Trail West (A Sam Spur Western Book 6)

by Matt Chisholm

  The dark eyes saw that the horseflesh was good.

  They dismounted and tied their horses.

  Spur said: “You stay and watch the horses.”

  “I ain’t no Goddam horse-watcher,” the Kid said.

  Spur said: “You stray from these horses an’ I’ll have your hide. We lose those horses and we lose the whole hand.”

  Spur and Ben entered the inn.

  Heads turned. Anglo and Mexican eyes were watchful.

  Spur said to Ben: “You know Lucky. How about the others?”

  “Don’ know ’em from Adam.”

  There was a bar at one end of the large room in a kind of alcove. They headed for it. The bartender was fat, he sweated and there were flies all around him. They ordered tequila. They drank it leaning on the bar; the inspection of the men there pressed down on them. They drank and ordered another drink. It came. The bartender would liked to have asked questions, but he dared not.

  After a while Ben who had been leaning both elbows on the bar and facing the crowd, turned around, hunched over the bar and said: “Here comes Lincoln now.”

  Slowly Spur looked at the man who had entered. He was a big fellow covered with plenty of flesh. His gut had started to bulge over the top of his pants; he had been drinking a little too much lately. He carried one gun in the open and that hung down on his thigh near his right hand. The most popular position of the gunslinger, one which Spur disliked for it made a weapon an embarrassment. He always reckoned a man who was good with guns could produce one fast from anywhere. He liked his fairly high on his hip-bone. It made riding and walking easier.

  Lincoln swaggered a little; a man proud of his ability to be aggressive, a man who liked to be feared. Spur knew straight away that Lincoln had heard they were there. The man headed straight toward them.

  When he was near, Spur liked him even less than he had at a distance. He came grinning and affable, hand extended.

  “Sam Spur,” he said.

  Spur took the hand and shook.

  “You’ll be Lucky Lincoln,” Spur said.

  “It’s a real pleasure, Sam,” Lincoln said. “Have another drink.” He turned to Ben. “You’ll be Cuzie Ben, friend.”

  “Correct,” said Ben. Lincoln didn’t offer to shake with him.

  More drinks came. The bartender was sweatier than ever.

  Lincoln said softly: “Can a man ask what you’re doin’ in these parts, Sam?”

  Spur said: “He surely can. We come down here to see you, Lucky.”

  The answer plainly surprised the other. He raised his eyebrows.

  “Izzatso?” he said. He was appraising Spur who knew just what was going through the man’s head. The kind of thought that always went through this kind of animal’s head when it came face to face with Spur. Is he as fast as me? Can I out-draw him? Stuff that never entered Spur’s head.

  “Business,” said Spur.

  “Always ready for business,” Lincoln said with a hearty laugh. He was a man who covered everything with a laugh. “How’d you like to come up to my place? We can talk there.”

  “We can talk here,” said Spur. “Let everybody see us in the open.”

  Lincoln laughed again and said: “That’s the way you like to play it, huh? All right. I’m game.”

  “Where’re your partners? It’s as much with them as with you,” Spur told him.

  “Henry an’ Pete? Why they’re around here someplace. Them two ain’t never very far away.”

  “Can you fetch ’em here? We don’t have too much time.”

  “Sure, why not?” He turned to a man nearby and ordered him in a gruff cow-pen Spanish to go fetch his partners.

  For five minutes they chatted of this and that. They downed more drinks, then Strange and Offing appeared. They differed physically from Lincoln in that Strange was tall and thin, balding, while Offing was younger than the other two with a head of wavy fair hair. But they were the same breed, men who lived by the gun, who had the unfeeling eyes of reptiles. They shook, Offing said smoothly that he was proud to meet the great Sam Spur; they drank some more. Spur, who was not a hard drinker, thought he better not have any more or he wouldn’t be able to shoot straight.

  “Now,” Lincoln said finally, “what’s on your mind, Sam?”

  Spur said: “I’m askin’ you to come back to the capital with me, Lucky.”

  His eyes flicked, taking in the positions of the men. Ben wasn’t lounging against the bar any more. He was alert and ready for trouble.

  Lincoln misunderstood.

  “No, sir,” he said, “I don’t go back into Arizona yet awhile. I’m restin’ a spell right here.”

  Spur said: “You don’t understand, Lucky: We’re takin’ you back.”

  For a moment, the man was stunned with surprise. He looked from Spur to Ben. Spur could read his mind. Three of them against these two. Even so, could they pull it off. He felt the tension and shrugged it off.

  Offing said: “Just like that. All three of us?”

  “All three of you,” said Spur.

  Lincoln laughed heartily.

  “You got nerve,” he said, “I’ll say that for you.”

  “We have more than nerve,” Spur told him. “We have the drop on you.”

  Strange said: “You don’t even hold a gun.”

  Spur’s right hand flicked. In it appeared his Colt. The three gunmen stared at it, fascinated. They stayed still for a moment, then they heard Ben’s gun cocked behind them.

  “We’ll walk out of here, boys,” Spur said. “I don’t have to tell you not to try anythin’.”

  Lincoln said: “I don’t get it. You bounty huntin’?”

  “You killed Ulster and Travers. We’re takin’ you in.”

  “Christ,” said Offing, “Sam Spur on the side of the law. Now I heard everythin’.”

  “Move, boys.”

  They turned and moved slowly toward the door.

  “Stop there,” said Spur. He had all three men in full view now and he could see most of the room. “Ben, lift their guns.” Ben went forward and did as he was told. He tossed the guns into a corner. Spur said: “All right, go ahead.”

  The three men headed for the door. Men sat very still, watching, holding their breath. Spur and Ben followed them. They started through the door and beyond Spur saw the Kid with the horses. The scene before him was to be imbedded on his memory. Ben had turned and was covering the room, Spur herded the three gunmen ahead of him. Suddenly, Lincoln moved.

  Offing was between Spur and Lincoln, so he couldn’t shoot.

  A shot sounded.

  Lincoln seemed to be walking on stiff legs. He walked almost up to the Kid, then pitched forward onto his face at his feet. Spur saw the smoking gun in the Kid’s hand.

  Spur yelled to the other two: “Stay very still.”

  They froze.

  There was a rush of movement inside the building and Ben cried out a warning. He fired one shot into the ceiling. There was silence.

  The Kid was covering Offing and Strange. Spur moved forward and turned Lincoln over with his toe. The man had been shot clean through the forehead.

  “That was a good shot,” Spur said coldly.

  So the Kid had really been got at. He had killed his man as he had been bribed.

  The Kid said: “I didn’t have no choice. He went for his gun.”

  “Ben took his gun.”

  “Shift him again.”

  Spur moved Lincoln and saw the gun, a little pocket Colt revolver.

  He looked up at the Kid. He still couldn’t be sure. But there wasn’t time to go in for that now.

  “Ropes,” he said.

  Ben ran forward and fetched ropes from the horses. In seconds he had the two men trussed.

  “Take any horse,” Spur said, “an’ get ’em aboard.”

  Ben and the Kid took two horses from the hitching-rail. A howl went up from the owners. Spur looked that way and the howl was cut short. They got the bound men into the saddle
and got into their own. Men surged forward from the inn and a gun went off. Men shouted. The three of them fired their guns over the head of the crowd, whirled their horses and went off down the street.

  Within minutes they reached the jacal where their spare horses were. Spur yelled to keep going. He threw some money to the owner and they rode on, driving the loose animals ahead of them. They rode hard into the night.

  After a while they stopped and listened. There was no sound of pursuit. They transferred the prisoners to the spare horses and sent the others scampering off into the night. Then they went on again. Spur knew they couldn’t get across the Border too quickly. Even then they might not be safe. Mexicans could cross borders as easily as Americans.

  The Kid came up alongside Spur.

  “I had to shoot him, Sam,” he said.

  “All right,” said Spur, “so you had to shoot him.”

  “You don’t believe me, you think I’m lyin’.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  The Kid had to be satisfied. He let his horse drop back in the little column.

  With the dawn, they kept on going. They rode steadily till noon, the prisoners not speaking and then Spur reckoned they were well into Arizona. They stopped and made coffee.

  “You won’t get away with this,” Offing said. “We got friends.”

  Spur said: “You’re goin’ to need ’em.”

  Spur went and sat by himself, sipping his coffee and thinking. He wondered about the Kid. What was he going to do? Did he really reckon on collecting the money for Lincoln’s killing? Spur wouldn’t put it past him.

  If the Kid headed out, what about the prisoners? Somebody wanted them all dead, that was clear. And Spur didn’t intend for them to be killed. This was a hell of a note for a respectable outlaw.

  If the Kid was going, he’d most likely leave it till they were nearer the city— two-three days. He’d do it at night most likely.

  Ben came over and squatted.

  “You ridin’ in with these bastards?” he asked.

  Spur said: “We got to hide them out somewhere.”

  “Hide ’em? Why hide ’em, boy? The marshal want ’em.”

  “So does somebody else. Weren’t we all got at to kill ’em?”

  “Sure.” Ben thought. His face brightened. “Say, how about the Lost Digger?”

  The Lost Digger was an abandoned mine about twenty miles from their old cabin. Spur could think of worse places to hide a couple of prisoners.

  “All right,” he said. “We take ’em there. Say nothing to the Kid.”

  Ben gave him a hard look, but he didn’t say anything. They saddled the horses, tied their prisoners on two spare mounts and headed north.

  It was a long, hot journey. Lack of water gave them trouble all the way, but eventually they headed into the hills and made for the mine. The Kid asked a lot of questions and got mad because they wouldn’t answer him. Finally, he gave up and sulked. They tied the prisoners to some props in the mine and told them not to pull too much or they’d have the roof down on them. The two of them cursed the three outlaws rather foully. The prisoners made Spur nervous. He always considered that it was easier to be a prisoner than a guard. They decided they would take turns doing guard. The Kid took first shift while Spur and Ben did what they could to make the miner’s nearby cabin habitable. Dark came down and Spur spelled the Kid.

  He had a lot of time to think, sitting at the mouth of the mine shaft that ran about fifty feet into the hillside. He nursed his rifle and his thoughts. He and his two partners were on thin ice and it could give way under them at any moment. They were still outlaws and an awful lot of people could take a potshot at them with impunity. He had to contact Malcolm and that in itself could be a risky job. The more he thought about what he’d got himself into, the more he thought he’d really earn that pardon, if the governor could ever swing it. They needed supplies and water was hard to get up here. There would be times when there would be no more than one guard up here at a time. If anybody wanted Offing and Strange dead, they might not find that too hard a task.

  And there was the Kid. Spur couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t drift to contact whoever it was in town. It might have been better to have stayed a plain outlaw.

  Ben came and relieved him. They chatted for a few minutes and Spur headed for the cabin. He listened for the Kid’s breathing and heard it. He kicked off his boots and climbed into his bunk. The next thing he heard was Ben waking the Kid to relieve him. He dropped off to sleep again.

  He awoke abruptly when Ben shook him.

  “What’s up?”

  “I can hear a hoss.”

  Spur jumped out of bed and heaved on his boots. He went to the door of the cabin and listened. He heard the sound of a horse fading into the distance.

  “The Kid,” he said.

  They picked up their guns and legged it for the mine shaft. Spur arrived first. The Kid was gone.

  “Kid,” he called softly.

  No reply.

  Ben panted up. They didn’t say anything. Spur struck a match and lit the lamp they kept for the guard. Together they went into the tunnel. The two prisoners were lying there. They blinked in the light and Offing cursed them. They walked back into the open again.

  Ben said: “One of us goes after the fool. We oughta beat his dumb head in.”

  “Can you hold the fort here, Ben?”

  “Sure.”

  “Remember, somebody wants these prisoners dead. Now we have them here, maybe they want us dead too.”

  Ben said: “I get me up on that bluff there with a rifle. I can watch the whole place.”

  Spur said: “I’ll be back quick as I can.”

  “You could just leave the Kid go to hell,” Ben said. “We don’t need him, Sam.” There was a strong plea in his voice.

  “We need him,” Sam said. “He’s goin’ to lead us to the man behind all this.”

  Ben blinked in the lamplight.

  “You could be right,” he said.

  Spur slapped him on the arm and said: “See you.” He went and caught up the mare. She was pretty pleased to see him. He saddled and rode off into the night. He had to find the Kid and he had to see Malcolm. He had a feeling it wasn’t going to be an uneventful trip. He could have done with Ben siding him.

  Chapter Seven

  It was near mid-morning when Spur came in sight of town. He hesitated to go in in daylight, but he knew that he dared not delay. Malcolm could wait, but the Kid couldn’t. He decided to risk it. There was a possibility that he wouldn’t be recognized. After all, how many men knew what Sam Spur looked like?

  So he rode in openly and put the mare up at the livery stable, giving instructions for her to be baited well. She needed a little building up after the hard riding she had put in.

  He walked up Frazer and onto Main.

  Here he found the Ralston House. It was built of brick and looked like a respectable place. He walked into the lobby and found a smooth-looking man behind the desk.

  “I want a Mr. Goodyear,” Spur said.

  The man started and went a little white.

  “Mr. Goodyear?” he said. “Why certainly, sir. Maybe you’d care to wait. I’m not sure he’s here.”

  “What room number?” Spur asked.

  “Fourteen, but I—”

  “What floor?”

  “Third floor front, but if you—”

  “Thanks.” Spur turned away from the man who looked in a panic. He started up the stairs. The hotel man ran after him.

  “I’d rather you didn’t, sir,” he cried. “You see Mr. Goodyear has a visitor and he wouldn’t like to be disturbed.”

  “We’re old friends,” Spur said with a pleasant smile.

  “Just the same...”

  Spur went on.

  He loosened his gun in its holster. He had a feeling he was going to need it. He was a little winded when he reached the top floor and he waited a moment to get his breath back. When he looked down into the well
of the building, he saw the frightened face of the desk clerk looking up. Spur waved cheerily. The man ducked away. Spur turned along the corridor, found room fourteen. A murmur of voices came from within. He backed up to room twelve, found the door open and peeked inside. It was empty. He went in and stood with the door slightly ajar. He waited.

  Distantly, he heard the rumble of wheeled traffic on the street.

  After a few minutes a floor-board creaked and a door opened. He heard Goodyear’s voice, then the Kid’s. A moment later the Kid walked to the head of the stairs and went down.

  There was time for the boy to reach the street before the door of room fourteen opened again. This time, through the crack in the door, Spur saw the man he knew as Goodyear. He walked to the head of the stairs, paused and went down.

  Spur saw that he had made a mistake. He should have watched the outside of the building, then followed the man. Now he would learn from the clerk that Spur was in the building.

  Spur let his footsteps die away, then went to the head of the stairs and listened. He heard Goodyear and the clerk talking.

  He crept down the stairs to the second floor. From here, he heard Goodyear go out onto the street.

  He’s waiting for me to come out. I’ve ruined everything, Spur thought. Was there a rear entrance?

  He went down the stairs to the lobby. The clerk was behind his desk, white-faced. Spur glanced around, saw the door to the rear of the house. He unlimbered his gun and stood with it pointing at the floor.

  “Come out from behind there, friend,” he said to the clerk. He didn’t want him warning Goodyear further. He wanted the man worried. Maybe then he would run to his boss.

  The clerk was shaking like a leaf, but he came out from behind his desk.

  “What’s beyond that door?” Spur asked.

  “K-kitchen.”

  “Beyond that?”

  “The yard.”

  “Go ahead of me.”

  “Now, see here, mister, I—”

  “Move.”

  The man moved. On shaking legs, he headed for the door, opened it and went into the kitchen. There was a big Swedish girl at the stove. She turned a flushed and sweating face, eyes came wide at the sight of the gun in Spur’s hand. She started to say something, Spur said, “Howdy,” pleasantly and prodded the clerk on toward the further door. The man opened this and went out to the yard. It was surrounded by buildings, but there was a small door or gate to the right.