The Cimarron Kid (A Sam Spur Western Book 5)

by Matt Chisholm

  He dozed a little, then he woke fully and checked his watch. It was nearly time. The excitement rose in him and he suppressed it. Now was the time to be cool.

  He climbed the corral gate and walked to the sheriff’s office. When he went in the sheriff was getting ready for bed. Two cots stood along the walls of the office. Carmody had just taken off his gun belt. He looked at Ben and demanded: “What the hell do you want?”

  Ben shuffled his feet and crouched, fawning.

  “De ole genicular,” he said. “De ole genleman.”

  “What old gentleman for Crissake?”

  “Mah boss, mister Sheriff, suh.”

  “What about him?”

  “He scared, he plumb scared, suh.”

  “What’s he scared about?”

  Ben shuffled a bit more, distressed at having to talk to white folk.

  “Dis man, suh.”

  “What man?” The sheriff was getting mad.

  “Dis fella, he say he want boss an’ de boss he scared.”

  “For God’s sake, boy, what’re you tryin’ to tell me?”

  “De boss say for me to tell you dis man’s name.”

  “Tell me then.”

  “Tom Ball.”

  The sheriff’s eyes opened wide—

  “What?” In that second Ben knew he’d played the wrong card. Recognition was coming into the sheriff’s eyes.

  Hastily Ben said: “De boss he say for me to give yo’ dis.” He reached inside his shirt.

  “I know where I saw you before,” the sheriff cried. “My God, you’re—” He didn’t get any further and he didn’t get his gun from leather even though his fingers touched the butt. Ben had reached inside his shirt and drawn his gun. The deputies were on their feet, hands going for their guns.

  Ben snapped: “Hold it.”

  They froze. It had just come to them who Ben was.

  Ben inwardly cursed. Everything had gone wrong. The order of action was to get the sheriff to the livery and knock him out. Then fire the livery and take the guard to the rear of the building. Only after that would the office itself be attacked and Spur released.

  But he had to go ahead. There was no drawing back now. He looked at the three men under the eye of his gun. They were ready to jump him at the slightest chance.

  “Get into the cell block,” he ordered.

  The sheriff backed up a pace, afraid of the gun and the man behind it. But he made his try just the same.

  “Put down that fool gun,” he said. “You don’t stand a chance, Ben. Spur’s too well guarded.”

  Ben said, the sweat running down his face: “Spur don’t want no killin’, Carmody. But me, I like killin’. I wanta kill you. So you remember that an’ back up.

  He thought: If there’s a man in there with a gun, these three will be between him and me.

  He said to one of the deputies: “Open that door behind you. Do it nice an’ easy.”

  The man obeyed.

  Ben said: “Turn around.” They turned. He went quickly from one to the other lifting their guns from their holsters and skidding them across the floor.

  From inside the cell block came a man’s voice: “What’s goin’ on out there?”

  Ben called back: “I got the sheriff and these two covered. Throw down your gun or they get it.”

  The man yelled: “What do I do, Mr. Carmody?”

  “Throw down your gun,” Carmody ordered.

  It clattered to the ground. Ben ordered the men to walk forward. They crowded through the doorway.

  When they halted, he demanded: “Where’re the keys?”

  Carmody said: “They’re back in the office.”

  Ben swore. He was doing this all wrong. He called out: “You there, Sam?” He was surprised to hear Spur’s voice fresh and strong: “Here, Ben.” He looked past his prisoners and saw Spur standing at the bars of his cell. “I’ll get this rifle.” Spur reached down and picked up the guard’s rifle. He levered it and leveled it at the deputies.

  Ben ordered Carmody back into the office. The man obeyed and came back into the office. He reached the keys down from a hook on the wall. Ben ordered him into the cell block again and to release Spur. Carmody looked sick.

  Just then Ben heard the cry of “Fire”. The Kid was started. At that moment, Ben could have wished they’d planned it differently. They didn’t need the fire now.

  There was a pounding of feet around the office and a man yelling “Fire” came along the sidewalk. The street door burst open and a man came in. Ben guessed it was the guard from the rear of the building.

  He stood for a moment, hesitating, taking the lamp-lit scene in. His eyes fell on Ben’s gun. In an instant, he raised the rifle he carried.

  Ben didn’t waste time.

  He cocked his gun and fired. The heavy weapon boomed deafeningly in the confined space. The man’s right leg seemed to go from under him and he fell against the office wall. Ben heard a movement at his side and turned too late. There was a rattle and crash as Carmody hit him with the heavy bunch of keys. He stumbled back against the desk. Carmody went after his gun. Ben hurled himself away from the desk and kicked out. His toe caught Carmody under the ribs and lifted him with a crash into the wall. The building shook. A gun was fired in the cell block. A man cried out. Ben hit Carmody hard with the barrel of his gun.

  He didn’t hang around. He jumped for the door of the cellblock, nerves tensed to shoot.

  “Don’t shoot,” a man cried out.

  “You got ’em, Sam?” Ben asked.

  “Sure,” Spur replied, “bring the keys.”

  Ben went back and fetched the keys. He herded the men down the far end of the block and started trying to find the right key for the lock. He thought he would never get to it. As he searched for it, Spur would occasionally murmur to the men he was covering, knowing that they would try anything to stop him getting away. They could hear Carmody groaning in the office.

  Suddenly, Ben thought in a panic:

  “The office door’s unlocked. Anybody can come in. They must have heard the shot. They must come soon.” The sweat dripped from his face to his hands.

  He found the right key. It turned in the lock. The door clanged open and Spur stepped out.

  Ben started herding the men into the cell. He got them in and slammed the door. Carmody ... He jumped for the office. The door to the street flew open. A man came in. Ben was about to fire when he saw that it was the Kid.

  He jerked his chin at Carmody and snapped: “Git him in the cells.”

  The Kid crossed the room, gripped Carmody by the collar and started dragging him across the office. As he went into the cell block, the Kid said: “Howdy, Spur.”

  Ben heard the cell door open and clang to again. The keys were turned. He watched the door to the street. He could see the red light of fire through the windows now. Men were running along the street.

  He locked the street door and hurried to the cell block. All the lawmen were locked in their cell. Ben went to the rear door. It was locked. He put the muzzle of his gun against the lock and fired. That didn’t do the trick, so he gave it another one. The door opened.

  “Horses there?” he demanded of the Kid.

  “Sure.”

  Ben went first, peering this way and that. Nobody about. Spur followed him out, the rifle in his hands. Then came the Kid who hurled the keys out into the night in a high arc over the building between the jail and the livery corral.

  Ben led the way at a fast walk, along the wall of the corral. The Kid hurried back and opened the corral gate. They heard him firing shots to scare the horses. The less horses about the better. They also heard a burst of firing from across the street and knew that somebody was trying for the Kid. He joined them panting from his run a moment later. They crossed a back lot and came to some brush. There beyond the brush were the horses. The mare whinnied a joyous greeting to Spur.

  Ben said: “How you feel boy? Kin you ride?”

  “Sure,” said Spur.r />
  “Let’s go, then.”

  They stepped into the saddle, turned the horses and rode off into the night. The last thing they heard was the men in the cell yelling to be let out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Michael Carmody came around to find himself a prisoner in his own cell. He felt as if his head had been split from a kick by a mule and he started vomiting. He had never felt so wretched, defeated and enraged in all his life. When he had recovered himself a little, he demanded that his deputies get him out of there. They didn’t know anything to do but yell so they yelled. Finally, they heard somebody breaking down the street door.

  “Jesus, the damage,” Carmody complained sickly. “The Goddam rear door’s open.”

  A half-dozen men found them there.

  “Get us outa here,” Carmody demanded. They said they’d like to, but where was the key. That beat Carmody. He started yelling in fury. Finally, they fetched a blacksmith and he sawed through the bars. More damage, Carmody raged. He demanded that the doctor be sent for. The young medico came and seemed to enjoy Carmody’s position which didn’t help the sheriff’s rage much. But he patched up the head and hoped that the blow had knocked some sense into it and the charge would be one dollar. Carmody paid, cursing. The medico went. Carmody started shouting that the fugitives must be pursued. Hunted down. The posse must shoot to kill. He wanted that trash wiped out once and for all. Somebody asked which direction they must ride in and the sheriff couldn’t answer that. He was maddened by the frustration of having to wait for dawn so that the sign could be followed. He took a drink and then another. The whisky helped for a little and then it gave him a headache. He lay down on his cot, ordering his deputies to get a posse organized. He wanted to weep.

  By dawn a disgruntled posse was organized. Men didn’t like having their sleep broken and they had been up half the night with the damned fire. They gathered in front of the sheriff’s office and the mayor came out and spoke a few words to them, telling them that it was a fine thing that there were men like them who knew their duty and . . .

  Carmody came out of his office, flanked by his deputies. He looked like a man should look after a gun barrel has been bent over his head. It was then discovered that nobody knew in which direction they had to ride. The approaches to the town were searched by men who claimed they were skilled trackers, but there was such a profusion of sign around the town that nobody knew which was important. This way two or three hours passed and Carmody grew madder and madder.

  It was then decided that the posse should split up and ride out over the surrounding country to see if anybody had sighted the fugitives. Each rider was to return by nightfall. Twenty good men and true, spurred out in all directions to ask questions and they were all back by nightfall. Only one man brought any news of interest. Over a drink, he told the sheriff how he had questioned a Basque sheepherder on the hills. The man had been able to speak little English, but the posse man thought he said he’d seen three men riding in a northerly direction. He could have been mistaken, but he thought also that the man had said that one of the men was a Negro.

  That was good enough for Carmody. He gave orders that everybody was to get a few hours sleep. He would lead the posse out in the direction indicated by the posse man two hours before dawn. That would mean they were in a position to pick up sign at the first appearance of daylight. Accordingly, every man repaired to his bed. Two hours before dawn Carmody was on the street bellowing for the posse. The whole town must have heard him, but no more than a dozen men answered the summons. Carmody decided that would have to be enough and started out. As he had planned they were up in the sheep country at first light and several men started to cast about for sign. They didn’t find what they wanted until noon —the sign of four animals. Those who knew claimed that it showed that three men on horses with a mule being led had passed that way.

  Carmody, whose head was feeling a mite better, cheered up a little. He led the way along the plain tracks the runaways had left. As he rode, he grew more cheerful. Spur and his two friends were travelling fast, they wouldn’t have time to hide their tracks. They were scared and frightened men didn’t stop to hide tracks. The posse hit a hard clip and held it, holding it until nightfall. Carmody retired to his blankets a hopeful man. He saw himself taking not only Spur again, but also Cuzie Ben and the Cimarron Kid. What a haul! Yes, he could see his name in the newspapers yet.

  The following morning, he staggered sour from his bed and shouted for men to get saddled up. They weren’t going to waste any time.

  Disgruntled posse men gobbled down a cold breakfast washed down by creek water and saddled up. They waded their horses through the creek and found that the sign didn’t continue on the far side of the water.

  Carmody raged, but it didn’t help.

  The fugitives had either gone up or down the stream. Carmody was tempted to gamble that they had gone upstream into the hills, but he couldn’t be sure if Spur and company would try bluff or double bluff and he didn’t know what to do. So he did the only thing he could do, he sent men up and downstream to search and stayed where he was to await results.

  The waiting was terrible for him. He waited the whole day, smoking and seething. The posse dribbled back in ones and twos after dark to report that they had found nothing. Spur and his two friends had disappeared into thin air.

  Carmody shouted and cursed, but it didn’t alter the result.

  The posse lighted fires and cooked a meal. When offered food, the sheriff refused it, saying it would choke him. He decided he would look for sign in the morning. He made up his mind that Spur wouldn’t dare go downstream into the open country, not if he had any sense. No, he’d run for the hills. He would head for Nebraska or Utah.

  In the morning, he saddled his horse and rode it upstream with a few men. He took his time and didn’t hurry. He had calmed down and knew that he would have to keep his head up against the three men he was after.

  He carefully looked over the banks of the creek on either hand as he went, not looking for sign now, but for spots where sign wouldn’t be left. Every time he came to rock onto which a horse could step from the water, he went ashore and took a careful look around. He spent the time till noon thus, until the men with him were starting to lose patience. But Carmody was calm and determined now. His rage was spent and he knew that he was now at his most effective.

  In the middle of the afternoon, he came to a beach of shingle and here he waded ashore once more. Beyond it, to his joy, he found brush which had been crushed. Gingerly he made his way through it and there on the turf he found horse sign. He gave a great sigh of relief and knew that he had found what he wanted.

  He and his men fired shots to bring the rest of the posse up.

  From the start of the wild ride into the night, it had been Ben’s one fear that Spur wouldn’t be able to make the ride. He knew that his partner had made a good showing when they had broken him out. He knew too that Spur had playacted a little with Carmody that he was weaker than he really was. But just the same, a hard ride through the night was not the ideal cure for a man badly wounded by a gunshot.

  Spur stayed in the saddle till dawn, not saying much, but keeping up with the other two. When daylight came, however, Ben could see by the look of the man that there was not much more strength left in him.

  Ben thought: I gotta be smart. I gotta be smarter’n I ever was before.

  The Kid had been silent all the time they had been riding, maybe a little embarrassed in front of Spur after he had run out on him.

  Now, with the dawn, he spoke and said what was in Ben’s mind.

  “Spur ain’t goin’ to make it,” he said. “Nobody could, not that way.”

  Spur clung to his saddle horn, his face drawn with pain.

  “I’ll make it,” he said.

  Ben looked the animals over. They had run hard through the night, but they were good animals and there was a whole lot left in them yet. That was a comfort.

  The Kid said: �
��Ben, you have to go on with Sam.”

  Spur asked: “What about you?”

  “I’ll stay and play a little hell with Carmody.”

  Ben sneered: “You kinda changed your tune, didn’t you, Kid.”

  “Lay off him, Ben,” Spur said. “No, I reckon we stay together, Kid.”

  The Kid said: “You ain’t my boss. I do as I like.”

  There wasn’t anything to say to that.

  “Leave us try it my way first,” Ben said.

  “What’s on your mind?” Spur asked.

  “There’s a creek yonder,” said Ben. “We start there.”

  They trotted their horses down to the creek and Ben led the way upstream along it. The horses stumbled a little on the bottom, but they kept going. They travelled thus for some hours with Ben carefully inspecting the banks on either side as they went. Finally, he halted and said: “This is far enough, I reckon.”

  He now told them to get down into the shallows and to wait there till he returned. Obediently, Spur and the Kid dismounted. Ben gathered up the lines of the three animals and led them onto the shingle beach to the right of the stream. In a moment, he disappeared into the brush beyond. He didn’t return for some time. When he did, it was a hundred paces upstream. They waded through the shallows to him and he told them to get mounted.

  They went on upstream for another thirty minutes and then Ben spotted what he wanted. Rocks to the left of the stream. They dismounted in the shallows and led their animals through the rocks. They fought their way through thick brush and mounted again. After that they steadily climbed all day, using what cover there was in case there should be sharp eyes in the hills. By night, they were deep in the mountains and they were feeling the cold. After some deliberation, Ben declared that it would be safe to light a fire for a while. They’d have some warmth for Spur and they’d enjoy some hot coffee. The thought of that cheered them all. They put the horses out on grass. They would have liked to keep them close, but the animals had to eat if they were going to keep up their strength. Then they sat around the fire and drank coffee and ate beans and bacon. They all felt better for it. None of them could remember when they had enjoyed a meal more.