The Cimarron Kid (A Sam Spur Western Book 5)

by Matt Chisholm

  Spur didn’t want to lose his rope and had it in mind to retain it, but the two riders were coming close. He palmed his gun and fired. As though by magic the two riders split, one going one way and one the other. One of them tried a couple of shots, but it was difficult shooting from the back of a running horse. Spur banged away another couple of times to keep them away, then rode back past the sheriff and whisked his rope free.

  The oncoming bunch were shooting. It wouldn’t do them much good, but it told Spur that the moment was urgent. He put away his gun, turned Jenny and yelled to her to run. As he rode he coiled his rope. Now he could show them what stuff the little mare was made of.

  He looked up and saw Ben and the stallion disappearing over a ridge to the north. He asked himself which way Ben would turn now that he was out of sight and bet on west. He followed almost in the Negro’s hoofmarks, heaved up the ridge and almost slid down the other side. The mare had caught the excitement of the chase and was giving her best. He glanced left as he paused when he hit the flat and saw Ben disappearing once again.

  He turned in that direction and let the mare have her head. Together they raced away. When he looked back, he saw the riders piling over the ridge top. He thought that he had increased the distance between them.

  He came in sight of Ben five minutes later when the Negro hit a long flat stretch and saw a feat that made him want to raise his hat in admiration. Ben with both horses going at a flat run, drew his bay alongside the stud and transferred himself from one horse to the other. Which showed that Ben considered the stallion had more speed now than the bay, which was saying something, and was going to take advantage of the fact.

  They ran on for three, four, five miles and the men behind were starting to fall back. Spur didn’t like to keep the mare at such a savage pace so long, but he had little choice.

  Then suddenly, the posse gave up. They’d kill their horses if they went on that way and they didn’t like the thought. Spur brought Jenny down to a trot. Her chest and flanks, his leggings were foam-flecked. She had nearly run her heart out. Ben slowed the stallion and caught up his loose horse that was running behind him. The mustang gave a few token pitches, but the hard run had taken the stuffing out of him.

  Ben was laughing fit to bust when Spur came up with him.

  “Man,” the Negro yelled, “you ever see sech a thing in yo’ life?”

  “No,” said Spur, “I’ll be damnded if I did.” He started to laugh too, only with him it was to get the tension out of him. He wondered if Ben had a nerve in his body.

  “Albert,” he said in dismay as he remembered the mule.

  The grin slid from Ben’s face.

  “Our grub,” he exclaimed. “No never mind. Thet ole moke’ll come after us’ns. You see.”

  “They’ll catch him.”

  “He kick ’em to li’l bits.”

  Ben started to laugh again. They rode on, heading back into the high country.

  The Kid came to Spur’s mind and he wondered what had happened to the boy. It looked like he’d have to look out for himself for a while. Spur wasn’t going back over that country again.

  They camped that night above the old cabin. Around midnight they stood to their arms when they heard a horse approach. They had their guns in their hands and were ready to shoot when Albert lumbered into camp. The ugly animal looked somewhat astonished when the men appeared to laugh and weep at the same time and threw their arms around his neck.

  Chapter Ten

  They had escaped momentarily from the sheriff, but they knew that they were not yet free of him. It was possible that he knew that the Cimarron Kid was in the vicinity and might be diverted from the two of them to hunt the boy. But that was no more than a possibility. The probability was that the posse would get themselves fresh horses and a good tracker and come after them.

  There was a long hard ride ahead of them and they knew it. The sooner they got on the move, the sooner it would be over. To this end, they rose while it was still dark, saddled their horses and moved out. They decided to travel as light as possible, so they dispensed with most of their camp equipment and retained only what they could carry on the saddle. Albert could become a saddle horse for the time being and both riders would change and change about so that the stock could be kept fresh. They headed west, keeping to the high country and travelling on rock wherever it was possible. They put in a lot of work during the morning to hide their tracks, trying to delay the men behind them. Meanwhile, they kept their eyes and ears open, knowing that there was very real danger for them in the hills. Tom Ball might well not have finished with them yet. Ben reckoned that once a man got his mind set on a horse like the red stud he would take a lot of shaking off.

  The stud himself behaved surprisingly well. Now that there was a rope on him he seemed to have remembered manners that he had learned long ago. Certainly, he took the saddle that Ben put on him without too much trouble. He put up a token fight, but it was no more than that. The main trouble they suffered was the fact that they had a stud and a mare in the outfit. The mating instincts of the stallion were strong and Jenny didn’t seem to object to them.

  They kept on the move all day, regularly changing the animals they rode and by night came to water in a valley. As soon as they hit this water, they almost travelled back on themselves, for, if the posse did come after them, it was their intention to circle around behind the law and then head south. New Mexico or Arizona might prove a healthier climate for two men on the run. It was slow and arduous work breasting the flow of the water, but they stuck to it for more than an hour, came out of the water on rock and headed on east, climbing under the light of the stars and getting among the canyons before they stopped. The horses might still be going strongly, but the men were bushed. Even so they slept only until dawn and then they pushed on again.

  It was some time now since they had eaten hot food or drank a cup of coffee and they felt the need for both, but they agreed that it wouldn’t be wise to light a fire as high up as they were. The smoke could have been sighted for miles around. They were now down to jerky, some dried beans and a couple of cans of tomatoes. They saw deer, but did not dare to shoot them for fear of shots being heard. They chewed jerky in the saddle and kept on the move.

  It was on the second day, that they sighted the Indian file of riders far below, tracing some of the track that they had left on soft soil. The two men halted and watched them, not able to see the riders clearly because of the vast distance, but pretty certain that it was the posse. They both agreed that Carmody was coming on faster than they had anticipated. However, he would be slowed down for a day or more after he came to the creek. It would take a good tracker some time to pick their sign up there. They stayed still until the file of riders had gone from sight, then moved on.

  In the meantime, Michael Carmody, sheriff, was not the only man searching for Spur and Ben in the mountains. Tom Ball, though considerably shaken by the treatment he had received at their hands, had returned to the scene of the attack after their departure.

  Not surprisingly, most of his companions, after the death of two of their number by shooting and the wounding of two more, felt their enthusiasm for the manhunt somewhat diminished. The only two who had remained loyal to Ball were the woman, Annie Coleman, and the half-Mexican, Mig Rawlins. With great caution, the three of them approached the camp on the hillside and learned what they could from the jumble of sign they found there. It was only after about an hour of searching that Mig, who was the tracker of the three, declared that Spur and Ben had followed the stallion north. Accordingly, they trailed after them.

  The three of them were nervous, for they had no idea what they were heading into. The half-breed Ute before he died had told Ball that the Cimarron Kid had lit out ahead of Ben and Spur. If the three men had reunited, they would form a formidable trio. What none of them dreamed of was that there was a sheriff’s posse in the country and that unless they had good luck with them, they well might be sighted by it. />
  They trailed the stallion through the hills and down onto the cattle range to the east. All three were now in country they knew well, for all of them had carried out more than one raid on the cattle pastured here.

  It was while they were crossing this range that they spotted the distant body of men moving in their direction. They quickly changed their course and took to some convenient timber. Ball scaled a tree and, with the use of his glasses, inspected the large body of horsemen as they rode past in a westerly direction.

  When he climbed down, he was frowning.

  They asked him what he had seen.

  “You know who that was?” he demanded. No, they said, they didn’t know. “That was Mike Carmody.”

  They talked about that. This was a long way from Carmody’s bailiwick. On the other hand, they knew that Carmody was after the Cimarron Kid and they knew the Kid was in this country. Carmody was up here to get the Kid. That being so and the Kid being with Spur and Ben, Carmody must be on their trail. They couldn’t do better, Ball thought, than to trail along.

  The other two didn’t like the sound of that much. It was asking for trouble. But Ball was adamant. They could do as they pleased, but he wasn’t letting up till he had thrown a leg over that red mustang. Reluctantly, they agreed to go along with him.

  They stayed in the trees for an hour or more to allow the posse to get ahead of them and then they started out. They rode easily, not wishing to come up with the men ahead yet and reached the hills before sunset. Mig went ahead and scouted the posse and came back to say that they were crossing the valley and looked like they were going to camp the night on the flat.

  Ball decided they would take to the hills. With the coming of daylight, they could look across the valley and see where the posse was headed.

  This they did. They made cold camp and with the dawn Ball was on a height with his glasses to his eyes. They were in for a longer wait than they had reckoned on, for the posse beat around the valley and the creek to the north of the spot where they had camped all morning. They reached the north bank of the creek and beat around there for an hour or more during the afternoon.

  Mig joined Ball on his height and said: “Spur and Ben circled and came up into the hills again. They either went north along the back of the hills or they came south.”

  Ball looked at him, getting the import of his words.

  “You mean…?”

  “Maybe they came right near here. Some time yesterday.”

  “Jesus,” Ball exclaimed. “If you could find their sign, Mig.”

  Mig said: “It’s a long shot. But I can try.”

  He saddled his horse and rode off into the hills. He didn’t return until the tail end of the afternoon. Both Ball and the woman knew from the expression on his face that he was elated.

  “Did you find it?” Ball demanded as Mig dismounted.

  The big man nodded.

  “I found the stallion’s sign. An unshod horse running with shod horses. Two men. They have to be Spur and Cuzie Ben.”

  That was like an omen to Ball. Like so many Western men, he was superstitious. Luck to him was a goddess who frowned or smiled on men as the whim took her. Now she was smiling. Maybe all the run of his luck would change.

  Annie said, tartly: “You look pretty pleased with yourself, Tom. But remember, that’s Spur and Ben with that fool horse. You could be dead soon as look at ’em.”

  “For God’s sake,” Ball cried. “What do you think I am? Do you think I haven’t ever fired a gun?” The three of them would make formidable opponents for the other two outlaws. Sure, Spur and the Negro were both good, but he was pretty famous for gunplay himself, Annie was a legend, Mig was far better than average. And they all had sand. If they couldn’t pull this off, nobody could.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  They mounted and followed Mig to where he had found the sign.

  As soon as Ball saw it, his elation increased. They would have no trouble at all in following it. Both men obviously had thought themselves fairly safe up here and had made no attempt to hide their trail. They followed along it at a fair pace for it was plain to read from the saddle. Now they came to droppings and Mig halted to dismount and test it with his fingers. They were, he declared, no more than a few hours ahead of them. They must be followed with some caution. The fact that the sign was so clear could be a danger in itself. Neither man was a tenderfoot at this game. It could mean that they had doubled back again on their tracks; it could also mean that one of them had stayed to watch the back trail and could be waiting in ambush. Frankly, Mig didn’t like the look of it much now he’d had time to think about it. The country they were going through was rough and broken. They could ride within fifty paces of a bushwhacker without spotting him.

  Ball chided him for his timidity, but he only did it to keep morale up, for he knew that Mig was right.

  Annie came up with an idea. Fan out she said. The country would allow that. Let them ride within sight and sound of each other, but let them split so they couldn’t be caught in a bunch. That sounded like a good idea and they scattered, leaving Mig in the middle.

  Several hours passed before they stopped to drink at water and to let the horses blow. Now Mig suggested that he go ahead and scout the land. In his opinion they were travelling considerably faster than the men ahead and might soon come up with them. Ball agreed to this and Mig went out ahead. Ball and the woman gave him a fair start then swung into the saddle and followed him. Once again, they did not ride together but left a hundred or so paces between them. This was to be their salvation.

  They stopped at a water hole. The water wasn’t good enough for men, but the horses and the mule consented to drink of it. Ben stood around kind of sniffing the air. He was uneasy and Spur was aware of his uneasiness.

  Ben said: “My water’s playin’ me up somethin’ terrible.”

  “What’s wrong?” Spur asked and wished he had the animal instinct for danger that was so strongly developed in the Negro. Ben always said it was having lived for so long with mustangs. He reckoned he had all the instincts of the wild ones.

  “How I know?” Ben growled. “Mebbe somebody on our tails.”

  “Couldn’t be the posse. There isn’t time for them to come up from the valley along our tail,” Spur told him.

  “Posse ain’t the only folk in the world.”

  “Go ahead,” Spur told him. “I’ll watch our back-trail for a while.”

  “I could do that, boy.”

  “Go ahead. You’re better with the stud than me.”

  “All right.”

  Ben stepped aboard his bay, picked up the lines of the mule and the stud and rode off. In a minute he was lost to sight. Spur led the mare down the trail a way and concealed her in a wild jumble of rocks and brush. Then he mounted the rocks above the water hole with his Spencer in his hands.

  After a while, he had a desire for tobacco, but he did not dare smoke. So he shoved a wad of the leaf into his cheek and chewed on it.

  He waited there an hour and there was no sign of approaching riders. He decided that he was wasting his time and that Ben’s water had played him false. He climbed down from the rocks and walked to the mare. When he had tightened cinches, he stepped into the saddle. He was swinging Jenny around, when the mare turned her head, switched her ears and whinnied softly.

  In a second, he was out of the saddle.

  He peered from cover, looking north over the water hole. At first he neither heard nor saw nothing.

  A horse trumpeted.

  Spur reckoned whoever it was had as much warning of him as he had of the other fellow. They’d both play it cautious from here on out.

  Carefully, he worked his way away from the mare. If she signaled to the other horse again, all well and good. She wouldn’t give his position away. Slowly, he crept in a wide circle around the water hole, using all the cover available. When he hunkered down behind a fair-sized boulder he heard the horse whinny on the far side of the water.
He smiled to himself. Maybe the man was of the same mind as himself and had left his animal. It was going to be a matter of wait and see and who could wait the longest.

  It seemed that he waited a long time before he heard any sound.

  When it did come it startled him with its unexpectedness.

  There was a swish and a slashing sound that he could identify, only as a quirt coming down briskly on a horse’s rump. Then he heard a horse squeal and the clatter of hoofs.

  The mare!

  He whirled, rifle ready.

  There was a glimpse of Jenny running off south. The sonovabitch had left him on foot. In that moment, Spur knew that he was up against a man as smart or smarter than he was.

  He thought.

  The answer was, of course, that if a man deprived you of your horse, you took his. And kept it. Crouched down he continued his circle of the water hole, keeping his eye on the rocks and brush in which Jenny had been hidden. In all the time he took, he saw no sign of anybody, heard nothing. It was uncanny.

  It took a lot of crawling, holding breath and peering out of cover, but at last he was in sight of the horse. A black gelding tied to some brush. Distance—thirty paces and that in the open. Spur doubted he could make it without being spotted. It now dawned on him that if he got on board that horse, the hidden man would knock him out of the saddle. So he had to stay still till he got a shot at the fellow. He found that he was starting to sweat. He began to suspect that that same other fellow was setting the pace. The thought was a little unnerving.

  There was dead silence for some fifteen minutes, minutes that dragged like an eternity, minutes in which Spur began to suspect that he would suddenly be shot from behind. Constantly, he found himself peering this way and that, wondering where the hell the fellow was.

  When the shot came, it was so close that he knew if he hadn’t moved an inch before it came, he would have been dead with a bullet in the head.

  Shifting his position hastily, he took a look around to see if he could sight the gunsmoke. He could see nothing. He started to swear gently to himself. It was as though the other man were using magic.