Blood at Sunset (A Sam Spur Western

by Matt Chisholm

Horses, men and girl were tired to the bone. It seemed that they had scarcely stopped in the last twenty-four hours. The only one of them that still moved along perkily was Jenny, the little mare.

  They had stopped briefly the day before, hiding in a ravine after initially losing their sign in water, to stop Ben’s bleeding and to examine his wound. The Negro had been hit at the side of the knee, the skin had been gouged open widely and the bleeding was copious, but in Spur’s opinion little real damage had been done except to bruise the bone But the wound was ugly and painful.

  They stopped the bleeding and bound up the knee in rags.

  As for the Kid, he had badly twisted the leg when it had been pinned under the dead horse and he was in considerable pain. They were all thankful that the limb had not been broken. Travel for both him and Ben was uncomfortable to say the least. Just the same, they had stayed in the saddle uncomplainingly through the remainder of the previous day and through the night, during which time Ben, on orders from Spur, led them in a zigzagging but mainly circular route through the mountains. They travelled slowly and they took care to lose their tracks whenever it was possible. This time, any tracker, however good, would have to take time following their trail. Ben was confident that their night’s travel would delay any man behind them for at least a couple of days.

  That was what Spur wanted – time.

  There was nothing else for the moment that they could gain. They were tired, their supplies were low and they were almost totally out of ammunition. Ben had a dozen rounds left for his carbine and that was all they had left between them.

  Spur was greatly concerned not only for his two partners, but for the girl. Maybe she had been foolish to risk herself bringing the mare into the hills, but she had done so for him. Therefore he owed something to her. Added to that she was plucky and she was beautiful. And he was a sucker for beautiful women. She had kept up well with them and had not complained once of the hardship of the night ride. They had followed high perilous trails when the slip of a horse’s hoof could have meant death and she had showed no fear. She had looked to the Kid’s and Ben’s hurts and, when they were deep in the hills and had stopped briefly in the door for a rest, she had cooked them a meal.

  After that there wasn’t anything the three men would not have done for her. Ben was of the opinion that the Mexicans raised the best women in the world. The Kid came out of the shell he entered so often in the presence of women and declared they sure raised the prettiest. Spur was bold enough to kiss her and declare that he was hers to command. She seemed to like it all. This, she said, was better any day than working in her father’s cantina. Laughing, she said, if she had known this before, she would have been riding the high trail with ruffians sooner.

  At noon that day, Ben reckoned they had circled and were back within ten miles of the mine. Spur found a suitable spot and called a halt. They were high and from that place they had a good wide view of the country. They had climbed to it over a hard rocky trail. They had left little sign and they were in country where there was a good hiding place every fifty yards. If they’d had ammunition, they could have held it against an army. But it was not Spur’s intention to fight from here. His only intention was that his friends should be safe. As for himself, he was by no means in full fighting condition, but, in spite of the lack of sleep, the saddle-work and the clean mountain air had both done their bit in bringing him to full health.

  He rested there with them for an hour, making sure that both the Kid and Ben fell into a deep sleep. The girl came to him as he stood watch, leaned her head against his shoulder and also fell asleep. He let her stay there until he was ready to go. When he thought that he had rested sufficiently, he woke her gently.

  ‘Juanita,’ he said, ‘I don’t want you to make a sound.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked in Spanish.

  ‘I’m going down below to look. The posse may have followed us.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t believe that. I am learning to know you, Samuelito. Stay. We are safe here.’

  ‘You’re safe for a while. Now I want you to watch while Ben and the Kid sleep. When they wake, you will do all that Ben says, but you will not leave here until I return. Is that understood?’

  ‘I understand, but that does not mean to say that I approve.’

  ‘So long as you understand.’

  She gripped his arms. He hadn’t seen a nicer mouth or finer eyes in his life. Juanita was a lot of woman and he’d be damned if he’d seen better.

  He wondered ...

  He stood up, bent and kissed her softly on the mouth.

  ‘I know I cannot stop you,’ she said. ‘But please take great care.’

  ‘I guarantee that,’ he said with a smile.

  He walked softly to where the mare stood and silently, keeping his eye on Ben, bridled and saddled her. Then he led her away from the camp. The girl lifted a hand in farewell. Her eyes spelled tragedy. The Mexicans were like that, he thought. She’d get over it. He led the mare down the steep gradient, mounted and rode down to the timber line. Here, he lost his sign on the pine needles. He travelled due west for some time and hit a water-course. He rode across this at a shallow spot and rode north-west along a ridge, keeping below the skyline, but staying high enough to keep a wide view and stay out of the reach of riders. He considered that he was being a fool, but he didn’t let that worry him. He’d been a fool all his life and he’d gotten used to the fact. But he couldn’t remember when he’d been fool enough to attempt what he was about to attempt with nothing but an empty gun and the knife he had filched from the Kid.

  But that was the way it went and that was the way he would have to play it. He rode on to his fate with a fairly peaceful state of mind. He was a man who liked to know that what he was doing was right. That was not necessarily what was right in the eyes of the law, but what was right in his own eyes. He reckoned that was the right his father had taught him. His old man had not been a remarkable man. He had been one of those quiet men who minded their own business and gave a helping hand when it was needed. He had never made any large flamboyant gestures in his life. Grand-standing had been anathema to him. But he had never done a mean or petty thing in his life. He thought the old man would have approved of him right now. Maybe he wouldn’t approve of the way he was feeling about Juanita when he was more or less committed to a handsome young woman on the Cimarron Strip, but he would approve of his riding now to put matters right and bring in the killer of Rube Daley.

  At a mountain freshet, he watered the mare, took off her saddle and let her roll. She appreciated that. Spur drank deep himself. He believed in taking on board as much water as he could hold when he had the opportunity. It might be a long time before he reached water again. He gave the mare a half-hour to graze and rest herself. It wasn’t long enough, but it was better than nothing.

  When he saddled and mounted, he followed the freshet down the hillside into a small rocky valley and headed due west again. This brought him, after a couple of hours riding, within sight of the mine. He came out roughly at the spot where they had left the Kid on guard when he and Ben had entered the mine for their disastrous crawl through the bowels of the mountain.

  He saw that there was smoke coming from Rube’s chimney. Which most likely meant that at least some members of the posse were there.

  He reckoned he’d wait for dark. That would give him a chance to rest and for the mare to get some bait into her belly. He could have done justice to a steak as big as his saddle himself. He loosened girths and lay down in the shade. In seconds he was asleep.

  He had the twin ability to benefit from light sleep and not to sleep longer than he intended. He came awake in the cool of dusk, to see the roseate hues of evening softly stabbing the sky. A light and refreshing breeze blew through the hills and ruffled his hair. He awoke and felt good. It was always better to feel good when you were about to risk your life. It was unpleasant to have to play the part of a hero feeling physically lousy.<
br />
  He went to the mare and patted her, gave her the little sweet talk she liked and tightened girths. Mounting, he used what cover the country offered and worked his way down the hillside. In a draw not too far from the cabin, he halted, stepped down from the saddle and tied the mare.

  By now it was full dark. He worked his way as silently as he could toward the cabin. Not more than ten minutes later he was being guided forward by the light showing in the window of the cabin. He worked his way through the brush that covered the eastern extreme of the shelf on which the cabin stood and came to the house without showing himself as so much as a shadow. He approached the window and looked inside through a tear in the oiled-cloth that composed the panes. A man sat at the table, eating. Spur recognized him as a fellow he’d seen in town. Without doubt one of the posse. He could not fathom why the man had stayed behind. Possibly, he was wounded, but there was no bloody rag to show that he was. The small tear gave Spur a very limited view and he could not be sure that there was only one occupant of the place. He decided he wasn’t going to take any chances.

  He worked his way to the door, lifted the latch with enormous care, flung the door wide and jumped inside, gun in hand.

  He had never seen a man look more startled in his life. Mouth and eyes came wide. He sat petrified, his eyes fixed on Spur’s gun as if he expected to die any second.

  Spur shifted his eyes and saw a man lying in the bunk to the right of the door.

  ‘John,’ he said as he recognized the marshal.

  ‘Spur,’ Cornwall said, equally surprised.

  But Spur didn’t allow the unexpected sight of the marshal to throw him.

  ‘Stand up and turn around,’ he told the man at the table.

  The fellow obeyed.

  ‘No call for that, Sam,’ Cornwall said.

  ‘We’ll do it just the same,’ Spur said, stepped up to the man and removed his belt gun. He picked up the rifle leaning against the table and tossed it across the cabin. He told the man he could turn around and sit down.

  Spur was starting to feel pretty good. He didn’t know what side Cornwall was on, but at least he held a loaded gun in his hand now.

  Cornwall said: ‘I was never more relieved to see a man in my life. I thought Gaylor had caught up with you and killed you.’

  Spur looked at Cornwall. The man looked pale, his eyes were squinting with pain. He wished he could believe him.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Spur asked.

  ‘I was shot. Right near here. There was a gun up on the hillside.’

  There was an accusation in Cornwall’s eyes. Spur thought back and he knew it could have been the Kid who shot Cornwall.

  ‘How’re the cards stacked, John?’ he asked.

  The marshal regarded him gravely.

  ‘It doesn’t look good,’ the federal man stated. ‘But it doesn’t look as bad as it could. There’s folks on your side.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Charlie Doolittle for a start. Me for a second. And I think I’ve convinced Luke Tyson here that Rube Daley was a friend of yours and you don’t shoot friends.’

  Spur said: ‘I’m hungry.’

  Tyson said: ‘There’s grub a-plenty.’

  He rose and filled a plate from the pot on the stove. He placed it in front of Spur, who laid his gun on the table beside him and started wolfing the food. With his mouth full, he talked. He talked for fifteen minutes, about twelve minutes after the plate was empty. He told what he had found in Rube’s mine.

  Cornwall looked at Tyson.

  ‘How does that add, Luke?’

  The man said: ‘It adds pretty good. Lately Gaylor had more money than a county sheriff earns. His two deputies have bad reputations. These three special deputies he swore in are gunnies. There ain’t no doubt about that, is there?’

  Cornwall said, no, there wasn’t.

  ‘But,’ he added, ‘how do we start building a case against Gaylor?’

  ‘Shultz,’ Spur said.

  ‘You mean the prosecution witness?’ Tyson said.

  ‘That’s who I mean. He never knew Rube. He never laid eyes on him. His whole story was a lie from start to finish. I have to scare the ass off him and make him talk.’

  ‘Now, wait a minute, Spur,’ Cornwall said hastily, ‘I don’t want any rough stuff, Sam. This has to be done legal.’

  ‘You lie there an’ talk, John,’ Spur said. ‘There’s a rope waitin’ for me down in Sunset. I don’t feel too legal.’

  ‘Bring Shultz to me here. I’ll make him talk.’

  ‘You’re forgettin’ Gaylor.’

  ‘I’m not forgetting you’re Sam Spur.’

  Spur sneered at this flattery. His mind was clicking over. To Luke Tyson, he said: ‘Do you have any ammunition around here?’

  ‘Sure,’ the man told him. ‘They left the bulk of their supplies here so they could travel light. Over in the comer yonder.’

  Spur went into the shadowy corner and found the supplies piled there. He filled his pockets with shells and loaded his belt and gun. The other two watched him thumbing cartridges into his gun.

  ‘You mean your gun was empty when you jumped me?’ Tyson demanded, somewhat chagrined.

  Spur grinned.

  ‘That’s about it,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

  Spur found a gunny sack and dropped a few cans into it. He was ready to go. Suddenly, he heard a sound. He went to the door and listened. There was a party of horsemen coming in from the hill trail.

  He turned and said: ‘They’re comin’. Either of you tell Gaylor I was here, there’s goin’ to be a heap of dead men around here.’

  ‘Sam,’ Cornwall said, ‘believe me, if you didn’t kill Daley, you don’t have anything to fear.’

  ‘I didn’t kill him so that clears that up. See you.’

  He disappeared into the night.

  A few minutes later, the posse drew rein in front of the cabin.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Every man there was tired to the bone. The horses were played out. They had camped cold on the mountainside and they had searched for a good many hours without success for men they almost feared to catch. Billy Colorado was in disgrace because he had been out-foxed and Gaylor was in a foul temper.

  The sheriff lowered himself, stiff-limbed from the saddle, handed his lines to the nearest man and said: ‘Get the horses on grass, then get some sleep. Come daylight, we search again. An’, Billy, this time you’d best find some sign if you know what’s good for you. By God, you fail me an’ I’ll have your hide.’

  He tramped into the cabin.

  The first sight that met his eyes was John Cornwall propped up in the bunk. He had been riding the high trails convinced that by this time the United States Marshal was dead. Seeing him here was a profound shock. What he didn’t know was that Cornwall’s right hand gripped the butt of a Colt’s gun under the blankets.

  Gaylor turned his rage on Tyson.

  ‘What you doin’, here Tyson?’ he demanded. ‘Ain’t you a part of the posse?’

  Morrow and Damon walked into the cabin. Between them they supported Roily Damon who had been shot through the right shoulder. The man had lost a lot of blood and he looked terrible. They lifted him on to the bunk above Cornwall and he lay there groaning with his eyes shut.

  Tyson said: ‘I stayed to look out for the marshal.’

  ‘Izzatso?’ Gaylor said. ‘Well, just so’s you know – I’m in charge of this here posse. You was needed out there. There’s been shootin’. Them murderin’ bastards has downed two of our men. One shot and one knifed by that little cut-throat boy.’

  To prove his words true, two more men entered, bearing between them a third man who held his belly with both hands. Him they laid on the floor. Hank Shultz came into the cabin and looked at Cornwall. The shock of seeing the man alive showed in his eyes.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said, ‘I thought you was dead.’

  ‘Your thoughts were exaggerated,’ Corn
wall said dryly.

  Tyson said: ‘Just for the record, Gaylor, I don’t like your tone. You ain’t a kinda king around here. You’re just a man we voted for. We can vote you out again.’

  Kruger laughed.

  ‘Sassy,’ he said.

  He walked up to Tyson and hit him with the back of his hand. The posseman went over the back of the chair and stretched his length on the floor.

  Gaylor smiled.

  ‘You shouldn’t of done that,’ he said. ‘You’re a very naughty deputy, Seth.’

  Cornwall said in a cool calm voice: ‘If I ever see a member of this posse do a thing like that again, I’ll have him behind bars.’

  There was a terrible stillness in the room.

  Kruger said through his teeth: ‘You’re talkin’ big for a wounded man, lawman.’

  ‘Calm it, Seth,’ Gaylor said. ‘We’re all friends here.’

  Kruger said: ‘This Cornwall’s a friend of Spur’s. We all know it. They been workin’ some kind of a racket together. We’re the law around here, Cornwall. We put a Deputy United States Marshal in jail an’ we can do the same for you.’

  Gaylor was looking a little worried.

  The affair might have gone further between Kruger and the marshal, but Luke Tyson got slowly to his feet and spoke.

  Now, Tyson was one of those quiet inoffensive men whom loud foolish men think they can push around. He was slow to anger and even now, after being knocked down, he seemed remarkably calm. Certainly, there was no fear in him.

  ‘Gaylor,’ he said, ‘I’ve had my bellyful of you and these hired thugs you’ve brought in here. You’ve gotten just a little too big for your boots. Maybe you could have gotten away with this five years back, but times have changed. There’s real law in this territory and its representative lies there in that bunk. Your ambition is bigger than your sense. You can’t get away with this. Not for long. We’re onto you, Gaylor.’

  ‘What the hell’re you talkin’ about?’ Gaylor demanded. Kruger and Morrow placed their hands on their guns. ‘We know what Rube Daley had in his mine.’

  A dead silence followed this statement.