Spur

by Matt Chisholm

  “You mean Randerson started the shooting?” Jody asked.

  “No, I mean men was shootin’ at each other inside.”

  They didn’t know what to make of that, but agreed it didn’t much matter. The shooting had started and by the law of averages some of Gomez’s men were getting cut down. Which was what they wanted. But what they wanted more was Gomez and Hard wick. And they wanted them whole.

  “What’re we standin’ around for?” Lowe said. “We ain’t goin’ to get nothin’ done up here.”

  “Jim,” Spur said, “you ain’t no part of this. Get on your horse and go look out for the women. Jody an me’ll settle this.”

  “I ain’t no part of it?” Lowe almost shouted indignantly. “What in hell has to happen to make a man a part of it? Didn’t they clobber me near to death? Didn’t they knock my woman around? Don’t give me that, Spur. An’ don’t forget that was my brother down there in the train as well as yourn.”

  “All right,” said Spur. “Let’s go.”

  They went fifty yards east and fetched their horses. From there they rode a wide circle, using the country to keep them out of sight of the house, not hurrying, calculating that the longer the fight went on, the less they would have to contend with and that it was set for a good few hours yet.

  They circled wide and came in from the south, using the mottes of trees as cover and tying their horses in the one before that in which the attacking force had tied theirs. They then worked themselves forward on foot, going with great caution.

  Lying behind a low ridge on their bellies, Jody said: “Well, Sam, this is more your country than mine. What do we do now?”

  “If we want to stay alive,” Spur said, “we stick together. I like the look of that curved ridge over to the right yonder. There we’ll have cover on three sides.”

  “All right,” said Jody. “Suits me. How about you, Jim?”

  “Fine. Just fine.”

  Jody went on: “Now, listen, you two. We ain’t playin’ the part of true blue American boys. We’re up against cold-blooded killers. When you shoot, shoot to kill. Don’t do any fancy gunplay.”

  “Bank on it,” Lowe said.

  “Right,” Spur told him, “you first, Jim, we’ll cover you in case any of them boys should think to turn his head.”

  Lowe pulled his hat firmly down on his head, started crawling and dragging his rifle along behind him. He covered the thirty or so yards without a shot coming in his direction. They watched him take up his position to cover the movements of the man to follow him.

  “Go ahead, Jody.”

  Jody started off, looking pathetically out of place in his town suit and hard hat. Spur kept his eyes on the men crouching ahead, firing at the house and bunkhouse. A man turned his head when Jody had covered ten yards and shouted. Spur fired. It was a long shot and he missed, but the man flung himself flat. In a second two more rifles had turned in Jody’s direction and were firing. The little man didn’t wait for any more, but leapt to his feet and ran as fast as he could go for the curving ridge. As he mounted it, he was in plain sight of the marksmen for a moment, then he disappeared. A moment later, his head popped up and he was firing alongside Lowe.

  There was plainly consternation among the attackers. They scurried for cover; two of them found it, but the third was unlucky. As he ran he appeared to trip over his own feet. Even as he hit dirt, Spur drove a shot into him. That was another for Ben.

  The firing from the attackers died down abruptly. But Spur stayed where he was. To try to join his companions would mean certain death. Gomez and his men knew where he was and would have the spot covered. So he lay where he was and waited, picturing to himself what must be going on in the sheriff’s mind.

  The attack must be off now. It would be impossible to continue it with three men with rifles in the rear. So Gomez had to get out and to do that, he had to reach his horses. He couldn’t do that without going past the three rifles.

  The horses.

  A cold chill went down Spur’s spine. He had been a damned fool. Suppose Gomez had left a man with the horses. No, if he had done that the man would have challenged them when he and Jody and Lowe had passed them. Maybe there had been a man there, but he had decided against challenging three armed men. Why hadn’t Spur thought to spook the horses and get rid of them? Without the horses Gomez wouldn’t be able to get away. Spur’s brains must be tired. No, again. If he had spooked the horses, Gomez would have been aware of his presence and there would have been no surprise to it. He turned and looked over his back trail. He could see nothing. Maybe he was alarming himself needlessly.

  Then he heard the flat slam of a rifle.

  His head jerked around. He saw Lowe’s head hit the dirt.

  He switched his gaze south again, saw the light wisp of smoke at the edge of the motte. Swinging the rifle, the ancient weapon that Pilar had given to him, and praying that it would make a hit at that range, he fired. At once, he drew the fire of the hidden man to himself. The first bullet kicked up dust not an inch from his face. He rolled to the left and kept on rolling till there was a small patch of brush between him and the marksman. The next shot tore through the brush and he knew that he hadn’t done himself much good.

  He got his legs under him and ran to the right. At once he drew fire from north and south. Jody started shooting. Spur found a low rise of earth and dove behind it as a bullet whined over him. He was covered in sweat and he was swearing like a fury. To get suckered at a time like this - an old hand like him. By God, he deserved a bullet up his butt.

  He levered the old rifle and started shooting at the motte, but the men near the house could still see him and were peppering the ground around him. Then it sounded as if the defenders in the bunkhouse and house were cutting down on the attackers again, because the lead stopped coming and he was left with the man in the motte to contend with. He was getting co-operation from Randerson, which was a laugh.

  After ten minutes of this crouching and uselessly shooting, he decided that the fool in the trees could spoil everything. He had to be winkled out of there and once out, Spur could scatter the horses. Then Gomez was fixed and no mistake.

  He looked around.

  Brush over to his right, thick brush. He didn’t wait. If he had, he knew he would never have done it. He trailed the rifle and made a bolt for cover. A bullet flicked his shirt sleeve, another tore at the heel of his boot and hurled him onto his face, but he was up and on before the marksman could plant lead in his carcass. Then he was in cover and looking around for the next.

  A cup in the earth, like an ancient buffalo wallow. Thirty yards to his right and front. It would take him nearer to the trees.

  He leapt from cover and ran again. The man in the trees was worried now as shown by his shooting which was too rapid and erratic. Although the range was shorter, the shots were wider. Spur got into his hollow and started shooting back. He reckoned he drove the man deeper into the trees. The horses back in there were acting up. Maybe one of them had been hit and certainly none of them liked the shooting. One of them apparently broke his tie line, because it came out of the trees on the run and headed away west trailing the line behind him, stepping on it and stumbling every now and then, but too spooked to stop.

  Spur gulped breath into his lungs, preparing for another run, the final charging, wondering how badly Jim Lowe was hit. The shooting from the trees had stopped now, the horses were still acting up. Spur lunged to his feet and ran straight for the trees. A shot came, but it had been fired from deep in the motte and he reckoned that the man there did not have a clear sight of him. As soon as he burst into timber, he dropped. The man fired again and Spur thought the shot came from a position about thirty paces ahead of him. He started working around to the right, going around the horses. Another animal broke loose and ran out into the open. Spur crawled forward, feeling that he was making too much noise, but not slowing because he wanted to get this over and done with. He was needed back there with Jody and Jim.
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  The man fired again. The bullet smashed bark from a tree ten feet to Spur’s right. Spur went forward again and sighted the man as he sighted Spur. They both fired and missed because they were both on the move. Spur fell heavily on his left side, rolled and came up to his knees, eyes searching for the man and not finding him.

  The rifle sounded.

  Something smashed into his head and drove him back against the earth. His senses swam and he thought he was going to pass out, but some desperately urgent voice screamed in his head: Get up or you’re dead.

  He knew that he had dropped his rifle.

  Undergrowth crashed as the man charged forward.

  Spur jerked himself onto his left side, tore the Remington from leather, sighted the blurred outline of a man and cocked and fired.

  It seemed that the man was wafted by some strong wind from his vision. There was no sound; he didn’t hear the sound of his own gun.

  He wanted to lie down and die. He raised his left hand to his face and it came away wet and sticky with blood.

  Driving himself by willpower alone, he got himself on hands and knees and started crawling. He had to get moving. There was no time.

  The man was in front of him, kicking feebly. Spur almost lay on him. He was dead, for the bullet had taken him clean through the heart.

  Another one for Ben. How many more did there have to be before this ended. Suddenly, he was satiated with blood; suddenly, for the first time in his desperate life, he wanted no more. He wanted all this ended.

  He lay on his back by the dead man and laughed insanely. Now was a great time to have a change of heart: shot in the head and maybe bleeding to death, Gomez and his bunch of cutthroats up ahead there, Jody and Jim needing him and he had to turn virtuous. Dazed and feeling that his head must surely fall from his shoulders, he reloaded the Remington. That done, he put the gun away and tied his bandanna around his head. That at least stopped the blood running into his eyes.

  Now, he told himself, pull yourself together, Spur.

  He stood up and started to retch, leaning against a tree and feeling that the end of the world had come. But it cleared his head a little and he felt a mite better. He found that he had the sense to inspect the dead man’s rifle. It was a new Winchester and the man’s pockets were stuffed with ammunition. He loaded the gun and filled his own pockets.

  He walked through the trees to the horses, untied all of them except one and sent them running out into the open away from the buildings. He hoped the attackers saw them go. It might take the stuffing out of them. They had at least two men down and their horses were gone; they wouldn’t be laughing much right now. He mounted the last horse, sat in the saddle for a moment to get his bearing and then yelled and drove home the spurs. The animal’s first jump nearly unseated him. Every time after that when the animal put a foot on the ground a giant hammer worked on his brains. They rocketed out of the trees, he swerved the animal toward the little ridge behind which his two partners were sheltering and yelled the horse on. A few shots came his way, but nothing touched him. He dropped from the running horse and was suddenly with his two friends. The shock of landing nearly made him pass out. He lay there in the semi-circular hollow wanting to throw up again and Jody and Jim stared down at him with some astonishment.

  “Jumpin’ snakes,” Jody exclaimed. “What happened to you?”

  “What in hell do you think happened to me?” Spur snarled. “Where’d you get it, Jim.”

  “Creased me is all,” Lowe told him. “Boy, have I got a headache.”

  “That makes two of us,” Spur told him. “But that son won’t be creasin’ nobody anymore.”

  “And,” Jody said, “to make the day perfect, they don’t have any horses anymore.” He smiled in angelic delight. “They just have to light out.”

  “Which means,” said Lowe, “that we have to be ridin’. My head don’t like the idea of that too much.”

  Spur groaned.

  Jody, watching the attacking force, said: “They’re on the move, boys.”

  Spur put his gaze on the sheriff’s men. They were running in ones and twos away up the rising ground to the east, no doubt thinking that if they had to fort up, they might as well have high ground to do it from.

  Two men were in the corral among the horses, dodging bullets from the bunkhouse. One of them fell and got up again.

  “Horses,” Spur said. “Fast.”

  But even as he spoke, the two men were astride and putting the horses to the fence. Spur prayed that the animals would refuse to jump, but his prayer was wasted. The horses went over the east corral rail like birds and the two riders and their mounts were lost to sight behind the buildings. The men in the house apparently tried for them, but Spur didn’t know if they were hit.

  “They looked like Gomez and Rick to me,” Jody said in disgust.

  “Jody,” Spur said. “You’re fastest on them low heels. Hitch up that horse and go get ourn.”

  Jody no sooner heard that than he thrust his rifle into Spur’s hands and hared for the horse that Spur had ridden up on. It tried to run as Jody came up to it, but it trod on its trailing line and stumbled. The little man vaulted into the saddle and was away,

  Men were coming out of the house now, working their way up the slope to the east after the fleeing posse. An occasional report of a gun was heard.

  It was not long before Jody returned on the run with the horses. Grimacing horribly, Spur and Lowe got into the saddle and the three of them rode toward the house.

  In the yard was Brocius and another man, their faces blackened by powder. Brocius’s face had been nicked by a bullet or a splinter and was bleeding.

  “Brocius,” said Spur, “for a mighty short while you’n me is on the same side. Get these hulls onto fresh horses. Me an’ my pards has to run down a couple of rattlesnakes.” The three of them stepped down from the saddle. “Where’s Randerson?”

  “Inside. He’s been hit bad. You git your hosses. Then you git them varmints.”

  Spur walked into the house. The first thing he saw was Randerson on the couch with the girl beside him. Randerson was pale and the rags around him were spotted with blood, but the man was sitting up.

  Spur said: “Gomez and Hard wick got away. The rest of the bunch are up the hill. Do me one favor, Randerson, an’ I’ll forget I ever saw you.”

  “Name it.”

  “Finish Gomez’s men. Leave the other two to me.”

  “Done,”

  “I’m borrowing fresh horses.”

  “Take the best an’ keep ’em. Just finish this.” He sighed. “I should have listened to you, Spur, but maybe it was best this way. It hasn’t turned out too bad after all. At least we were ready for them.”

  Spur nodded to the man, gave the girl a fleeting smile and walked out. Men were leading three fine horses from the corral. Saddles were slapped on their backs and the three men were mounting.

  “All right for shells?” Brocius asked.

  “We could use some revolver ammunition.”

  Brocius gave an order and a man fetched a supply from the bunkhouse. The shooting on the hill was rising to a crescendo. Men were riding out of the yard as fast as they could catch and saddle horses, riding around the hill to come at Gomez’s men from the other side. Spur knew it wouldn’t last long. He couldn’t bring these men to trial, but he could see they never did any more of their devilish work.

  They lifted their hands in farewell and pounded out of the yard.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They came to the ridge above town on the spot where Lowe had brought Spur for his first sight of it so short a while before. He thought: If I hadn’t helped Lowe, I would not have brought him into town and I would never have known Inez.

  “How do we play this if you’re right and they came back here?” Jody asked.

  “They came back here all right,” Spur said. “Everything they’ve killed for is here in this town. And we play it smart. No heroics, no bracing on the open stree
t. We take ’em alive if we can, but I ain’t worried. Kill ’em before they can kill you.”

  Lowe said: “That’s the way I like to hear it.”

  Spur was thoughtful for a moment.

  “Don’t forget the preacher,” he said.

  Jody looked at him in surprise.

  “Shifty?” Spur nodded. “You don’t think - ”

  Spur said: “If you’d seen what I’ve seen that man do, Jody, you wouldn’t ever think he could change. The Reverend Josiah Benn will be up a side-alley with a gun in his hand. Most likely a greener. Shifty always fancied a scatter-gun.”

  “Three to three,” said Lowe. “Even Stephen. Let’s go.”

  They lifted their lines and the horses moved slowly down the slope. The other two half-expected Spur to go into town at a spot away from Main, but he rode down in plain view, clattered hollowly across the bridge over the creek across the plaza and drew rein outside the Randerson House. They stepped down and tied their animals. When they walked into the lobby, Maria Regan was there to greet them frostily.

  “I had hoped, Mr. Spur,” she said, “that you wouldn’t be returning.”

  “I hope you kept my room,” he said.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” She went to turn away, but she swung back on him, a bright spot on either cheek. “May I ask what you have done to that girl of mine?”

  “Inez?”

  ‘Who else?”

  “She ain’t no girl of yourn, ma’am. She’s mine.” Miss Regan looked suitably shocked and taken a-back.

  “You’ve made a respectable girl the talk of the town. She hardly dares to leave her father’s house.”

  Spur came awake.

  “Inez here in town?”

  “Certainly. She came in yesterday with a Mexican woman.”

  Jim Lowe paid attention. “Inez and Pilar at the doc’s house? Hope to God they stay right there.”

  Spur said: “Come on, boys. We’ll have to shift ourselves.” He led the way upstairs. Maria Regan hurried into the kitchen where she told a Mexican boy: “Run to the sheriff and tell him that Spur is in town. When you’ve done that go to the judge and tell him the same thing.” The boy ran out.