The Cimarron Kid (A Sam Spur Western Book 5)

by Matt Chisholm

  A couple of hours before dawn he was up and waking the other men. They grumbled a little as was to be expected. They had no idea what was afoot. When their bedrolls were tied behind the saddle and their rifles were in their saddle boots, Ball spoke to them. Telling them that Charlie had located the enemy camp and was now finally spying out the land. They would have to be in position for attack well before dawn. They must ride with the greatest caution and they must not talk.

  They swung into the saddle and Ball took the lead.

  Meanwhile, Charlie, after trotting steadily through the night, took up a position above the camp of the two outlaws. The joy of stealing another man’s horse, even though it was not for himself, was upon him. The pride of being able to take a man’s most treasured possession right from under his nose was strong in him.

  The wind was right. He could smell the horses. The men were sleeping further off to the right. But he was sure that they would not hear him. It was the horses he had to worry about, especially the mustang. A mustang’s nose was as good as a watchdog’s. Just the same, Charlie was fairly confident. He had a way with horses. Given time, he could get any horse to allow him near.

  He moved forward cautiously till he came within sight of two horses. Even in the dim light of the moon and stars he knew these were not the stud. They were hobbled and were asleep on their feet.

  He drifted lower down the slope taking care where he laid each foot, till he spotted a mule. A great long-eared creature cropping the grass. The animal jerked up his head, but he didn’t make a sound. Charlie froze, searching the ground with his eyes.

  Then he saw the stud. The animal was tied with two ropes to a tree. No hobbles. That was good. Charlie would cut those ropes and be on his back in no time at all. He was going to pull this off.

  He moved forward, shifting like a shadow from rock to rock. The mule stirred and snorted. Not so good. Charlie froze again. But he was nearer to the stallion now. A short run, a slash of the knife and he could be astride.

  Now he could see the mustang more clearly, he thought it slept. He eyed the mule with some doubt and guessed that real danger lay there.

  Suddenly, he was startled out of his wits by the stallion lifting its head and whistling. Charlie’s heart seemed to turn over. For a moment, he thought his legs would give way under him. Then his trained horse-stealer’s mind took over. Now was the moment. If he was going to get the horse, it must be now. The men in camp would be awakened by that sound.

  He rose to his feet and ran toward the stallion. A horse trumpeted off to his left. His right hand whipped the knife from his belt.

  A man’s cry came from the direction of the camp.

  Something inside Charlie laughed insanely. This was the height of excitement. The stallion was rearing and screaming its sudden rage now, wakening the whole night with the racket. The mule started to bray noisily. Charlie caught one of the ropes and slashed at it with his knife. The rawhide parted easily under the razor-sharp blade.

  The stallion jumped as the pull of the rope left him. He whirled and kicked up his heels. Charlie dodged them just in time to avoid being crippled for life. He called to the horse and suspected for the first time that the whole affair could go bad. Maybe there was a flutter of fright in him then.

  He ran around the mustang, got a hand on the second rope and heaved him down from a high rear. The stallion screamed almost in his face. He slashed the rope and kept a grip on it.

  Charlie dodged those terrible teeth and they snapped together not an inch from his arm. Coolly he batted the ugly head aside of the whirling animal. His left hand gripped the red mane and the mustang leapt forward suddenly realizing that it was partly free. The sudden motion almost hauled Charlie violently from his feet. But he managed to get his feet under him and find purchase on the uneven ground. As the mustang bounded again, the half-breed was astride him.

  It had been Charlie’s intention to direct the wild animal downhill, but the stud had other ideas. Still screaming his rage he ran along the side of the hill directly at the camp. Charlie crouched down over the great neck and clung on for dear life.

  He knew that he was in for a ride such as he had never known before.

  They tore through brush, Charlie ducked his head under the low bough of a tree, hoofs clattered on loose stones. Then suddenly, there were two men in front of them. One of them shouted. They both tried to get out of the way. The shoulder of the stallion caught one of them and he went tumbling as if he were no heavier than a feather.

  Then Charlie and the stallion were through them, racing crazily along the side of the hill.

  Charlie heard the faint report of a gun and something struck him full in the back.

  It was nothing, he thought. No more than a scratch.

  The stallion took another half-dozen jumps. He started pitching, a thing that would not ordinarily worry the half breed, but now, to his astonishment, he found that he no longer had the strength to hold on. His fingers refused to obey him. Each pitch loosened his grip further. Then he was no longer on the back of the fighting stallion. He was flying through the air. There was scarcely any sensation when he hit the ground.

  He felt strange. He knew a little regret that such a beautiful horse had got away from him. It hurt his pride. But he felt so strange. Only in the last moment, did he realize that he was dying.

  Chapter Nine

  Ben looked down at the inert figure. “Dead,” he said.

  Spur staggered up, dazed from the fall he had taken. It seemed impossible to him that the red stallion had been taken from them. He could hear it now clattering away into the night. As usual, Ben knew what was in his mind.

  “Don’ you fret, boy,” he said, “we ketch him.”

  Spur looked around.

  “Did he come alone?” he said. Then: “The horses.” He turned and ran back through the camp. Ben let out an oath and followed him. But when they reached the grass where they had left the animals, they found them all there. They walked back into camp and started to gather up their effects that had been scattered by the charging mustang. It was while they were doing this that Ben stopped and laid a hand on Spur’s arm.

  Spur looked at his friend and found that he was almost invisible. The predawn dark had come. But he could see enough to realize that his partner was pointing up the hill. Spur listened. At first he could hear nothing, then he became aware of a faint sound.

  He reached for his rifle. Ben did the same. The mare whickered softly. Somewhere off in the night, a horse replied.

  Ben came near to Spur and said softly: “There’s riders below.”

  Spur said: “Cover me, I’ll get the horses in.”

  Ben grunted agreement. Spur laid down his rifle again and went to the horses. The first grey fingers of dawn were stretching across the sky. He softly whistled the mare and she came to him. He never put hobbles on her because he knew she would never stray. He vaulted onto her back and went after Ben’s bay, caught it without much trouble and went on to catch up the mule which was also pretty close at hand. All the time he cast uneasy glances up and down the hill. He seemed to make all the noise in the world as he brought the animals in. Both of them then set to work to get their horses saddled. That done, they packed up what they could of the gear.

  “Where the pack-hoss?” Ben demanded.

  “We’ll take only the mule. He’ll be more than enough.”

  Ben had tied his last knot on the mule. The sky seemed to clear magically. The first shot came.

  It was from above and it passed within a couple of inches of Spur’s head. Both men flung themselves to the ground and searched the slope above them with their eyes. They saw drifting gunsmoke. They held their fire.

  Spur said: “I don’t know about you, but I don’t like this. That jasper up there can see right down our necks.”

  “We can’t ride for hit,” said Ben, “an’ that’s for sure. There could be more’n one up there and they could sure pick us off.”

  There were n
o other shots, for the simple reason that neither Spur nor Ben could be seen. Spur started to think and told himself that they could be pinned down all day if he didn’t think of something.

  “Ben,” he said after a while, “you stay here. I’m goin’ to try an’ work my way above them.”

  “Boy,” said Ben with a grin, “if thet’s your fancy, you do it. I’m stayin’ right here. I can out-wait any man on earth.”

  Spur started to crawl off to the right. He must have shown the crown of his hat or his rump, for there came a second shot that flattened itself on rock and whined away into the blue. He was a little more cautious after that. He came to the dead man and turned up the hill. The dead man made him think of the stallion and he started cursing to himself. This fracas was losing them valuable time getting after it. He wondered if the man taking shots at them was connected with Tom Ball or whether he was the law. But neither seemed to tie in with the horse-thief. The man was plainly a breed … so, could he belong to Tom Ball. The outlaw had wanted the horse badly. Did it matter? Whoever it was apparently wanted him and Ben dead.

  He started up the incline and in doing so the shots came again. This time there seemed to be three or four rifles at least above him. He knew that they had clear sight of him, he saw good cover ahead of him and made a run for it. The bullets kicked up dust and spanged off rock, the rifles chattered furiously. He was pretty thankful when he hurled himself into cover and crouched down momentarily safe from that lethal hail. But he knew that he would have to go further up the slope. He had not outflanked the riflemen yet.

  As he crouched there, he heard a man running along the side of the hill above him. Somebody was trying to get directly above him. He put his head up for a shot and nearly got it shot off. He heard Ben firing now. The man running above came to a stop. A rifle clattered on rock.

  Spur went on, fighting his way up the hill. When next he lay still and listening he could hear the man wounded above him dragging his way back to his comrades.

  Spur looked down. He could see Ben forted up below, firing up the hill. He raised his eyes and looked on past him. He saw the half-dozen horsemen burst from cover.

  He cried out a warning to Ben, but didn’t know if his partner heard his cry above the sound of the guns. For a moment Ben seemed unaware of the new danger. But suddenly his sharp ears must have caught the sound of the hoofs. He turned and jumped into new cover. Spur lost sight of the horsemen behind some rocks. They appeared a moment later, coming on fast.

  He sighted the Spencer on the leading rider and waited for him to come within rifle shot. They swept along the side of the hill, yelling now. They had belt-guns in their hands, showing that they were charging in for close work. Spur fired. The man behind the leader toppled from the saddle and his horse careered off to one side.

  The line of horsemen burst into the camp area. Spur opened up on them from above and Ben was firing almost point-blank. Another man was knocked out of the saddle. The men above could no longer fire at Ben for fear of their hitting their own men, so they directed their fire at Spur. He had a hot time for a few minutes. But that didn’t stop him from getting a good look at the man in the lead. It was Tom Ball.

  The riders pounded along below him, apparently alarmed now by the shooting that came at them from above and crouching low in the saddle. Two of them lost their nerve and sent their animals scrambling down the hillside into the valley below. Ben followed them with his rifle and it looked as though he wounded one of them. The attackers had taken terrible punishment in the first few minutes of the attack. As the riders went from view both Ben and Spur turned their rifles on the men above. Their fire died away for a moment. Spur took advantage of this lull to work his way further up the hill. He sighted a man running from rock to rock and snapped a shot off at him. He caught sight of the crown of a hat and fired at it.

  After that, the attacking party seemed to melt away. He saw two men staggering away along the hillside bearing another man between them. Two horsemen were riding away along the valley bottom going south.

  He stayed where he was, wanting to know where Ball and the men with him were. He wondered if he had seen the body of the dead horse-stealer. He must have ridden very close to it.

  Five minutes later, three riders came from cover a half-mile up the valley and circled wide to ride south. They had had enough. Spur stood up. He called to Ben and the Negro showed his head above rock. He waved Spur on down.

  Down below he found the horses scattered by the charge of the outlaws. He and Ben caught them up.

  “A hell of a note,” said Ben. “We ain’t seen the last of them.”

  “You reckon the half-breed and those boys was connected?” Spur asked.

  “Could be? Ball wanted that stud mighty bad.” They mounted and Ben said: “What we do now?”

  “Catch the stud and go after the Kid.”

  “Man, don’t you never give up. I kin unnerstan’ you wantin’ the stud. But thet Kid—why he ain’t even good enough for wolfbait.”

  “Just the same ...” Spur said and swung into the saddle. They climbed the ridge and travelled above the valley so that nobody could come at them from above. They would cut the stud’s trail further along the valley.

  They cut the mustang’s trail an hour later. It led them near their cabin and over the saddle of the hills onto the range beyond. This troubled them a little because this was the direction in which Carmody had gone. Ben declared that the Kid had headed this way too. Spur didn’t like the sound of things at all, but his mind was made up. They found a water hole where the wild horse had drunk and Ben reckoned that he had slowed his pace. Maybe he was wondering where his mares was at, Ben said.

  The country started to roll a little and they only had a clear view of what lay before them when they rode to the tops of ridges. They started to meet cattle, mostly of a cross between longhorns and a northern breed. They looked like good stock to Spur and he thought that one day he could do worse than run a herd on this northern grass.

  Then suddenly, just past noon, Ben, who was in the lead, held up his hand and halted. Spur stopped and knew that the Negro had seen something he had missed. Ben made signs that there was something ahead of them.

  Spur brought the mare alongside Ben’s bay.

  “There’s somethin’ up ahead there,” Ben told him.

  “What?”

  “You’re goin’ to laugh when you hear this,” Ben said. “The stud’s there an’ there’re some more riders.”

  “Are they after him?”

  “How can I tell? My guess is he’s between us an’ he don’ know what to do.”

  Spur dismounted and walked cautiously up the ridge that faced them. He peeked over the top. There in the hollow below him was the stud, head up and sniffing the air. It didn’t seem possible. Spur looked beyond the stud to the approaching riders and could see their heads and shoulders as they rode up the ridge beyond the mustang. The red ears were forward and the animal was alert to the approaching men. Then he whirled and faced Spur, snorting and pawing the ground.

  Spur’s mind raced.

  The stud was near, the riders were over a half-mile off still. By God, he thought, he could do it.

  He turned and ran down the ridge and vaulted into Jenny’s saddle.

  “What do us do?” Ben demanded.

  “Get the stud.”

  “You’m plumb outa yo’ mind, boy.”

  “Come on.”

  A wild look came into the Negro’s dark eyes. This was the closest run thing he would ever see in his life. That bunch of riders had to be the law. Why else should that number of men get together? But like Spur, he raked his horse with iron and scrambled up over the crest of that ridge, yelling to Spur to cut off to the right. He himself swung to the left and went down the other side of the ridge, so that by the time he reached the hollow below the horse was at a flat run.

  The stallion didn’t know which way to go. He reared and screamed in his rage. Spur swung Jenny and came in on
him. He turned away and ran north.

  Only then did Spur see the riders in that direction. He yelled to Ben, but the Negro had the bit between his teeth as much as his horse did and he was going.

  Spur unlatched his rope, his last and therefore precious, and hastily built a noose. He had a cold feeling inside him that he wasn’t going to pull this off. The men on the ridge were yelling and sending their horses forward at a run. The men to the north had their guns out. One of them spurred his horse away from the rest to cut across the path of the racing stud with Ben angling down on him. Ben seemed to ignore the men and had eyes only for the mustang. The whole thing was the craziest thing Spur had ever seen or hoped to see. The man fired, but still Ben kept his course.

  But the gunfire startled the stud, he swung left. And that was his undoing. That brought him within the reach of the Negro’s long rope. Spur saw the noose go smooth and clean. Never was there a roper like Ben, he thought. It landed around the stud’s neck and the two of them raced north.

  Now the most curious thing of all happened. Spur found himself with a rope in his right hand, whirling the noose. He also found himself racing toward the man who had just fired. In that dreadful moment, he saw that the man was none other than Sheriff Carmody.

  The sheriff was torn for a moment between going after Ben and turning his gun on Spur. In that moment, almost without thinking, Spur let fly with the rope. The noose went true and Spur rode past the man.

  Stop, a voice said in his head, or you’ll kill him.

  But Jenny was running and she took some stopping. Carmody with a wild yell was torn violently from the saddle and dumped on the ground. He hit hard and when Spur turned the mare, the man was spread gasping on the ground with his gun a couple of yards away.

  There were two other riders approaching. Their guns were out and they were yelling. Further back, the main body of men came on riding hard.