexican into his private room.
                 Immediately
they had disappeared the excitement broke out again. Threats against the
“Greaser” were freely uttered, and the saloonkeeper was openly blamed for what
was regarded as an insult to the whole town.
                 “What
made him pick on vu, marshal?” the store-keeper, Loder, enquired.
                 “Spotted
my badge, I reckon,” Green evaded with a laugh.
                 Meanwhile,
Seth Raven was listening to a story which brought disquietude even to his
usually impassive features, for Moraga, mad with rage at his second
discomfiture, blurted out the tale of his former meeting with the marshal,
despite the fact that he thereby published his own shame. Striding up and down
the room, gesticulating,