Spur folded the notice, took it outside and stood at the edge of the boardwalk and burned the piece of paper with the telegraph message on it, dropped the ash into the street and ground it into dust in the still dew-damp dirt.
Half a block up the street he spotted the barber opening up and slid into the shop for an overdue haircut. The barber made small talk, pointed to three moustache cups on the shelf for use by local businessmen, but could not interest Spur in parting with a dollar for a cup with his name hand painted on it.
Outside he sat in a chair leaned against the drygoods store and watched Virginia City come alive. A wave of miners swept by toward the dank, hot holes in the ground. A few women ventured out to do some shopping. Children filtered past heading for the schoolhouse.
Down the street he saw a Negro woman come from one store, look into another and then walk rapidly toward him.
There were few blacks in the West. Texas had a great number, but few Negroes had wandered from the Southern states, especially into the far western states. The woman was slender, perhaps in her twenties, and Spur had trouble placing her in a category. Some western saloons advertised that they had Chinese and Negro whores, but this woman did not seem to fit into that occupation. As she came closer he saw that she was nervous, frightened perhaps, but still he noticed that she was attractive. She kept looking behind her.
Five doors down from Spur she began to run forward. Spur saw three men burst out of a store and chase her. When she came up to him she glanced his way, then sighed and ran on past.
Spur moved from the chair in a swift, smooth surge and the big .45 Colt jumped into his hand covering the three men racing toward him.
"Hold it!" Spur roared in his best parade grounds army voice of command.
Two stopped at once. The third didn't notice him and continued another few steps before he saw McCoy and the gun pointed at him.
The closest man snarled.
"None of your affair, stranger. Put away the iron. I got no argument with you."
"But I have one with you. Why are you chasing the woman?"
"None of your fucking business!" the man screamed. He started to draw his gun.
Spur's .45 blasted one shot into the quiet morning air. The slug tore two holes in the bottom of the loudmouth's pantleg near his boot.
"I asked you a question," Spur said.
The other two men backed off, out of range, but stayed to watch.
"And I said none of your business. Now stand aside."
"You from Texas?" Spur asked.
"So what?"
"So leave the Negro girl alone. Lincoln freed the blacks, remember?"
"Damn shame he did."
"You turn around, drop that hogsleg on the ground and walk down to the corner, or the next round is going right through your kneecap. You hear good enough to understand that?"
"Yeah. And you better have your six-gun loose and ready next time we see each other." The gun landed in the dust, the Texan walked away.
Spur went back to the chair and leaned against the store. He kept his right hand free and the .45 available for a fast draw. But the three men did not return. A small boy picked up the Texan's six-gun and took it to its owner down the street.
The three men walked down a side street and Spur relaxed.
"Thank you," a voice said beside him. It had a slow and easy pace to the words, and the slightest trace of a southern accent. He caught a brief scent of perfume, then it was gone. He turned and saw the Negro girl standing beside him.
"Sir. I wanted to thank you. Those men have been bothering me since I got into town yesterday."
Spur stood and looked at the black girl who had rushed past before.
"Yes, miss."
"I really don't know how to thank you. I'm going to sing tonight in Miner's Hall, and I only stepped out of the International Hotel looking for some clothes to replace some I lost."
"Perhaps it would be better if I escorted you back to the hotel, and tell the sheriff about your troubles. I'm sure he'll want to see that you have proper protection while you're in his town."
She smiled. Spur had noticed that she was lighter in color than many of the deep south Negroes, and now he realized that she was indeed an extremely pretty woman. Her figure was slender and she moved like a dancer as he walked beside her the three blocks to the hotel.
"I'm so thankful you were sitting there this morning. I'm afraid that wherever I go I find southern men who remember how they used to simply use Negro women, you know what I mean, whenever they pleased. Thank God for President Lincoln."
Spur nodded and opened the hotel door for her.
"I'm on the fifth floor. I like to be up high where I can get a long view. Would you see me to my door? I'll be extra careful after this. And I see no reason to trouble the sheriff."
They spoke little as they climbed the four sets of steps to the fifth floor. She stopped in front of room 505 and found her key. Spur took it and unlocked the door and gave the key back.
She watched him a moment. "I don't know..." she began. "Could I offer you a glass of wine as a thank you for rescuing me? It would have been just terrible if they caught me. I don't know if anyone would have raised a hand to help. They would have dragged me into an alley somewhere..."
"I'd be pleased to have some wine with you. My name is Spur McCoy."
She held out her hand like a man. "Hello, Spur McCoy. I'm June Sue Lincoln. No kin to the President." They both laughed.
He shook her hand and walked into the room. It was much like his, but had a soft suitcase opened on the bed. A scattering of women's clothing was on top and a sheer nightgown of black lace laid out carefully.
She picked up a bottle of wine from the dresser and Spur noticed that it had already been opened. The beginnings of doubt filtered through this pleasant scene and bothered him. Was it too convenient for her to come past him on the sidewalk? Was it only happenstance that the "attackers" had been on hand and yelled at her? It could easily have been a set-up. But why?
June Sue went to the wash stand and found two glasses near the pitcher of water. But when she turned back, she aimed a small revolver at Spur and grimaced as she pulled the trigger.
His growing suspicion had kept Spur alert, and when June Sue turned to fire at him she shot at the place had had been when she saw him last. Spur had taken two quick, silent steps to the side. When he saw the gun, he jumped forward and swung his fist down hard against her wrist, knocking the sixgun to the floor before she could fire again.
The room rumbled with the sharp sound of the gun going off.
June Sue held her wrist, snarling at him in fury.
"You bastard! You almost broke my arm!"
"Fair enough, you tried to kill me. Why?"
The door to the small closet swung open and a man with a sawed off 10-gauge shotgun leveled it at Spur.
"She don't have to say a word," the man said. "Drop your hardware on the bed careful like."
Spur had not seen the gunman before. He was black haired, with a drooping moustache, and a sun and wind burned face. An outdoorsman, not a miner.
The Secret Agent lifted his Colt from leather with his thumb and one finger and dropped the weapon on the bed.
"Tie him up," the gun wielder said.
The girl shook her head. "No, bad planning. How we going to get him downstairs and into the buggy if he's tied up without attracting a lot of attention? We take him down the back stairs, out the back door where the buggy is. When we get him out of town we tie him up, then I won't have any more trouble with him."
She put her hands on slender black hips and frowned. "Why the hell you hiding in my closet?"
"Because Mr...the boss man said to. Figured you might have problems with McCoy. Everyone else has."
She picked up her weapon from the floor, a make of .32 or .38 caliber pistol that Spur had not seen before. It was only about seven inches long overall. Deftly she took out the fired shell and put in a new round. She had five loads. S
he let the hammer down on the sixth empty chamber. She put on a jacket and stood next to Spur with the muzzle of the gun held against him. The way she draped the coat over her shoulder, no one could see the gun.
The shotgunner wore a pair of pistols on his hips. He put down the scattergun and took out a derringer. The hammer was cocked. He could fire the first barrel with minimum force on the trigger. The second trigger pull fired the second barrel on most derringers.
Spur knew this was the time to make his move, but he had few options. In the hall, as soon as they met someone, or maybe at the downstairs door, he had to try to break away. There had to be somebody around he could use to help escape from this pair.
The shotgunner was wearing a long black coat, the kind preachers sometimes wore, a style that many outlaws had adopted because they could conceal a shotgun or rifle so easily. This one did. The shotgun was under the coat and impossible to see.
The sunbrowned man walked on the other side of Spur and held his derringer against Spur's side.
"Don't even think about getting away, McCoy," the man said. "You make a fuss downstairs, and we blow your head off and run out the back door, free and clear. Don't think it won't work. Us two have done jobs like this together before. The only thing June Sue here is better at than being a gun for hire is in bed. She is fantastic at both. So don't make no dumb mistakes."
Spur heard them, but knew his chance was now. If he let them tie him up he was as good as dead from knife or bullet or just being thrown off a cliff. It had to be soon, damn soon!
They went out the door and Spur felt helpless. No one was in the hall. Down the first set of steps they met no one. On the second flight an elderly man and woman came up and Spur's shotgunner stepped forward ahead of Spur to let the old couple come up the steps. Spur kicked the kidnapper ahead of him, jamming his foot in his back and shoving the shotgunner, tumbling him down the steps.
In the same motion Spur spun swinging his fist hard as he turned. The blow caught the woman in the side, and she fell against the railing. Her pistol dropped to the steps and Spur rushed past her, up the steps moving ahead of the old couple. Neither of his attackers below could have a shot at Spur without hurting the elderly couple.
At the top of the steps Spur ran down the fifth floor hall. He darted in the first unlocked door that he found and locked in behind him. Then he checked the window. He as on the uphill side of the hotel, which meant it was only three stories from ground to fifth floor. A wide balcony extended from the fourth floor in back. It was only one floor down. Quickly Spur lifted the window, crawled out, hung by his fingers and then dropped the six feet to the balcony. He landed unhurt, and glanced up as June Sue looked out her window on the fifth.
As she tugged at the window, Spur climbed over the low railing, and wrapped his legs around the pole holding up the balcony, and slid to the porch below on the ground level.
He had just hit the floor and walked away when he heard boots pounding the sidewalk coming up two levels from the front of the hotel. Spur ran into the store across the street, a drygoods establishment, and worked his way toward the back. There was no rear entrance to the store.
He went back near the front to watch the street. Before long, June Sue and the shotgunner were both at the back of the International Hotel talking. There was only one male customer in the store. He carried an old six-gun Spur wasn't sure could still fire. He ran to the man, said he was a lawman who needed help.
The man eyed him carefully, then nodded.
"Loan me your weapon and belt. Is it a .44?"
"Yep. Best pistol I ever had. Welcome to it. Name is Wellman. Bring it back here, you done with it."
Spur strapped on the gunbelt, and drew the weapon. It was old but had been well cared for.
As he watched, the shotgunner in his long coat went down the street, and June Sue came toward the drygoods store. Spur moved around to a section shielded from the rest by stacks of bolts of cloth and waited for the black woman. When she looked between the stacks of cloth she stared at the muzzle of his six-gun.
"Welcome, I've been waiting for you. Come in and show me both your hands."
She hesitated, then stepped forward. As she came within arm's distance, Spur slapped her hard on the side of the face. "That's for trying to kill me," Spur said.
She shrank back, but Spur held one of her hands.
"Where do you have the derringer hidden?"
"Suppose you find it."
"I will, and you make one sound and I'll strangle you right here. I still owe you!"
She tried to stop the concern from showing on her face but couldn't.
Spur checked her waist. She had on a one piece dress, and he felt no lumps around her waist big enough to be a weapon. He turned her around with one hand, keeping the pistol ready. He felt up from her waist to her breasts.
"Enjoying yourself?" she spat.
"No, just business. Her breasts were modest but had company. Between them he found a string and on the end of the string, taped to her right breast was the derringer. He opened the buttons on her dress, pulled out the weapon and cut the string, then let her button up the dress. No one had looked for cloth in that section.
"Now, where was that buggy you talked about? I want to have a talk with you where your buddy with the long black coat won't find us."
The rig was at the other side of the International Hotel. They walked to it without spotting her helper, got in and drove away.
Spur headed for the cemetery, down beyond the Consolidated California Mine and past the Ophir diggings. There were only a few houses beyond the Ophir and Spur drove down a track below the cemetery and tied the reins.
"Now, who hired you to kill me, and why?"
"Kill me, I won't tell you."
"I know a way. But first I need to check you for weapons again, do a better job than I could in the store." He reached for her breasts, and she glared at him.
"If you're so excited that you want a quick fuck right here, just say so."
"I'm searching you, not getting sexy. Yes!" He found another lump, this time on her left breast. Opening her dress and pushing aside the chemise, he saw white tape that held a four inch knife against her breast.
"That's not a nice girl, June Sue. Not nice at all. And remember, when you make up your story about who you are supposed to be, get your facts straight. If you were in town to sing, it would be at Maguire's Opera House, not at the Union Hall." His hands now lowered, examining slowly up her legs under her skirt and she swore at him. But there he found nothing but firm, young flesh all the way to her crotch.
"Now, June Sue, hired gun and killer, who paid you to make me disappear in a grave out here in the Nevada wilderness?"
He turned to face her, looking past her back at town and the mine when he saw a puff of blue smoke from a clump of brush two hundred yards away. Almost at once something hit him in his back on the left side, spun him half around and almost out of the buggy. As he fell he heard the sharp crack of the rifle as the sound arrived after the bullet.
As he spun he dropped the borrowed pistol.
It was a frozen motion scene he saw taking place. He fell and the six-gun clattered to the seat of the buggy. June Sue reached for it and Spur swung his right hand slapping at her arm. But she got the gun first and lifted it, her finger searching for the trigger. Spur hung on the side of the buggy, wondering why the rifleman had not fired again.
But he wouldn't have to. The black woman had the gun and lifted it, aiming it. He dove at her, his head hitting her breasts. She screamed in anger as his head hit her hands, throwing up the pistol as it fired over his head. Then both of them were in the air, tumbling, rolling out of the buggy, falling three feet to the dirt and rocks of the barren Nevada hillside. They landed behind the wagon and Spur's big frame pinned the black body to the ground.
For just a moment he wondered where the gun was. Then he remembered the derringer in his pocket. Both of his hands and arms still worked. But there was a roaring
pain in his back, no, more like in his side. He could feel the blood wetting his shirt and pants now. He grabbed one of the girl's breasts and squeezed it until she looked at him.
"June Sue, I'd just as soon twist your tit right off, and I will unless you do exactly what I tell you. Is my message getting through to your brain?"
"You're a dead man, no matter what you do. Quint can drive nails with that rifle at this range."
Spur pushed the derringer under her chin, in the soft flesh between the bones and lifted it until she cried out in pain.
"I guess it will be more effective to blow your head off right here."
"No! No, I'm no good dead. What do you want me to do?"
"We're going to stand up in back of the buggy wheel."
"Won't work," she said. "That little house is a hundred yards away and Quint will cut you to pieces before you get there."
"But he won't shoot at you. You'll be along, June Sue. I wouldn't even think of leaving you here."
They stood slowly. She helped him. He kept the gun under her chin and grabbed her breast again as soon as they were behind the buggy wheel.
A rifle round whizzed past them and they heard the sound of the shot a moment later.
"A warning," she said.
"Let's call his bluff. We rush up to the house. I'll bend over so he can't see my head, but you stand tall so he can see you over the back of the nag. You stay tall or you lose one tit twisted off. Got it?"
She scowled at him, nodded without moving her head much so the derringer wouldn't hurt any more.
"Now!" Spur said and they took four steps and were behind the horse, their legs beside the gray's back legs. Spur bent over, but reached up and caught the reins.
"Next, we move," Spur said. He slapped the reins on the neck of the gray and said, "Giddiyap." The gray turned and stared at him a moment with one huge eye, then she stepped out at a walk.
They had gone ten yards when the rifleman put two rounds into the buggy's rear wheels.
"Trying to break the rig," he said.
Spur: Nevada Hussy Page 9