Gun (A Spur Western Book 8) Read online

  Spur said: ‘I’m goin’ to need friends here in town, too. There’s the gold and the prisoners.’

  ‘There’s men in town that can do that. There’re not so many that can ride a hard trail. Maybe the bandits lit out for Mexico.’

  By the time they reached the post-office, Ben was leading the saddled horses down the street. His own horse was a sturdy dun. The other animal was Spur’s lively little mare, Jenny, strawberry and pretty as a picture. But she was something more than a pretty face. She could run all day and still be ready for more. The Mexican who said: ‘Admire the tall and ride the small,’ was right.

  Behind, on a long lead line, came a gigantic mule with a rolling eye vicious enough to suit its nature. Albert, the big Kentucky who had terrified men and horses from his home state to the Pacific coast. He carried the supplies, as usual. And as usual, he showed his dislike of the menial task.

  Spur said: ‘Wait here. This won’t take no more than a minute.’ He walked down the street and they didn’t have to ask where he was going.

  The Kid said so only Ben could hear:

  ‘Foolin’ around women at a time like this!’

  Ben asked: ‘You know somethin’ better to fool around you tell me about it.’

  On the way down the street, Spur passed Inaki Cilveti riding and leading behind him another saddled horse and a pack animal. He was a Basque who worked Doolittle’s freighting business for him. A man cut off from the rest of the community because his English was non-existent and his Spanish very bad. He was a silent and loyal man.

  Spur reached Manuel Morales’ cantina and turned into it. The drama in the Anglos’ part of town hadn’t reached here. The guitar softly played, the horn sang its heart-rending tune, the small harp gave out its sadness. Manuel was behind the bar, polishing a glass. His fat face glistened with sweat, his large black mustache shone with oil. A steady man, Morales, good friend to Charlie Doolittle. He had helped Spur when Spur had been arrested for murder by the former sheriff, Wayne Gaylor. He didn’t approve of his daughter’s feelings for the United States marshal. Spur was promised to an Anglo girl and, even if he wasn’t, no good could come of a marriage of a nice Mexican girl with a gringo. It was not only a matter of religion, there was everything else that went with it. Just the same, he liked Spur.

  He looked over the bar with troubled eyes. When he spoke, he used Spanish.

  ‘Is this the place for you to be, friend,’ he asked, ‘at such a time?’ He referred to Netta’s expected arrival on the stage. It was a rebuke that Spur would not have taken from any other man.

  ‘There has been trouble,’ Spur said. ‘The stage was stopped, Chad was wounded and the girl taken.’

  Manuel’s eyes came open.

  ‘Por Dios,’ he said softly. ‘Who can have done this thing?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. I doubt it was your people. Ben saw it. They looked like Anglos to him.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘A few of us are going after them. I’d like a word with Juanita before I go, Manuel.’

  The Mexican shrugged reluctantly.

  ‘You will find her in the patio.’ As Spur turned away, he added: ‘Remember, she is my daughter, Sam.’

  Spur said: ‘I’m not likely to forget it.’

  He walked around the end of the bar and found the girl sitting in the comparative cool of the patio. She was on the small well wall, under the tree. No more than a fragrant shadow.

  He didn’t go near her.

  ‘Juanita,’ he said, ‘I’m riding.’

  He told her what had happened. When he finished, she stood up and came close to him, laying two small hands on his arm.

  ‘There’s much danger,’ she said. ‘Please be careful.’

  ‘There’ll be good men with me.’

  ‘I should hope that you do not find her,’ she said.

  ‘But you don’t.’

  ‘No, and I’m a fool.’

  He reached out and touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers.

  ‘Come into the light so that I can see you,’ he said. They walked together to a window and the light from the lamps inside the cantina fell softly on her face, picking out the dark depths of her eyes, the high cheekbones that attested to the presence of Indian blood, the full mouth and the neat firm chin. A woman of character in any race’s terms.

  ‘Can you stay a little?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘The men are waiting.’

  ‘Who’s going?’

  ‘Cusie Ben, the Kid, Charlie Doolittle and the Basque.’

  ‘They are good men. Except the Kid. I don’t trust that one.’

  ‘Who does?’ Spur said and laughed.

  ‘One day,’ she told him, ‘you’ll be mine.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said.

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth.

  ‘Vaya con Dios,’ she said.

  ‘See you,’ he said in English and turned away. He walked back through the cantina without speaking to Manuel, but the Mexican called after him—‘Luck.’ Spur raised his hand and smiled.

  The others were ready and waiting outside the post-office. Depressed, Spur stepped into the saddle. As they rode down the street, men called out to them. Pretty soon they were out on the trail, riding through the pale moonlight, wondering what lay ahead of them, if they would all return to Sunset alive, which of them would be draped across his saddle under a paulin.

  Chapter Four

  George Maddox stood on the ridge above the cabin and listened to the breeze whispering through the willows, softly ruffling the water of the pool. The moon hung cold and serene in the deep distance of the sky.

  Maddox thought about the girl down in the cabin and the thought of her made him sweat. Women didn’t often have that effect on him, but even in the short time he had known her, this one had gotten under his skin. He cursed the weakness, but would not have been without it for the world. For he was a world-weary man and suddenly she made him feel as if he was alive.

  When they had gotten her back to the cabin, they had learned who she was and that had been a shock to them. Maddox knew that Spur was down in Sunset and he knew that the United States Deputy marshal would come looking for him for making a try for the gold. Stopping a stage carrying that kind of cargo was a federal offense. Spur would be loaded for bear.

  By now he would know that they held the girl. There would be no holding him. This was something more than official—it was profoundly personal.

  So Maddox had a fight on his hands, a fight that would call for as much guile as guts. Spur was an Indian and that damned nigger who sided him was a killer. He remembered how Cusie Ben had shot their asses off and driven away the stage from under their noses. Maddox didn’t like Negroes at the best of times, but ones that shot up whitemen were pure poison.

  They had hidden their tracks here as best they could, but Ben would find them if they stayed where they were at now. So they had to move. They had to place the girl somewhere that neither Spur nor Ben would suspect. She could be their ticket to safety.

  Get her across the Border?

  Maddox considered that one carefully. It was the obvious answer. But he knew that would stop neither man. They wouldn’t let an invisible line deter them. He rejected it.

  It was no good to him because he was not hanging around Sunset just for the gold. He was there because Wayne Gaylor was in jail. And the ex-sheriff was his man. A man in Maddox’s position survived on reputation. Let men on the wrong side of the law even suspect that he would fail them when they needed him and he had lost one of his strongest assets. Maddox wasn’t just a breaker of laws and a killer of men—he was a professional. He was an institution. The men who rode the owl-hoot trail trusted him. He looked out for his own. The men who rode the ridges and came down on the flat under cover of dark were all waiting for him to spring Gaylor. They were betting on it. Spur versus Maddox—it would be a close thing.

  He started down the ridge, thinking.
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br />   At the base of the ridge, he stopped abruptly.

  By God, he had it.

  There was only one place where Spur wouldn’t think to look for the girl. And that was in town.

  He smiled to himself. The whole idea appealed to him. It was a good scheme and it would entail thumbing his nose at Spur. When the country heard about it, Spur would be eternally shamed by the laughter.

  Yet, while he admired the cool logic of the idea, he didn’t deny to himself that it presented real problems to carry out, That damned Cusie Ben would trail them from here into town.

  How could he counter Ben’s skill?

  A name came immediately to mind—Billy Colorado. A drunken Apache you couldn’t trust further than you could kick him, but, when sober, a superlative tracker.

  His mind made up, he started toward the cabin at a fast walk. As he neared the solitary stone building, he heard Burt Simons sing out: ‘Hold it right there.’ That pleased him. It showed him the boys were on their toes and he liked efficiency. He should have been a businessman, he thought.

  ‘Maddox,’ he called.

  ‘Come ahead.’

  Simons was to one side of the cabin, rifle in hand. Maddox asked: ‘Holy inside?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Holy Madder came out when Maddox called. This was no free and easy, democratic band of men like so many that were composed of outlaws, every man obeying his own whim. Maddox dominated here. He was the president of this corporation that was run for profit. Every man there, Maddox promised them, would retire rich—if they lived long enough.

  Holy Madder was a small crimped up man with bowlegs, coming to his middle years, not too wholesome to look at and with a deep hatred of washing, either himself or his clothes. The result was that the more fastidious of his fellows shunned him. He was a cunning, quick-moving man; a first-rate horseman, light enough to be a jockey. In fact, when the gang bet on any of their horses in a race they invariably used him as their rider. He was a religious man and regarded his vendetta against the law as something of a holy crusade. He could recite long passages from the Bible by heart. He was a great one for saying good words over fallen comrades. The others held him in some awe.

  ‘Holy,’ Maddox said, ‘you know Billy Colorado’s jackal?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I want him here fast. You do it without bein’ seen. Hear? Can you get him back here by dawn?’

  ‘Mebbe,’ the little man said. ‘It’ll sure take some ridin’.’

  The little man fetched his rope from the cabin and headed for the corral. A short while after, Maddox listened to the drumming of hoofs fading away into the distance. If anybody could bring that Indian back here in time, it was Madder.

  Maddox walked into the cabin.

  The lighted lamp stood on the table, high-lighting the sun-and wind-burned faces of the three men playing cards—Rule Makin, Martie Bell, Clem Dokes. All different, all with their own skills. One could steal a horse from under a man’s nose, another could blow a safe, a third could cheat at cards so an expert wouldn’t know. They all shared a skill with firearms. They were all professionals who didn’t allow sentiment to come between them and profit. They were all welded powerfully together with the discipline of the band and their reliance on each other. Every man had been proven and knew that he had been.

  They looked up at him. Their faces were expressionless.

  He turned his head and looked at the girl. He had wanted to do that ever since he had walked out of here an hour back. The necessity to do so disturbed him.

  She met his gaze.

  His voice was harsh when he said: ‘Come outside. I want to talk with you.’

  ‘You forget,’ she said, ‘I’m tied.’

  The three men laid their gaze on him. They made no comment, but they were thinking. Martie Bell’s heavy jaw moved rhythmically in the chew.

  Maddox approached her. She was tied hand and foot. Around her waist was a rope that held her to the bunk. He untied the rope around her waist and then knelt to untie the bonds that bound her ankles. The queer sensation that he was kneeling humbly before her came over him.

  ‘Stand up.’

  She threw her legs over the side of the bunk and gained her feet. The rope had restricted the circulation to her feet and they failed her. With a soft moan she fell forward and involuntarily his hands came out to catch her.

  The three men didn’t take their gaze from them.

  ‘Walk,’ he said. ‘You’ll make out.’

  With his powerful arm holding her upright, but with her being forced to lean her weight against him, she reached the door. He half-carried her across the threshold.

  Outside, Maddox walked her a dozen yards, out of earshot of the men in the cabin and Burt Simons who was now out of sight.

  Maddox released her and she stood uncertainly, holding back the vocal expression of her pain. It was so great that it swamped her anxiety for her safety, her fear of this man.

  She feared him because he was beyond her comprehension. His character dominated all who came near him. He was intelligent, he had the ability to express himself in words with far more skill than any of the men with whom he associated. Unlike them, he possessed imagination and the ability to look ahead. He would have been a leader of men in any circumstances.

  ‘I’m going to lay my cards on the table,’ he said. ‘Face up. There’re times when lies serve a purpose. But I reckon they’ll serve no purpose now. So we tell the truth. I put my case and we do a deal.’

  She said: ‘I don’t do any deals while I’m a prisoner. I don’t talk at all while my hands are tied.’

  He found something to amuse him in this. He smiled. He reached out and started to untie her hands. As he worked at the rawhide rope, he spoke in a voice that seemed to caress her.

  ‘You’re a beautiful woman,’ he said. ‘You think that’s a weapon and you’re right. But it’s only a weapon to a certain extent. I have a certain status with the others. If you try to escape I’ll kill you as quick as I would anybody else. Do you have any doubts about that?’

  ‘None,’ she said. ‘I think you’d kill your own mother for a dollar profit.’

  ‘You’re mistaken. I do nothing except for a high profit or for amusement.’

  The rope fell away from her wrists. She drew in her breath as the pain came again. She rubbed her wrists. He watched her face.

  ‘You want to do a deal,’ she said. ‘Go ahead. Start dickering.’

  He felt some admiration for her, not for the first time. He knew her background, the fact that she was Spur’s girl and on her way to marry him. He knew that she had controlled an extensive cattle-range on the Cimarron Strip. And she hadn’t just been a profit-taking decoration in the ranch house. This girl had been a working cowman. She knew her business. She had kept her range clear of outlaws and thieving Indians. She had character and she had guts. She was a businesswoman and she could look out for herself.

  ‘Only the truth,’ he said.

  ‘Agreed.’

  Now he hesitated. A sudden reluctance to reveal his weakness overcame him. If the others could hear him now, he’d be finished.

  ‘You’re my prisoner,’ he said. ‘I can kill you or keep you. You agree that?’

  ‘You have another choice.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You can free me.’

  He thought about that, his head on one side, smiling faintly.

  ‘That’s out,’ he said. ‘There’s no profit in that.’

  She said: ‘There could be loss in the other alternatives. Spur will be on your trail by now. He’s killed worse snakes than you.’

  ‘One of the reasons why freeing you’s out. You’re my passport to safety. If Spur can come up with us, which isn’t certain, he can’t lift a finger without you being killed.’

  ‘If he catches up with you and you kill me, what have you to gain then. He kills you.’

  ‘That’s not certain. We’re all fighting men here and Spur would have to
have a pretty efficient posse to take us. Have you ever come on an efficient cow-country posse?’

  ‘Spur never worked with a posse in his life. He doesn’t need one.’

  ‘But if Spur comes, he could get killed. Do you want Spur killed? The truth now.’

  ‘I don’t want him killed.’

  ‘So I keep you or kill you.’

  ‘Which do you favor? The truth now.’

  ‘Keep you. To kill you would be a waste of a beautiful woman.’

  ‘So beauty is some sort of a weapon.’

  ‘I admitted that at the start. You’d best use it to your advantage. You’re going to need it.’

  ‘Which leads you to your first offer.’

  ‘Right. You can stay alive if you ride south of the Border with me.’

  ‘You know that’s out.’

  He said: ‘I don’t know it. Neither do you. You’re an intelligent girl. There’s no fate worse than death. Better to be fallen and alive than dead and virtuous.’

  ‘Could you live with a woman who hates you?’

  ‘You’re talking to me now as if I was an ordinary man.’

  ‘All men’re ordinary when it comes to a woman.’

  He walked away a few paces and came back to her.

  ‘Hear the whole proposition before you reject it. I can offer you a good life. I can build a small kingdom south of the Border. I can settle twenty thousand dollars on you. You’ll never want again.’

  ‘I’ve never wanted yet,’ she said.

  He speculated. Thought over his next sentence carefully and said: ‘If you come with me, both you and Spur can stay alive. That’s a generous offer.’

  ‘You can only guarantee ray death,’ she said. ‘Not Spur’s.’

  ‘You’re wrong. We have a rifleman that could kill Spur safely from cover. He could be dead before noon tomorrow.’

  ‘In that case,’ she said coolly, ‘you don’t need me.’

  His patience was starting to go. He drew in a deep breath and got a grip on himself.

  ‘You’re a hostage not only for Spur,’ he said. ‘There’s a prisoner in Sunset I want free.’

  ‘And there’s the gold you tried to take from the stage.’