Trail West (A Sam Spur Western Book 6)

by Matt Chisholm

  The two riflemen kept them on the move down the steep slope. Then both must have had the same thing in mind and stopped shooting—they didn’t have too much ammunition. Suddenly, however, the invaders had had enough. Their numbers had been violently depleted. Spur stayed where he was, wary, watching them hit the lower land down below, saw them in a quandary—their horses were gone. Not far, but they were gone and a man’s first concern in this kind of country was to have a horse to ride. They started running north in search of their horses.

  Spur made his way up the slope, heading for the cave. He was very tired now and there was nothing he would have liked to do more than to sleep.

  He saw a figure coming slowly toward him. It was Ben. Good old Ben. He walked jauntily with that slight swagger in his walk. He was a man who had fought well and cunningly.

  They met under the ledge and Ben grinned.

  “So far so good,” he said.

  They climbed the ledge together, panting and sweating.

  In front of them lay a man. It was one of the Jenner gang. Dude Rigbee. He had been shot through the upper part of the right leg and they had left him. They would. They were that kind. Their own skins came first.

  Rigbee watched them as they came toward him. He was a man with death in his eyes. The pain of his leg was nothing compared with his fear of the life they held in their hands being snatched away. He tried to reach the pistol that rested on his hip, but Ben bent down and hit him in the face with the back of his hand, knocking him flat on the ground. Ben picked up the gun and stuffed in into his waist band.

  Spur walked on into the cave.

  The frightened eyes of Pete Offing met his. The man was frantic with fear.

  “Christ,” he whispered. “They come in here … they killed Henry. Just put a gun to his head … my God, Spur, I never seen anythin’… They would of killed me, too. They run all of a sudden… Christ…”

  Spur looked at the dead man. Strange had indeed been shot through the head. He didn’t make a pretty sight. Blood from him had splattered over Offing. The man’s face was marked grotesquely.

  Spur said: “Well, you’re still alive, Pete. That’s the great thing. You can still talk.”

  “Talk,” said Offing. “Talk? I’ll talk so Goddam loud, they’ll hear me in Canada.”

  He lay there looking sick.

  Spur walked out of the cave. Rigbee was sitting up, grimacing and holding his injured leg with both hands.

  “Do something for God’s sake,” he said, “I’m bleeding to death.”

  Spur said: “You’re breakin’ my heart.”

  “Where’s the Kid?” Ben wanted to know.

  That was a good question. Spur looked around and could see nothing move. It looked like the Kid had lit out. Maybe that wasn’t so surprising. He should have expected it. Still, it didn’t sit well with a man.

  He said: “He might be hit. Now, I reckon we stay here a while and see what them bastards down there do next. I’d guess there ain’t much fight in ’em. They’ve at least two dead and one wounded.”

  Ben laughed.

  “They sure got their comeuppance,” he said.

  “But they ain’t finished. We have to get Offing and Rigbee back to town.”

  “You reckon?”

  “Yes. We can’t hold ’em out here any longer. We dump these two in Malcolm’s lap and let him get on with it.”

  They heard a sound.

  “Sam.”

  Spur jerked up his head.

  “That’s the Kid.”

  Hope rose suddenly in him. He walked north along the ledge. He saw the Kid. He was standing all hunched up against a rock. He’d been hit. Spur ran toward him. The boy raised a white face to him. There was pain and shock in his eyes.

  “Where’d you get it?” Spur asked.

  “It ain’t nothin’,” the Kid told him. He was holding his left side with his right arm and his fingers were all over blood. Spur put an arm around him and helped him back to the shelf. Here he sank to the ground and leaned back against the rock.

  “They killed one of the prisoners,” he said.

  Spur said: “We know. It was Strange. But we got Rigbee.”

  “You goin’ to do something about this leg or you goin’ to leave me die?” Rigbee demanded in a shaking voice. He sounded as if he would break into tears at any moment.

  Spur said: “You ain’t goin’ to die, feller. We need you. We’ll fix you when we’ve seen to the Kid.”

  Spur started work on the Kid, ripping the shirt away from the wound and taking a good look at it. Every now and then, he straightened up to keep an eye on the men below. They had all moved off into the north in search of their horses. He reckoned they wouldn’t be back. He knew, however, that there was a chance that they would regain their nerve later and lie in wait for them as they returned to town. That was a chance that would have to be taken.

  Ben brought Pete Offing out of the cave. He had freed his ankles. The man was shaking like a leaf. He sat on the ground and stared at it as if it fascinated him. Spur reckoned it would be a long time before he recovered his nerve.

  The Kid’s wound wasn’t as bad as it looked at first. The bullet had hit the ribs, glanced off them and torn an ugly path through the muscles extending around the back. They would look a mess for a long time, but if they were kept clean they would not be fatal.

  Spur found a clean shirt in his saddlebags and tore it up for bandage. He padded the wound well, bound a bandanna around the upper part of the Kid’s body, then looped a strip of rag over the left shoulder to stop it slipping down. Then he found a clean shirt of the Kid’s and helped him on with it.

  “How d’you feel now?” he asked.

  “Fine,” the Kid told him. “Just fine.”

  Next Spur turned his attention to Rigbee.

  The man’s wound was a nasty one. The bullet had been driven in through the fleshy part of the thigh and had lodged up against the bone. He was lucky that the bone hadn’t been broken. Spur didn’t like the look of it. If it didn’t behave itself, the man could lose the leg.

  Rigbee was thinking the same thing. He raised anxious and frightened eyes to Spur.

  “What do you think?”

  “Same as you. We have to get you to a doctor or you could lose the leg.”

  The man gritted his teeth.

  “I’d ruther die,” he said.

  “You want me to try an’ take the lead out?”

  “Go ahead. That’ll give me a chance.”

  “You didn’t give Strange a chance.”

  The man said: “We was hired. A man works for his pay.”

  Spur smiled and said: “Looks like you just paid for your work.”

  It took him an hour to get the lead out. It was a bloody and gruesome business and Rigbee fainted twice under the operation. Spur didn’t have any whiskey and no tool but his pocket-knife. The man suffered, but he didn’t complain. They were both exhausted at the end of it. Ben and Spur carried Rigbee into the shade of the cave and he fell into a troubled sleep.

  The Kid, who was watching the land below, called out: “Rider comin’.”

  The other two hurried to the rampart to stare down below.

  They saw a wisp of dust and the dot of the oncoming rider.

  “Who the hell’s this?” Ben wondered aloud.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The rider was George Malcolm. He came slowly up the slope and they saw as he came near them that he had the look of a man who had been in a fight. He dismounted below the ledge and climbed wearily up toward them. He looked around him and said: “Looks like you boys had a fight.”

  They told him what had happened. He listened without a word till they finished.

  Then he nodded and said: “You did pretty well, I reckon.” A small wry smile. “I had a little set-to myself. Killed one of the Harper boys.”

  Ben didn’t like the sound of that. If you killed one of the Harper boys that meant the other wouldn’t rest till you were dead. He s
aid as much and Malcolm nodded and said: “I know.”

  “What’s the next move?” asked Spur.

  “We was goin’ to bring the prisoners into town.”

  Malcolm nodded.

  “We’ll have to do that. But it’s going to make real trouble. We’ll have Roach on our necks. But it’s got to be done. Getting them there’s another matter. We won’t rush it. Who says coffee? Is there enough fuel up here to make a fire?”

  Ben grinned and said: “Leave it to me.”

  He started rustling around. Pretty soon he had a fire going and the pot was bubbling. The tranquilizing smell of coffee filled the air.

  They sat around drinking coffee. Rigbee came around and yelled for a drink too. They took him some.

  They waited the day out. Ben scouted into the north and came back to report that the Jenner gang had caught their horses and limped off north. It looked to him as if they had a wounded man with them. Malcolm reckoned they would be mighty careful how they showed their faces in town again. It would be interesting to see what Jenner did. Would he return to town and try to bluff it out? If he didn’t, Roach was going to be short an important helper.

  They slept up on the ledge. They didn’t post a guard, for every man there was exhausted, but they took the precaution of tying their two prisoners. Rigbee accused them of being inhuman, tying a wounded man, but they didn’t let that worry them. The problem in the morning would be how they were going to transport Rigbee into town with his leg as it was.

  Dawn came clear and chill on the uplands. They staggered from their blankets and ate a brief breakfast. Then they caught up the horses and saddled. They mounted Rigbee and Offing together and started slowly down the mountain. The Kid was in some pain, but he didn’t complain. Aside to Spur, Ben reckoned the Kid was an ornery little so-and-so but he sure had sand.

  It was a slow, uneventful and tiresome ride, geared to their two wounded men. It was somewhat trying on the nerves too, because none of them would have been surprised if they had been attacked again. But nothing happened and they came into town after dark. Which, as George Malcolm said, was just as well because he was the only respectable man there. Even his deputies were outlaws. They reached the courthouse by the rear and Ben took the horses to the livery. They got their two prisoners into separate cells and Malcolm left the Kid and Spur in his office while he fetched a doctor.

  The doctor’s visit occupied another hour. He declared that Spur had probably saved Rigbee’s life. The wound was surprisingly clean and, all things being equal, the man had a good chance of keeping his leg. The Kid’s wound, he said, would be troublesome, but he was young and hard and should pull through all right.

  After the doctor had gone, the four of them held a council of war in Malcolm’s office.

  “The way I see it,” Malcolm said, “is we have to keep you boys under cover as much as the prisoners. I reckon a lawman never found himself in a fix quite like this.”

  They decided that Spur, the Kid and Ben should occupy cells adjacent to those in which Rigbee and Offing were incarcerated. That way they could guard the prisoners and at the same time be out of sight of the public.

  “Roach,” Malcolm went on, “has got to do something about this. And it looks like the man has only one answer to a problem and that is murder. You boys’ll have to be on your toes.”

  Spur said: “But if you get a case against Roach, what then?”

  “We have to make Offing and Rigbee talk, we have to have signed statements from them and we have to have them in court. Roach will fight, make no mistake about that. He has a lot to lose. Mainly, he has to fight me. If I’m out of the way, what chance do you all stand? Who would take the word of three outlaws against a man in his position?”

  “Do you have any more official deputies?” Spur asked.

  Malcolm said: “I have Jim Dutton on his way up from Crewsville. He’s a good man. He should be here any day now.”

  “How about Ruby Schneider,” Spur asked, “can we scare her into talkin’ against Roach?”

  “We’ll have to.”

  Spur thought of Jenny, the girl in the next room to Ruby’s and wondered if she could help in any way. Not that he could be sure that she would want to help.

  Malcolm showed them to their cells and made arrangements for meals to be brought into them. Josh White was the jailer and he looked like a man who could keep his mouth shut. He brought them in some supper and a pitcher of beer. That cheered them a little and Ben said with a grin that he had never done so well in jail.

  The Kid wasn’t feeling very cheerful. His wound was hurting him like hell and he couldn’t be sure how far he could go in trusting Malcolm. He had never known a lawman he could trust. He was sleeping in a cell and all Malcolm had to do was shut the door and turn the key. No, he wasn’t very happy.

  Spur shaved by the light of a lamp.

  Malcolm was off to report to the governor. He was in for a whale of a tussle because he knew that the governor would not be ready to hear anything said against Roach.

  Spur had decided to do a little work on his own. So he shaved, put on a clean shirt he had loaned from Malcolm and shrugged himself into a jacket. When he looked at himself in a small piece of mirror he found around, he reckoned he might not look as well as some of Ranee Straffer’s other customers, but he would do.

  This time he meant to go in by the front door. He wondered what sort of a reception he would get. That bouncer wouldn’t exactly kiss him.

  Ben reckoned he looked like a real Texas gentleman.

  The Kid reckoned he looked like a Goddamned dude.

  He pushed his gun under his belt and under the coat and walked across to Straffer’s place.

  The streets were pretty quiet, a few lamps glowed and the stars studded the sky overhead. A pleasant evening. He wondered if Jenner was in town and if so, where he was.

  He knocked on Straffer’s door.

  There was a slight pause.

  The door opened and the bouncer stood there. It took a second for the truth to sink in. He opened his eyes a little.

  “You!”

  Was it fear or anger on his face?

  “What’s it to be?” Spur asked gently. “Peace or trouble?”

  The man swallowed.

  “What do you want?”

  “A word with Straffer.”

  “Mister Straffer.”

  “I don’t give a damn if it’s Lord Straffer so long as I get to see him.”

  The man looked as if he would have liked to tell Spur to go to hell, but Straffer had trained him well.

  “Wait here,” he said and shut the door in Spur’s face. Spur reckoned Straffer would see him, if only out of curiosity.

  Five minutes passed before the door opened again.

  “Mr. Straffer will see you now,” he announced and stood back for Spur to enter. Spur stepped in warily, his nerves tensed, not sure if the man would try to cosh him. But he stood safely on the plush carpet and the bouncer led him to Straffer’s office.

  Straffer was looking his best. The evening dress was immaculate, the pearl tie-pin showed prosperity. There was a slight bulge under the coat to the left and Spur thought that was most likely a gun. Straffer was prepared for emergencies.

  Straffer said: “I’ll be frank, Spur, I’m surprised to see you here again.”

  Spur said: “You’re surprised because you thought they’d taken me away to kill me.

  “I had no alternative.”

  “You could have stopped them from taking me away to kill me,” Spur told him. “Or would that have been bad for business.” The bouncer was hovering inside the door. “We don’t need you here, friend.”'

  The bouncer went to make an angry retort, but Straffer waved him away. The door closed.

  The two men eyed each other.

  “What can I do for you, Spur?” Straffer asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Straffer noted that the rough frontier speech was gone. In its place was a pleasant and cultured voice. It
came as a surprise to him that Spur was a man of some education. His attitude altered a little. “One thing I do know, Straffer, and that’s that you only do things that will help you survive or will give you a profit.”

  Straffer spread his very clean hands.

  “Isn’t that so with all of us?” he asked.

  “No, it isn’t. But we won’t go into that now,” Spur said. “This is my position— I’m faced with a man who doesn’t know which side of the fence to sit on. So I’m going to help you make up your mind.”

  Annoyance and concern showed on Straffer’s face.

  “I hope you’re not going to make trouble,” he said. “I have a half-dozen men within call. You wouldn’t get away with it.”

  Spur smiled.

  “You’d be surprised what I can get away with,” he said. “I’m outside the law. I don’t have any of George’s compunctions.”

  Straffer raised his voice a little.

  “You’ve said it. You’re outside the law. I have only to raise a finger…”

  Spur said coldly: “You raise that finger, Straffer, and you’re dead.”

  The man went pale. He took a step backward as if wanting to get as far from Spur as possible.

  “I’m going to convince you,” Spur said, “to come down on our side of the fence. I’ll do it gently at first. If that doesn’t work I’m going to get rough.”

  Straffer started to bluster.

  “Now see here—” He started to say.

  “So let’s try it gently first and see what happens.”

  The man suddenly saw that Spur was very sure of himself. His mind flicked. What had happened since he had last seen Spur here? What had taken place in the last day? Had Malcolm and Spur between them unearthed some more information about Roach. He started to sweat. Suddenly he saw his house closed, saw himself finished here in town, all he had worked for. Keep calm, Straffer. Be cool.

  “I’m willing to consider any sensible proposition,” he said. He had control of himself now.