Blood at Sunset (A Sam Spur Western

by Matt Chisholm

  ‘What we do now?’ Morrow asked.

  ‘Smoke the bastards out.’

  ‘What about Golite and Tabor?’ Damon wanted to know.

  ‘You think Spur didn’t kill ’em?’ He raised his voice. ‘All right, you men, start collectin’ brush.’

  They sweated in the heat, gathering brush and pushing it with long sticks into the mouth of the cave. A couple of shots were fired from inside, but nobody was hit. Pretty soon they had enough fuel to fill the cave with smoke and extra brush should they need it. Gaylor thought the wind was in the right direction for what they intended. They’d have those two out of there in no time at all

  Shultz lit some brushwood and threw it in on the pile. It caught instantly. Once it was ablaze, the posse threw green wood in to make the smoke. They succeeded. There were no more shots. Gaylor gave the order for most of the men to pull back and to cover the mine with their rifles. Gaylor saw with some satisfaction that the smoke was going nicely into the tunnel.

  ‘It won’t be long now,’ he said.

  True enough before ten minutes had passed, they heard muffled yells from inside the cave.

  ‘That sounds like Golite,’ one of the men cried.

  Two figures came staggering from the tunnel, coughing hard and their eyes streaming. It was the two deputies. Gaylor ran toward them.

  ‘Where’s Spur?’ he demanded.

  ‘How the hell should we know?’ Tabor snarled, holding his reddened eyes.

  ‘He went in there, he must be in there now,’ Gaylor shouted.

  Tabor came through a fit of coughing and said: ‘He musta gone down the hole.’

  The sheriff stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘You mean both of ’em went that way? Christ, it ain’t possible. I can’t see nobody goin’ down that hole.’

  Golite said: ‘You would if there was a posse smokin’ you out.’

  Gaylor demanded: ‘Where’s it lead?’

  Nobody answered.

  A man came up and said: ‘The marshal’s like to die if’n we don’t get him a doctor.’

  ‘To hell with him,’ Gaylor snarled. ‘Clean this tunnel. Morrow, Damon, Kruger, ride around to the east and keep your eyes open for Spur and Cusie Ben. They have to come out around there someplace. It stands to reason. The rest of you, git into the mine.’

  The three gunmen named went in search of their horses. The rest of the men showed great reluctance to enter the tunnel, declaring that the fugitives could be hidden in there in spite of the smoke. Gaylor roared for them to clear away the still smoking brush and get going. He’d show ’em, he’d lead the way. He set to work at once, raking at the brush and then, as soon as a path was cleared, advancing into the tunnel with his rifle in his hands.

  Two of the townsmen decided that they owed a duty to the wounded marshal. They returned to the rocks to find that he was now conscious. The wound was still bleeding, in spite of the pad that had been tied tightly over it. The two men argued about whether they should try and tote the wounded man back to town. The marshal decided it for them.

  ‘Let me lie a while, men,’ he said. ‘At least till the bleeding stops. I need to be around here.’

  ‘We’ll stay with you,’ one of the men said.

  ‘No,’ Cornwall said. ‘You stay with the sheriff. And you keep your eyes and ears open.’

  One said: ‘You think something’s wrong here, marshal?’

  ‘I’m damn sure there is,’ Cornwall told him and closed his eyes.

  The two men made their way through the rocks and followed the sheriff’s party into the tunnel. The three gunmen clattered away on their horses into the hills.

  In the mine, the sheriff made his way cautiously forward shouting for the enemy to surrender themselves. Not a sound came back in reply. Everybody’s nerves were on edge, they were ready to shoot into the darkness at the faintest sound. A man kicked something on the ground and said he’d found a lamp.

  ‘Light it,’ Gaylor ordered.

  ‘Rather you than me,’ the man said. Gaylor groped his way to him, struck a match and lit the lamp. Now they pushed forward more quickly. As they approached the door of Rube’s store, Gaylor told the men to halt. He didn’t want the townsmen seeing the secret of the mine. When he had closed the door, he called them forward.

  In a bunch, tense, guns in their hands, stooping under the sloping roof, they approached the tiny tunnel down which the two men had escaped. Gaylor viewed it with rage. He fired several shots into it in a fury. Then he realized that he was wasting time. He gave orders for Golite and one of the townsmen to stay by the hole in case the fugitives were forced back, then led the rest of the party out into the burning sun. They went to their horses, mounted and rode after the three gunmen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  All that Spur was vaguely conscious of was that he was alive. But not very alive.

  It took him a good while to remember exactly where he was or might be. He lay aching in body and limb, knowing that there was hard rock under him and that he was in darkness. That in itself was enough to drive the dread deep into him. To be in danger and to be without sight. He moved one leg and found that it was in water.

  The sequence of events that had led to his being wherever he was came slowly back to him. The nightmare crawl down the narrow tunnel, the climb down the rope into the darkness, the discovery of the underground waterway. Finally, he remembered his being dragged from his feet by the current, his floundering for life in the dark chill water; the extinction of the lamp. That had been the worst blow of all.

  That he had been saved at all was some sort of miracle. Then he asked himself if he had indeed been saved and was not stranded underground to suffer a lingering death.

  He thought of Ben.

  He might still be waiting back there in the mine for Spur’s signal, maybe fighting for his life. Maybe he had been smoked out into the open and shot down like a wild beast.

  It came to him slowly, as his senses fully returned to him, that he was lying half in and half out of the water. He pushed with his feet and pulled on the rock with his hands and found that he could move himself fully onto dry land. This in itself was a kind of triumph. At least he had proved that nothing of him was broken. He started feeling around with his hands – smooth rock under him, nothing on either side, nothing above.

  Suddenly he was startled.

  There was a pale shape in front of his eyes. It was faint. Maybe he had struck his head and was beside himself, seeing things in his mind.

  It took a moment for him to realize that he had his hand raised and it was the shape of his hand that he could see.

  There was some light in here.

  The realization came like a powerful physical shock. He brought his hand nearer to his eyes and gazed at it in wonder.

  The source of light was behind him.

  He twisted his body and the bright spot seemed to strike him like a sharp point in the eyes. He almost flinched back from it. His mind said over and over again: Light light light.

  He rolled over and started crawling, clawing his way in a kind of ecstasy, hurrying. The water rushed by to the right of him.

  Suddenly, the water dropped away and he stayed there on hands and knees gazing down the steep fall, watching the water striking the rocks below, its bright crystals spraying in the sunlight. It hurt his eyes and he squinted to gaze at the wonderful sight.

  At once he started to look for a way down and almost at once he saw it. It lay right in front of him like the rocky steps of a giant.

  He lay down, looking his fill, suddenly physically exhausted. And he wanted to laugh. He was going to live.

  He heard a sound behind him and turned.

  ‘Sam.’

  His flesh crawled. The sound was like a voice from the tomb.

  Then, he thought: Ben.

  He shouted Ben’s name. There came an answering yell. He stood up and went back the way he had come, guided by the sound of the water, plunging back once more into the dark
ness.

  Suddenly, he lunged into the water and was ice cold to his waist. Hastily, he climbed back again.

  ‘Ben, where you at?’ he shouted.

  A small glimmer of light caught his eye.

  ‘Where’s I at?’ Ben bellowed. ‘Where the hell you at?’

  The light flickered and went out.

  Ben yelled: ‘That my last lucifer.’

  Spur called: ‘You near the water?’

  ‘I sure is.’

  ‘It’s waist deep. Get in an’ walk. ’ware rocks. One nigh killed me.’

  ‘Here I come,’ Ben told him.

  There was a splash and a curse. Spur started calling to him continuous to guide him with the sound of his voice. Ben replied mostly with oaths. He didn’t like water at the best of times, but water as cold as this was worse’n Comanche torture. Then he went under and rose spluttering and spitting like a wildcat to the surface. If he knowed it was going to be like this he’d of stayed back there in the mine and taken what was coming to him. But it wasn’t long before Spur had his black hand in his and was dragging him as miserable as a wet cat onto the shore.

  He saw the light at once.

  ‘Man,’ he exclaimed, his miseries momentarily forgotten, ‘jest lookut that. Burn my hide if thet ain’t the prettiest sight these ole eyes ever seed.’

  ‘There’s a way down too,’ Spur said.

  ‘Don’t never say prayer don’t do no good,’ Ben said. ‘Man, let us git outa here.’

  He started scrambling toward the light, Spur rose and followed him. Inside a few minutes, they were easing themselves down into the brilliant sunlight and sucking the clean warm mountain air into their lungs. They lay on the rocks, gazing out over the rugged wilderness, seeing ridge after ridge of the great sierra, marching titanically into the distance. It was like sharing the view of God.

  ‘Sam, boy,’ Ben said in awe, ‘it like I never was alive before.’

  Spur knew how he felt. He felt the same.

  But Ben didn’t waste time. He had lived too long in the wilderness, he had survived too long in an environment that wanted him dead. He looked to his gun and the one he had taken from the deputy, searching around for some means of drying them. Spur followed his example. They were both very wet and they had nothing made of cloth dry on them with which they could dry their weapons. They searched around for dry grass and found none.

  Spur said: ‘We’d best go down a mite.’

  They eased themselves down the steep way until they rested on a shelf no more than a dozen feet across. Here was grass dried on the root and here they did what they could to clean and dry their guns.

  While they were engaged in this task, Ben jerked up his head and said: ‘Hear that?’

  Spur listened. A faint sound reached him. He thought it was the chink of a shod hoof on stone. He slipped cartridges into his guns and scanned the country below him. After a moment, he heard the drumming of hoofs clearly and a man rode into view. The man was a good distance below them, but Ben’s sharp eyes recognized him.

  ‘That Shad Morrow,’ he said.

  ‘You know him?’ Spur asked.

  ‘Tole him down in El Paso I’d clean his ribs with my knife the oncet,’ Ben told him. ‘Look yonder.’

  Spur moved his position and looked north. Now he could see the bobbing heads of more horsemen.

  Both men knew that Gaylor had guessed that if they could find their way out of the mine, they would come out of the hill somewhere in this area. They glanced at each other. They had moved out of one lot of trouble into another. But they were in the open now and they could see what they were at.

  Ben grinned.

  ‘Take your pick, boy,’ he said. ‘Run or git your butt shot off.’

  Spur said quietly: ‘I’m pretty mad, Ben. I’ve a hankerin’ to let ’em try an’ shoot my butt off.’

  ‘You never did have no more sense’n you look to have,’ Ben told him. He looked around him. Where that fool Kid? That rifle of his’n’d come in real handy right now. These popguns ain’t too much use to us in this kinda country.’

  Spur said: ‘He has sense. He’s high-tailed out of it.’

  ‘Sam,’ said Ben, ‘you a lawman now. You have to pin this ’ere Gaylor by his ears and prove somethin’ or other in court. You ain’t goin’ to do thet runnin’ around the hills with a gun payin’ these bustuds what you owe ’em.’

  Spur looked at him gravely.

  ‘You’re a goddam fox,’ he said. ‘You know that? I was just thinkin’ the same thing. Come on, let’s Injun out of here.’

  They dropped flat and wormed their way along the shelf, looked down and searched for a way of descent. They couldn’t find one. Most of the posse seemed to have ridden into sight now. Their faint shouts rose on the mountain air. Ben and Spur crawled back to the other end of the shelf nearer to the waterfall and there, somewhat more hidden from below by rocks than they had been, they saw a way down. A way down for a cougar or lynx or mountain sheep, but a damned hard way down for a man.

  ‘I gits this far,’ Ben said, ‘then I have to break my fool neck.’

  ‘Best start prayin’ again,’ Spur said.

  Ben said: ‘You’m the youngest. Go ahead. Show the ole man how it done.’

  ‘Age before beauty,’ said Spur.

  Ben snarled.

  Spur said: ‘All right, if you’re yeller.’

  ‘Sure, I’m yaller. Did I ever say I wasn’t yaller.’

  Spur said: ‘You look like an ole black goat and you act like an ole black goat, how come you can’t climb rocks?’

  ‘You don’t have no sense of occasion, man,’ Ben said reprovingly. ‘We in a tight. We should ought to be kinda solemn.’

  ‘You’ll look solemn enough when you go sailin’ out into space.’

  ‘You sure do cheer a feller.’ He added coldly: ‘I taught you ever’thin’ you know. Now I show you how to climb.’

  ‘Fly’s more like it.’

  Ben backed up to the edge of the shelf and lowered himself slowly over it. Spur jumped forward and got a grip on his forearms. He saw that the Negro’s face was glistening with sweat. He knew Ben didn’t like heights. He didn’t like them much himself.

  Ben stayed there awhile. He couldn’t touch rock with his feet.

  ‘Stretch my arms a mite,’ he suggested.

  Spur lay down on the shelf.

  ‘I have you,’ he said. ‘Let go with your hands.’

  Ben’s dark eyes looked into his for a moment. Then slowly Spur lowered him another foot or so. Still Ben’s full weight was on him. Pain knifed through Spur’s injured shoulder.

  Ben said: ‘Leave go, boy.’

  ‘Come back up,’ Spur said.

  ‘How?’ Ben said through his teeth. ‘Leave go, I say.’

  Spur knew that he was almost at the end of his strength.

  ‘All right,’ he said.

  He let go.

  Ben’s face dropped away from below him. It came into sight again. The Negro seemed to teeter agonizingly for a moment over space. Then he threw himself against the face of the cliff on which the shelf stood. Spur leaned out and saw him huddled there on a narrow rocky ledge.

  Spur rolled away from the edge and lay on his back for a moment, looking up at the blinding blue of the sky, drawing air into his starved lungs.

  He heard Ben call softly: ‘You goin’ to stay up there all day or you comin’ down?’

  He rolled over and rose to his hands and knees, crawled to the edge and looked down. Beyond Ben the water dropped in a crystal ragged sheet.

  He turned and lowered himself over the edge. As soon as he had done so, he felt the edge crumple under his weight. He yelled as he went and felt himself dropping like a stone. In a second as he seemed to hang out over the abyss, he felt a pair of strong arms wrapped around his legs. In the next moment, Ben and he were lying in a heap. They disentangled and sat up.

  Spur said in disgust: ‘There you go again. You’re always doin’ it.’
r />   ‘What?’

  ‘Savin’ my life.’

  ‘It’s a habit. One of my bad habits. ‘Sides I loaned you five dollars in Crewsville an’ you ain’t paid me back yet.’ He let out a yell. ‘Them bustuds is shootin’ at us.’

  Spur realized he hadn’t heard the shot over the noise of the water. They scrambled to their feet and looked around for a way of escape. Below he saw the puff of rifle smoke. A piece of rock detached itself from the cliff-face and stung his cheek.

  Ben shouted: ‘Come on,’ and started scrambling along the face of the cliff. Spur watched him until he disappeared from view. He went after him as fast as he could on the uncertain footing, leaning back against the face of the cliff to stop himself from pitching down below. In half a minute he was behind the rushing water of the fall. The temperature seemed to drop to zero. Ahead of him, Ben was walking along what appeared to be a broad step of rock. Spur followed him, feeling the cool spray on his face. He reached out with a hand and scooped the clear water into his mouth. It was ice cold and refreshing and he realized only then how powerful his thirst was.

  He followed Ben out on the far side of the fall and after scrambling over more rocks, they found themselves on a rounded hillside rather like a shoulder. The whole was covered with timber. He looked over to his left and could see the horsemen below. Some of them were pointing. At least he and Ben had the water between them and the posse now. They would give them a little time. If only they had enough for them to reach their horses.

  ‘You know where you’re at?’ he asked Ben.

  ‘I reckon,’ the Negro said. He led the way at a smart trot for the trees and within a moment they were in the shade. Spur found it difficult to keep up, but he knew that he dared not flag if they were to save themselves.

  They crossed the shoulder of the hill and suddenly the trees broke before them. They reached a narrow sloping trail and hurried down it. Ben stopped and pointed. There, slightly below him and to the right was a cabin.

  Only after gazing at it for a moment did Spur realize that he was looking at Rube Daley’s shack. The horses were not far off. They started to run again.

  They hit the flat bench on which the cabin stood and started across it.