It was tough going, but they reached the first bend, looked back and found that they were still undiscovered. They ploughed on, breasting the powerful current, the horses leaning into it.
Beside Spur, Pagley lifted his voice above the roar of the water. “Now we have one small chance.”
In the next hour, they traveled no more than a half-mile and all the time the four riders were looking up expecting to see a painted face looking down from above. The horses were starting to flounder when Jane stopped and pointed. Here the stream opened out and the high walls fell away. To their right stretched an almost flat tableland of rock. They turned their horses toward it and before they had gone a dozen yards, they were in deep water and were swimming. Spur and Pagley slipped from the saddle and hung on to their animal’s tails. The two girls followed suit.
Within a few minutes, the horses were scrambling ashore and shaking themselves like giant dogs. The two men and the girls wrung water from what was left of their clothing.
“Now where?” Pagley asked.
Jane said: “This rock leads to another stream that goes almost directly north. A mile upstream there’s a fork that goes east.”
“Sounds good to me,” Spur said.
Pagley agreed and they mounted. Spur looked at the Grimes girl and told her: “We’ll have you with your ma before you know it, honey.”
The girl smiled shyly.
That’s better. Spur thought. She’ll get more human the further we get away from the Kiowas, and he wished he felt as confident as he sounded.
They trotted across the rock. Spur looked at their back tracks and saw the faint chippings the iron shoes of the dun were making and knew that if the Kiowas had a tracker worth his salt he would be able to follow them. It wouldn’t take them long to smell a rat back there at the ford. When tracks finished at a stream it meant that their makers had gone either up or down stream. By now the Indians had split up and were riding the stream either way. He glanced back apprehensively, but saw no sign of their being followed.
By an hour before nightfall they had followed the second stream, found the fork and turned east. By now the horses were ready to drop and the men and women were about the same. They debated whether to stop and rest themselves and the animals, but they all agreed that it was better to push on as far as they could in daylight.
Nightfall found them leaving the water and walking their tired beasts east. They pushed on one hour more and halted. They were on the edge of the hills. Their clothing was still damp and they felt wretched. They chewed on what little was left of the hard-tack and tried to sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
Spur came out of a deep sleep and did not know where he was. A hand came over his mouth and he went to strike at the man who held him.
Close to his ear a voice whispered: “Quiet.”
The hand came away from his mouth and he saw Pagley crouched over him in the moonlight.
“The whole Goddam place is full of coyotes talkin’,” the Delaware said. “They got feathers and paint on.”
Spur reached for his rifle and tried to gather his sleepy wits. He looked at the sky and knew that there was not more than an hour to go to dawn.
“They jump us at first light,’ he whispered.
“You bet. Keep your eyes skinned, I’m goin’ out there for a look around.”
“Don’t be a damned fool.”
Pagley grinned like a hungry wolf. “Like I said, there ain’t one of these prairie Indians born that can out-fox a good Delaware.” He patted Spur on the shoulder and flitted away in the moonlight. Spur rose to one knee and strained his eyes, but he lost him in a few seconds.
He was about to wake Jane, but he thought better of it. Let both the girls sleep unafraid while they could. There would be enough fear for all of them when daylight came.
It was the longest hour that he had ever spent. He crouched, shivering with cold, trying to catch any movement out there in the rocks and long grass. Near dawn, the dun whinnied softly. Spur moved.
First he woke Jane. She was wide awake at once. He put an arm around her shoulder.
“They’re all around us most like,” he whispered. “Take my rifle, I’m going to get the horses in.”
“Take care.”
“Sure.” He handed her the Henry and checked his belt-gun, then went to the dun. The black muzzle came into his hand. He stroked it, whispered something soothing and checked the other horses. They were all there, which was a relief. He brought them in and woke Sarah. The girl was remarkably steady when he told her that most probably there were Indians around them. He took the rifle back from Jane and the two girls got to work to saddle the dun and the Indian pony.
Suddenly, he became aware that he could see a fair distance. He turned and told the girls to get down and he had hardly spoken the words when there was a shot not a couple of hundred yards away, a piercing and blood-curdling scream and the shrill whistle of a horse. The earth shook under the punishment of pounding hoofs. Spur thought he saw a close-packed bunch of horses run across his line of vision, but he couldn’t be sure. Shouts came from all around. He swung the Henry this way and that, but could see nothing to shoot at.
A horse was coming this way. Out of the cold mist of dawn, a horseman charged.
He lifted the Henry and a voice reached him.
“Don’t shoot, you fool.”
The next moment, a horse crashed into camp and a triumphant Delaware slid from its back. The dun smelled Indian and kicked the pony in the ribs. All hell broke loose. Pagley let the Indian pony go and it scampered away.
Pagley was hugely excited.
“Did you hear the old Delaware yell?” he asked. “Reckon that put the fear of the devil into ’em. Now get on them horses and let’s ride. They don’t have a nag to their names.”
The four of them piled aboard.
“Me first,” Pagley ordered. “Then the girls. Spur’s rearguard, poor ole hoss.”
He gave that spine-chilling scream of a challenge again and kicked his pony in the ribs. As the animal jumped forward, a form rose from the grass and went down under the flying hoofs. Jane followed and Sarah came close behind her. Spur raked the dun and pounded after them.
There was no sound but the thunder of their hoofs. Figures seemed to come out of the ground without sound. Spur lifted the gun from leather and fired as a man grabbed for Sarah’s bridle. The dun stumbled into something that screamed.
Then they were clear, running out of the hills onto the plain. They ran for a while until Spur noticed that a feathered haft hung from the rump of Pagley’s bay that carried Sarah. They halted and Pagley plucked it out. “That’s the second he’s had,” the Indian said. They went on to the next ridge and, from its height, they looked back. Nothing moved on the plain between themselves and the hills.
Pagley chuckled. “They’re still chasin’ them horses,” he said. He set his Indian pony down the further side of the ridge and the others trailed after him. The horses hit a loping gait and kept it. Jane rode alongside Spur and reached over to touch his hand. “Will we make it?” she asked. He nodded and smiled. “We’ll make it.” “What’ll we do when we get back to civilization?” He grinned broadly. “Speaking for myself, I’m going to get married.”
“I had the same thing in mind. What next?” “In a year or two the Indians will be out of those hills. The buffalo are nearly all gone now. Land’ll be there for the asking and Pagley and me were thinking about raising horses.”
Her eyes shone. “What happens between now and then?” “I fill my notebook, sketch the things I’ve seen and sell my writing and sketches to raise cash for my new responsibilities.” He slowed her pace with a hand, giving Pagley and Sarah a glance to check that they were not looking. He and the girl leaned from the saddle and kissed. When they released each other, Jane said: “You clever devil - you can ride, shoot, draw and write, and kiss.” Spur laughed.
“Lucky you,” he said and they rode on happily side by side.
&
nbsp; SPUR 2: MAN IN THE SADDLE
By Cy James
First published by Panther Books in 1966
Copyright © 1966, 2014 by P. C. Watts
Published by Piccadilly Publishing at Smashwords: December 2014
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Mike Stotter
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with the Author
The Sam Spur Series
1: The Gun is My Brother
2: Man in the Saddle
Piccadilly Publishing
Piccadilly Publishing is the brainchild of long time Western fans and Amazon Kindle Number One bestselling Western writers Mike Stotter and David Whitehead (a.k.a. Ben Bridges). The company intends to bring back into 'e-print' some of the most popular and best-loved Western and action-adventure series fiction of the last forty years.
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