Gun (A Spur Western Book 8)

by Matt Chisholm

  The man drew his breath in.

  ‘Here? In town?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Maddox, I want outa here.’

  ‘You’ll be out, Wayne, never fear. But finances are low and we’re going to remedy that before we’re through.’ He led the way out of the jail and called softly to the other two: ‘All right, boys.’

  They came. They shook hands with the ex-sheriff.

  ‘Now, the gold,’ Maddox said.

  If the two men were surprised neither made a sound to express it. They waited.

  ‘It’s at the post-office. Just old Shreaveley to settle. But he likes the job. Mighty proud of it and ambition makes a warrior out of the sorriest of men. We go in there hard and fast. There’s no other way.’

  ‘The gold’s heavy,’ Madder said. ‘We ain’t goin’ to tote that off in a hurry if we have trouble.’

  ‘For that amount of gold,’ Maddox said, ‘a man can develop an awful lot of strength.’

  He led the way around the building and they reached the horses. It was only then that he realized they didn’t have a horse for Gaylor. He cursed himself softly, but without anger. It just showed that, however clear-headed a man might be, he could still make mistakes. Never mind, two men would have to ride double until they reached the other horses. It was no hardship. They led the horses along the rear of the buildings until they reached the post-office.

  ‘Wayne and you, Burt, you’re biggest. Go break in that door. Holy and me’ll shoot through the windows.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Holy said, chuckling. ‘Lil ole Shreaveley’s sure goin’ to have a surprise.’

  ‘It’ll kill him,’ Simons said dryly.

  They rounded the post-office and the four men took up their positions.

  They stayed still a moment. There was no sound from inside.

  Suddenly -

  ‘You there.’

  They all whirled.

  The voice came from the other side of the street.

  Maddox said softly: ‘Go ahead—I’ll handle this.’ He raised his voice: ‘Yes.’

  ‘What you doin’ there? Come out where I can see you.’

  ‘U.S. marshal,’ Maddox said.

  ‘I don’t give a hoot if n you’re the goddam pres-i-dent,’ the man bellowed. ‘Come out so’s I can see you.’

  Gaylor and Simons hurled themselves against the door. The wood complained agonizingly, but it did not give. From inside came a howl of alarm and in the same instant, Holy Madder fired into the interior. Maddox fired his rifle across the street in the direction of the voice. Levered and fired again as fast as he could move. From inside came the boom of a shotgun and the two men hurled themselves at the door again.

  This time it crashed inward.

  On the opposite side of the street, a window crashed and tinkled. A man cried out. There was a shout from further down the street.

  Inside the post-office, Shreaveley screamed. There came the sound of a gun and that of a heavy body falling. Madder turned and started firing along the street. Maddox backed into the post-office. There was an acrid stench of burned powder in there. Maddox coughed. He called out to Madder: ‘Holy, hold ’em there a while.’ He didn’t doubt that some of the honest citizens were now on the way with guns. He pushed the drunkenly hanging door. ‘Make some light.’ He sounded unhurried, calm.

  Somebody struck a lucifer. Maddox saw that it was Simons. For a moment, the other two men’s faces were touched by the warm glow of the flame.

  Shreaveley was slumped back against a large safe, his shoulders resting against it, his chin forced down hard into his chest. His eyes were closed and blood seeped from his chest.

  Gaylor seized him by his coat and hauled him roughly aside.

  ‘Can you open it, Burt?’ Maddox asked.

  ‘Have to blow it.’

  Maddox frowned. That meant all of them would have to be out on the street when the charge went off.

  ‘Go ahead,’ he said.

  Simons took the explosives from his pocket when the match went out. There was a lamp on the table to the left and Maddox lit it. He laid it on the floor by the safe and said: ‘I’m going outside. Holy’ll cover the rear. Stick with Burt, Wayne.’

  Gaylor nodded. He looked nervous. It seemed to him that he had escaped from jail only to be in acute danger. It didn’t suit his temperament. Had it been any man but Maddox bossing this outfit, he would have been long gone.

  Maddox went to the window and looked out. The glass was smashed, the bars prevented him seeing far either way up or down the street. If there was going to be an attack from the citizens, it hadn’t had time for it to start yet. There was some shouting from up the street. Madder wasn’t shooting now.

  Maddox went to the door and opened it and closed it quickly behind him. As he did so a gun went off at an angle from across the street and a bullet slammed into the door behind him.

  It made him jump. He said: ‘Christ,’ and ducked down. Madder was to his left, shooting now.

  ‘Holy,’ Madder said, ‘I’ll take over here. Go around back and watch the horses. See we aren’t taken in the rear.’

  Madder ran across the front of the building, crouched down and went around the corner. A shot winged after him. Maddox jacked a fresh round into the breech of his rifle and fired at the muzzle-flame across the street. He didn’t know if he’d made a hit or not. Getting down on his belly, he reloaded.

  The gun on the other side of the street was silent.

  Further up the street, Maddox could hear voices and see shadowy figures moving. He fired a shot in their direction and felt a surge of satisfaction and power as they scattered.

  The man on the other side of the street fired and the lead thudded into the building behind Maddox. The man’s dim form shifted position, but Maddox had him pinpointed now. He fired. A rifle clattered onto the sidewalk and a man staggered onto the street. He seemed to be holding himself with both hands. Maddox fired again and his shot knocked the man from his feet.

  He waited.

  Then faintly, he heard a sound to the east. Straining his ears, he knew that he had heard the faint sound of hoofs. Now he couldn’t hear it. Now it came again. His mind jumped.

  This could be Spur returning.

  ‘Hurry it up,’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘Nearly through,’ Simons called back.

  Long minutes seemed to pass. Maddox could hear the horse clearly now. Just one horse. It could be anybody. A cowhand coming in for a late drink. Anybody. But he feared it was Spur.

  Gaylor came out and lay down beside him.

  Then Simons hurried out and shut the door as firmly as he could behind him. He flung himself down on the other side of Maddox.

  ‘Fuse lit,’ he said.

  The rider on the trail to the east had reached Mex-town.

  Maddox found himself sweating. The fuse was taking too long.

  Gaylor said: ‘She ain’t goin’ to blow. It’s a dud.’

  ‘I don’t lay duds,’ Simons said coldly.

  The safe blew. They had lifted their heads and they felt as if large hammers had struck the backs of their skulls. Their faces were driven down hard onto their arms and for a moment they lay as if stunned. The loose door fell with a clatter. A horse to the rear of the building whinnied frantically and it must have tried to run for they heard Madder cursing savagely. They rolled over and rose to their feet. The stench of the explosive hit them. Dust and smoke came at them from the open doorway.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Maddox snapped. ‘And move.’

  The two other men put their arms across their faces and lunged inside.

  Maddox stood with his rifle ready, listening to the oncoming hoofbeats. They died suddenly and he knew the fellow was fording the creek. He’d be in sight any second now.

  ‘Hurry,’ he called and he heard the agitation in his own voice.

  Gaylor and Simons came out of the building, holding the box between them.

  ‘Jesus, it’s heavy,’
Gaylor said.

  ‘Get it around to the horses,’ Maddox ordered.

  The rider came in sight.

  The two men staggered under their heavy load around the corner of the building.

  Maddox saw that it was two men on a mule. He wanted to laugh. He’d scare the living shits out of them. He raised his rifle and fired. The mule swerved to one side and the man behind the saddle fell into the dust. The other fellow leapt from the saddle. Then Maddox himself ran.

  He went around the corner of the building and there he found the others in a tangle with the horses. Holy Madder was in the saddle.

  ‘Give the box to Holy,’ Maddox said.

  Gaylor and Simons strained to lift the box. Maddox had to help them. It wasn’t going to be an easy load for Madder to retain. But he wouldn’t have to carry it far. When Madder had it; ‘Get going, Holy,’ Maddox said.

  Somebody fired along the rear of the buildings from the west and a bullet winged its way past them. Gaylor jumped for a frantic horse.

  ‘Get up behind Burt,’ Maddox ordered.

  Gaylor swore. He was panicked.

  The gun fired again. It missed Maddox by inches. He didn’t flinch. He had been shot at before.

  Madder was spurring away north. Simons was in the saddle, giving a hand up to Gaylor. Maddox caught his own horse and it fought him. He checked it viciously and vaulted into the saddle. As soon as his butt hit leather the animal was away. They tore through some brush, ducked under the low-hanging branches of a tree and then hit the open.

  Within a few seconds, there was a mass of riders and horses in front of them. Maddox shouted and heard Martie Bell’s reply. They switched Gaylor to a riderless horse and quickly slung the heavy box by a rope between two riders—Simons and Madder. Then they were trotting steadily north. Maddox took the lead with the Indian. As they rode, he told Billy what he wanted.

  After thirty minutes or so, they changed direction. After some time, they reached the malpais. In the center of this, Maddox called a halt. This was the second part of his plan. He had done the prisoners a service. Now it was their turn to do him one. Only they would not be aware of the fact. He gave orders for the box to be opened. The box was lowered to the ground and Burt Simons had it open inside five minutes. At the sight of the gold, the men exclaimed in wonder and appreciation. Maddox dropped to one knee and examined the contents, making a rough mental estimate and realizing that it came up to his expectations.

  ‘Wayne stays with me,’ he said. ‘All right, Wayne?’

  Gaylor wanted out, but he knew that he would do what Maddox wanted. He had always done what Maddox wanted. That was how he had been put in jail in the first place.

  ‘Of course,’ he said and tried to sound enthusiastic.

  ‘The rest of you,’ Maddox said, ‘will have his share of gold. Then you will ride on the exact route I give you. Is that understood?’

  They said they understood. Maddox started handing them their share of the stolen gold. They were happy men.

  Maddox said: ‘You have horses and guns. Now you have gold. You also have your freedom. Use it. Be smart. Cross the Border, keep out of circulation for a while. Maybe I’ll be able to use you again. Everybody satisfied?’

  They all said that they were satisfied. Maddox was all right. Men believed he stood by them and he was as good as his word. Maddox was pleased. He believed in men trusting him. It was the best investment a man could make in his line of business. He gave them the route.

  ‘All right, boys,’ he said, ‘ride now and the best of luck.’

  Hands were shaken all around and the released prisoners mounted. Maddox and the others listened to the sound of their dying hoofbeats. Maddox turned to the Indian: ‘Go ahead, Billy. Get us back to town.’

  Madder, Bell and Simons didn’t say a word. They went still and watched Maddox as the moonlight played on his face. He looked casual and they knew that look of old.

  ‘But, Jesus, the risk, man,’ Gaylor said.

  ‘Didn’t we take a risk when we busted you out of that jail, Wayne? Didn’t we take a risk when we went after the gold? Our business is made of risk—you know that.’

  ‘But there ain’t no sense to this. You can’t ‘

  ‘There’s all the sense in the world,’ Maddox explained. ‘Who would think of looking in town for us?’

  ‘That goddam nigger’ll track us there.’

  ‘Billy here will fix that. He’s gotten us into town once without leaving tracks.’

  ‘I don’t believe you can fool Spur for a start.’

  ‘I think we can. And if we can’t, we have a safeguard.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘We have a way of stopping Spur.’

  ‘The only way to stop Spur is to kill him an’ I’ve tried that.’

  ‘We have his girl, Wayne.’

  Holy Madder held up a hand and said: ‘Hear that?’ They listened, but they heard nothing.

  ‘What is it?’ Maddox asked.

  ‘We been followed.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Sounds like one rider.’

  Maddox was all briskness and business. He gave his orders: ‘Get this gold into your saddlebags, men. Move, now. Martie, when we’re off this rock, you take care of that jasper back there.’

  With the gold more evenly distributed, they rode forward at a faster pace, traveling at a swinging trot that steadily ate up the distance without unduly tiring the horses. When they came to the edge of the malpais, they halted and Maddox told Simons: ‘Burt, we’re going ahead. Stay back with the Indian. Watch him. I don’t want him giving us the slip and he’ll try if he can. He’s getting spooked. Martie, fort up in the rocks yonder. Remember, I want the bastard that’s following us dead. And buried. I don’t want sign of him. When you come after us, circle west a ways, then approach the creek over the shale. You hear? This could make hash of our plans, you having to leave sign, but it can’t be helped. Leave as little as possible. The chances are if a posse comes after us, they’ll find the sign of Gaylor’s boys who went east.’

  Gaylor saw what was in Maddox’s mind now. He smiled and nodded approvingly. Gaylor liked treachery—he thought it smart. But he had never known Maddox do a thing like this before.

  ‘All right,’ Maddox said, ‘Holy, Wayne, we’ll go ahead and wait for Martie and the Indian.’

  They went ahead. Though he knew that Billy Colorado would wipe out the start of their tracks as they went away from the malpais, he rode with care, using rock as much as he could by the poor light of the moon.

  Martie Bell rode over to the rocks in the east, put his horse in a safe place and tied him. He lay down and watched the Indian get to work. He listened carefully, but he couldn’t hear any sound of the following horse. That wasn’t so strange, he thought, the man could have followed the escaped prisoners. Though that wasn’t the likeliest thing, for the prisoners had been gone when Holy had heard the pursuer. Whatever was the explanation, the man no longer seemed to be behind them.

  He had no sooner thought that it might be wise of him to beat a retreat with Martie and the Indian then he heard a sound to the north. He knew it was the bray of a mule.

  He looked left and found that Billy and Burt were now out of sight working their way south. There was going to be a killing after all. He levered a fresh round into the breach of his rifle. He hoped the man would come close enough for him to make a good clean shot. The bray of the mule had told him a little. Cusie Ben rode a mule as often as not. Maybe he’d knock off that goddam Negra after all.

  Chapter Ten

  When Charlie Doolittle heard the explosion, he knew what it meant, because he had been thinking about the possibility of somebody making a try for the gold all the way back to Sunset on the trail. Now, Doolittle was no storybook hero, but he was no coward either, which made him, all things being equal, a pretty good man to have along. When he was shot at by a man with a rifle from in front of the post-office the shot came too close for either his comfort or for Cil
veti’s who was riding behind him on the hard and angular rump of Albert, the mule.

  Like the sensible man he was, the Basque took off as quickly as a bird and Doolittle wasn’t too far behind. Albert who had been ornery every inch of the trail because of the double-load he had been compelled to carry was now ornery because the load had been taken from his back with a rude abruptness to which he was not accustomed. He therefore stormed around the street, kicking his heels and braying in a way that put to shame all the banshee howls of the demons of hell.

  Half-stunned and not too sure whether he was in one piece or not, Doolittle staggered to his feet. As he did so, his thoughts were divided between wondering whether Cilveti had been hit by the bullet and divining the number of horsemen who might be to the rear of the post-office. He could certainly hear a number of horses there.

  He turned to the Basque and found him on his hands and knees, muttering in his strange and incomprehensible tongue.

  ‘You hit?’ Doolittle demanded in his bad Spanish.

  ‘Praise God, I am alive,’ the man replied in worse Spanish.

  ‘Catch that accursed mule,’ Doolittle roared, drew his belt-gun and set off running up the street.

  As he reached the post-office he smelled the used explosive. He could see the flicker of flames from inside the building. A gunshot sounded from the rear of the buildings. A man shouted. The horses around there shifted frantically and then there came another shot. The horses started moving off toward the north and away from the town. Doolittle gasped air into his lungs and started to run around the building.

  He heard the crash of horses going through the brush and under the trees. He halted, cocked and raised his gun, but he could see nothing. Shooting would be the waste of a shot. First things first, he told himself. Shreaveley had been in the post-office with his shotgun, keyed to bravery by his ambition to remain post-master.

  Doolittle turned and ran back the way he had come. Somebody fired at him from across the street. He halted and yelled his name and for them to stop shooting in the name of God. A man walked toward him with a rifle in his hands. Doolittle saw it was Vince Marvin from the Travelers’ Rest.