Blood at Sunset (A Sam Spur Western

by Matt Chisholm

  ‘I received information,’ Cornwall said, ‘that one of my deputies was arrested for murder.’

  Marvin laughed.

  ‘Too late, Marshal,’ he said. ‘He just busted himself out.’

  The information didn’t seem to shake the federal officer. He wagged his head with a little regret and said: ‘I thought he might. The damn fool.’

  ‘Damn fool?’ Doolittle allowed himself to say. ‘He was due to hang at noon today.’ He told the marshal that the sheriff and his men had just that moment gone to the scene of the breakout. The marshal sighed. His body ached for a bed after his long hard ride and now he could see there might be a night’s work ahead of him.

  He said to Marvin: ‘Would you show me the place?’

  ‘Glad to,’ said Marvin. ‘Come right this way.’

  In the meantime, Gaylor had reached the store and found Kruger trussed up behind the counter. The sheriff paid little regard to his suffering, but hurried, now considerably more sober than he had been when he heard the disastrous news, into the rear room, lamp in hand. He stood staring at the loaded shelves for a moment as if he could not believe that Spur was no longer there. At the far end of the room he saw the doorway gaping open. He went on through, heard sounds and found Tabor bound hand and foot groaning from a blow on his head that had raised a lump as big as an egg. Hank Shultz cut him free and the deputy started telling his story of how he had been attacked from behind.

  ‘While you was asleep,’ the furious Gaylor accused him.

  ‘Wayne, I swear—’

  ‘Save it,’ Gaylor told him. He turned back into the store and confronted the terrified Carson. By now the place was filling with the curious. Gaylor bawled: ‘Git these people outa here. Now, Carson, where’d they take you?’

  ‘Down to the creek.’

  They leave you there?’

  ‘No, they took us some miles south.’

  ‘An’ you came back on foot with your daughter.’

  ‘That’s so.’

  ‘Christ, they could have broke out a couple of hours back.’

  The storekeeper said: ‘I would put it even earlier than that.’

  ‘How many were there with Spur?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Describe ’em.’

  ‘One was a young boy and the other was a Negro.’

  Shad Morrow said: ‘Cusie Ben an’ the Cimarron Kid. We shoulda known it.’

  The lawmen looked at each other. They didn’t like the sound of this at all.

  Tabor was bolder than the rest. His head still hurt from the blow the Kid had dealt him. He was in the mood to kill somebody. The others, the professionals, soberly thought of what lay ahead of them if they went after Spur and the other two. They weighed their skills and their chances. They viewed their professional pride, for pride played a large part in the vicious games they played.

  Tabor said: ‘What’re we standin’ around here for?’

  Gaylor his head thick and starting to ache, glared at him impatiently, some of the rage that was in him showing on his face. A little of the scare he felt peeked from his eyes.

  ‘We’re thinkin’,’ he said.

  ‘Thinkin’?’ said Tabor in disgust. We oughta be in the saddle ridin’.’

  Golite said witheringly: ‘You goin’ to follow signs in the dark?’

  ‘They headed south. The old man said they headed south.’

  ‘You think they’ll stay with that trail? This Spur is a smart operator. He lost more posses than you et hot dinners.’

  Footsteps sounded. A man entered.

  Tabor snarled: ‘Nobody allowed in here, mister.’

  The stranger eyed him gravely.

  ‘I think I’m allowed in here, deputy,’ he said. ‘I’m Cornwall, United States Marshal.’

  That shook them.

  The first to recover himself was Wayne Gaylor. The sight of the marshal and the danger his presence could put him in seemed to brace him up. He stepped forward with a serious and responsible look on his face, hand outstretched.

  ‘Real happy to make your acquaintance, sir,’ he said. The two men shook.

  ‘I take it you’re Wayne Gaylor, the sheriff here,’ Cornwall said.

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s me,’ said Gaylor, blinking hard in an effort to clear his uncertain sight. He fought nobly to play the part of the earnest honest sheriff. ‘An’ believe me you couldn’t of come at a better time. We have real trouble on our hands.’

  ‘I heard about it,’ Cornwall said. ‘You were ready to hang a federal officer today and he escaped.’

  Gaylor didn’t miss the tone. He came back quickly.

  ‘Foulest murder you ever heard of,’ he said. ‘Shot an old man down in cold blood. Tried fair an’ square.’

  ‘Who was the judge?’

  ‘Hugh Maiden.’

  The marshal grunted.

  ‘Didn’t it occur to you that it is an unusual occurrence for a deputy United States Marshal to be found guilty of murder in a small county court without the marshal’s office being informed?’

  ‘You sure was goin’ to be informed, Mr. Cornwall. I was all set to write a letter to you today.’

  ‘You might also have informed me some time ago that you held one of my officers for murder.’

  Gaylor looked nonplussed for a moment.

  Shad Morrow stepped in.

  ‘The man was guilty, marshal,’ he said. ‘You ain’t tellin’ us the marshal’s office would use its influence to save a guilty man.’

  Cornwall turned his head and stared at the outlaw in the lamplight.

  ‘What’re you doing here, Morrow?’ he asked dryly.

  Gaylor said: ‘Special deputy to guard Spur.’

  ‘He didn’t guard him very well, did he? Why Morrow? I see also Damon, Kruger and Shultz. A peculiar choice of deputies, sheriff, if you will permit the liberty.’

  Gaylor said, face flushed, ‘I fight fire with fire.’

  ‘In that case, you shouldn’t be surprised if you get your fingers burned.’

  ‘Spur’s a dangerous man. A killer. A gunman from way back. You think we have the kind of men in this county to hold a feller like that?’

  Cornwall said: ‘May I ask what you aim to do now?’

  ‘Come daylight I get me the best tracker in the country an’ I go after him.’

  The marshal nodded.

  ‘That sounds like a sensible thing to do. Just one thing – see that Spur is brought back here alive. If he is killed or harshly treated, I shall hold you responsible.’

  Gaylor stuck his chin out.

  ‘Spur’s a killer,’ he said. ‘I don’t aim to beg him to come back to the rope. You think it’s goin’ to be a picnic goin’ after him? We take our lives in our hands when we trail him. An’ don’t forget he has the Kid and that damn nigger with him.’

  The marshal raised his eyebrows and might have smiled wanly.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he suggested, ‘you should call in the army, sheriff. That might give you a better chance.’ He turned and walked out of the store.

  The four outlaws gave a sigh of relief. They had found themselves on the brink of killing a Federal Marshal and that wasn’t an easy crime to live down. In fact, it was impossible.

  Morrow voiced their combined opinions.

  ‘I ain’t too sure I like the set-up now,’ he said.

  Gaylor smiled. He seemed to have gained his nerve entirely.

  ‘There’s more ways of killin’ a bear than catchin’ its foot in a trap,’ he said. ‘Leave that one to me, boys. I have a notion the marshal’ll be ridin’ with us when we hit the trail. He don’t want nothin’ to happen to his precious Spur an’ the only way he can make sure is be with us all the way.’

  Shultz said: ‘I still don’t think I like it.’

  Morrow said: ‘Nobody asked you, Shultzy.’

  Gaylor turned to Carson and said: ‘I ain’t too happy with your story, Carson. Maybe you better think up a better one by the time I’m back in town.’
r />   He led the way out and left a trembling storekeeper behind him.

  At the window of her room upstairs, Lydia Carson watched their shadowy forms retreating down the street. In her prayers that night, Samuel P. Spur figured prominently,

  Chapter Twelve

  As they rode into the hills, Cusie Ben was uneasy. He was no coward, but he wasn’t a damned fool either and he knew when he was living under the threat of a violent death. He knew that if somebody had cooked up a case of murder against Spur they must want him dead awfully bad and what went for Spur went for him and the Kid. Gaylor back there in Sunset certainly had a tough crew working for him and right that moment they would be on the trail of the trio. Cusie Ben in his usual cautious way, the way that had kept him alive under pretty trying circumstances for a good many years, had wanted to spend time on hiding their tracks, but Spur would have none of it. He had the bit between his teeth and he was on the rampage. He had not forgotten that his old friend Rube Daley was dead and it looked as if he would not be satisfied until he had caught the man who had killed him.

  That was all very well and Ben was willing to play his part in catching up with the murderer. That didn’t mean he should not take the usual precautions. He liked to play a cool hand. In Spur’s boots, he would go deep into the hills after wiping out his sign and play possum for a while. Then come back and catch that sonovabitch Gaylor with his pants down when he least expected it. In Ben’s book you didn’t challenge a man who had a loaded and cocked gun pointed at you.

  He was worried about Spur, too. The man was down to skin and bone. His eyes still bore the haunted look of a man who had looked closely into the eyeless sockets of death. The spring had gone from his movement, he slumped wearily in the saddle. Now he was headed back for Daley’s mine and that in Ben’s book was tantamount to committing suicide. The key to the old man’s murder lay in that mine and some of the men concerned in the murder could be around there. Spur thought so or else he wouldn’t be headed that way.

  They reached the mine at noon. Ben was relieved that at least Spur had the sense to approach it from above and not to ride straight in from the Sunset trail. Spur halted his horse on a bluff above the camp, deep among the pines. Their needles had blanketed the sound of the horses’ hoofs.

  ‘There she is,’ said Spur.

  Ben found himself looking down through a break in the trees to a rocky shelf through which ran a fast-moving stream and on the far side of which, almost backed up against a wall of rock that reared up some two hundred feet, a small cabin typical of the kind a miner would throw up when he intended to winter in a locality. It was a snug little cabin and Ben approved of the way it was built. He prided himself on his own ability to construct a weather-proof shack and he recognized a similar skill in others.

  Off to one side was a small corral. That struck Ben as slightly incongruous for some reason. It was empty now with the gate poles thrown to one side. A sign that it was not the owner who had released the animals. The door of the cabin gaped open. It looked utterly deserted and forlorn. Deserted the place might look, but Ben smelled trouble and his nose for trouble never failed him.

  He could see the narrow trail going down from the ledge and joining the Sunset trail in the valley below. Ben didn’t miss a thing. The trail was well-used. Too well-used to be the trail of an old man who lived by himself and searched for gold. Ben found himself intrigued.

  He looked at Spur. His friend caught his eye.

  ‘I’m goin’ down,’ Spur said. ‘Cover me.’

  Ben said. ‘If n I cover you-all, boy, I covers you from alongside.’ He jerked his head toward the Kid. ‘Let him cover us. That’ll suit him fine.’

  ‘Sure,’ the Kid said unabashed, ‘suits me fine. This could be a trap an’ I don’t aim to walk into no trap.’

  ‘All right,’ Spur-said, ‘you stay up here, Kid, an’ you keep your eyes skinned. You watch the mine an’ you watch the trail. Pretty soon our friend the sheriff’s goin’ to end up here.’

  ‘Trust me,’ said the Kid.

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ Ben told him. He ignored the boy’s killing look.

  ‘We’ll go down kind of quiet, I reckon, Ben,’ Spur said.

  ‘Precisely,’ said Ben. They dismounted and tied their horses.

  Ben took his carbine from the saddle boot and filled his pockets with shells. Ben started down toward the trail, but Spur stopped him.

  ‘This way, Ben.’

  The Negro grunted approval as he turned and followed Spur back into the trees. Maybe Spur was cooling down a mite.

  They walked north through the cool of the forest. Spur led the way at an easy walk over the shoulder of the hill for maybe a quarter of a mile before he halted and pointed down.

  ‘Look at that.’

  Ben joined him.

  Below them was a narrow but plainly marked trail. It had been used for a long time and it was well-worn.

  Ben didn’t say a word. There was a puzzle here, but talk wouldn’t unravel it. They climbed down the steep slope to the trail and found that it led them back due south-west. Ben reckoned it would lead them back to the locality of the mine. As the trail twisted this way and that through the soft rounded lines of the hill, it suddenly changed its nature and became a ravine between high rocks. The temperature dropped perceptibly. A short distance farther on and the rocks formed an arch over their heads. It was high enough to allow a mounted man under it. They walked down a tunnel which could have been a cave except that they could see a dappling of sunlight at the far end.

  When they reached this end, they found that the mouth of the tunnel was filled with growing brush. They forced their way through this and came out on a wide ledge above the valley.

  When they turned, they saw that the mouth of the tunnel was completely hidden by the brush. Just the same, it would be evident to anybody with eyes like Spur’s or Ben’s that a trail did not end abruptly at growing brush.

  The trail along the ledge now led them directly south and they walked into broken wild country. After about fifty yards, they halted and saw the cabin ahead of them. They were looking at it from the west. They were now near the mouth of the mine. Ben went forward and looked up at the high bluff. The Kid was nowhere in sight. Ben hoped the boy had merely taken cover and wasn’t catching up on his sleep. Maybe he should have stayed up there with him after all. He turned back to Spur.

  ‘What now?’ he asked.

  ‘The mine,’ Spur said. ‘Maybe we’ll find the answer there.’

  Ben didn’t like the idea of getting himself caught in a mine. There was only one way out of those things and one man with a rifle could pin a couple of men inside one, no matter how good they were with guns. Just the same, when Spur moved ahead, Ben went with him.

  They approached the gaping mouth of the tunnel softly, making no noise. They both knew how to move silently. Ben thought it would be a good idea to have a gun in his hand and he drew his ancient weapon. Spur saw this and followed his example.

  They reached the tunnel and peered in.

  There were a few boxes lying around, a pick or so and a shovel. There was a wheel-barrow there, lying on one side and looking as if it hadn’t been used for a century or more. A coil of rope, a lamp.

  Spur picked up the lamp and shook it. It contained oil. Ben found a match and struck it on his pants. The wick fired and they closed the storm cover. They were silhouetted against the sunlight outside and Ben was very conscious of the fact. Maybe Spur was losing his grip. Ben didn’t approve at all of such carelessness.

  ‘The Kid was right,’ Ben said. ‘We could be walking into a trap.’

  ‘You want to keep watch outside?’ Spur asked.

  ‘Aw, git on,’ Ben said impatiently.

  Spur lifted the lamp high and started down the tunnel.

  They advanced encased in the faint light from the lamp.

  Dust rose and tickled their nostrils as they edged their way into the darkness. They must have worked their way slowly som
e forty feet into the hillside before the tunnel started to bend slightly to the right. The bright patch that was the mouth of the cave was gone and they felt suddenly and oddly cut off from life. The air was still and heavy. They were sweating. Ben was uneasy. It wasn’t that he was spooked by the dark. His intuition was working overtime.

  Spur stopped, Ben collided with him and said: ‘For Chris-sake.’

  The roof sloped down before them. It came down to within no more than a few feet of the ground. The tunnel suddenly diminished till it was only high enough to admit a man crawling on his belly. Across this tiny burrow was a great slab of rock that acted as a roof.

  ‘I ain’t goin’ in there,’ Ben said, ‘an’ thet’s for sure.’ He turned his head and touched Spur on the arm. ‘Look here.’

  Spur looked.

  Set in the wall to their right was what looked like a massive door. Raising the lamp, Spur stepped toward it. It was locked by two heavy staples with a padlock through them.

  ‘Maybe the answer’s here,’ Spur said. ‘Can you open that?’

  Ben said: ‘I can have a try.’

  He drew his knife and got to work. After a few minutes, he gave up and said: ‘Never do it with this.’ He sheathed his knife and rummaged through his pockets. He was a great one for carrying bits and pieces. You never knew when they would come in handy, he said. In this case, he was proved right. He brought out a piece of wire and bent it cunningly. He now went to work with great care, telling Spur to hold the lamp close. After making several adjustments to the wire, the lock clicked and the Negro took the padlock from the staples.

  Spur put away his gun and pushed on the door. It creaked agonizingly as it slowly swung open.

  As they stepped through the rocky doorway, the airlessness was oppressive. It was as if they had stepped into a tomb. The room was big, so big that the rays of the lamp barely reached the walls. It looked to the two friends as if it had been hacked out of solid rock.

  Their first impression was that it was a store-room. The center was lined with crates and boxes, baskets, bundles cloth-wrapped and roped. The walls were lined with the same kind of objects leaving two passageways either side of the center pile. There was about it a wonderful air of orderliness.