The Brave Ride Tall (A Sam Spur Western Book 9)

by Matt Chisholm

  The big man glowered at the sight of him, but said nothing. The three of them headed for town. By now, Spur felt as if he could sleep for a week.

  Chapter Twelve

  By noon, they were back in town arid Beddoe was locked in the cell one away from the wounded prisoner. Beddoe was shouting that he wanted to see his lawyer. Spur said sure he could see his lawyer, but not yet. He walked down the street to Millicent Prayboy’s place. Before he got there he was accosted about twelve times by inquisitive citizens who wanted to know what was going on. He tried to sound helpful, but he evaded their questions. One of the questioners was Linden Travers, the mayor. He wanted an answer and he was going to get it. He was a very disquieted little man, he fluttered and he danced from one foot to another.

  Spur was tired to the bone and hungry into the bargain. He didn’t feel too patient.

  ‘I heard you bought Damyon’s freightin’ business,’ he said.

  ‘Who told you that?’ said the mayor.

  ‘Damyon. Who’d you buy it for?’

  For a second, Travers looked as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

  ‘I think that’s an impertinent question, Marshal.’

  Spur smiled and tapped him on the chest.

  ‘It ain’t half so impertinent as the questions I’m goin’ to ask when I get around to you, Travers,’ he said.

  The mayor danced some more.

  ‘You seem to be forgettin’, Spur,’ he cried, ‘that I’m mayor of this town. There’s a certain amount of respect due to me.’

  Spur said: ‘You want to bet you’ll be mayor this time next week?’

  That stopped the little man dead. He stared at Spur aghast.

  ‘What’re you getting at?’ he asked.

  ‘I have Sloan who tried to kill me the other night. He talked to me for an hour. He didn’t know too much about you, but your name came up.’ Travers boggled. ‘Pretty soon I’m goin’ to question Beddoe. He’s a pretty scared man, mayor. He’s goin’ to make a try at savin’ his hide. He’ll talk.’

  The mayor stuttered.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ he said. ‘Your attitude will get you into serious trouble. I shall write personally to your superior.’

  ‘Do that,’ said Spur and walked away.

  The mayor stood and watched him go. He was shaking.

  At Miss Prayboy’s, Spur found that the Kid had been carried upstairs to the lady’s own bed. Millicent herself looked tired but very purposeful. The Kid had his eyes open. The night she told Spur had been spent in fever, but it had broken this morning. The doctor thought the boy would pull through.

  ‘He better,’ Spur said. ‘I told him to.’ He turned to the ashen faced Kid and said: ‘So you’re a hero at last. Looks like you’ll earn some reward money for this. First honest money you ever earned in your worthless life.’

  Millicent thought this kind of talk to a sick man was terrible and said so. The Kid whispered: ‘You oughta hear him when he’s mad, ma’am. Now he’s jest bein’ sentimental.’

  Down in the kitchen, he found Damyon eating lunch, looking happy. Spur joined him. When he was through eating, he lay down on Millicent’s couch and fell asleep, leaving instructions that he must not be allowed to stay there more than a couple of hours at the most. He also left word that if Cusie Ben came in he should join Student at the jail.

  Miss Prayboy woke him exactly two hours later with strong hot black and heavily sweetened coffee. He sat on the couch drinking it gratefully. When he’d thanked her, he walked down to the sheriff’s office and found Cusie Ben there.

  The Negro had news for him.

  When he heard it, he hit the roof. Why the hell hadn’t he been told?

  Ben had picked up what he thought to be Smith’s trail. At first he wasn’t sure, then later he found that most of the other men had ridden away from the spot. One set of tracks was that of a man running. This he guessed was Smith. They wait straight north then stopped abruptly. The man had simply stopped and laid down. After that he had headed back for town again.

  ‘I could be wrong,’ Ben said. ‘It doesn’t have to be Smith.’

  Spur said: ‘It’s Smith all right.’

  He stood thinking. His guess was that Smith had gone straight to Blaxall. Therefore it seemed a fairly safe assumption that Blaxall wouldn’t let him out of the house while it was still light. So timing was going to be important.

  He would pay Blaxall a visit. But first he wanted to be armed with the information that only Beddoe could give him at tins stage. Therefore, Beddoe had to talk fast.

  ‘Open up Beddoe’s cell,’ he told Student. ‘Ben, bring your knife.’

  They went into the cell block and Sloan informed them that he wanted to see his lawyer. That sounded like a good idea to Beddoe too and he demanded in a voice that must have been heard at the other end of town that he wanted to see his too.

  Spur stepped inside his cell and Cusie Ben joined him.

  Student stood watching with some interest.

  There was a sudden stillness in the cell. Beddoe looked from one to the other of them. He seemed to calm down now he was faced with the inevitable. Spur could feel the brain in the thick head starting to work.

  Beddoe spread his hands.

  ‘All right, boys,’ he said. ‘You hold the cards.’ He looked at Ben wryly and added: ‘And the knife.’ Spur didn’t say a word. He had the feeling that something useful was coming. Beddoe went on: ‘From where I am, it looks like it’s time to dicker. I made my try an’ it looks like it failed. What do I have that you want? What can you offer me?’

  Spur thought, weighing the expediency of the situation. He might be deciding if another man lived or died. He judged Beddoe as being one of the half-bad men this kind of country threw up frequently. He reckoned he could afford to trade him for the genuine article. That was Blaxall. If he had Blaxall where he wanted him, justice should be pretty tickled.

  He said: ‘We want you to talk. This could mean that Blaxall would want you dead. We’ll give you protection. I can’t let you go because we’ll need you as a witness.’

  Beddoe asked evenly: ‘Can you give me protection against a man like Blaxall?’

  Spur jerked his head toward the Negro.

  ‘Ben there is protection against anythin’.’

  ‘Even Smith?’

  ‘I’m goin’ to pick up Smith now.’

  ‘You’ll have your work cut out. All right, Spur, I’ll trust you. Looks like I’ll have to. Where do I start?’

  ‘Right at the beginning.’

  They settled down. Beddoe talked. Once he was started, there seemed there was no stopping him. He warmed to his subject. He confirmed everything Millicent Prayboy had told Spur and more. He filled in the gaps, gave all the details. He knew almost all there was to know about Blaxall’s many enterprises. He hadn’t taken part in the open robberies among which was the raiding of Damyon’s bull-train, but he knew of them. He talked for thirty minutes without stopping. When he was through, Spur said: ‘Later I’ll write all that down and you can sign it.’

  Beddoe said: ‘Just make sure that crazy bastard, Smith, don’t git in here and cut my throat.’

  Spur led the way into the office. Ben followed him. Student locked the cell and joined them.

  Spur said: ‘You stay here, Ben, an’ keep Mike company.’

  ‘What you aim to do next, Sam?’

  ‘Get Smith.’

  The Negro made a doubtful sound with his mouth.

  ‘Maybe that’s a chore for two men,’ he said.

  Spur said: ‘Maybe. But we don’t have two men to spare.’

  ‘Wouldn’t hurt for me to come along.’

  ‘We need to keep Beddoe safe.’

  ‘I ain’t frettin’ ’bout no Beddoe.’

  ‘I am till he signs his statement,’ Spur said and laughed. He didn’t feel much like laughing. He was thinking of Smith. He checked his Colt and made sure it was loaded in all six chambers. He also checked the
pocket model and thrust it out of sight under his belt so that his coat covered it. Then he was ready. Though he had never felt less ready for anything in his whole life. If this was the kind of fool thing you took on when you became a lawman, it didn’t seem such a bad idea to go on the owl-hoot again. At least you could run when you spooked. You couldn’t stop a lawman spooking, but he wasn’t allowed to do anything about it.

  He moved to the door.

  ‘Where does Blaxall hang out?’ he asked.

  Mike Student said: ‘He has an office on Lincoln over the dry goods store. Turn left at the intersection.’

  Spur opened the door and they both wished him luck. The expression on Ben’s face showed he thought that Spur would need a lot.

  Spur turned right outside the office and angled across Main. Dusk was an hour off. It was a little cooler, but still hot. Men looked at him curiously, one or two spoke to ask how his investigation was going. It was the talk of the town that Beddoe had been arrested. There was a certain tenseness about now. The town felt that something was about to explode. Mort Gaines was smoking a cigar outside his saloon. He watched Spur wordlessly.

  At the intersection, Spur turned left as instructed. He found the dry-goods store with a shingle to the side of it bearing the legend “K. Blaxall”. That and no more. Leading to the second floor was an outside staircase. Spur mounted it. He found the door at the top unlocked and entered.

  He found himself in a smallish office with a door on the far ride. On this door was Blaxall’s name. Right in front of Spur, seated behind a desk was a small man with a wisp of sandy hair. Behind one of the protruding ears was a pen. He looked somewhat indignant that anybody should enter his domain.

  Spur said softly: ‘Blaxall in?’

  ‘Mister Blaxall,’ said the little man, ‘is not available at this point in time.’

  Spur smiled.

  ‘At what point in time,’ he asked politely, ‘will he be available?’

  ‘He has informed me that he, will be available to nobody for the remainder of this day,’ said the clerk.

  Spur said: ‘Is he in that room yonder?’

  ‘That,’ said the clerk, ‘is neither here nor there.’

  Spur advanced across the room, heading for the inner door. The little man jumped to his feet and cried: ‘You will not enter that office.’

  ‘Sonny,’ said Spur, ‘you keep your books and I’ll keep the law.’

  He opened the door and found the room empty.

  The clerk said: ‘I shall report your behavior to Mr. Blaxall.’

  Spur turned.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I am not at liberty to say.’

  The idea flashed across Spur’s mind that Blaxall had lit out. But, no, on second thoughts, a man like Blaxall didn’t give up so easily. He had too much at stake here.

  ‘Where’s his home?’

  ‘He stays at the Dueby House.’ The little man was very agitated.

  Now why didn’t I know that? Spur thought. A piece of carelessness like that could have been costly.

  He walked out of the office and down the stairs. At the bottom, he stood thinking. Could Blaxall hide a man like Smith at the hotel? Surely Silena would know. But Milly Prayboy had told him that Silena was Blaxall’s woman. It turned him sick to the stomach to think of a girl like Silena mixed up with a creature like Smith.

  He walked back along Lincoln and turned down Main. When he walked into the hotel, the lobby was deserted. He stood and listened. The only sounds he could hear came from the rear of the house. He crossed the lobby and entered the room at the far end. It was the kitchen. At the table sat Manuela chopping vegetables with a knife. At the stove was another Mexican woman he had never seen before.

  Manuela started a smile, but the smile disappeared when Spur said: ‘I’m lookin’ for Blaxall.’

  ‘I do not know,’ she said. She was frightened.

  ‘Was he here earlier?’

  ‘I did not see him.’

  He could tell from the look on her face that she lied.

  ‘What number’s his room?’

  ‘Five.’

  That was at the far end of the corridor from his. He backed out of the room and closed the door behind him. He walked to the foot of the steps and went up them as quietly as he could. Was it possible that Smith was in the house? Again that question. He knew Smith spooked him.

  He reached the head of the stairs. Blaxall’s room was to his left. He listened. A murmur of voices came from the room in front of him. He crept silently down the corridor and paused outside Blaxall’s room. No sound came from within. He opened the door quietly, lifting his gun from leather as he did so. The room was deserted.

  He backed out and closed the door.

  As he stood there, listening, the door at the head of the stairs opened and Blaxall stepped out, his back to Spur. He was talking to someone in the room. A woman’s voice replied. Spur recognized the husky tones of Silena Dueby.

  Spur put his gun away.

  Blaxall closed the door and turned. He saw Spur and stopped.

  ‘You,’ he said involuntarily. He looked momentarily off balance.

  ‘I’m stayin’ here,’ Spur said mildly.

  ‘Outside my room?’ Blaxall asked.

  ‘I suggest,’ Spur said, ‘we go inside your room an’ we talk. How does that sound to you?’

  ‘What do we have to talk about?’ Blaxall said. His tone was deceptively mild, but his eyes were wary.

  ‘I’m surprised you ask that, Spur said. ‘You’re the loyal citizen who raised a reward of five hundred dollars for the apprehension of the killer.’

  ‘You want to talk about that?’

  ‘Sure. I’m on my way to earning it. I also want to talk about what a certain wounded prisoner told me. Charlie Beddoe just saw the error of his ways an’ he told me some mighty interestin’ things you might like to hear about.’

  ‘I don’t see what Beddoe could say would interest me.’

  Spur smiled.

  ‘Beddoe is a frightened man,’ he said. ‘There’re one or two frightened men in town, as a matter of fact. Mind you, I don’t know as I blame ’em for being scared. Was I in their boots I’d be a mite spooked myself. There’s the mayor, Linden Travers; there’s the man who runs the bank for you. Maybe there’s a few more wettin’ their pants I don’t know about yet. But I’ll get around to ’em before I’m through. Where do you want to talk. Here? Or in your room?’

  ‘My room—if we have to.’

  ‘We have to.’

  Blaxall came down the corridor, passed Spur and opened the door to his room. Spur walked past him and Blaxall closed the door.

  ‘Drink?’ Blaxall asked, politely.

  ‘Not me,’ said Spur, ‘but don’t let me stop you if you feel you need it.’

  Blaxall walked to the bureau, found a bottle and poured. He drank deeply then said: ‘Go ahead—talk.’

  ‘Nothin’ much to say,’ Spur said. ‘I want the killer of Lily Minden and Mart Walker. I also want the killer of Will Furbee.’

  ‘I know that already.’

  ‘You can give him to me, Blaxall.’

  ‘I can?’ The man sounded amazed. ‘You must be out of your head.’

  ‘Blaxall,’ Spur said, ‘I reckon you’re beyond bein’ appealed to, but just the same I’m doin’ it. You hand me the killer an’ I’ll speak for you when you come up in front of the judge.’

  Blaxall looked in utter astonishment.

  ‘You’re off the mark, Spur,’ he said. ‘You’ve come to the wrong man. On my oath. What makes you think I know anythin’ about this killer?’

  ‘Too many people have talked, man,’ Spur said. ‘Can’t you see? I’m givin’ you a small chance. I’m takin’ you in any road. You give me Smith and it’ll help you a mite.’

  ‘Smith? Who the hell’s Smith?’

  Spur sighed.

  ‘All right,’ he said, ‘reach for the ceilin’. I’m takin’ you in.’

 
Blaxall’s right hand moved an inch. Quickly.

  Spur’s gun was in his hand, thumb on hammer.

  Spur said: ‘You damn fool, you could of gotten yourself killed.’

  Blaxall was sweating.

  ‘I swear you’re making a mistake,’ he whispered. ‘This is all a terrible misunderstanding.’

  ‘A lot of people must have misunderstood you, Blaxall,’ Spur said. ‘We’ll walk down to the sheriff’s office an’ you can clear it all up.’

  ‘You don’t need the gun,’ Blaxall said. ‘I’m not a violent man.’

  ‘I’ll keep it just the same.’ He stepped forward, pulled bade the man’s coat and pulled out the Colt that hung beneath his left armpit. He tossed it on the bed and said: ‘Get a-goin’. Go through the door mighty slow. I’m a trigger-happy sonovabitch at the best of times.’

  Blaxall headed for the door, hesitated a moment, then opened it. He stepped outside and Spur told him to halt. Covering a man going through a doorway was always tricky. He had come unstuck in such a situation years back.

  He went forward himself, got to within a safe distance of Blaxall and said: ‘Head for the stairs.’

  Blaxall started forward slowly.

  The door at the head of the stairs opened and Silena Dueby stood there. Her eyes widened when she saw the gun in Spur’s hand.

  ‘What’re you doing’ she said.

  ‘Takin’ in the boy-friend,’ Spur said. ‘Sorry to inconvenience you, miss.’

  ‘There must be some terrible mistake.’

  ‘Blaxall made it,’ said Spur.

  ‘But you can’t do it,’ she protested. ‘Why, he’s an important man in the community. The people of this town—’

  ‘Go ahead, Blaxall,’ Spur said. ‘This ain’t the time for conversation.’

  Blaxall got on the move again.

  Spur flicked his eyes to the girl.

  He saw the expression on her face. Was it abject terror? She was looking at something behind Spur.

  He knew she wasn’t fooling. Nobody could act as well as that.

  He heard a whisper of sound behind him.

  He started to turn.

  Something caught him around the throat. It was like a band of steel. It closed on his wind-pipe and his breath was cut off. Stark terror knifed through him.