Gun (A Spur Western Book 8)

by Matt Chisholm

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You’d give up both to take me to Mexico?’

  ‘As I said.’

  ‘My beauty, as you call it, seems to be a stronger weapon than you admit,’ she said. ‘And one more thing—remember, your men aren’t fools. I can tell them what you’ve offered me.’

  He bared his teeth again.

  ‘You’d be dead before you could get the words out.’

  She smiled in her turn and he was taken aback by her self-possession. She said: ‘Only if you’re there to hear.’

  ‘You’ve fooled around with words,’ he said. ‘What’s your answer?’

  ‘I’ll think about it till dawn if you don’t tie me again.’

  ‘It’ll have to be before dawn. If we go it’ll have to be in the dark.’

  ‘How could I trust a man who could be so treacherous to his own men?’ she asked softly.

  ‘You underestimate me,’ he said. ‘You don’t know everything of the situation. What you think is treachery in fact is not.’ That was double-talk and he knew it. It didn’t make much sense even to him. But it might fool her.

  ‘I think we’ll wait through the night,’ she said.

  ‘You’re trying to gain time,’ he said.

  ‘Isn’t that natural?’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same in my boots?’

  ‘I would. Now get back in the cabin and I shall have to tie you again.’

  He had started to turn toward the cabin. She stopped and said: ‘You tie me and the possibility of a deal is off.’

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But just remember—if you try and make a break for it, there isn’t a man here who wouldn’t kill you.’

  ‘You kill me,’ she said, ‘and you kill an answer to an awful lot of your problems.’

  As they entered, the men turned to look at them, sizing them up, wondering what had taken place between them. He looked at their faces to see if they were suspicious, but not even he could read a thing there. Their faces were expressionless.

  The girl climbed onto the bunk and drew a blanket over her against the cold of the night.

  Maddox lay down on a bunk on the opposite side of the cabin. Thinking, he built a smoke. When he had fired it and drawn smoke into his lungs, he drew his gun and let it rest on the bunk close to his hand. He wasn’t taking any chances. The girl was valuable. If she tried to run, he would shoot her in the lower leg. That way, the goods wouldn’t be damaged too badly. He wondered whether Holy Madder would make it in time. If he did, there would be exciting possibilities to the situation. There would be possibilities that could be taken advantage of. Maddox liked to have a broad overall plan, but success lay in swift counter moves to the enemy’s moves. Quick, decisive thinking was the key to successful leadership. Satisfied, Maddox slept.

  Chapter Five

  Maddox woke. He lay still, taking in the small silent world around him for a moment. He was calm and rested, as he liked to be. He knew it was about an hour before dawn. He rose and slipped the gun down into its holster. Then he shook Clem Dokes. It was pitch dark in the cabin.

  ‘Martie,’ he called softly, ‘you awake?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘How about rilling the lamp?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He heard Bell rise, a match scratched and the man lit a candle on the table. There was a small pinpoint of light then the tallow melted and there was a circle of yellow light.

  He glanced at the girl and saw her up on one elbow looking up at him. She looked astonishingly fresh and wide-awake. He turned and shook Dokes lightly.

  ‘Clem, how about rustling us up a good breakfast?’

  The man swung his legs over the side of the bunk.

  Maddox crossed to the girl. ‘Decided?’ he asked.

  She looked up at him. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The answer’s “no”.’

  ‘All right,’ he said.

  Clem Dokes was rattling pans. He fired the kindling in the stove. Maddox knew what he was going to do now. He felt stimulated and completely aware. This was the kind of situation he liked. It brought the best out in a man.

  The door opened and Burt Simons stood there, rifle in hand.

  ‘You manage to get some sleep, Burt?’ Maddox enquired.

  ‘Enough. There’s riders comin’. They’re sure travelin’.’

  ‘That’ll be Holy and the Indian. Best check, though.’

  Simons turned and disappeared into the dark. Rule Makin slipped down from his upper bunk and buckled on his gun-belt.

  Maddox said: ‘Hot water for a shave, Clem.’ He liked to keep his face smooth. He was a man who prided himself on his appearance. His men were a little in awe of his cleanliness and smart turnout. On the trail, they were inclined to lower their standards, but not Maddox. He felt that he had a position to maintain.

  Soon bacon sizzled in the pan and the pleasant smell permeated the small cabin. Maddox felt a twinge of pleasure as he became conscious that he was healthily hungry. He sat and cleaned his boots with a rag. Then he cleaned his gun and checked his rifle. They were the tools of his trade. He and every man in the band kept their weapons immaculate.

  A short while after, they heard the horses come up to the cabin. Saddle-leather creaked and little Holy Madder came in looking like a man who had come a long way fast.

  ‘The Indian’s here.’

  Maddox said: ‘Nice work, Holy. He stays outside. I don’t want an Indian in here. Feed him, Clem, and let him get some sleep. I want him fresh. He know what he has to do, Holy?’

  ‘I don’t know what he has to do.’

  ‘All right. You eat and get some sleep. That won’t be much because we’re riding pretty soon.’

  Holy Madder went to a bunk, heaved off his boots, worked his toes to ease them, then climbed into the bunk and feel asleep.

  Martin Bell ate breakfast, then went outside to keep watch. The others ate, then Rule Makin went out and brought in the horses. It was getting light. Maddox went out and inspected the horses. They were superb animals without exception. Maddox believed in the best for himself and the men—the best weapons and the best horseflesh available. If a man was to perform well, he must have the best tools of the trade that could be stolen. Maddox bent and looked closely at a bay’s fetlock.

  ‘Not this one,’ he told Makin. ‘Turn him loose.’

  Makin drove the animal clear of the others and sent it scampering away. He didn’t question Maddox’s judgment.

  ‘One horse per man,’ Maddox said, ‘and one spare. The girl comes and the Indian. That’s two more. The rest I want you to take to Paso Verde.’

  Rule Makin looked at Maddox, taking in the fact that he would be alone with Spur maybe on his trail.

  ‘You usin’ me as a decoy?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Lose your sign on the malpais.’

  ‘That ain’t goin’ to be too good for the horses.’

  Maddox shrugged.

  ‘So you lose a horse or two. It gets us what we want.’

  ‘All right,’ Makin said. ‘Where you takin’ the girl?’

  ‘The less anybody knows the better.’

  That made sense to Makin. Spur could find him and that Cusie Ben could screw one of Makin’s arms off, but the outlaw wouldn’t be in a position to give any information that could harm the others. It made sense.

  ‘Where do we meet if somethin’ goes wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Take the horses down to San Felipe,’ Maddox said. ‘If you can. They’re worth a piece. See you.’

  ‘Luck.’

  Makin mounted and rode away, after he had cut out the horses he wanted. The others came and saddled up. There was the dead man’s saddle for the girl. Maddox took the Indian aside and talked with him in a low voice. He explained what he wanted very carefully. Billy Colorado listened in his usual sullen way. He knew all about Maddox and he feared him. If he didn’t know that Maddox paid generously he wouldn’t have been there. Maddox would also have paid him in other kind if he had refused. When Maddox had fin
ished expressing his wishes, Billy showed that he didn’t like the sound of things at all. He feared Maddox, but he reckoned that Spur and Cusie Ben were men he would rather not tangle with also.

  ‘Goddam no good,’ he said. ‘That Spur, he goddam bad medicine. Cusie he track good.’

  ‘You can do it,’ Maddox said. ‘You get that in your head, Billy. You can do it and you’re going to do it. You fail me and it won’t go so good with you. But you pull this off and you’ll have enough gold to stay drunk for the rest of your days.’

  To be drunk was heaven to the man. He nodded, his eyes momentarily bright.

  ‘Holy’ll give you a fresh horse,’ Maddox said. He walked away and took Clem Dokes aside.

  ‘Clem,’ he said, ‘you backtrack to Devil’s Point. Either stop Spur if he’s on our trail or hold him up. A dead or wounded man should do the trick. Don’t make a fight of it. We’ll need you. Don’t try and follow us. Go join Makin at Paso Verde. Cross the malpais and go in from the west. All right?’

  Dokes nodded.

  ‘Keno,’ he said. He walked to his horse, mounted and rode east. If the others were curious about where he was heading, they didn’t ask. Maddox knew what he was doing. He did nothing without a purpose.

  The girl stood in front of the cabin. Maddox walked up to her.

  ‘You missed your chance,’ he told her. ‘The next couple of days aren’t going to be easy for you. Behave yourself and I won’t tie you. You do one thing you shouldn’t and I’ll tie you.’

  ‘You expect me to ride in these clothes?’ she said. ‘It won’t be decent.’

  He said: ‘My men have seen a woman’s legs before. Ride that Sorrel with the blaze there.’

  She walked to the tall horse and Burt Simons helped her into the saddle. She showed the lower part of her legs and Simons lowered his eyes. He was bashful with respectable women. He, Bell and Madder mounted. Maddox stepped into the saddle of a big, mean-eyed black gelding. It was his favorite horse. He liked to ride animals other men didn’t like to handle.

  Holy Madder led off, taking them across the flat on which the cabin stood and then dipping down into the main valley beyond. Behind him rode the girl, followed immediately by Burt Simons. Then came Martie Bell leading the spare horse. Maddox brought up the rear. The Indian stayed behind to wipe out their trail. He had told Maddox exactly which way to travel and told him the exact spot where to halt. They must wait for him. If he was to fool Cusie Ben, he couldn’t be hurried.

  Chapter Six

  As they rode, Spur felt the urgency of anxiety. The responsibility for Netta weighed heavily on him. His deepest emotions may have turned in the direction of the Mexican girl, but his regard for Netta was high and he knew that he could not rest until he had brought her to safety. The five of them had pulled away from the spot where the stage had been stopped as soon as it was light enough to read sign. The riders were strung out, one behind the other on the steep trail that climbed into the craggy-hills. Cusie Ben led the way with the Kid grumbling and swearing behind him. Behind him rode Doolittle, riding tall, his face grim. Behind him on a mule rode the little Basque, Inaki Cilveti, eyes everywhere, his single-shot rifle across his saddlebow. Spur brought up the rear.

  Spur knew that he couldn’t have had four better fighting men with him. The Kid for all his fool talk had guts when it came to it. Doolittle had kept open a freight service in the teeth of Indian troubles and had ridden guard many a time on his own trains. The little Basque had risked his life many times in defense of his boss’s property. Cusie Ben didn’t have to be evaluated. He was a man without equal on an enterprise of this kind.

  Just the same, Spur was uneasy.

  Among the men who had attacked the stage, Ben had thought he recognized one man and that was the dead man, Jim Stevens. Anybody in the law business knew the man ran with George Maddox.

  They reached the top of the high ridge and, among the boulders up there, they found the jumbled sign left by the bandits when they had taken cover from Ben’s shooting. Ben couldn’t say how many there were of them, not yet awhile, but he didn’t doubt he would be able to before they had followed the sign far.

  They found a scrap of cloth there among the rocks and they passed it around from hand to hand. They all reckoned it had been torn from a lady’s travelling habit. Spur had a queer sensation, handling that scrap that had been so near to Netta so short a while before.

  If it had been any other man but Maddox, he would have felt that Netta was safe. She could have had a rough time, but most men even of the outlaw breed would not have harmed her physically. If Maddox was running this outfit, anything went.

  They went on climbing and the air grew a little cooler, a fact that was welcome to man and beast. They started pushing their way through scattered timber and there was a little green to be seen when they came near water. They came out of timber onto high poorly grassed meadowland and here Cusie Ben declared that there were six men in the band they were following and the girl was with them. The horses were fresh and moving smartly. From their pace he estimated that the animals were bigger than the average Western horse. These men were riding fancy stock. That, to Spur, sounded just like Maddox.

  They came down from the meadowland and went scrambling into a dry canyon and now it was as if they were riding on the face of the moon. Another and dead world. The hoofbeats of the horses echoed. The air was dead and still; the heat pressed dryly in on them. The canyon led them west and led them into a wide shallow valley scattered with boulders, meager brush and cactus.

  They rode the day through, following, following, keeping the pace even, not hurrying for in this kind of country and in the heat they had to think of the horses.

  In the cool of the evening, Cusie Ben led them to water and they camped, thankful for bellies that became distended from water. The horses tried to over-drink and had to be forced to leave the water, but the two mules drank carefully and wisely, as mules will. Albert had to be staked in solitude because he had declared war on the horses and Cilveti’s mule.

  It was a silent camp. They spoke little and were in their blankets as soon as they could manage it. They agreed that one man should stay awake for two hours at a time. There was no knowing if a man like Maddox wouldn’t turn around on a pursuit. None of them forgot that the law party did not have the advantage of numbers.

  They were all ready to ride by dawn and forewent a hot breakfast. Such things as good food and good rest were out until the girl was found. Spur mentally tightened his belt a notch and chewed on the jerky he carried in his pocket. The sign was pretty clear and took them into the hills, always going deeper into country which could make the finding of their quarry more difficult. Cusie Ben confessed by the middle of the morning that they were now on trails he had never followed.

  Then they were caught flat-footed.

  They were caught in the one place that offered them scarcely a scrap of cover for a couple of hundred yards. Such a place offered a marksman as many targets as he wanted. Such a place offered victory to one gun over a dozen.

  It was a miracle that prevented Cusie Ben who was in the lead from being killed in the saddle from the first shot.

  He himself never knew the truth of it. Maybe his horse was spooked by a snake. However, the animal suddenly started back, swerved to one side and threw up its head. It could even have been the hidden rifleman that startled the animal. Be that as it may, in the moment the man triggered his rifle, Cusie Ben was shifted abruptly and the bullet that was meant for his breast instead passed between him and his horse’s neck.

  Ben didn’t have to look around to be assured that he’d been caught with his pants down. He rode always with a mental picture of the country he was in. The nearest cover was to his left—a scattering of rocks. His horse was already turning in that direction. He struck it smartly with his quirt and jumped the animal forward.

  Cilveti, the Basque, who was the rider nearest him, reacted in quite a different way. His eye took in the small dark drif
t of riflesmoke ahead and without a moment’s hesitation, clapped his old single-shot to his shoulder and drove his solitary round directly at the source of the smoke. That move in itself may have saved several lives in the law party. The shot must have unnerved the man ahead of them. Maybe he lowered his head involuntarily for a second. The riders had time to whirl their horses. Seconds passed before the second shot came and by then every man there had his horse racing.

  Spur and Doolittle went to the right, heading for the nearest rocks. Spur’s little mare in the lead, Spur unlimbering his rifle as he rode, ready to go into action as soon as he hit cover. The marksman chose Spur and Doolittle as his targets and two quick shots came to wing around their heads.

  Spur reached cover, came out of the saddle while the mare was still on the move and ran behind the nearest boulder.

  Even as he did so, he heard the pitiful whinny of a horse in pain. He turned his head to see Doolittle’s horse tuck its head between its forelegs and somersault violently. The lank freighter flew through the air an untidy tangle of arms and legs. The dust rose when he hit the ground. As another bullet kicked up dust near his head, he struggled to rise. But he couldn’t make it and collapsed on his face to lie still.

  Spur thought.

  The quickest way to reach the man was on the mare, but he hated to risk the little horse again to that fire. Leaning his rifle against the boulder, he ran out into the open.

  Doolittle lay some twelve feet from the now motionless horse. The nearest cover, therefore, was the horse. Spur reached Doolittle. He rolled the man on his back. The face was pale, eyes closed. He was breathing shudderingly. At least he was alive. Spur started to drag him toward the horse.

  The distant sound of a rifle. Something tugged viciously at Spur’s sleeve. Then another rifle sounded from the west. Cusie Ben had started shooting.

  Spur lay Doolittle close against the dead horse and lay beside him. The rifle in the west was hammering steadily. Ben knew that Spur was at risk and was trying to shift the marksman or to keep his head down. Spur knew that the man was high in the rocks. That meant that Spur was pretty much exposed.