They hadn’t taken more than a dozen paces when Ben yelled, halted and drew a gun. Spur also stopped and looked in the direction Ben was looking.
He saw the first horseman.
He reached for his gun and cocked it.
Another and another rider burst into the open. A man yelled. Ben fired. A rifle slammed flatly and lead sang between them. Spur dropped to one knee, rested the barrel of his gun on his left forearm and fired three shots. The leading horse drove its nose into the ground and its front legs collapsed as if they were made of wet paper. The man was catapulted violently over its head. They heard him hit the hard ground and the sound was not pleasant.
Ben said: ‘You was allus good on a long shot.’
Just the same Spur knew they couldn’t do any good right out in the open like this with belt-guns.
‘Run,’ he shouted to Ben. ‘I’ll cover.’
Ben knew better than to argue. They had done this before. He set off running. Spur emptied the gun and the horsemen fanned out searching for cover. Spur had earned them a brief, very brief respite.
He rose, turned and ran.
Ben was halted and firing. A horseman rode into view, took in the situation and whirled his horse frantically for cover. Spur ran twenty yards past Ben, stopped, turned and yelled: ‘Run.’ Ben turned and ran. The rifles opened up. Spur could do nothing against them. The range was too great and the riflemen were under cover. Ben raced past him and yelled for him to light a shuck. Spur thought that a good idea. He turned and followed his partner. The rifles were going frantic. Lead plucked angrily at his sleeve.
They were nearing the cabin. That meant shelter. But that would be no more than momentary. The place would prove itself a death-trap. They ran past it. Spur felt that he could run no further. His lungs were at bursting point and his legs were starting to cave in under him.
There was timber ahead of them, timber and rocks. Their horses were not far off now. Suddenly Ben was down.
Spur swerved toward him. Ben hit the ground hard, rolled over and fought to get up.
No. Spur’s mind screamed, not now.
He put his hands under Ben’s armpits and started to heave himself to his feet.
‘You pick the damnedest times,’ he said.
Ben was on his feet, leaning heavily on Spur.
The sound of horses’ hoofs. Spur raised his head and saw the rider. Ben swore and pulled his spare gun.
‘Don’t shoot,’ Spur shouted.
He heard the shrill voice call his name—
‘Samuel.’
He heard the mare whicker. She pounded toward him. Rifle bullets kicked up dust. He was terrified that the girl or the horse would stop one. He wanted to tell her to go back, but the words didn’t come. Suddenly, they were there, alongside and he was shouting to Juanita to get Ben aboard. The girl leaned from the saddle, grasping Ben by the collar, Spur grabbed him around the thighs and heaved with all his remaining strength. A bullet struck the saddle and the little mare seemed to stagger. They got Ben across the saddle-bow and Spur was yelling to the girl to ride. He caught a stirrup-leather with his left hand and was nearly torn from his feet as the mare jumped forward. Then he was running with his feet only just touching the ground.
As they approached the trees, Spur found that he could keep up no longer. He released the stirrup-leather and the mare ran into the timber. The lead whipped around Spur as he slogged on toward cover. Panting for breath, his legs collapsing under him, he found where the girl had halted.
Ben lowered himself from the mare and stood on one leg. He looked pretty mad.
The girl said to Spur in Spanish: ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘You were insane to come here.’
Ben said: ‘There ain’t no time for talk. We need our horses.’
‘Get down, Juanita,’ Spur ordered.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Fetch the horses.’
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Ben said.
‘Not the way I plan it.’ He pulled on the girl’s arm and made her dismount. He heard the pounding of hoofs. ‘Ben,’ he said, ‘keep ’em busy for a while.’
He heaved himself into the saddle and the mare turned. The girl begged him not to go, but he had Jenny on the move and she was running through the trees. Ben was firing. Spur looked to the right and glimpsed the riders trying to force themselves into the timber. But Ben’s fire deterred them.
The mare burst from the trees, crossed the flat at a hard run and started up the slope beyond, the slope at the top of which the Kid had been posted as sentry and where the horses should He. Spur prayed they were still there.
He glanced back and knew that he had been sighted. Rifle-fire was now turned in his direction, but he was a high and moving target. He called to the mare and she responded.
It seemed to take an age to reach the crest of the hill, but at last he made it, trotting the mare through the trees. The rifles stopped trying for him.
He halted and stared around.
The horses were gone. That goddammed Kid had taken them with him.
There was movement to the right. Spur whirled in the saddle, lifting his gun from leather.
‘Don’t shoot.’
He lowered the hammer carefully. The Kid walked into view.
‘The horses,’ Spur said.
‘See here, Spur,’ the Kid said. ‘I can explain everythin’.’
‘You’ll by God explain later,’ Spur told him. ‘Where’re the horses?’
‘Over yonder,’ the Kid pointed.
Spur said: ‘You get your rifle and warm the butts of that damn posse, boy, an’ do it fast.’
The Kid hesitated. Spur cursed him roundly. The boy turned and ran. Spur urged the mare through the trees and came on three horses. He leaned from the saddle, untied two of them and led them back down the hill at a dangerous speed. He heard the Kid open up with his rifle.
Alarm showed in every line of the members of the posse below. Suddenly the picture was altered. They had a wounded man cornered in timber and were going to kill him at their leisure. Now they were at the receiving end of a high gun. They didn’t like it. Nobody would. They turned their mounts and spurred out of there, heading across the front of old Rube’s cabin for the rocks. The Kid raised the dust after them as they went.
Spur rode to the base of the hill, crossed the flat and was into the trees before they could recover. Ben was standing on one leg behind a tree, laughing, when he came up. The girl was lying flat on the ground watching him.
Spur swung down from the saddle.
‘Get aboard,’ he said, ‘an’ let’s go. I ain’t enjoyin’ this if you are.’
Ben said: ‘There was a rifle firin’ up yonder.’
‘The Kid,’ Spur told him.
‘A mite late in the day, ain’t he?’ said Ben. He hopped to a horse on one leg, caught the saddlehorn and somehow vaulted into the saddle. Spur saw that the right leg of his pants was all bloody. The Negro said: ‘Head north, Sam.’
‘How about the Kid?’
‘He can look out for hisself. He been doin’ that all along, any road.’ Without another word, Ben swung his horse and headed north through the trees. Spur went to the remaining horse and stepped into the saddle. He and the girl set off after Ben. They zigzagged through the trees, hit a slowly climbing slope and the horses strained up it. They came clear of timber and were running up over the shoulder of the land. Spur hoped to hell that Ben knew where he was taking them. Ben usually did.
Spur glanced back and saw the horsemen burst from the trees. He looked at Juanita riding a short distance in front of him and had to admire the way the girl sat the racing mare. But he could wish that she wasn’t there. She must be out of her mind to bring Jenny to him way out in the hills. Her father would have his guts for galluses. There was going to be a complication here, he thought. A woman didn’t do a thing like this for a man without reason. And he knew the reason. Why did he always have to get mixe
d up with a beautiful girl? Women and gun-trouble were a disease with him.
They rode over the top of the shoulder. There was a sweep of sun-dried grass before them and on the far side the red-yellow of the rocks, pale in the powerful sunlight, rearing up into the swell of the mountain. Maybe one of them could stop there and slow the posse down a little. Maybe whittle them down too. There were too many men with guns back there for his liking.
The horses were going well, which was something to be thankful for. But the posse’s stock was holding up well, too, and coming on hard. The mare, he knew, would run all day, but he did not have the same confidence in the animals they had obtained from Charlie Doolittle.
They swept on through the grass, heading for the rocks that never seemed to get any closer. There was no sound but the drumming of hoofs and the panted breath of the horses. Foam from the animals’ mouths flecked their legs. Manes and tails streamed. This pace couldn’t be kept up for long.
Above the sound of the hoofs, Spur heard a faint sound. He turned in the saddle.
To their right was timber and from it came riding a single horseman. At first, Spur thought it was one of the enemy riding to cut them off. But at a second glance, Spur saw that the man was angling across the van of the posse and firing at them as he went.
It was the Kid.
He must have gone loco. He rode like a Comanche, firing from the saddle with his carbine, the lines between his teeth.
Just like a goddam story-book hero, Spur thought in disgust. Wouldn’t the fool ever learn?
Spur never did think much of shooting from the saddle, but in the next few seconds, he changed his opinion on the subject. The Kid was causing devastation among the posse. Men were scattering out, a horse was down, utter confusion took over. Men were faced by the totally unexpected and that had been the secret of warfare since the first man took to the pastime.
But in this vale of tears good things seldom last long. The Kid’s crazy ride was something to see, but it was short-lived. He gave the fleeing riders, Spur, Ben and the girl, a fifty yard gain, then, as a member of the posse slipped from the saddle and took a couple of steady shots across the saddle of his horse, the Kid’s mount went out from under him.
The Kid was so busy with his rifle, that the hitting of his horse took him completely unawares. He came out of the saddle untidily and fell badly. The fall must have knocked out all the breath he had in him. Added to this was the fact that his horse rolled over and died in the act of doing so. This meant that the Kid was pinned there by the leg.
Spur saw this.
He saw the posse see this. He saw them bunching, dismounted to fire with their rifles at the fallen boy.
‘Get on,’ Spur yelled to the Negro and the girl.
Ben at once reined in.
Spur bellowed: ‘Get the girl outa here.’
Ben reached for the rifle under his right leg, levered it and started shooting at the posse. His horse danced.
Spur roared: ‘Quit playin’ the fool and git.’
Ben continued to fire. The range was long and he wasn’t doing much good. Some of the posse members turned their fire on Ben.
Spur gave up.
He turned his horse and urged it in the direction of the Kid. The boy may have been pinned there, but he wasn’t helpless. He was firing back at the posse.
It seemed a long way to him. Spur laid himself along the neck of his horse and rode. He came to a sliding halt, piled from the saddle and got himself down behind the Kid’s dead horse.
‘Who invited you?’ the Kid demanded.
‘I thought I was always welcome,’ Spur said. He emptied his rifle in the direction of the posse. They didn’t like that much and they started hugging the ground. There wasn’t much of them to see above the long grass.
‘You never did have much sense,’ Spur told the Kid. ‘This time you surpassed yourself.’
The Kid flung aside his empty rifle.
‘Outa shells,’ he said calmly. ‘Trouble with you is you’re all eaten up with jealousy. You ain’t mature. You’re all riled up because I showed I had more guts than you.’
‘Go ahead that way,’ Spur said. ‘Go on. You’ll talk yourself into the biggest damned whuppin’ you ever had in your sweet life.’
He laid down his own rifle and drew his belt-gun. He had a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him things weren’t going too well for them right now.
‘How many shells do you have?’ he asked.
‘Five in my Colt,’ the Kid said. ‘I been shootin’ a piece since I saw you last.’
‘I never noticed it.’
He had four bullets in his own gun and a couple in the one he had taken from the deputy. He hoped Ben could do some good with his rifle.
There was some tough ones among the posse. That would be the gun-hands. They started pushing forward. Maybe they sensed that the beleaguered men no longer had the use of their rifles. Spur and the Kid snapped off shots, but the moving targets showed themselves too briefly at long range for them to score a hit. A little despair started seeping through Spur.
He reckoned it might not be a bad idea to get the Kid from under the horse. The way their luck was going this minute, it was likely the boy’s leg would be broken.
‘Kid,’ he said, ‘I’m goin’ to lever this cayuse up with my carbine.’
‘Go ahead,’ said the Kid, snapping off a shot at a man he missed.
Spur shoved the butt of the carbine under the horse and heaved. It didn’t do any good.
‘Try an’ get your leg free when I say “now”,’ he said.
‘Right.’
Spur heaved with all his strength and said: ‘Now.’
The Kid went white to his lips and his leg came free. He lay on his back, panting, the sweat flowing down his face.
‘How’s your leg?’
A man ran forward. Spur fired and missed. It was his last shot.
The Kid said: ‘I reckon it don’t feel much use.’
Spur groaned.
Two of the posse ran forward. They dropped into cover without a shot being fired at them. Another man advanced. Silence. Two more men tried a longer run. The only man shooting at them was Ben. The range was still too long and they didn’t pay him much heed. Ben rode in closer and they drove him back with heavy fire,
The posse took the hint. Men were starting to pile into the saddle.
‘Here they come,’ said Spur.
The Kid drew his knife.
‘Some of them bastards,’ he said, ‘is sure goin’ to the happy huntin’ ground pretty soon.’
They heard a man laugh. There was a horseman headed directly for them on the run. Spur put away his gun and picked up his rifle. The Kid had spoken the thought he had in his own mind.
The man was yelling wild as an Indian. Spur rose to meet him, the man fired and missed. His horse was now right on top of Spur, who tried to jump clear, but the shoulder of the horse caught him and knocked him from his feet.
The horseman rode on a short way and whirled his mount. As he passed the Kid, the boy launched himself from the ground and caught at the man’s clothes. The fellow struck twice with his gun with increasing desperation and then the Kid’s weight gained the advantage and the man came out of the saddle. They struck the ground in a heap, rolled. The posseman was lashing out with his gun. the Kid’s knife flashed in the sun.
Another horseman came pounding up. He circled, trying for a shot and dared not shoot for fear of hitting his own man.
Spur was on his feet running.
A horseman came from the north, yelling and firing. It was Ben.
The posse advanced raggedly, an untidy flurry of riders and horsemen. They were infused with a mixture of recklessness and uncertainty. Everything was happening so fast. One second the attacked men were beaten, the next they were hitting back. There wasn’t time for fear or even thought.
Spur struck the rider in the thick of the body with the butt of the carbine. The man fell across the
horn of his saddle. Spur caught him with his left hand and hauled him out of the saddle. He fell heavily, tried to rise and Spur kicked him in the chest.
A man rode close by the Kid as the boy hauled himself to his feet, fired and missed.
Ben thundered up and fired point-blank at a rider, lifting him from the saddle and dumping him violently on the ground.
Spur caught the nearest horse and started to mount. Ben was close to the Kid yelling for him to get aboard.
The man the Kid had knifed was throwing himself about on the ground yelling that he was bleeding to death, somebody help him. A charging horse jumped him. Spur used iron on his horse and headed north. The Kid was now up behind Ben and they were going after him. Gaylor was somewhere coughing on dust and bawling for the posse to keep after them. Nobody seemed inclined to go. The sheriff was beside himself. The men were shaken. Two men lay on the ground badly hurt. Nobody wanted that to happen to him. Even the hardened gunmen sat their horses and momentarily were not ready for more fight. They watched the fleeing men heading for the rocks.
Spur yelled for the girl to ride. She gave him an anxious look, then whirled her horse to race alongside him. Ben and the Kid followed.
After a while, Spur glanced back. Ben and the Kid were coming more slowly, their horse carrying double, laboring a little. Spur let them pass, then went after them. As he rode, he thought. He knew they were in a bad way. They had shaken the posse. But men like Morrow and Damon wouldn’t stay shaken for long. Pretty soon they would be coming after them. Spur and his partners were practically out of ammunition. Only cunning would shake off the pursuit now. Spur knew that he would have to make a firm decision soon. Ben and the Kid were hurt, he himself was weak. The girl was an encumbrance. He had everything going against him.
He remembered a face he had seen among the faces back there. Shultz. Hank Shultz, the man who had given evidence against him at the trial. He was Spur’s objective. Whatever he did in the next few hours, Shultz was his goal. The man had to tell the truth and he had to tell it before witnesses that would count in court.
They pounded on for the hills.
Chapter Fifteen
A day later.
Blood at Sunset (A Sam Spur Western Page 14