Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) by Oliver Strange

forced sale would not produce even the
amount of the debt, let alone the value of the ranch, and that, by waiting, the
banker would get the whole sum due, he shook a stubborn head. He had the
interests of his employers to consider; his predecessor had been unwise; he was
sorry, and so on.
                 Dover
listened with a set jaw; he knew the mean, warped little soul was joying in the
possession of authority for the first time. Mechanically he took the flabby
hand extended when he rose.
                 “I
shall hope to see you at the dance,” Maitland said. “A very kindly thought on
the part of Mister Trenton. It will give me an opportunity of meeting our
customers in a more congenial atmosphere than that of an office. My wife and
daughter will appreciate it.”
                 Dan
gave a non-committal answer, went out, and proceeded to the Parlour. Bowdyr was
alone—yesterday’s patrons were sleeping it off, and to-day’s had not yet begun
to come in.
                 “Where’s
Malachi?” the rancher enquired.
                 “At
the opposition joint, I expect,” Bowdyr grinned. “He’s an odd mixture: allus
pays cash here, but runs an account there—sez he’d hate to die in my debt, but
it would cheer his last moments to remember that he owed Sody ‘bout a million
dollars. You want him?”
                 “I
want a drink more—a big one.”
                 The
saloonkeeper looked at him keenly. “What’s the trouble, boy?” he asked, pushing
forward bottle and glass. Dan swallowed a hearty gulp of the spirit, and then
told the story. Ben’s face grew graver as he listened.
                 “Hell!”
he said, when all was told. “I knowed the Ol’ Man was up agin it, but never
suspicioned it was that bad. An’ you think Trenton knows?”
                 “Shorely,”
Dan replied. “He’d milk that money-grubber dry. I’ve gotta raise that coin
somehow, Ben, or he’ll buy the Circle Dot for half its value.”
                 “Well,
Dan, any help I can give is yourn, but pore times in the cattle trade hits me
too,”
                 Bowdyr
said.
                 “I
know that, Ben, an’ thanks, but this is my job.”
                 The
entry of Malachi put an end to the conversation. He appeared to be sober, and
helped himself to an unusually modest dose of his customary tipple.
                 “I’m
obliged for yore message, Doc,” the rancher said. “You’ve seen Maitland? What’s
your opinion of him?”
                 “I
think he’s taken the place of a better man.”
                 “Yes,
it was an unlucky day for Rainbow when Lawson elected to go back East,” the
doctor agreed. “This fellow has always had a boss; he’ll find one here.”
                 “He’s
done that a’ready,” Dan said bitterly. “Though mebbe he ain’t aware of it yet.”
                 Malachi
nodded. “Trenton gets the town to give a dance in his niece’s honour, an’ tells
Maitland it’s for him.” He laughed wryly. “Clever devil; wonder how much he
owes the bank?”
                 “I
dunno, but I’d like to,” Dan said. “ You goin’ to this
festive gatherin’?”
                 “I
might. I’m told the girl is pretty. Have you seen her?”
                 “Yeah,
she has looks,” Dover admitted, and left soon after. “He’s missin’ his dad,”
Bowdyr remarked.
                 Malachi
nodded agreement. “Ought to take more liquor; drink is the sovereign cure for
depression, old settler; lifts a man to Paradise—”
                 “ An ’ drops him in hell next mornin’,” the saloonkeeper
finished. “You can’t tell me, Doc; I sell it.”

  Chapter
VIII
                 Dover
spoke little during the evening meal, but afterwards, when