The Jeweled Spur

by Gilbert, Morris

  Og shook his head, saying, “If he don’t get beat to death before that happens.”

  Soon, it became apparent that Tippitt was beginning to tire. His face was flushed with the whiskey and the tremendous efforts he was putting into the fight. With each punch Tippitt threw, Cody noticed his opponent moving slower. Finally, he knew it was time to carry the final punch to Tippitt. When the bigger man drew his hand back to throw another thunderous right, Cody suddenly stopped his backward progress, stepped forward with one quick step, and threw a hard right hand that moved so fast Tippitt did not even see it. It caught him on the nose and brought an excruciating pain that made him blink his eyes. Before he had time to catch his breath, another blow, this time a left, caught him high on the head, splitting the skin over his eyebrow. With those two blows, Harve Tippitt’s face suddenly became bloody. He stopped to wipe the blood running out of his eyebrow with his sleeve, and then found he was being pounded by such quick blows that he had no defense. With a roar, he threw himself forward and caught Cody around the body with his huge arms. Driving ahead, he tipped the smaller man over, and they fell to the ground. A yell went up as the two rolled over and over, this time with Harve getting the best of it, using his superior weight to punish Cody.

  Cody fought back as best he could, but he knew that if he ever got trapped on the ground, as Harve obviously intended to do, he would be beaten to a pulp. Frantically, he shoved and fought, trying to shake free, but the huge hands of Harve Tippitt were like vises clamped on him. Cody suddenly was trapped as Harve straddled him and lifted his hand to throw a heavy fist into Cody’s face. There was a vicious look on Tippitt’s features—his eyes mad with the fury that had risen up in him—and he drove his fists down on the helpless man pinned to the earth. The blows caught Cody on the side of the head as he attempted to dodge, and the world exploded into a series of flashing lights. Another blow caught him, this time in the throat, which gagged him. Got to get him off, he thought wildly. And when Harve drew back his fist, Cody surged upward with all of his strength, shoving with his heels and driving his fists with a blow that caught Tippitt in the solar plexus. The air came out of the larger man with a whuff, and Cody struck again, managing to shove him off so that he was free.

  The two men got to their feet, and somebody shouted, “You fellows ought to stop it.” But they ignored him, and once again, it became a contest of Tippitt’s strength against Cody’s quickness. The two circled each other, marshaling their strength, knowing that the fight could not last much longer. Cody was growing tired himself. Both of them were moving much slower now, having thrown many blows and taken many. Cody had one chance and took it. Leaving his face wide open, he pivoted and threw the hardest right hand he’d ever thrown at the unprotected stomach of Harve Tippitt. Tippitt had raised his hands to protect his face, and the blow caught him, again, right in the solar plexus. He gagged, and bent over slightly, trying to suck the air in, but he could not. He stood there almost helpless as Cody rained blows into his face. Only once did he manage to get a blow in that caught Cody flush in the mouth and drove him backward. But Cody was back at once, driving blow after blow, moving forward, driving the bigger man backward. Finally, Cody landed a hard right on the point of Tippitt’s chin that drove him backward. He fell loosely to the ground, his legs kicked spasmodically, and then he seemed to relax like a man going to sleep.

  “He done did it!” Ozzie Og cried out. He came over and threw his arm around Cody, shaking him, and holding the younger man up. “You done the necessary, Cody,” he cried, his eyes bright with victory. Ozzie Og turned to look at Dan, saying, “Well, he done the necessary, didn’t he, Dan?”

  But Dan Winslow knew it was not over. He turned and walked away from the crowd, going back to where Hope was standing, her face pale and her hands clinched tightly together. “Well, it’s over,” he said heavily. Shaking his head, he added, “But not really. Cody whipped Tippitt, but that man will never take a whipping.”

  “What will happen, Dan?” Hope asked, concern edging her voice. She looked over in the darkness to where some of the punchers were taking Cody to the well to wash his face, all of them hollering and pounding him on the shoulders. “What will happen now?”

  “The two agreed that the loser would step aside, but that’ll never happen,” said Dan. He was unhappy, for he had always had a special fondness for Cody, and he saw nothing but trouble looming up ahead. He was a man who had known trouble himself, and this had the smell of it. He had watched Harve Tippitt grow up, and understood well that even a whipping such as he had endured would not turn him aside; rather it would make him more determined to have his own way. He could not voice any of his concern, however, to Hope, but he knew that she understood most of it in any case.

  After Og and Smoky Jacks had gotten Cody cleaned up and put him into a wagon along with Susan, they watched as the couple drove off. Og said, “Well, I reckon that settles it, don’t it, Smoky?”

  “No, it don’t,” Jack said thoughtfully. “It don’t settle nothin’.”

  “Don’t settle nothin’? Why you heard what Tippitt said, the loser steps aside.”

  “You’re a smarter man than that, Ozzie. You know what kind of a yahoo Tippitt is. He ain’t never had nothin’ but his own way all of his life. You think he’s gonna change now?”

  Og glanced at him sharply, then sighed deeply. “I reckon that’s right. Sure hate to see it.”

  “What bothers me,” Smoky remarked, his words falling slowly into the night air, “is that Harve Tippitt’s done been beat twice. There ain’t but one thing left for him now.”

  Og stared at him for a long moment, then glanced out to where the wagon had disappeared in the darkness. He turned his head over to where Harve Tippitt was getting into the saddle, being helped by some of his friends. “You mean,” he said, “it might be a shootin’ affair?”

  “I’ve seen men shot over less,” Jacks shrugged. Turning to Og, he said, “We’d better keep an eye on Cody. I think he’s just about young enough—and in love enough—to do something foolish. So from now on, you and me are appointed his official guardians.” The two men stood there for a moment, peering into the darkness. Finally they mounted and rode off, carrying their thoughts with them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cody Loses Out

  Fall came early to Wyoming that year. The searing days of summer were replaced by the cool breezes from the north, and as Cody rode toward the Circle W, a blast of colder air touched his face. He looked up to the hills that would be white with snow in a few weeks. Winter lurked up in those high places like a gray wolf, and would one day come down and touch the grasses of the valley, shriveling them into dry, burned stems.

  But this was September, and after the burning summer the cooler air felt good on his face. He rode along the ridge that made a half circle around the southern boundary of the ranch, wondering if there’d be anything left to eat by the time he got there. For the last three days he’d been chasing recalcitrant steers all over the high ground, trying to herd them back down to the lower pastures. Once the winter struck, any cattle left in those high spots could freeze and die before any of the hands could get to them.

  His horse, a small gray named Smoky, was moving slowly, for he was weary. Cody leaned over and patted his shoulder, murmuring, “Just another mile, boy, and I’ll give you a good supper and a good rubdown.” The horse lifted its head, snorted, and picked up the pace, for he knew the ground as well as Cody. The rider smiled, saying, “Know what’s waiting for you, don’t you, Smoky?” And then he grimaced, for the smile hurt the tender parts of his face—scars left from his fight with Harve Tippitt.

  The memory of the fight came to him as he rode along the ridge, and it was not a good memory. He’d driven Susan home, but she’d been cool and reserved, giving him a brief kiss and a short farewell. He’d stared after her as she closed the front door behind her, wondering what a man had to do to please a woman. Then jumping up into the wagon, he had driven the team ho
me at a dangerous gait.

  And Tippitt had not given up his pursuit of Susan. Word had come to him more than once that the two had been seen together, usually at church. I can’t whip him again for taking her to church, Cody thought morosely. He turned Smoky into the last bit of the trail, a long corridor cut through heavy first-growth pines. The silence fell on him, the only sound the sibilant raking of Smoky’s hooves across the thick mat of brown needles.

  Can’t go on like this, he thought. I’m not good for work—or anything else. He was a simple young man, liking the basic things. Complications bothered him—and nothing had been more complicated in his life than his pursuit of Susan Taylor. He’d gone out with a few girls, but those times were only lighthearted encounters. Something about Susan—and he could never pin down exactly what it was—drove him to speeds and actions that seemed foolish. Shaking his head in self-disgust, he spoke his thought aloud, “Nothing like a woman to get a man to make a fool of himself. But what’s a fellow to do when he’s in love? Let Harve Tippitt have her?”

  He was still wrestling with this thought after he arrived at the ranch, but he pushed it aside as he cared for Smoky, then walked to the house. It was too early for the hands to be in from the range, but he’d be in time for supper. He entered through the front door, called out, “Mom—?” and started toward the kitchen.

  His mother had been peeling potatoes, but at the sound of his voice she stepped out of the kitchen and came to meet him. She was wearing a plain blue dress and her apron. At once Cody saw that she was troubled. “What’s the matter? Somebody get sick?”

  Hope gave him a stricken look and said, “I’ve got something to tell you, Cody.” She hesitated, then added, “It’s not good news.”

  Cody felt a quick spurt of fear. “Is it Zane or one of the kids? Or is it Dan?”

  “No—no, it’s not that,” Hope said quickly. “Everyone’s all right. This is bad news—for you.”

  Cody could not think what could be disturbing his mother and demanded, “Well, what is it, Mom? Tell me, for cryin’ out loud!”

  Hope brushed a lock of her light hair up over her head and came to stand by him. She was a quiet woman but was obviously disturbed, and her face was drawn tight with concern. “I just got news from town. Something that you should have heard first, Cody.”

  Cody was mystified. “News from town?” he asked. Pulling off his hat, he ran his hand through his light blond hair, a question in his dark blue eyes. “What kind of news?”

  “About Susan—and Harve Tippitt,” she said hesitantly.

  He stared at her blankly, not understanding what she could mean. Then an idea came to him and he asked tersely, “What about Susan and Harve? Did you hear about them going out together?” He shook his head half angrily, saying, “That’s old news. I’ve heard that already—half a dozen times.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “What then—what is it?” Cody knew that his mother was not given to devious manners, but something about the way she hesitated caught him. “Come on, let’s have it.”

  Hope reached out and put her hand on Cody’s arm. She felt the muscle tense and knew that inside he was wound as tightly as a steel spring. “They’re engaged, Cody. Her father came to see you,” she said quietly. “He knew you’d be angry and wanted to talk to you first. He said he tried to get Susan to put it off, at least until she’d talked to you, but he couldn’t do anything with her, and—”

  “And what?” Cody grated out as the news seemed to settle in him heavily. “What else did he say?”

  “He—he said he was afraid of what you might do. That there might be trouble between you and Tippitt.”

  Cody’s lips went thin, and he looked down at the floor steadily. His heart seemed to be drumming in his ears as the anger rose in him, but he managed to hold it down, and he finally looked up to meet Hope’s eyes. “I can’t believe Susan would do it,” he said. “I’m going to talk to her.”

  He turned to leave the room, pulling his hat down on his head, and as he left Hope said, “Cody, go see Susan, but stay away from Harve. I don’t want the two of you having more trouble.” He waved his hand and looked back but did not answer. Hope stood there at the door, watching as he saddled a fresh horse, swung into the saddle, and drove the animal out of the corral at a fast run. She turned and went back into the house, sat down, and began peeling the potatoes that she had left. “Oh, Lord,” she said fervently, “watch over him and keep him safe.”

  ****

  “I wanted to tell you, Cody, but I was afraid to,” murmured Susan, trying to avert her eyes.

  Cody stood looking down at Susan, anger evident in the tense line of his body and in his expression. He had ridden up in front of the Taylor house, had stepped out of the saddle, and had gone at once to knock on the door. Mrs. Taylor had met him, and he saw the fear in her eyes. She had tried to put him off, but he had demanded to see Susan right then. “Mrs. Taylor, I’m going to see Susan, and it might as well be now as some other time.” Knowing that it would be no use arguing with him, she reluctantly let him in. And now Cody and Susan were standing in the parlor facing each other.

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this, Susan,” Cody said. Reaching out, he took her arms and shook her. “We’ve made plans. It’s all been settled.”

  Susan shook her head and pressed her lips together firmly for a moment, staring at him. She had not seen this side of Cody, at least in private. Only when he was around Harve Tippitt had he shown this kind of temper, but now he looked so stern that she was almost afraid. But she lifted her head and said, “No, it hasn’t been settled, Cody. I’ve tried to tell you that all along. It’s not easy, you know, for a girl to choose the man she’s going to marry.”

  “And you think it’s easier for a man?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know about that. I’m a woman and I can’t tell what a man feels.” She looked down at his hands that were pressing against her arms and said quietly, “You’re hurting me, Cody.” He released her at once, and she rubbed her arms, then continued, “I’ve been worried a long time about us.”

  “Worried about us? You never mentioned anything about it. What’s wrong? Why didn’t you come to me before you made this decision?”

  “You wouldn’t understand, I don’t think.”

  “Understand? What is there to understand? We love each other, and we want to get married.”

  “No, there’s more to it than that,” Susan said. For once this carefree girl was tremendously sober. She took two steps to the right, holding her elbows, then turned back to face him. “I thought I loved you, and I guess I always will feel something for you, Cody. But do you know what I’ve been thinking lately?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been thinking that those stories—and they got married and lived happily ever after—you know how they all end?” She shook her head, almost violently. “They end with a marriage, as if there was nothing that went on afterward. But something does go on, doesn’t it?”

  “Of course something goes on,” he said irritably, not understanding in the least what she was getting at. “After we get married, we go on with life. We have children, we work—that’s what goes on.”

  Susan sighed, her eyes very honest. “I don’t think you understand. Men and women, when they’re married, have to get along, don’t they, Cody? And would you and I get along? That’s what I’ve been worried about.”

  “Why, we’ve always gotten along. We’ve never had any fights.”

  “That’s because we’ve been courting, and everything’s been temporary, but, Cody, you know what I’m like—I like parties, I like fun, I like people, and that’s not what our life would be. You’re going to be a rancher, and I’m not fitted to be a rancher’s wife.”

  “I thought love was supposed to be a little bit more than what a man did for a living,” he said bitterly. He wanted to shake her, to grab her and throw her on a horse, and take her away and force her to marry him.

  C
arefully she took a step toward him and put her hand on his arm gently. “I could never be happy, isolated like that for weeks at a time. You can see that, can’t you, Cody?” she pleaded. She made a pretty picture as she stood there, and her beauty made the grief and disappointment that he felt even sharper. As she began to tell him how she felt, she ended by saying, “I’ll never forget you, Cody, but I’d make you miserable. You need a wife who’s used to ranching, who’d like it. We’d never be happy together.”

  Although he knew she was speaking honestly from her heart, he could not hide his bitterness when he spoke. “I suppose Harve Tippitt will make you happy, is that right, Susan?”

  Her eyes dropped, and she said quietly, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Cody. I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you. I see now that I was wrong, that I should have broken it off a long time ago. You’ll have to forgive me.”

  He stared down at her and knew that it was all over. A black sense of despair seized him. He turned and headed for the door. He heard her crying after him, calling his name, but he ignored it, shoved on his hat, leaped off the porch, and then mounted his horse. As he galloped away, the sound of her calling, “Cody, Cody—” reached him, but he refused to hear. It was like slamming the door on that part of his life, and as he rode along the street a numbness set in on him such as he had never known before. He passed along the main street, more than once answering automatically when somebody called out to him, but he was like a man that had been struck by a bullet in a battle and was severely wounded, still able to move forward, but hard hit.

  “Hey, Cody. Cody.” A tall, lean cowboy accompanied by one much shorter stepped in front of him, almost being run down by Cody’s horse. “Hey, come on. You’ve been working hard enough. Time for a vacation.”

  “What’s up, Legs?” Cody said, staring down at the two punchers.

  He’d known the two a long time. Both of them were punchers for the Diamond H, not far from his own place—Legs Freeman and Wash Melbourne. The three of them had made a trio growing up together, and usually he was glad to see them, but not now. However, Wash reached up and slapped him on the leg, “Come on, you slab-sided galoot, me and Legs got some celebrating to do.”