The Cimarron Kid (A Sam Spur Western Book 5)

by Matt Chisholm

  “You’ll come when I say,” the sheriff said. “He’s a dangerous man and I’m holdin’ him incommunicado.”

  The doctor looked at him for a long time.

  Finally, he said: “That man won’t be dangerous for some weeks.”

  “You know who that is?” Carmody demanded. “That’s Sam Spur. He’s dangerous till he’s dead.”

  The doctor said tersely: “That’s your problem.” He turned and walked out. Carmody pursed his lips. The doctor made him want to puke. He treated criminals as if they were human.

  The deputies came out of the cells and Burt said: “Spur ain’t goin’ no place.”

  Carmody gave him the slip of paper and said: “See this goes off now, Burt.” The deputy took it and walked out. Carmody walked into the cells and looked through the bars at the still form of the outlaw lying on the cot.

  “You awake, Spur?”

  The man on the cot lifted his head and didn’t say anything.

  Carmody said: “You ain’t goin’ to get away, so don’t think you are. Just let your friends try an’ bust you out of this one. I’ve got a reception committee ready for them. The marshals’ll be comin’ for you pretty soon. They’ll take you away, you get tried an’ then you hang. Hangin’ scum like you is my life’s work. I got a lot of pride in it. When you hang it’ll be like a birthday for me. I’ll feel real good.”

  Spur laid down his head. Still he didn’t say anything. The sheriff stood at the bars talking at him, but he didn’t get any reply. He goaded the still figure on the bed, but there was no response. Finally, he tired and walked back into the office. He had another drink.

  Ben and the Kid rode, Ben refusing to concede that he was injured. They rode for two days, seldom resting and in that time Ben revealed himself to the Kid as the master of concealment. He at first led the way for several hours at a hard pace so that he could gain the time to do what he wanted. Then he went almost back on himself, crossed and re-crossed their trail, narrowly missed the pursuing posse on two occasions and ended by sending them into complete confusion. He lost their sign in water and on rock and in all that time he gave no indication that it was their intention to go back toward the town.

  Finally, he was satisfied that he had lost the posse completely. Time was short now and they must hurry. Ben had had time to think while in the saddle and he had reckoned that, as Spur was wanted for a federal offence, he would not remain long in Arkhold’s jail. Pretty soon the federals would be coming for him. And in Ben’s opinion federal marshals were professionals. It wouldn’t be so easy getting Spur away from them. It wasn’t going to be easy to get him away from Carmody, but a man could get himself killed dead messing with the marshals. So their chances of getting Spur out was limited to days—and not many of those.

  Using the back-trails he came down on the main trail into town from the southeast at night under a starless sky. The Kid rode silently beside him. There had been a great change in the boy in the last few days. At least Ben thought so. The sullen look seemed to have gone from his face. He looked even younger. He didn’t know what was going on in that sleek black head. Of one thing, the Negro was convinced—the Kid was determined to go through with what they had intended.

  As soon as they glimpsed the lights of the town, Ben pulled off the road. They tied the mare and the stud, keeping them well apart. Ben stripped the mule of its gear and built a rope hackamore. Albert kicked a couple of times as a token protest but didn’t give any more trouble than that. He took off his gun belt and hat. The gun he thrust under his belt inside his shirt. He chuckled to himself and said: “Now I jest a po’ ole nigger man. Call me Rastus.”

  “Rastus,” said the Kid obligingly. He pulled off his boots and pulled on a pair of Ute moccasins from his saddle pockets. They had belonged to the cowhand he had taken the horse from and which he had abandoned back in the hills. Earlier Ben had collected berries in the hills and together they had crushed the juice from them. When this was applied to the Kid’s body it had turned it a fine coppery brown. In a poor light, he was a young Indian. All except for the hair. So Ben gave the Kid his battered hat with the crown knocked out of shape and the brim soaked in water and pulled down around his face. Having pulled off his shirt, the Kid put on his leather-vest. In a pocket was his little under-and-over two-shot derringer. In his belt, he left his knife. He unsaddled the bay and tied a blanket on its back with a length of rawhide. Removing the bridle and bit, he tied another length of rawhide around its lower jaw. The bay didn’t take kindly to that and the Kid hadn’t expected him to.

  Ben said: “We got tonight, boy. Keep outa trouble. Tomorrow night we have to move.”

  The Kid said coldly: “You think I ain’t done this before?”

  “You pull it off before?”

  “Killed two guards and got our man clean away.”

  Ben sucked in his breath.

  “No killin’,” he said.

  The Kid turned to him with astonishment.

  “No killin’? How the hell—?”

  Ben said: “Sam wouldn’t like it, I reckon.”

  “What the hell’s the matter with him?” the Kid demanded. “He soft or some-thin’?”

  “No,” Ben said gently. “He ain’t soft. He jest ain’t like you ‘n’ me, Kid. He jest weren’t made to be no outlaw. Leave us try hit the way Sam want it.”

  “Some bastard comes at me,” the Kid said, “an’ I drop him.”

  But he felt the plea in Ben’s voice.

  Ben said: “We kin do hit. We gotta.”

  The Kid was impatient.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  They mounted, Ben astride the mule without a saddle, feet dangling, the Kid on the blanketed bay. They rode down to the trail and turned along it toward town. On the edge of town, they halted and the Kid took a look at Ben. He almost burst out laughing. He had never thought to see the dangerous Cuzie Ben looking like a harmless old Negro naked feet dangling from the back of an ugly mule. Ben inspected the Kid and reckoned he would do in poor light.

  “I’ll work my way around west,” Ben said. “See you back at camp before dawn.”

  “See you,” said the Kid and rode into town.

  Ben reined the mule around and circled the town. He came to the creek and waded Albert through it. He was thankful that the truculent animal was behaving itself fairly well. He reached the back lots and passed through them, reached a side-street and the mule shuffled along through the dust. There were no more than a few people on the street and they paid little attention to the round-shouldered darkie on the mule. He tied up at an intersection on Main and walked out onto the street. He didn’t venture onto the sidewalk in case he should draw attention to himself, but kicked his way through the dust. He thought it pleasurable to be once more walking without boots. Reminded him of when he had been a kid down in Texas.

  He saw a lamp burning outside a building and headed for it. When he drew near he saw a legend that read SHERIFF. There was no guard outside. But he knew that didn’t mean there weren’t armed men inside. He shuffled up onto the sidewalk and peered through the dirty window. He saw Carmody sitting behind a desk. Another man sat beside an open door with a shotgun across his knees.

  “What you want, nigger?”

  Ben turned slowly.

  A man stood with one foot on the sidewalk. The lamplight glinted on the badge on his vest.

  Ben looked all humble and curled up and said: “Me? I don’ want nothin’, mistah, suh.”

  The man peered closer.

  “I ain’t seen you around town before.”

  “Me, suh? No, suh. I ain’t been aroun’. I jest got heah. I’se lookin’ fo’ wuk, suh.”

  Ben hoped he wasn’t overplaying it, but the deputy gave no sign that he thought Ben wasn’t behaving as a good nigger should.

  “You any good around hosses?” the man asked.

  “Sho’. I’se jes’ fine aroun’ hosses, suh. I look out fo’ a genleman’s hosses in old Virginia, suh.”
<
br />   “Hank Holsen needs a hand at the livery. Tell him Deputy Marsdon sent you.”

  “Sho,’ suh. Thank yuh, suh.” Ben bobbed and weaved with delight. He was enjoying himself.

  The man nodded and went into the office. Ben waited a moment, perceived an alleyway down the side of the office and jail building and slipped down it after he had looked the street over carefully.

  When he got to the bottom, he found that he was in a kind of yard almost surrounded by buildings. The building opposite the rear of the jail building had a door open and there was a maw of darkness beyond. Ben wondered…

  He started across the open space. At the other side of the yard was another opening. So there was a way in and a way out.

  “That’s far enough.”

  Ben nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned his head and saw a man standing in the previously empty doorway. He saw the dull glitter of a shotgun’s twin barrels.

  “What the hell do you want?” the man demanded.

  ‘I’se jes’ a po’ ole nigger man,” Ben said.

  “What’re you around here for?”

  “A genleman back dere by de office he done tole me ...” Ben suspected he was overdoing it. But could any white suspect a nigger of being more nigger than he was? “Why, suh, I’se lookin’ for de livery.”

  “It ain’t here,” said the man. The twin barrels which had been looking at Ben were turned away. “Get back on Main.”

  “Thank yo’, suh.” Ben practically curtsied. He turned and shuffled away, reached Main and turned left and paused, wondering whether it wouldn’t be a good idea to apply for a job at the livery. It appealed to his sense of humor, but would it help get Spur out of jail? He’d had a look at the rear of the jail; he knew a little more about the place than he did previously. But did he know enough. The door led through from the office straight into the cell block.

  He looked across the street—bank, milliner’s, general store, gunsmith, a saloon. There would be men with guns in the saloon. They could prove a danger. The answer was not to go out on Main when the ball started.

  He thought: the man out back had to be silenced. Were there any more around there that would need the same treatment? What time was that guard changed?

  He found the livery which had an extensive corral attached to it. An alleyway led along the corral wall and he walked along this. He came out to the rear of the sheriff’s office with a building between himself and the office. That would be the one in which the guard was stationed. The door was hidden from him by another building. He walked half around these two and was not challenged. He thought it safe to assume that there was no other guard there. He walked back to the street and leaned against the corral wall. Now he had to check the time of the guard being changed. He wondered where the Kid was.

  He climbed the corral wall and dropped down the further side. From here he could hear all that went on behind the sheriff’s office. The horses in the corral stirred a little at his unorthodox entrance, but he shushed them and they quieted down. Nobody had a way with horses like Ben.

  Thirty minutes passed before he heard a man tramp around the sheriff’s office. Two men exchanged words. A man walked away to the street. That was all Ben wanted.

  He had to know the exact time. He looked around. On the other side of the corral was a barn. By the barn was a small shack which he guessed was the office. He walked across the corral and took his watch from his pocket. The hands showed ten o’clock.

  The door of the office opened and an old man’s voice demanded testily: “Who is it?”

  Ben shuffled forward.

  “Hit me, suh.”

  The old man’s glasses glinted in the lamplight.

  “A nigger, by crackey,” exclaimed the old man. “What you doin’ snoopin’ around out here?”

  “Me?” Ben looked around as if the old man could have been addressing somebody else. “Well, suh, Ah … dere was dis genleman. He say … aw, he say—”

  “What gentleman and what did he say?” the old man demanded impatiently.

  “He was a mushel wid a star. He say dere was anothah genleman at de livery an’ dat genleman he want to hire a man good wid hosses.”

  “What’s that? What’s that? Good with horses? You good with horses boy?” Interest showed. The old man thought there might be some cheap labor in the offing. Ben could see him smelling the bargain.

  “Ah look out for a fine genleman hosses in old Virginia, suh,” said Ben. “Mighty fine hosses. I sho’ got a way wid hosses, suh.”

  “Twenty five cents a day,” said the old man.

  You thievin’ old bastard, Ben thought.

  “You pay ole Mose twenty cent,” he said in amazement.

  The old man made a choking noise as if he meant to say ten. He nodded several times as if he feared to speak or he would break the spell.

  “Ah sho’ like dat,” said Ben. “Twenty cent fo’ looking’ out fo’ hosses.” He felt himself stifling to death trying to prevent himself laughing.

  The old man slapped a bony thigh and said it was a bargain. Ben could sleep out in the corral, there was straw in the corner. Ben would have liked to demand the barn at least, but the corral would suit him fine. He made grateful noises and the old man told him when he yelled Mose was to come running. He didn’t tolerate laziness in niggers. No, sir. He went back into his office washing his hands together. Ben crossed the corral to the wall and lay down against it. He dozed lightly, ready to come to full wakefulness at the slightest sound. He heard the noises of the street die away. Some men in the saloon still kicked up quite a racket, but that was too far away to drown any sound from the rear of the sheriff’s office. At twelve midnight, the man outside the office was relieved. It looked like it was two on and four off. He dozed some more and woke again when the next relief came. This was at two o’clock. So far so good. They would do it at one in the morning. It wouldn’t give them much time to run for it before dawn, but it was the time when the town was quietest. Now he had to get back to the Kid. Then he had to somehow return to town and hold down the job the old man had given him.

  He slipped over the corral wall and went along Main. He passed nobody on the streets. The mule was tied where he’d left it. He mounted and rode out of town.

  When he got back to camp, there was nobody there. He waited a while then heard the sound of an approaching horse.

  He gave four hoots of an owl and got three back. It was the Kid.

  The boy rode in and slipped from the back of his horse. They squatted and exchanged information. Ben got the boy laughing when he told him about the part he had played. The Kid said he wanted an agreement to split Ben’s twenty cents with him. They talked for an hour, then Ben declared that it was time he got back to the corral, the old man might have missed him already. He thought it best to leave the mule and go in on foot. The Kid said he would take him so far. So they saddled and Ben rode the bay while the Kid rode the mare. On the outskirts of town and with the dawn not far off, Ben slipped from the saddle and walked into town. They had it all planned.

  It was growing light when he reached the corral and the old man was raising hell because he was missing. Ben went all humble and groveled before the fool. Having appeased him, he set to work, cleaning out the barn. The old man hovered, nagging him. Ben worked apparently with his eyes on the ground, but whenever the proprietor’s back was turned Ben was taking a good look around. When he was through the work, he lounged for a little on the gate of the corral, watching the town, sizing it up. The sheriff came along, saw him sitting there and asked who the hell he was, he hadn’t seen him around before. Ben ducked his head and crouched submissively. He weren’t nothing but an ole nigger man. He went through the whole routine again and, somewhat to his amazement, the sheriff was satisfied. This was a great relief to Ben, for the man had seen him at close quarters. But this was under very different circumstances. Being without a hat made some difference too. But before he departed, he turned Ben’s heart over by turning back to h
im and demanding: “Haven’t I seen you before some place?”

  He didn’t know, said Ben. The sheriff frowned and walked away. Ben breathed a little more easily. The old man yelled for him and he went back to catch up a horse for a customer. The day dragged on: he slept when he could get a few minutes free of the old man, for he was going to need all the rest he could get. Once they were in the saddle, it would be a matter of keeping going. He saw a man bring a message over from the telegraph office with his bag in his hand. He prayed that Spur would be strong enough to make the ride. No gain in getting Sam free if the ride were to kill him. Ben found that he was depressed and worried. No matter, he told himself, they had decided on the course they were to take and now they would have to take it. It was too late to cry off. As the day progressed, he found his tension growing. He knew that he would not be calm and in possession of himself till the time for action came. Then he would be all right. He hoped.

  The old man went off to supper, leaving Ben in charge. He took the opportunity to go into the barn to have a really detailed look around. The outside door to the barn was locked. He broke the lock and fixed it so that it looked like it was still in commission. When the fire started, he didn’t want any horses to die. Mostly horses meant more to Ben than humans. He had less trouble with them.

  The hours had never dragged more slowly. He watched the traffic on Main die down. The old man returned from supper and went to sleep in his office, feet on desk. Ben hoped the old fool would wake quick enough to save himself when the fire started. But an hour or so later the old fellow trundled over to the saloon to wet his whistle. He was gone several hours. He came back rather drunk and went to sleep in the office again. Ben licked his lips—he could have done with a drink himself. He wondered if the Kid had started on his part of the job yet. He found that he was restless and couldn’t keep still. He sat on the corral gate and watched the street.

  The town started to go to sleep. Only the saloon stayed awake. There were three men inside the sheriff’s office: Carmody and two deputies. There was still one man out back. Ben left his gate and took up a position by the corral wall so that he could hear all that went on behind the sheriff’s office. Now he started to have his doubts about arousing the town with fire and wondered if it wouldn’t have been a better idea to let it sleep. But it was too late to change the plans now. The Kid would have been busy with the coal-oil. He found a store of it at the rear of a store when he had checked the town the night before. Ben couldn’t help chuckling. Lil ole Carmody was sure going to regret taking Spur.