Spur Giant: Soiled Dove

by Dirk Fletcher

  Slowly her hips began to move again. She opened her eyes and her hips worked up and down on him. His hips thrust upward in response and soon they set up a cooperative movement and he felt his own desire mounting.

  He made it last as long as possible. Pounding hard, then taking a rest when the pressure began to build too high. When it eased off he began again and at last rolled her over without coming out and slammed his hips against hers, driving her upward on the bed each time until he could stand it no longer. He vaporized, blasting into her in the ultimate primal act and then collapsing on top of her driving her slender body deep into the mattress.

  She lay there exhausted herself. Her hands touched his back, then dropped at her sides.

  Ten minutes later they both sat up on the side of the bed. His hands found her breasts and played with them.

  "That was beautiful. You know how to make a woman do the best she's ever done."

  "You were fantastic. You know just what to do for me."

  They grinned at each other, then she rubbed his chest. "Hey, talk around town is that you're some kind of a detective, a Federal detective. Is that right?"

  "Something like that."

  "I don't understand. What is there to do here in town for a man like you?"

  "A detective detects."

  "Oh," she said not understanding.

  He laughed. "Lillian, I'm here working on the train robbery case. It's no secret. I'm trying to find the men who did it."

  "Have you found them?"

  "No. Not yet, but I will."

  "Maybe I can help you. I hear a lot working around the hotel."

  "Good. Who did the robbery?"

  Lillian grinned. "Silly, I don't know. I meant maybe I could see who comes and goes, things like that."

  "Maybe."

  "You let me know who you want me to watch, or whatever. I'd like to help."

  "Good. The best way you can help right now is on your hands and knees and let those two marvelous tits hang down in my face. I love your floppers."

  "They love you. Just don't bite so hard you make them bleed. Hey, you haven't spanked me yet either. I love to get spanked until my little fanny is red. Makes me just hotter than all day in hell."

  "I'll remember that."

  She went on her hands and knees and he lay back moving under her. "Most beautiful sight in the world," he said.

  "Shut up and start chewing," she said.

  Later, he pushed her down on her stomach and affectionately spanked her round little bottom until it glowed pink. He was ready to stop when she begged him for more spanks. She soon climaxed, rolled over top of him, humped her hips against him until she whimpered and then relaxed so much he thought she had passed out.

  After the third go-round that night she sat up and began to dress. "I have to go. Can't stay all night. Love to, but I got to go. I'll try to see you tomorrow night. You be here?"

  "If I can be. Remember, I'm trying to get some work done, too."

  She nodded, shrugged into her clothing and went to the door.

  "It's late, maybe I should walk you to where you're going," Spur said. "Almost midnight. You could get robbed or roughed up out there."

  He pulled on his pants quickly, then his boots and shirt.

  She worried about it a moment, then shook her head. "No, that's thoughtful of you, but I'll be fine. I have a derringer in my reticule. Nobody will bother me."

  He finished dressing and opened the door for her. "If you're sure, I'll let you go."

  She reached up and kissed his lips gently, then hurried out the door.

  Spur strapped on his gunbelt, made sure she was down the hall, then he followed her. He was curious where she had to go so suddenly. It was as if she had just remembered some date she had.

  He saw her from the top of the stairs go out the hotel's front door and hurried after her. She never looked behind. He followed her down a block, then she turned right into the residential section and went two more blocks and over two. She walked directly to the back door of a small white house on Third Avenue and went in without knocking.

  Spur took down the number of the house, 426 Third Avenue, and walked back to the hotel. He took a look at the big dipper and saw it showed just about midnight. He wondered where she had to go in such a rush. He'd find out tomorrow, check out that house, or find out who lived there.

  While he was out, Spur decided to take a look at the mansion. He walked six blocks in that direction and saw that the same two lights burned in the three story structure. Maybe they were left on all night to discourage burglars. Maybe he stayed up late counting his money. Spur stared at the lamp light for another minute, then turned around and hurried back to the hotel. With a little luck, he could still get a few hours of sleep.

  The next morning over breakfast, Spur evaluated the case. The only real lead he had was Doug Chandler. Somehow, the man had obtained the money from the aborted ranch sale. To do that he would have to be in on the train robbery.

  The big question remained. Was he also involved in the rest of the thefts and the kidnapping in the same robbery?

  Spur went to see the local banker. He chose the largest firm, the First National Bank of Fort Smith, and talked with the man he had spoken to before, the president, Frank Baum.

  "Yes, yes, we have an account here for Mr. Lowell. We used to do a lot more business with him than we do now."

  "Why would he keep bearer bonds in his own house instead of a more secure area, such as your bank?"

  Baum snorted. "Why? The old skinflint would think we were snooping into his goods, just to find out how much he's worth."

  Baum looked around in the open area near his desk in the bank. There were no private offices. "I didn't tell you this, but I'd say that Mr. Lowell is not as flush with money as he used to be. At one time he carried fifteen to twenty-thousand dollars in a checking account with us. Now his balance Is..." He looked around again. "Balance is in the low three figures, under five-hundred dollars. Heard about the bearer bonds he had stolen. Somehow it don't seem reasonable to me."

  "Why not, Mr. Baum?"

  "If you had a hundred-thousand dollars in cash in Kansas City and not a lot to do, wouldn't you take the train up there and bring it back in person? Why trust the mail or the railroad with that kind of fortune?"

  "I see what you mean. A tremendous temptation for anyone who knew what was in that big envelope."

  "Temptation isn't the word for it, Mr. McCoy. I'll work thirty years and never see that kind of money."

  "Yes, I see what you mean. Mr. Baum, are there any other indications that Mr. Lowell might be running out of cash or at least getting somewhat low?"

  "Yes sir, I'd say a couple. We don't have a stock broker here in town. Now a man like Mr. Lowell has lots of money in stocks and bonds, and now and then he'll buy and sell. I'm the closest thing to a broker in town. I buy for a few locals and sell now and then.

  "Mr. Lowell used to have some business for me that way every week or so. Haven't seen a sign of him around here for six months now."

  "Anything else?"

  "I think so. Lowell has a party now and then in his big house. Before his wife died, it was most every week. Now he plays poker Saturday nights instead, at his place, of course. My wife and I went to a soiree up there couple of weeks ago.

  "Didn't have the fancy liquors set out, the buffet was limited, not like it used to be. Conservative, almost frugal. Then on the way down that long hall, we noticed the oil paintings. He used to have more than a dozen expensive pictures there. He told me he paid over twenty-thousand-dollars for some of them. I noticed the blank spaces on the wall. Some of the most expensive paintings are gone now."

  Spur nodded. "I noticed that when I was up to see him. So there did used to be paintings all along there."

  "Indeed. Well, far be it from me to hit a man when he's going down, but I'd say that Mr. Lowell is starting to pinch his thousands."

  "Mr. Baum, what do you know about insurance on the Rail
way Express goods?"

  "Isn't any regular insurance. But I know for a fact that most anything that gets lost out of an express car is covered by the company. Yes, I'd say that the hundred-thousand in bonds would be covered, if the broker in Kansas City swears the bonds were sent, and Lowell can show the ripped open envelope that the post office delivered to him that was empty."

  Spur reached out and shook the banker's hand. "Thanks, Mr. Baum. If I need to bank any money, I'll certainly bring it here. Oh, any results on those stolen twenty dollar bills?"

  "Not hide nor hair of them, Mr. McCoy. We don't get a lot of twenties, but you can be sure we check every one. If we take one in it's our loss, right?"

  "I'm afraid it would be, Mr. Baum. Stolen goods."

  They shook hands again and Spur walked back to the boards outside the bank. So, the rich man might not be quite so rich after all. Still, a hundredthousand in bearer bonds was a tidy sum.

  If there actually were a hundred-thousand in that envelope. There might have been some cardboard and sheets of plain paper. Maybe one bond on the outside. The more Spur thought about it, the more improbable it became. That would take collusion by the brokerage house in Kansas City by at least two, maybe three persons. The cash split and the chances that someone would talk would be too much.

  He decided he'd go under the assumption that the bonds were actually shipped, and stolen by Mr. Lowell or someone in his employ, perhaps the late unlamented Russ Dolan and two friends. If that were true, there had been plenty of time for Dolan and friends to turn over the bonds to Mr. Lowell.

  What if they didn't? That brought up a whole new set of ground rules and suspects. He'd have to work on that one.

  Spur set off down the boardwalk toward the sheriff's office. He hadn't talked to the Attorney General for a day-and-a-half He wondered about any developments on the kidnapping.

  He found the Attorney General and Sheriff Grimm talking in the sheriff's cubicle. They waved him in and the sheriff shut the door.

  "We're making some progress on the kidnappers," Fiorello Alger said, a broad grin breaking across his face. "He wired for us to set a time and place. I had the wire sent back here. Had to threaten the local telegrapher that if he told the man anything about my being in town, I'd throw his ass in jail for twenty years.

  "So, you set a date?"

  "Tomorrow morning at dawn on the train heading for Fayetteville. It leaves here at six-oh-four and stops at the Casper summit for water. We're to leave the money at the summit and Amy will be released 50-yards down the tracks at the same time. Any false moves and Amy will be shot dead."

  "I don't like it," Spur said.

  "Neither do I," Alger agreed.

  "Too many things can go wrong," Spur said.

  "Out of my jurisdiction, just over the county line," Sheriff Grimm said. "Can't help you."

  "You could," the Attorney General said. "If you won't, I'm empowered to press into state service five of your deputies. You might as well volunteer them."

  "Hell, I only got six deputies. Two on night duty."

  "I'll take four. I want three at the pickup site and one down the tracks. We'll go out on an engine or a powered hand car tonight and get there long before the kidnappers will."

  "Too many men," Spur said. "You take three deputies down the tracks and leave the pickup spot to me. You take the cash to the spot on the tracks he told you, then get back on the train and pull it out. The girl should show up down the line. He won't move on the money until the train is out of sight."

  "I don't like this even more."

  "It'll work. One man can hide better than four. I've done this kind of job several times before."

  The Attorney General sighed, looked at the Sheriff who nodded. "Oh, damnit to hell, all right, we'll try it."

  "When is the next train out?" Spur asked.

  "One heads north about eight tonight," the sheriff said.

  "Good, I'll be on it. I'll leave the pickup of the lady up to Mr. Alger. I want the kidnapper. He's got to be tied in with the rest of the train robbery and I want to know all the details. That's why I want to go for him alone. I need him alive."

  Spur McCoy looked up at the sun. It wasn't quite noon yet, he had most of the day before he caught the train out tonight. There would be time to ride out and talk to Mr. Teasdale. He'd check with the sheriff first, then go and quiz the old rancher about the sale and the recovered money.

  He stood on the boardwalk pondering the situation a moment. In the whole robbery scheme he had only one suspect but he had no solid evidence against Doug Chandler. Somehow he was tied into it, but at this point Spur had no information exactly how.

  His only other possible suspect was the rich man, Gregory Lowell, who just might have tried to steal his own bearer bonds to double his money. Not much to show for a week's work.

  The damned kidnapping! He had no idea how it tied in. Maybe if he could nail the man who picked up the money that would answer a lot of questions. He frowned. He hadn't thought to ask Alger if they actually were going to deliver the money, or would it be a dummy package with money on the outside? If it was not the real cash, and Spur didn't nail the guy fast, that could lead to big problems. He started to go back inside to ask Alger about it, but decided against it. They were going through with the delivery, whether real or fake it didn't matter a lot to Spur. His job was to catch the pickup man, quickly.

  He wasn't enthusiastic about spending another night in the woods. He was going soft. Time was he'd spend three weeks outside on the trail, and fight during the day. He sighed. He wasn't 25 years old anymore, that was for sure.

  Spur picked up a rental horse and gear at the Anderson Livery barn and an hour-and-a-half later, rode into the Triangle T ranch owned by the Teasdales.

  A ranch hand met him, took his horse and tied it to the side of the corral. Spur walked up to the house. He knocked on the kitchen door and the cook came, waved him inside.

  "Reckon you want to see Mr. Teasdale. He ain't feeling so chipper today. He's in the front screen porch. You find it?"

  Spur said he could and headed toward the front of the house. It was well furnished, better than most of the town houses. A lot of thought, time and money had gone into the decorating and fur niture. He pushed through to the screened-in porch on the front of the big house and found Dylan Teasdale sitting in a leaned back chair with his feet on a stool. A robe lay over his legs even though it was pushing eighty outside.

  "Mr. Teasdale?"

  The man looked around and Spur was surprised how much he had failed since he had seen him only a week before. His hair had not been combed over his balding skull. His face seemed even paler now. He looked many pounds lighter than he had been.

  Teasdale squinted at Spur, then nodded. "Yeah, the government man seeing about my goods. You find that bill of sale yet and my ten-thousand dollars?"

  "That's what I want to talk to you about, Mr. Teasedale. You told me before that the sale had been agreed upon and the final sales contract was coming in the mail, along with the ten-thousand dollar down payment. Is that right?"

  "Indeed it is."

  "So until you get that sales contract and accept it, the ranch is still yours. No sale has been completed. Would that be correct?"

  "I guess. I'm no lawyer, but I got one in town."

  "Could I ask you who the person is who agreed to buy your ranch?"

  "Yeah. William James. Lives in Kansas City. Gonna hire a manager to run the spread for him."

  "When was he supposed to come and take control of the ranch?"

  "Damned if I know. He said he'd put it in the letter them bastards stole off the train." Teasdale frowned, rubbed his face and looked up quickly. "So you telling me there ain't no sale for sure yet. Not as long as I didn't accept the contract and signed it and took his money."

  "Looks to be about the size of it. You hadn't signed the contract yet, had you, Mr. Teasdale?"

  "Nope. I wanted the ten-thousand first."

  "Mr. Tea
sdale, we have recovered most of the ten-thousand dollars. Almost nine thousand of it. We believe it to be the money from the registered package, but we're not certain. We're keeping it in the sheriff's safe until this case is settled. I suggest you contact this Will James and have him come to Fort Smith so we can talk to him."

  "Yep. Send him a letter tomorrow."

  A young man ran onto the screen porch from inside the house. He wore range clothes and a wide brimmed hat that had seen a lot of rain, sun and wear. He looked to be about 25, slight, his face sweating and his eyes sparking.

  "Oh, Father Teasdale, there you are. Didn't know you had company."

  "Not company. Business. Nate Emerson, this is Spur McCoy from the Federal government. Working on that train robbery. Mr. McCoy, this is my son-in-law, Nate."

  They shook hands. The young man's message just couldn't wait. It bubbled out of him.

  "Wanted to tell you that old Nel had her foal. Prettiest little thing you ever saw. No problems. Little guy is standing now after an hour and nursing. Prettiest sight this side of Omaha."

  Teasdale nodded. The touch of a smile started on his face, then retreated. "Hell, Nate. We may make you into a rancher yet."

  "I tell you I'm trying, Father Teasdale. Oh, them yearlings. We got them moved to a new range. Looks like should be enough grass to last them the rest of the summer."

  "Good, now get back out there and tend to Nell. Shell want some water and some oats. Stay with her a couple more hours."

  "Yes sir," Nate said and hurried out.

  Spur waved at the door Nate had gone through. "Looks like a fine young man."

  "Yeah, could be a good rancher. If I have time enough with him. My daughter Louisa May's husband. Not much chance the other one will amount to anything. I expect to hear any day he's dead or in jail. Just a no good little bastard."

  "I met him in town once."

  "Then you know. Now I'm tired. My damn heart just won't do what I want it to. Doc says I'm to stay sitting down or laying down and give it a rest. Hell, I'm only 56. should have twenty years yet."

  "One thing you don't need to worry about is the ranch. Far as I can see, it isn't sold. If you still want to sell, you can take that up with Mr. James when he comes to town." Spur turned his hat around in his hands.