Spur: Nevada Hussy

by Dirk Fletcher

  Ten yards later the marksman changed his target.

  Without warning the horse's head jolted toward Spur, the animal stopped walking, screamed with a voice so terrible and agonized that it could only be a death cry. The sound of the rifle shots echoed away into the hills. The gray shivered and slowly sank to her knees, then rolled away from them on her side and died.

  Spur and the girl had jumped away from the horse. Instinctively the soldier in Spur looked for cover. He found a shallow water course, little more than two feet below the level of the gently sloping hill. He pulled the girl with him, and fell into the depression as a rifle bullet slammed through the air where they had stood.

  Spur felt of his side. His hand came away wet with blood. He winced and she frowned.

  "You hit bad?"

  "It isn't good, but I don't know how bad. Sometimes a lot of blood.. .isn't all that bad."

  "Sometimes," she said. The rifle spoke twice more, kicking dust and rocks on them.

  "He doesn't care which one of us he kills," Spur said.

  "That sonofabitch!"

  "Who hired you?"

  "That fucking Rush Sommers, big mine owner. He probably told Quint to use me to set you up, then kill both of us."

  "Now you're thinking like a real bastard, the way Sommers thinks," Spur said. "You want to crawl down that way, the gully gets deeper. If your man Quint doesn't move for five minutes, we can get to the ravine and into the trees around the cemetery."

  "I want to live. Let's go. Just so you don't twist my tits off."

  Spur laughed. "Maybe later we can talk about that."

  The girl winked and crawled away on her hands and knees, working downstream where the water course was deeper. Twenty yards down they climbed to their feet and ran bent over. Three minutes later they bolted from the edge of the ravine into the cemetery and a half dozen trees planted there ten years ago. They heard a shot but the slug did not come near either of them.

  They sat behind a large marble headstone and caught their breath.

  "So we're here," the girl said. "What the hell do we do next?"

  SPUR McCOY LOOKED at the pretty black girl sitting in the cemetery beside him.

  "In my business the first job is to stay alive. It's what we call our first basic procedure. Without that it's damn hard to follow the rest of the rules."

  "Would the fact that a sneaky little sonofabitch named Quint is running up the hill toward us have any bearing on our problem?"

  Spur lifted over the top of the tombstone of one Orville Paddleford b. 1801, d. 1861. A man with a rifle ran hard up the slope.

  McCoy dropped down and caught her face in one hand.

  "Are we on the same side for the moment?"

  "Until Quint is dead, that bastard!"

  "We get him between us, within our short range. See that headstone over there, the little raised box affair?" She nodded. "Get behind it. And we'll try to get him in close so I can hit him with the derringer, or a knife."

  "I need a weapon," she said.

  "You get over there, I'll throw you my knife."

  "Trusting."

  "Staying alive."

  "I can understand that." She bent over and ran across graves and weeds and the rocky unused plots to the larger grave marker. It was only twenty-five feet from Spur. When she reached it she waved and moved out of sight. Spur threw the knife, sticking it in a four-inch thick tree next to the grave. She looked at him, raised her brows in surprise, and pulled the six-inch knife from the tree.

  Spur settled down, watching the killer's progress up the hill. Their small, feeble trap was situated almost on the near edge of the graveyard. If Quint came in at all, he might be in a position where Spur could get one shot.

  Spur would rather Quint came close enough to tackle him and get the rifle. Right now the long gun commanded, dictated, the whole struggle.

  Quint ran halfway up the slope and stopped. At once Spur knew the man had undergone no military training. That was an advantage for Spur. The smaller man rested below, looked at the few trees and plants and the grave markers above him, and started again.

  He worked his way up a ravine, which afforded the most gradual route to the top. In doing so he was positioned so he would come out between the two waiting for him. He must feel safe with the rifle. Now he must also know that Spur had lost his pistol back at the buggy.

  Quint paused again at the front edge of the cemetery. Spur figured the odds. Bolt action rifle. The man could get off only one shot if Spur was within twenty yards of him. One shot and in three seconds, Spur would be diving at his body.

  If Quint came close enough.

  If he didn't suspect a trap.

  If he didn't kill Spur with the first shot.

  Spur needed a distraction, a diversion. He found the largest rocks from the soil nearby, two about the size of baseballs. They might do the trick.

  Quint stood, pointed the rifle ahead of him and walked with his finger on the trigger. If he stumbled he might lunge ahead, pull the trigger and accidentally kill a gravestone.

  When Quint came into the cemetery he was closest to June Sue. Spur wished it had been the other way. The woman probably couldn't throw the knife. It would be a hand to hand weapon for her.

  Quint moved slowly, checking to each side as he walked, watching behind gravestones, turning around now and then to look at his back trail.

  He had just come to a point nearly between June Sue and Spur when he dropped to the ground and listened. Spur used the moment to throw one of the rocks. He lofted it over June Sue and it hit a grave marker making a cracking sound as the rock split apart.

  Quint stood at once, ran a dozen steps that way, then turned and looked behind him.

  That was when June Sue jumped from her cover and charged Quint. He must have heard her coming, because he started to turn back when she hit him. The rifle pointed toward the black woman when it fired. Her knife thrust into his body, but caught him high in the shoulder.

  June Sue clung to him a moment, then fell away, and Spur could see the gush of blood from her stomach.

  In the few seconds after the shot, and before Quint could get his body into motion again, Spur raced from his hiding place. He had the derringer at arm's length, and pounded the twenty feet to where Quint was still staring at the silent form of June Sue.

  He turned, but by then Spur was six feet from him, his finger pulling the derringer's trigger.

  The little gun exploded as the .45 slug plowed out. Spur pulled the gun back on target after the recoil and fired the second round.

  He saw the first round hit Quint high in the chest. The second round was buckshot. Fifteen small balls of steel slashed through the air and tore into Quint's face, destroying it. The shot disintegrated his nose, blinded both eyes and ripped half his cheek off. Four of the shots penetrated around his left eye ball and churned directly into his brain, killing Quint in a half a second.

  Spur jumped over the dead man and knelt beside June Sue. He held her on his lap and her eyes flickered open.

  "God it hurts!" she said softly. Then she screamed. The black woman sobbed for a few seconds then looked up at Spur.

  "I'm dying, I know it. I've seen people shot in the belly before. Can't you make it faster? Two hours is a hell of a long time to wait to get to hell."

  She coughed and spit up blood. Her face writhed from a sudden spasm of pain. She looked up at him. "Spur McCoy, do it for me. I know I'm already dead. Help me just a little and put a bullet through my brain."

  Spur signed. It's what he would want in her place.

  "Look. It might not be that bad. I can get a doctor up here in half an hour. Some of these sawbones are good. They can take out the bullet, sew up the damage. I seen it lots of times."

  "Not if the doc can't work on me for an hour. I'll bleed to death inside if you try to move me. Get one of Quint's guns. He dead?"

  Spur nodded. "Good. Take one of his pistols. You don't even have to look. I thought I could do it myse
lf, but I can't." She sobbed again. "Spur, I helped you get Quint. I could have warned him. You owe me, you handsome sonofabitch. Get his gun."

  McCoy looked at her a long time, then went to Quint's body and pulled one of the pistols from his holster, checked the rounds, took out all but one and placed it in the black girl's hand.

  "I won't hurt you, Spur McCoy. Truly I won't. But I can't do it myself. You must understand. Do it for me, but don't tell me when."

  She gave the weapon back to Spur. At last he nodded. She kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Spur. In other days it might have been different between us. At least I did one good thing, right at the end."

  Spur checked the weapon, moved it back out of sight. "You sure I can't change your mind about this."

  "No way, Spur. I'll probably meet you later, in hell." She closed her eyes. "God but it hurts!" She screamed. "Do it soon Spur! For God's sake do it soon!"

  Spur lifted the weapon behind her and shot her in the side of the head. The round thundered through her head, slammed her away from him, and only a few spots of blood hit his pants. Spur laid the gun down beside her, stood and walked back toward town. Before he got there a deputy sheriff rode out to meet him. Spur motioned to the cemetery and said he would fill out a report for the sheriff later.

  Spur stopped at the buggy with the dead horse and found the borrowed revolver. He took it back to the drygoods store. The owner said he would keep it for the man who had lent it. Spur held his hand over his bloody side as he went to his hotel. The bullet had cut through an inch of flesh in his side. Lots of blood, not much damage. He put on a bandage made from his handkerchief and taped it fast.

  Rush Sommers had put out a kill order to him, Spur knew for sure now. He had to be careful around town. He needed a good base of operations. He would stay in his room until dark, then go to the Belcher mansion.

  That night at eight, Spur went to the Belcher place.

  "Tell Mrs. Belcher that the lawyer wants to see her," Spur told the maid at the door. A minute later Canchuna ran up to the door and unlocked it with her key. She hugged him and took his hand.

  "So happy to see you!" she said, her small face blossoming in a grand smile.

  "I'm happy to see you too, Canchuna. I have my bags. I want to rent a room for a few nights."

  "The big bedroom?" she asked cautiously.

  "No, just a bed where I can get some sleep."

  "Good," Canchuna said. "Tracy is having a bubble bath. I'll tell her you're here."

  Canchuna led him to a bedroom on the top floor that looked out over the whole little city. He could see gas lights burning on some of the street corners, more lights glowing in house windows. Virginia City was starting to grow up. But what could sustain it when the mines ran dry? And they would. Already the town had been through one bad depression from sixty-eight to seventy-two as one mine after another worked out of the lode.

  Spur answered a knock on his door and found Canchuna with a tray that held a pot of coffee, three small cakes and three kinds of fruit.

  "I thought you might want a snack," the girl said. She put the tray down and smiled, then slipped quickly out of the room.

  A half hour later, the door swung open and Tracy walked in. She wore a floor length silk robe and her hair had been washed and dried and combed out.

  "Welcome home," she said. "Hear you killed a couple of people today."

  "Just one, actually."

  "Seems like the word is out on you, Spur. A certain unnamed party has offered a thousand dollars for your head in a bucket."

  "Figured it would come to that. The time must be coming down short."

  "What time?"

  "My business venture that certain folks don't want to go through."

  "Oh. Then you're not really a lawyer?"

  "Right, I'm a businessman."

  "What's your business?"

  "Death, violence and outlaws and criminals."

  "Just had a feeling you were a law man. A U.S. Marshal, right?"

  "Wrong. Sit down over here and tell me everything you know about Rush Sommers."

  "That could take a long time."

  "I've got all night. Oh, can I sack down in your bunkhouse for a few nights? The hotels are downright unhealthy."

  She kissed his cheek. "Sweet Spur, you can bunk down at my place anytime you want to. As long as I get to be in the same bed."

  Spur kissed her soft, waiting lips.

  "Sounds like a marvelous arrangement." He put his arms around her and wrinkled his brow. "Now, give me a quick historical and current rundown on one tycoon named Rush Sommers."

  It was a little after midnight when Spur left the big Belcher house on the hill and walked down to the sheriffs office. He had on a black hat pulled low, a borrowed blue miner's coat, and his spare Colt .45 tied down on his right thigh. No one should have any reason to recognize him. His side hurt, but not bad. Canchuna had rebandaged it.

  He had sent a note to the sheriff three hours ago, that he needed a secret meeting with him in the sheriffs office. The lawman was to tell no one of the conference, especially not any of his deputies.

  They met in Sheriff Gilpin's private office that had a door to the street. No one saw Spur enter. The sheriff was staring at a report he had been writing. He looked up and scowled.

  "I don't like the idea of some stranger coming in here and suggesting that I have a spy and a double dealer on my staff."

  "Can happen to anybody, Sheriff. Don't take it personally. Right now I'm interested in the shipment of gold and silver due out of here sometime within the next week."

  "What? You're not supposed to know about that! It's always a secret."

  "Sure, Sheriff. Nobody knows except the mine owners, their security people, twenty-seven sheriff's deputies, the train crew, the switching crew, the men who will be called to transfer the boullion, and all the wives, sweethearts and whores who found out. A damn big secret."

  "Well, at least we don't announce the shipment in the newspapers. You're here about the transfer."

  "Yes. There could be some trouble. Who assigns the engineer to the special train?"

  "The Virginia and Truckee Railway Company, with the approval of the mine owners. Far as I know it's already been done. We cleared three men and the mine owners pick one. Last three shipments been the same man, Guy Pritchard. He lives here in town. Usually runs the ore trains down to Carson City."

  "Good, I'd like to go talk to him."

  "Pritchard is a good man. Not a chance that he would give us any trouble. I'm in charge of the transfer from the miners' security men to the federal boys on the train. We go from one mine to another to get the bars. The gold and silver bars are sent from the reduction plants back to the individual mines for safekeeping, since the number produced in any one day is small. So security for the transfer of this big a shipment became a problem."

  The sheriff shook his head. "Damn sure you're wrong about one of my own here being in on anything like this."

  "Sheriff, anybody ever tried to bribe you? Now don't get riled. Every sheriff who ever pinned on his badge has been tested. What would you do if the bribe was for, say two million dollars, in gold bars?"

  The sheriff stared at the federal law man. "You telling me somebody is offering one of my deputies two million dollars to help rob that gold train?"

  Spur nodded.

  "God Almighty!" The sheriff rubbed his forehead. "That much money would tempt Christ himself. No man I know could resist."

  "That's why we have a problem, Sheriff. My boss says there could be as much as thirty million on that train. You can spread thirty million around to a lot of hired guns."

  "I'm putting on a hundred extra deputies the day that silver and gold are moved."

  "When will you know which day?"

  "I get a coded telegram from San Francisco."

  "I'll get one too, Sheriff. Let's hope they both give the same date. Now, tell me where this Pritchard lives. I want to pay him a friendly call."

  A ha
lf hour later Spur McCoy knocked on a small frame house out of the downtown section of Virginia City. It had a white picket fence around it and one bed of carefully tended flowers in front. Water was such a scarce and expensive item in the desert mountains that gardening was a luxury.

  A man opened the door.

  "Yeah?"

  "Guy Pritchard?"

  "Yes. Afraid I don't know you."

  "My name is Spur McCoy. I'm with the United States Secret Service Agency. I want to ask you a few questions."

  "Me? Why me? It's almost one a.m. for Christ's sakes."

  "That's what the questions are about. Can I come inside?"

  "What? Oh, yes, come in." The man wore pants and no shirt.

  The house was small, frame construction rather than the more expensive brick, and modest. The house had the look of a man living alone.

  "Is your wife and family here?"

  "No. I lost my wife three years ago. One boy went to live with his grandma back in Missouri."

  "Sorry. I understand you're an engineer with the Virginia and Truckee."

  "That's right. Best job in the world. Exciting."

  "A feeling of power?"

  "You bet! When them pistons slam home and the wheels spin it's a great, good, powerful feeling."

  Prichard was tall and slender. Spur estimated he was 33 or 34. He had a large nose, deep set brown eyes, and dark hair. He wore faded pants that had been pulled on quickly after getting out of bed.

  "That power go so far as to make you think you're above the law? That you don't have to go by the laws of the land?"

  "No, sir. I've never thought that. I've been a good worker for the V & T.Been on the line since it was finished back in sixty-one. Started out as a brakeman when I was eighteen."

  "Sheriff tells me you've never been in trouble with the law, at least here in Virginia City. That true?"

  "Absolutely. No cause for me to hurt anybody. I drink a little now and then, but I'm the kind of guy who goes to sleep when I drink too much. I'm not a brawler."

  "I hear that you've been picked in the past to be engineer on the gold trains that take the boullion from the mines to San Francisco."

  "Right! We take it as far as Reno in a special train. Then it goes on the regular Central Pacific line on into Sacremento and San Francisco. Yes sir. That was a real thrill."