Trail West (A Sam Spur Western Book 6) Page 7

  Malcolm said: “We’ve got to move carefully, Sam. It looks like Roach hired Lincoln and the other two to kill Wayne Ulster. Then he tried to bribe you three to kill Lincoln, Strange and Offing. If he continues to play true to form, he now has to finish the job and kill Strange and Offing. He has to.”

  Spur said: “I reckon he has to kill Ben, the Kid and me. We know too much. So he comes for us and we nail him.”

  Malcolm laughed.

  “You take the biscuit, Sam. Don’t you ever get rattled?”

  “I’m a mite rattled right now,” Spur admitted. “Hell, I can’t make up my mind whether I’m a lawman or an outlaw. You see what this can mean, George? The governor could be in on this. There’s a whole heap of things we don’t know. Maybe when you sicced me onto Lincoln we were all as good as dead.”

  Malcolm spread his hands.

  “You could be right. What do you aim to do now?”

  “What about the two prisoners? Leave ’em where they’re at or bring ’em into town?” Spur asked.

  “Leave ’em where they’re at for now. Where are they by the way?”

  Spur smiled.

  “I’m not saying,” he said.

  “Can’t say I blame you. Is there only Ben guarding them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’d best get back there right smart.”

  Spur stood up.

  “I have a little business in town, then I ride.”

  Malcolm stood and extended his hand. They shook and Malcolm said: “The best of luck.”

  Spur walked out of the office thinking. Was Malcolm himself tied up in this? It was difficult to know who to trust. He walked out of the building into the blinding sunlight, found a restaurant on Frazer and ordered himself a steak. He ate with simple pleasure, his back to a wall and his gun-butt not far from his hand. He wondered where the Kid was. Through eating, he paid and walked out onto the street again. The heat was intense and there weren’t many people in sight. Anybody with sense was sleeping. He thought about bracing Goodyear, about looking for the Kid. He wasn’t sure what he should do next. All he knew was that he wanted to take the initiative. He was tempted to saddle the mare, pick up Ben and ride out of the country. When you were a plain outlaw, at least you knew where you stood.

  He was tempted to go back to Straffer’s place and wait for Jenner. He could put the fear of God into him and get him to talk. He wandered in the direction of the bawdy house. The curtains were open now. He wondered how he could get inside this time. He wondered also if Ranee Straffer were a part of all this. Could be.

  Then he saw the Kid and froze.

  The boy was coming out of Straffer’s place. He seemed to look straight at Spur and apparently didn’t see him. When he turned his head away, Spur slipped into a doorway. The Kid set off down the street. Spur followed. The boy led him to the livery stable. Spur followed him inside. He saw him cross the yard and go into the barn. Spur crossed the yard and the old man running the place came out of the office and asked him if he wanted his horse. Spur said he didn’t know and the old man wandered back again. Spur entered the barn and looked around for the Kid. He couldn’t see him. He wandered down the line of stalls and found the Kid’s horse. The boy wasn’t there. He climbed to the loft and found the Kid lying back in the hay.

  “Hello, Kid,” Spur said.

  The boy stared at him.

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

  Spur squatted, inspecting the boy and wondering what made him tick.

  “You thrown in with the killers?” Spur asked.

  “I’m earnin’ some cash. Is there anythin’ wrong with that?”

  Spur wasn’t sure quite how to answer, so he said: “I ought to put you across my knee.”

  The Kid said: “You ain’t man enough.”

  That was a direct challenge.

  Spur said: “What did Jenner say to you?”

  That shook the Kid. He started up.

  “How the hell—?” Alarm showed on his face.

  “You’re only half-smart,” Spur told him with a sneer.

  The Kid was on his feet. Spur stood upright. The Kid was mad.

  “You get outa my hair, Spur,” he yelled. “I ain’t nothin’ to do with you. You don’t mean nothin’ more’n a cold spit to me. I’m in the big time now and I mean to stay that way.”

  “You’re a penny-ante gunhand,” Spur said. “You’re a cheap gunny and nothin’ more’n a raw kid. Try an’ grow up, boy. I’m givin’ you a chance to come over onto the side of the law. You don’t take this chance you might never get it again.”

  The Kid poked the air with an infuriated forefinger.

  “I’m workin’ with the politicians,” he shouted. “Who needs law when they’re doin’ that?”

  “All right,” said Spur. “Go ahead. But you get in my way an’ you take the consequences.”

  The Kid was almost gibbering.

  “You get in my way,” he screamed, “an’ I’ll kill you.”

  Spur smiled.

  “Want to try your luck right now?” he asked gently.

  The Kid snarled: “Aaaaah!” and turned away in raging disgust.

  Spur started down the ladder.

  Half-way down he heard a sound from above. He looked up and slapped a hand down on the butt of his gun. But it was too late. The heavy dark object was hurtling toward him. It struck him half on the face and half on his forehead. His grip on the ladder was torn loose and he felt himself falling. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

  Chapter Eight

  The Kid stared down through the trap, half-appalled by what he had done, half-triumphant because he had downed the great Sam Spur. This proved he wasn’t invincible; it proved that the Cimarron Kid was his equal any day. It proved … Spur might come around. Any moment he might stir and his hand would move instinctively for his gun.

  For a moment the Kid thought a thought that frightened him. To draw his gun and kill Spur. Finish the humiliation once and for all time. Just one bullet through the head. It was so easy.

  His hand rested on the butt of his gun. He half-drew the weapon from its holster, paused and slipped it back again.

  He turned and nearly fell down the ladder in his haste to get out of there. When he reached Spur’s still form at the bottom he stared down at it for a moment.

  Some weakness in him made him want to help Spur as Spur had helped him.

  “To hell with you,” he said, and almost ran out of the barn.

  He didn’t know where to go. Spur might come looking for him at any minute. There was nowhere he could find shelter. He wanted to be out of sight, hidden away in safety. Somebody might recognize him in town. If he went into a saloon, he might be spotted and cornered. There was no safety anywhere; maybe Spur had been right and he should turn away from the life of an outlaw. Just to be safe for a short while, as he had been safe in the hills with Spur and Ben.

  There was always Goodyear. Or maybe Jenner.

  But would they shelter him? He couldn’t admit to them that he was afraid of Spur.

  He could go to Straffer’s place. Could he get in? He could try.

  He was on Main now. He turned and walked to Frazer. People seemed to be looking at him. He glowered back. He wanted to tell them who he was—the great Cimarron Kid. That would scare the living daylights out of them.

  There was Straffer’s. He glanced fearfully this way and that, afraid that at any moment Spur would come in sight, gun in hand. He crossed the street and rapped on the door. He seemed to wait an eternity, watching the street, hand near his gun.

  Behind him the door opened.

  He spun around.

  The bouncer stood there. He looked pretty sick and there was a white plaster on his head.

  “Is Jenner here?” the Kid demanded.

  “Mister Jenner,” the man said with emphasis on the mister, “is not here.”

  “Goodyear?”

  “Him neither.”

  He had t
o get inside. Was there somebody…? The girl. What the hell was her name?

  Jenny. No, that was the blonde. Ruby, that was it.

  “Ruby,” he said. “I want to see Ruby.”

  “Do you have an appointment? It’s early for the ladies yet.”

  The Kid was desperate.

  “I got money,” he said. “Since when did money need an appointment? Get outa my way.”

  The bouncer put a bouncer’s look on his face.

  “That kinda talk won’t get you no place,” he said. His cultured accent had fled. “Get outa here, kid, while you’re in one piece.”

  The Kid shucked his gun and stood thumb on hammer.

  “Back up, you fat-gutted sonovabitch, or I’ll blast you,” the Kid cried, his rage getting the better of his sense.

  The man looked at the gun with some respect.

  “That’s different,” he said. “Step right inside, sir.” He stood back from the door and the Kid advanced. You only had to show this kind of trash who was boss. The bouncer slammed the door and brought his cosh into view. The Kid saw it a moment too late—he wasn’t as fast as Spur. The bouncer took his revenge and paid for the blow on the head. The Kid went down and hit the floor hard. The bouncer bent down and picked up his gun and saw that the Kid hadn’t had time even to cock it. That pleased the bouncer. He brought back his foot and kicked the Kid three times—once in the ribs and twice in the belly. That pleased him even more.

  A door opened and Straffer appeared.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  The bouncer grinned.

  “The wind blew in a piece of trash,” he said.

  Straffer came forward and saw who it was.

  “Bring him into my room,” he said. “This grows interesting.”

  The bouncer dropped the gun in his pocket, picked the Kid up like a baby and carried him into Straffer’s room.

  Mike Jenner waited.

  Roach always kept him waiting. That was nothing unusual. He made a point of keeping all inferiors waiting. It showed them that they were inferiors and made him feel more secure in his own position.

  Jenner looked at the whiskey on the bureau top and would liked to have helped himself, but he dared not. Jenner was a little afraid of Roach even over a little thing like that.

  He asked himself why he was scared of Roach and he couldn’t answer. It was not as if the man had ever threatened him openly. If he had made a threat, he didn’t look like a man capable of carrying a threat out. Outwardly, he looked what he was, a clerk in high office; a man to keep the office tidy, the man who liked files and papers and columns of neat figures. A man in Jenner’s mind to be despised. But he couldn’t despise Roach because Roach scared him.

  He started with slight alarm as the door opened. He turned and saw Roach standing in the doorway. The man paused there for a moment, closed the door softly and carefully behind him and walked across the room softly as a cat.

  In height, he was slightly below average. To counteract this deficiency he wore shoes with heels rather higher than was normal. This gave him a slightly ridiculous appearance. Instead of holding himself upright to take full advantage of what inches he possessed, he crouched forward slightly so that he was forced to crane his neck to see forward. He was compelled now to stare up at the taller Jenner. This, Jenner knew, he didn’t like. That was why the first thing the man said was: “Sit down, Jenner.”

  Jenner sat.

  Roach’s face was thin with high cheekbones so that it was shaped like a sharp-pointed upside down triangle. The eyes were small and the mouth was small. The face of a mean man. He was about forty years of age. His dark hair was sleek and oiled; his mustache was thin and was given great care. A flunkey, you would think till you saw those eyes. They were intelligent and they were intense.

  Not many knew it, but he ran the territory. He was the power behind the governor and that gentleman was said to have complete and utter faith in his integrity and his skill. Those who knew referred to Roach as the governor’s brain.

  Roach said: “You came back very soon, Jenner. I said don’t come back too soon unless the matter were urgent.”

  Jenner said: “Everybody knows we’re politically united. There’s no harm done.”

  “I’ve warned you about thinking for yourself,” Roach said softly. “What is it now?”

  Jenner started to talk. He talked for fifteen minutes and Roach listened. He stood in the center of the room not moving except to nod his head at each new item of information. When Jenner finished, he gave one big nod and said: “Good.”

  He walked around his large desk and sat behind it, leaning back in his chair with his fingertips together.

  “This is altogether deplorable,” he said. “This is the time when I could wish that I were a man of action. Oh, how I need somebody resolute and bold, somebody who could take decisions in the field. That man of yours should have settled all this on the spot. We pay him well, don’t we? This could drag Straffer into the affair. Worse than that, this could drag us all down. It could finish me. Do you understand that, Jenner?”

  With bold testiness, Jenner, whose nerves were suffering, said: “That’s why I’m here.”

  Roach didn’t take offense. He nodded and said: “Quite so. Now. This must be settled. In your way, within your limitations, you have not done badly. I am not angry with you. But I want smart action in future. You did well to bring in this precocious boy, the ah … Cimarron Kid, or whatever he calls himself. You will cultivate him and use him, but you will not trust him. If Spur is in town, make use of the fact. Kill him here. From this Kid you will find out where the other member of the trio is and where he has the two gunmen hidden. They must all be killed. Be sure of that, Jenner. They must all be killed. Our future depends on it. If the governor’s orders are carried out, we’re finished. Completely. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” said Jenner.

  “Then run along and see to it. Don’t come back and tell me you have failed.”

  Jenner rose. He thought he rather hated Roach. He walked out into the sunshine and headed for Straffer’s. He had to see Ruby.

  Spur woke up. It was night and there was a lantern burning. The light hurt his eyes and he put up a hand to shield them.

  “What you doin’ lyin’ there, son?” It was an old voice. Spur looked at him, blinking painfully in the lamplight. It was the old liveryman.

  “Sleepin’,” said Spur. “What else?”

  “You can’t sleep here,” the old man quavered. “I told ’em an’ I told ’em, I don’t run a danged hotel here. On’y hosses sleep here. You get outa here.”

  Spur stood up. He felt terrible. The barn turned over a few times and he had to hold onto the ladder to stop himself from falling. Then he wanted to retch.

  The old man cackled: “You drunk, young feller?”

  “Had a few,” said Spur.

  “Drink’s a real evil,” the old man said. “I don’t allow no drunks to sleep in my hay. You get outa here.”

  “I’m goin’,” said Spur. He felt for his gun and found it. At least the Kid had left him that. He went to the doorway and leaned there, wondering how he was going to make his legs get him across the yard to the street. The old man hovered. He held a pitchfork in his hands now and looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  Spur started across the yard. Twice he stumbled and nearly went down. He felt as if his head had been burst open. He wondered what the Kid had hit him with. Maybe the bouncer he himself had hit felt something like this.

  He reached the open gateway to the street and leaned there, pondering, wondering whether a drink would help him or put him on his back. He set off down the street and came to a water-trough. This, he thought, was just what he wanted. After he had dipped his head lengthily in the water several times, he felt a little better. But his legs still felt like paper. He sat down with his back to the trough, protected by the darkness there. Building a smoke he tried several puffs and then killed it. The tobacco ta
sted like burning straw. He fell into a doze.

  He woke when somebody came to the trough to give his saddle-horse a drink. The man never saw him and rode on. Spur got to his feet and meandered uncertainly down the street. He had to get to work, but he never felt more like resigning from the human race in all his life. When he reached a saloon he went in and bought himself a drink. For a moment he felt better and, buoyed up a little, he went out onto the street again.

  He decided he would start with Straffer’s place. That promised to be the best starting point. He also had to remember Ben up there in the hills on his lonesome.

  He found the alleyway and the lumberyard. The gate was locked and he had to climb over it. He stumbled on the cut lumber inside several times and came to the rear of Straffer’s yard. He could see cracks of lights all over the rear of the house. He wondered what the time was. Whatever it was, Straffer’s was in full swing.

  With some difficulty, he climbed the wall and dropped down the other side. He was running on willpower alone now and he couldn’t help asking himself how long he could keep going. When he landed on the other side, his legs gave way under him and he lay among the trash for quite a while trying to rally his strength and his will. He thought he was crazy to go on. If he had any sense, he’d get on the mare and head for the hills.

  After a while, he got to his feet and headed for the kitchen door. Now he knew somebody would be there. He opened the door a crack and peeked inside.

  The sight that met his eyes nearly finished him.

  There were eight or nine girls all sitting around a large table, eating. They were all fine lookers and at any other time he would have been more than pleased to see them. But right now he could wish them on the other side of the world. He saw the dark girl, Ruby, at the far end of the table. Near her was the golden-haired girl, Jenny. They all wore evening dress and he reckoned he hadn’t seen more feminine pulchritude in one place at one time before in his life.

  To the right of the room at the stove was a man wearing a chef’s hat. He was very big, very fat and very busy, darting from one steaming pot to another, stirring here, tasting there.