The Cimarron Kid (A Sam Spur Western Book 5) Page 4

  After they had progressed no more than a short distance and had taken a long time to do it, Ben, who was in the lead, indicated with a sign of his hand, that they might take to dry land.

  To the right of the stream there was a pebbled beach and beyond it, a great slab of rock. Spur saw that they could land without leaving a trace of their passing and could travel more than a couple of hundred paces into the stunted oaks that grew here without their leaving sign. He was travelling now with the water up to his waist and he was cold in the mountain water. He pulled his horses ashore and led them on to the rock. Ben followed.

  “This should do hit, I reckon,” Ben said.

  They headed for the timber and entered it. There was fair grass here and they put the animals on to it when they had hobbled them. By mutual agreement, they lit no fire. They simply ate cold chow as the dark dropped down on them and washed it down with water from their canteens. They then lolled back on their bedrolls and built smokes. When they had filled their lungs with smoke luxuriously, Ben said: “Hear that?”

  At first, Spur heard nothing, but after a few seconds had passed, he felt the earth shake slightly beneath him and then heard the soft thunder of hoofs. He knew that a band of wild horses were running up above him on the mountain.

  “Sure do seem a pity,” said Ben, “to leave all them wild ones to somebody else.”

  Spur agreed.

  They finished their smokes, killed them and got into their blankets. They would be on their way with first light.

  They both slept soundly and were awake before dawn, getting their gear together and catching up the horses. It was as they were tightening cinches that Ben cocked a head and said: “They’s runnin’ agin.”

  Spur listened and heard the sound of running horses. As the dawn came up, the thunder came closer. Their own horses raised their heads and whinnied. They were excited. So was Spur who could never help it when he got near the wild ones.

  The two men swung into the saddle and, as they did so, they saw the band of mustangs burst from the rocks above them. Something had spooked them and they were stretching out. In the lead, Spur saw, was a white mare, running with tail and mane streaming, her nostrils distended. Behind her came some eight or nine horses. Off to one side was the stallion.

  Both men got their eyes on him and held them there.

  “Lookut that,” Ben said softly, his voice full of admiration and wonder.

  Spur had never seen a wild one so big. As a breed they ran small and scrawny. This was no beauty, but he had build. Even at that distance he would have said at a guess that there was good bone and endless bottom there. The red stud reached out for the ground as if he loved to run.

  Jenny, his mare, jumped in excitement. Albert, the mule, started braying frantically.

  The mustangs swept by at a distance of no more than a couple of hundred paces. It was a breath-taking sight and both men were in that moment slaves to its beauty. Then they were gone, taking their dappling of color into the scrub oaks and thundering down the mountainside. Spur and the Negro stayed still for a moment, then Ben said, as if expressing Spur’s thoughts: “That stud would sure look good on thet mare, Sam.”

  Spur smiled.

  “Thinkin’ the same thing myself,” he said.

  They looked at each other, even the Kid was grinning. It was the first time Spur had seen him smile.

  Ben burst out laughing.

  “You’re crazy,” he said. “You’m crazy even to think of it.”

  Spur said: “It’s one hell of a waste, leaving him here. Why two minutes with Jenny an’ we’d have his seed.”

  The smile dropped from the Kid’s face. He saw they were in earnest. He didn’t like it one little bit.

  “Now, wait a minute,” he protested. “We’re on the run, remember?”

  “Tell you what,” said Ben “toss a coin.”

  Spur said: “Good idea.”

  He produced a coin from his pocket. Ben said: “Heads we git him, tails we light out.”

  “No,” said the Kid. “You must be out of your mind.”

  They didn’t pay him any heed. Spur tossed the coin. It landed and he turned it over on to the back of his hand. He raised his eyes to Ben’s, laughing.

  “Heads,” he said, “we catch him.”

  “For God’s sake,” said the Kid, really alarmed now.

  Ben said: “You ain’t scared, is you, Kid?”

  “Scared? Who says I’m scared. It just don’t make sense. Carmody could raise the hull country against us. It’s plumb crazy.”

  Spur said: “Not all that crazy. We follow down the sign of the broomtails. You’d have to have pretty sharp eyes to pick us out of that little lot.”

  The Kid protested vigorously for some time, but they rode on. Once he tried to turn back and Spur told him: sure go ahead, turn back. He was without a gun and pretty soon Carmody would come looking for him. He stood one hell of a chance. The Kid looked for a moment as if he would take the gamble, but he thought of his injured leg and his gunlessness and he turned back after them.

  They followed the mustangs clean through a wash into the next valley and from the higher land spotted the band watering at a creek at a distance of about a mile. Well, Ben did and the other two took his word for it.

  They dismounted and loosened girths. The Kid’s wounded leg was painful from riding and he let them know about that with endless curses. The other two men built smokes and talked.

  Ben reckoned they didn’t have too much time. Certainly no time to build a trap, the surest way of getting that red stud. They’d have to ride him down and rope him. But it would do no good to chase him, for he could outrun even the mare, Ben reckoned, with Spur up. No, they’d have to spook him and one of them would have to cut in from the flank and drop a rope on him. There was no other way and if they didn’t pull it off first time, there wouldn’t be another for days.

  Not for the first time, the Kid said he thought they were crazy.

  They were inclined to agree with him but the memory of that racing stallion was strong in their minds.

  While the Kid sulked, Ben and Spur climbed higher on foot and took a good look at the land.

  Ben reckoned the stud would keep his mares near water for a bit, but not for too long. It was his guess that they’d head south along the valley, away from the position the men now held. They discussed who was the best man to ride and rope the stud and they both agreed that Ben was the more experienced with the wild ones. Spur would come from the north and drive the stallion to Ben who would be waiting low down on the east wall of the valley. Ben reckoned the wind was right. The stallion would smell Spur and the mare, but he wouldn’t get a sniff of Ben. They reckoned that there was no time like the present. Their chances of catching the horse were not too good, but it was worth a try. Ben had pulled off more difficult catches in his time.

  They walked back to their horses and Ben carefully detailed where he would take up his post. He swept an arm out over the valley indicating the run he wanted Spur to make so that the stallion would reach the best spot for Ben to catch him.

  Ben rode off south, picking his way carefully through the rocks, making as little noise as possible in case the stud took alarm. Spur gave him time to get into position, then he too mounted and said: “Be here when I come back, Kid.”

  The Kid snarled.

  Spur circled north and came gently along the valley floor, not wanting the stallion to spook before the right time. There was brush around him, dense thickets in places, willows along the banks of the creek and every now and then he lost sight of the horses. For a good while, he thought that they hadn’t spotted him. But when he came to a bend in the creek and crossed to come up on higher ground, he heard the whistle alarm of the stallion and saw the animal standing face on to him, head up, a rifle shot away.

  Now horses are full of curiosity and Spur knew that. So he wondered what he could do to hold the stud’s attention till he got nearer to better guide his flight. To do this,
he bent low in the saddle so that he was hidden by brush and suddenly sat upright in the saddle. By the time he had done this two or three times he fully had the red horse’s attention. He went up and down as the little mare eased herself forward. The wind was wrong for her to smell the wild band, but she had heard the stud’s call and she was excited. She wanted to run; Spur could feel that in her every movement. She’d get her chance in a very short while.

  Suddenly the stallion turned and trotted toward the mares at water. One of them ran into the creek and he left her. The moment was urgent and he couldn’t waste time on obstinate females. He ran to another and nipped her. She tossed her head and started trotting south. He ran at several more and another and another followed, trotting obediently away.

  Spur felt the excitement in himself now. The crucial moment was approaching. He felt Jenny gathering her legs under her for the initial jump.

  But the stud’s curiosity got ahold of him again and he came cantering back to see Spur again. The man now thought that he was closest as he’d ever get to the quarry. He was in a good position to edge the stud southeast toward Ben.

  He raked the mare with the spurs and gave her one touch of the quirt. She shot off like an arrow. He guided her along the bank of the creek as if to angle past the stud to stop him fleeing across the water.

  Like magic the wild horse did as Spur wanted. He reared with a piercing scream, thereby losing himself precious seconds, and spun on his hind legs. When his forefeet hit, he was running. Spur turned Jenny slightly and gave out a rebel yell that could have been heard from one end of the valley to the other. The mares scattered wildly and the stallion ran straight as a die for the spot where Ben wanted him.

  They covered a quarter of a mile at a dead run, tearing past brush, the little mare, even to Spur’s surprise, holding her own for most of the way.

  Now, Spur’s mind screamed, now, Ben.

  Ben didn’t appear.

  Another second or two and it would be too late. Spur gave a glance at the massive boulder which Ben had given him as a landmark.

  Suddenly, a horseman rocketed into view. The Negro’s horse was at a flat run, fully stretched. His sudden appearance made the stallion break stride. For a moment, he was a very startled stud indeed, but for no more. He seemed to stumble and Spur thought for a moment, he might go down. But he had turned sharply at a right angle and was racing off into a southwesterly direction.

  Jenny didn’t need any guidance. As soon as the quarry turned, she did the same and went after him. In that moment, Ben and Spur were the same distance from the stallion and centering on him. The Negro’s rope was out and he was building a noose. It may have been Spur’s imagination, but he thought the turn had decreased the stallion’s pace momentarily. Certainly the mare seemed closer. Spur unlimbered his own rope and built a noose. Maybe it wouldn’t be Ben who put the rope home after all.

  They went down that valley like two demons, forgetting in the excitement that their horses had only to go down and they could be dead. Spur reckoned that not even the mare could keep that pace much longer. He had to make a throw.

  But Ben made the first cast. It was a long and difficult throw and made from the back of a racing horse.

  Time seemed to stand still as the noose flew through the air. Spur thought he had never seen such a throw in his life. It was impossible.

  He saw the impossible come true before his eyes. The noose dropped over the stallion’s great neck. Ben was making his dally and yelling something. Telling Spur to add a second rope. Spur let go. He held his breath, but his noose went home and he knew a startling gush of relief. He would have hated to have failed before Ben.

  They ran on, gradually slowing the pace and the stud went crazy on the ends of the two lines. Slowly, their two skilled horses put the pressure on and brought the stallion to a fighting halt. He hurled himself this way and that, he reared, snapped, kicked, pitched and screamed his rage and frustration to the world.

  They sat their horses for a moment just looking at him, admiring and only half-believing that they had managed it. They were breathless and they were soaked in sweat.

  “Man, man,” said Ben, mopping sweat from his shining black face. “Stay right where you’m at.”

  He began to walk up his rope. Jenny leaned back on hers so there would be no slack. The stallion made a rush at Ben and tried to rear over him. Spur moved Jenny hastily and heaved the animal down on all fours.

  Ben turned. He stared. His eyes widened.

  “We got company, boy. An’ trouble,” he said.

  Spur turned in the saddle.

  Four riders came out of the rocks and headed towards them.

  Being horsemen, the first things Spur and Ben consciously looked at were the riders, but the first things they actually saw were the horses. And these were better animals than would be owned by run-of-the-mill cowhands. They were superb animals and they moved well. Two of these men rode straight at Spur and Ben and halted. The other two rode up on either hand and did the same. It was evident that the two outlaws were surrounded.

  One of the men said: “Thanks for catching my horse, boys.” He was a tall man who hadn’t shaved in a couple of weeks. His eyes were close together and he had about him an air of reckless bravado.

  “Tom Ball,” Ben said softly.

  Spur knew the name, but he didn’t know the man. He was notable for having robbed several trains in Kansas and for raiding a bank in Nebraska. In the process he had killed two men. He was said to be a violent and dangerous man. The name of the woman outlaw Annie Coleman was linked with his. She was said to be more dangerous than any man.

  The other three men looked to be of the same ilk. There was a meanness and a general air of reckless not caring that was obvious at a glance.

  Spur said: “You got your brand on him?”

  Ball laughed. He was one of those men who could laugh with his mouth while his eyes stayed mean.

  “Mister, you know the unwritten law of the range. A man gets a rope on a mustang, that hoss is his.”

  Spur said: “Them two ropes is ourn.”

  “Mebbeso, but I roped him first.”

  “We caught him an’ we’re keepin’ him,” Spur said softly.

  Ball continued to smile.

  “You know who I am?” he said.

  Two could play at that game.

  “You know who we are?” Spur asked.

  “Name’s Tom Ball.” He leaned back in his saddle to watch the effect of his words. “That there is Cal Brocius. Dark feller is Hube Winter. Little feller yonder’s the Cherokee Kid.”

  “Nice to know you—I’m Sam Spur.”

  Ball blinked. Then he laughed. “Anybody could say that.”

  “Anybody could say he was Tom Ball.”

  “Wanta try me?”

  “Sure,” said Sam calmly. He wasn’t going to let that stallion go without a fight. It was against his nature. The cool reply seemed to trouble Ball a little. Sure, he had the odds on these two, but if one of them was the great Sam Spur, then…He looked across at the Negro whom he had so far paid no regard. Could it be?

  “Who’re you?” he demanded.

  Ben said: “Name’s Cuzie Ben. If you don’ believe it, call me “nigger” an’ see how fast I pull iron.”

  The Cherokee Kid off to one side looked tempted to pull his gun. Like the Cimarron Kid, he was little more than a boy.

  Spur said: “Do it, Kid, an’ you’re mutton.”

  The boy moved his right hand away from the butt of his gun.

  The dark man indicated as Hube Winter said in cultured tones, “The conversation has taken an unpleasant turn, gentlemen. Let’s talk this over sensibly. We’ve been after this stud for nearly a week. We have some right to it. Besides our right we have the odds. I believe you are who you say you are, but even so you would be foolish to challenge four men.”

  Ben said: “Hits been did before, man.”

  Spur said: “The Cimarron Kid’s up in the rocks yonder.”
Which was true enough.

  Ball’s eyes widened.

  But he tried again.

  “Now, boys,” he said, “use your heads. No call for a man to get hurt over a fool horse.”

  “The way I feel,” Spur said. “Turn around and ride away.”

  Cal Brocius, who had been edging his horse around Ben so that he was now almost behind the Negro, was pulled up short when Ben said: “Stay put, white man, or I draw.”

  Brocius moved quickly. He dropped over the far side of his horse and his gun went off. But his own opinion of his prowess must have been greater than fact, for his shot missed Ben by inches.

  The Negro unlimbered his gun faster than the eye could follow. All he could see of his target behind the horse was the fellow’s legs. His bullet caught one of these and knocked it from under its owner. The horse jumped forward, startled by the firing and Ben fired again. The man was hurled backward.

  Everything seemed to happen at once then. The stud went crazy at the sound of gunfire. Ben and Spur’s horses were almost hauled from their feet by the mighty heave on the ropes as the mustang lunged.

  Spur had drawn and got off one shot.

  The Cherokee Kid was knocked out of the saddle as he was in the act of drawing.

  The whole fight was a tangled untidy mess with men firing wildly at each other, horses lunging and pitching all over the place. Hube Winter suddenly lost his nerve and broke off the fight by spurring away. One of Spur’s bullets caught Ball’s horse in the head and the animal went down screaming. It was all dust and flying lead for a few terrible seconds. Brocius was yelling fright and pain. Ball was sprawled on the ground, more than half-stunned trying desperately to find his dropped gun. His horse was threshing about in its dying agony.