Spur

by Matt Chisholm

  Up in his room, Spur said: “Jim, watch the street. I want to know if anybody goes in or comes out of the sheriff’s office.”

  He slopped water into the basin and washed his face. He wanted to shave, but there wasn’t time. The presence of the women in town was a worry in his mind. But, he tried to console himself, Gomez couldn’t know that they were at Inez’s father’s house. Maybe they were safe enough. He emptied the bowl in the bucket under the table and Jody took his place. Then Spur sat on the bed and started cleaning his gun. Gomez was fast and he was accurate, they could bank on that.

  A half-hour passed and Lowe said: “Maybe we should start looking for them. They could of left the office by the rear door.”

  A knock came on the room door. Spur lifted his newly-assembled and loaded gun and said: “Come.”

  The door opened and Judge Morth walked in. He frowned when he saw the weapons in their hands.

  “Word has reached me, Spur, that you were in town,” he said. “I have come to say that I don’t want any trouble. If there is a shooting here, I must warn you that you will take the consequences and quickly.”

  Spur reached into his clothes and took out his papers. Jody did the same and they handed them to the judge. The old man showed astonishment.

  “This paints a very different picture,” he said. He looked at Lowe. “And what, may I ask, is this man doing here?”

  “We’ve deputized him,” Jody said.

  “And who do you want?”

  “Gomez and Hardwick,” Spur told him.

  The judge gaped. “It can’t be possible.”

  “They wiped out the smugglers.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “One of Gomez’s men talked.”

  “Have you got him handy?”

  “He rode out. But I’ll prove everything you want when this day’s over. Right now we have a fight on our hands.” Spur opened the door. “Go home, judge. We’ll be bringing you a couple of live prisoners or two dead men.”

  The old man was earnest. “Try to avoid shooting, Spur. There are women and children in this town. It is always the innocent who get hurt.”

  ‘We’ll do our best, judge.”

  The judge went.

  Lowe turned from the window.

  “Shifty just went into the bank.”

  Spur said: “Let’s go.”

  They holstered their guns, picked up their rifles and walked down to the street. Spur halted.

  “Jim,” he said, “stay here and cover the front of the bank. Gomez has a lot to take with him and my bet is he’s been holding it in the back. He’ll have a rig around the rear.” He nodded to Jody and they walked across the plaza. It was very hot and their boots kicked up little puffs of dust. There were few people about. The heat was a blessing. At this time of the day sensible folk were in the comparative cool of their houses. There was an alleyway alongside the bank and they walked cautiously down this.

  “Sam.”

  They stopped. Jody faced down the alleyway, too old a hand to turn his back on a vacant alley end. Spur turned and saw Inez running across the plaza, vivid in the sunlight, framed by the dark sides of the alley.

  Fear fluttered through him.

  “Go back,” he called.

  She hesitated, broke her stride and then, as he shouted a second time, she stopped.

  “Keep your eyes skinned,” he said to Jody and started back along the alley toward the girl. He raised his voice again: “Go back, back.” His desperation sounded in his voice. By now the men in the bank knew of his presence. The girl was standing, staring at him. As he reached the mouth of the alley, Inez said: “I came to warn you, Sam.”

  “I know, honey.” He knew that it was too late for her to go back. In the next second, he heard Rick Hardwick’s voice.

  “The girl’s covered, Sam. You come on out or she gets it.”

  He saw her frightened eyes turn toward the front of the bank. They widened when she saw Rick’s face and the gun in his hand.

  Do the men inside know that Jody’s in the alleyway? he asked himself. His heart was pounding and his legs threatened to cave in under him; he was scared for the girl more than he had ever been scared for himself.

  Hardwick called again.

  “Come ahead, Sam. I know you’re there. You don’t want to see your girl killed, do you?”

  Inez pushed at the air helplessly with her hands as if to hold him back - “No, Sam.” She started toward him.

  “Stay still,” Spur roared.

  She stopped, her face distorted with concern for him. They were both standing there helplessly, frozen with fear for each other. Spur hesitated, knowing Rick, knowing that his coming out into the open might not save the girl.

  “I’m comin’ out, Rick.”

  “Throw out your guns first.”

  Spur hurled the rifle out onto the street.

  “Now the Remington.”

  The pistol followed.

  “Any knives or hideaways?”

  The knife was in back of his belt. It would stay there.

  “I’m comin’ out,” Spur called. “You harm the girl, Rick, I’ll kill you for sure.”

  “No, Sam,” the girl said again, mechanically.

  Spur walked into the open, turned right and saw Hardwick at the open window of the bank. In his hands was a shotgun. For one terrible moment, Spur saw the eyes of his mind what horrific damage the weapon could do to Inez.

  Rick said: “Stop right there. Not between me an’ the girl. Now, stay put.” Over his shoulder, he demanded: “How’s it comin’?”

  Spur couldn’t hear the voice that replied. He said: “I have to tell you this, Rick - I’m a duly sworn officer of the law. I hold a special commissioner from the governor. You, Gomez and the preacher are under arrest.”

  Rick laughed.

  “You, a lawman? Christ, now I’ve heard everythin’. So that’s why you come here. You hear that, fellers? Sam’s a lawman. Well, you ain’t havin’ no luck this visit an’ that’s for sure.”

  Spur wondered what Lowe was doing all this time. His silence must mean that the girl was between him and the man in the window. If that was so, there was little hope.

  Spur’s nerves jumped as a rifle sounded from the other side of the plaza. The bullet was aimed at Rick, but it missed him by a foot, plowing itself into the wood of the window-frame at head level. Instinctively, Rick ducked. In that second of the man’s eyes being off him, Spur bellowed “Down,” to the girl and dove hard and fast for the Remington lying in the dust. Even as his hand closed on the butt, a second shot came from behind him and the window collapsed with a crash of glass, showering Rick. The shotgun went off with a roar, but it was pointed skywards. Spur tilted the gun, thumbed and triggered. The range was nothing and there was a lot at stake. Rick Hard-wick was smashed back out of sight, clutching with a dying hand at the sill, his nails scraping across it and suddenly flicking from sight.

  Spur shouted: “Run, girl,” to Inez and charged the bank. Boots sounded inside as men ran to the front to see what was happening. Shouts, a curse, a gun exploded and he threw himself at the open window and fired at the moving form of a man. Something stung his shoulder and he fired again.

  “Vamoose,” a man shouted.

  “Kill him.”

  Spur emptied his gun into the window, unable to see the men in the gloom of the building. He thought he heard a man go down but he couldn’t be sure. Boot heels sounded again as men fled. He threw a leg over the sill and stepped into the room. He stumbled on something beneath the window and knew that it was Rick. He was in the main part of the bank; the terrified face of a teller showed in his cage. He ran past an open door to one and saw the startled face of the banker at his desk, frozen motionless as he rose from behind it. A door slammed almost in his face as a man disappeared out of the rear. Spur seized the handle and tore the door open. Leaping into the open, he saw two men in motion as they freed two tied horses. A gun was fired and a man fell against the buildin
g. A gun clattered to the ground and exploded as it hit.

  Jody was down, clutching at his belly and writhing.

  Spur raised the Remington, squeezed the trigger and heard an empty click. The two men were heaving themselves into the saddle; the horses wheeling.

  He dropped the Remington and jumped for Jody’s Colt, scooping it from the dirt as the men raked their animals with iron. One horse raced away, the other was giving his rider trouble, frightened by the gunfire, pitching and swerving wildly, blocking Spur’s view of the other rider. This was Gomez, spurring and quirting his horse to a flat run. Spur raised the Colt, fired; the big gun bucked in his hand. The rider was driven forward over the neck of his horse which got its feet under it, the bit between its teeth and bolted after the other horse. The man clung on and stayed there. Spur triggered again and found that Jody’s gun was now empty.

  He started running, senselessly, stopped and watched the two riders go from sight around the buildings, kicking up the dust.

  The buggy!

  Useless.

  Hoofs pounded. Horses were coming down the alleyway. He ran to the mouth of the alleyway and almost went into the horses; Jim Lowe on one, the other riderless.

  Spur caught at the riderless bay, swung himself off his feet with the movement, swung again and landed in the saddle, yelling: “See to Jody.” He glimpsed Lowe swerving aside, heard a shout and didn’t understand and then the bay felt iron and was running, taking him at breakneck speed along the backs of the buildings, kicking trash every way, stumbling once and being kept on its feet by Spur’s horsemanship.

  Suddenly the creek was in sight; he glanced right and saw the two horsemen hurtling over the bridge, the man in the rear whom he had shot now clutching at the horn. Spur swung the bay right, labored up a steep incline to the bridge and turned it again on a space that could have been covered by a pocket handkerchief. The planks of the bridge sounded the racing horse’s hoofs hollowly; the men ahead were attacking the gradient beyond, the animals straining at the slope, the men spurring and whipping them on. Spur called to the bay. Now there was Jody lying back there in the dust, shot down, the brave small man who had escaped so many rogues’ bullets. Foamed flecked back on Spur from the bay’s mouth, it strained against the slope, heaving now with supreme exertion, gathering its great muscles under it, proving that Randerson knew horseflesh and only bought the best.

  Gomez, in the lead, halted his horse momentarily at the crest of the ridge, his arm extended. A puff of smoke as he fired. Spur didn’t feel the lead, didn’t hear it pass him. Nothing but a shot in the head or the heart would stop him now. Or the horse. He prayed the horse would not be hit. Rather the man than the horse, because the horse un hit would carry the man wounded or not to his quarry. The preacher labored up, reached the crest and Gomez was gone from sight, whipping his horse away, running sound now along the far side of the ridge. Spur angled right to save time, knowing that he was cutting distance between himself and the pursued. The preacher pounded from view. A moment later and Spur himself was on the ridge, sighting the two horsemen going south, Gomez now pulling into the lead as Shifty’s horse was slowed by the greater weight. The bay caught itself as it came up on the high ground and turned again, but once more Spur kept it on its feet. The bay stretched out again, hitting a wonderful pace, answering its rider’s voice, reaching as it devoured distance, showering dust and stones, head extended on its slender neck, nostrils wide to fill the mighty lungs with the fuel of air.

  The preacher was looking back now, panic v touching him, knowing that it could not be long now. Spur clutched the barrel beneath him with his knees, wrapped the lines around the saddle-horn and drew Jody’s Colt, punching out the empties and reloading. The preacher was firing now, a hopeless task wounded as he was on the back of a running horse. But even so the man was a good shot and the lead sang close. Spur put the gun away -the time was not right yet - and took up the lines again.

  Gomez swooped from view, going down onto lower ground. A second and the preacher went after him. A warning sounded in Spur’s head - enemies were doubly dangerous when you couldn’t see them. The bay hit the slope and half-slid and half-hopped down it. The fugitives were in front of Spur now riding straight for the curve of the creek.

  The situation was crazy, Spur thought. Two expert gun-handlers running from one man. So it was plain that the moment would come when they would both see that this was crazy and they would turn on him. If he knew either of them it would be in the spot of their own choosing.

  He knew then. It would come at the creek. They’d make their stand there and he didn’t doubt that they’d have rifles with them. At once they would have the advantage: two rifles in the open. They’d be behind the creek bank; they’d drop the horse, an easy target, he’d go down and try to rise, then they’d get him. His hand gripped the stock of the Winchester at his knee and he pulled it from leather. Gomez disappeared from view down the bank of the creek without apparently slacking pace. The horse appeared a moment later out in the stream. Gomez had jumped down and was now in cover ready for the first shot. They had found their spot all right.

  Spur angled to the right, knowing that at all cost he must save the bay, aiming to hit the creek bank higher up, thus robbing them of an easy target. Or so he hoped. He glanced left - Shifty disappeared from sight and his horse appeared in the shallows. Two rifles ready.

  The bay reached the top of the bank and Spur kicked his feet out of the stirrup-irons ready for a hard landing. Faintly, he heard the sound of a rifle. The bay seemed to leap forward into the air and for a moment was light and airborne. Then it landed and its legs were crumpling like paper under it and Spur was jumping clear. He hit the steep bank awkwardly, lost his footing and rolled, landing with a splash in the shallows. The bay was floundering, eyes rolling in terror and pain, trying desperately to rise. Spur rose to one knee, dripping water, aimed the rifle and shot it through the head. The neck and head went under the water with a great splash that threw water over Spur.

  Another rifle shot; lead hummed near and he flung himself down on the bank. Gomez and the preacher were now out of sight.

  They’ll have to try and kill me before they go on, he thought. They won’t ever be taken. If the massacres are pinned on them they won’t stand a chance.

  The thought of their killing him didn’t trouble him at all, so intent was he on the purpose of this wild ride. Take them or kill them. It didn’t matter which,

  He raised his head and a whining bullet lifted his hat from his head. Ducking down he started to crawl forward. The two horses had stopped moving around and were drinking. The gunfire didn’t seem to worry them.

  Spur told himself that he could be there all day, stalemated. He would have to rush them or they would have to rush him. Or ... his eyes rested on the two horses.

  They needed the horses to get away on. With one horse only between them, they would disagree on who should have the horse. The idea of killing one of the horses came to him, but he rejected that in favor of a better idea, for which he was grateful, for the idea of killing a horse was distasteful to him. He lined the Winchester up with the rump of the nearest horse. It was a difficult shot, for the range was a little too long for such fancy shooting, but he reckoned with a little luck he could pull it off.

  He fired.

  The bullet nicked the animal’s rump. It gave a whinny of pain and fright, jumped and lunged off downstream. Spur swung the rifle back to the bank again.

  There was a wild yell from the two men and one of them ran into sight, pursuing the horse, wading awkwardly through the shallows. Spur levered and fired. The man threw up his hands and fell down face forward into the shallows. He got to his hands and knees and Spur fired again. The man got slowly to his feet, walked one floundering pace and fell backward with a loud splash. The remaining horse shied and went further out into the stream. The current took the body of the man and drifted it downstream. That was the preacher. Gomez was left.

  Spur called
: “You can give up, Gomez, I’m takin’ you in dead or alive.”

  The answer was a shot.

  Spur worked his way backward, rounded a small bluff, found himself in willows and climbed the bank. The willows led to some mesquite; he made his way around this and found himself on slightly rising ground scattered with rocks and brush. He started through this, going carefully, rifle at the ready. He could have done without the crashing headache he still suffered. He wondered if Gomez was aware that he was changing his position.

  Spur worked his way cautiously along the slope, past Gomez’s position and into some brush downstream and then began working his way back. Soon he was almost on top of the position the sheriff had held. He stepped forward, peering through the brush and over the bank. Gomez was no longer there.

  A warning of danger ... there was an enemy he couldn’t see. Therefore beware.

  Was Gomez in front or behind him?

  The man’s immediate need was to get away not to kill Spur. Therefore he would be more concentrated on a horse than the man after him. The horse nearest the bank was downstream behind Spur.

  He turned as the shot came, lead tore through brush, leaves fluttered like the feathers of fighting birds; he swung and fired at a flitting figure, knowing that he had been right. Gomez was downstream and after the horse. This would mean that he would have to go into the water after it, for his rope would still be on the saddle. Spur eased himself through the brush. It tore at his clothes and his flesh, but he scarcely felt it, so intent was he on catching Gomez. He came to the edge of the bank and carefully lowered himself down it till he stood on fine sand. From there he could just see the horse standing in the shallows.

  I’m going to get him alive, he thought and knew that was what he wanted. This man was going to stand trial and see the justice he despised working.

  Another shot tore through the brush and passed over Spur’s head. He cried out and hurled himself into the brush. It was a painful experience, but it made a convincing crash. At once he picked himself out of the brush and watched the horse. Even as he did so he heard another crash of brush as Gomez broke through it. He watched the man jump from the top of the bank and land on the sandy shore of the creek. After glancing hastily around, Gomez waded into the shallows toward the horse, calling softly to it. The animal looked at him and began to move away. Spur heard the Mexican curse in exasperation.