“My God,” Randerson said. “Spur.”
The girl’s scare increased. The name at once conjured up the scene at the creek and the one that had followed when Randerson had attempted to beat him. She at once expected to hear the roar of a gun and to have the man at her side fall dead.
“Be still,” Spur said.
The girl drew in her breath sharply as if prepared to scream.
Another man’s voice said: “Hold it, lady, or Randerson’ll be mutton.”
Randerson turned his head and saw Jim Lowe standing at the window. So Spur and Lowe were in this together; he should have seen that from the first.
The rancher-cum-thief said: “I reckon you aim to make me mutton, any road, eh, Spur?”
“Depends.”
Spur stepped forward, lifted the Colt from under the man’s coat-tails and tucked the heavy gun in his own belt.
Lowe said: “They’re all yours, Sam. I’m watchin’ the yard.”
Spur ran his hands over Randerson, checking for a hideaway gun. He looked at the girl: “Do you have a gun, Lucy?”
“No.”
“Hope that’s the truth for Randerson’s sake. Anybody makes a move and he’s dead. Now, sit down, the both of you; we’re goin’ to talk.”
The girl gave first Spur, then Randerson a questioning look. Randerson said: “Go ahead,” and she lowered herself into one of the cowhide chairs. To her dismay she found that her hands were shaking uncontrollably. There was nothing she could do about it, they were beyond her control. She looked at her man; he seemed utterly calm, almost as though he were in command of the situation and she wondered if he did not have a card up his sleeve.
Randerson sat on the chair to her left, crossing one leg carelessly over the other. All the usual choler and rage of the man seemed to have been stilled. Maybe, she thought, this was the secret of his success - always in moments of danger, he was calm.
“You hold the gun, Spur,” he said. “Tell me what we have to talk about.”
Spur sat down on a hard chair with an upright back, putting his Remington on the table that stood beside it. It made a slight clatter that filled the quiet room. Across the yard, somebody was playing a banjo in the bunkhouse.
“You know me, Randerson,” Spur said. He looked thoughtful, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been on the run from the law for a long time. Polite society has marked me down as something unmentionable, something to be hanged.”
Randerson said: “I know you as in the top league, Spur. But a loner. You never got really organized; you were never a business man so you never really made money.”
Spur smiled a little.
“Maybe that wasn’t the idea.”
“More fool you.”
“You ever heard I lied or played double?”
“No,” Randerson said, “I can’t say I ever did.”
“All right. I’ll give it you straight. I came here with Jim Lowe to make a deal.”
Randerson started to relax. Making deals was in his line of country. In making deals there could be room to maneuver.
“Shoot,” he said.
“First, you have to know what I know ... about you. I know you’re behind all those bank raids and stage hold-ups in New Mexico and Colorado.”
Randerson’s calm slipped a little. He gave the girl a quick glance. She was looking at him wide-eyed.
“Can you prove it?”
“Do I have to prove it? You an’ me both know it’s true.”
Randerson looked obstinate.
“The only reason I have to sit here and take this is because you have a gun.”
Spur persisted.
“I’ll take it you know and I know. Jim knows and now the girl knows. Talk yourself black in the face, it don’t alter a thing. An’ we know somethin’ more. You shipped your gold into Mexico by the smugglers an’ your gold was taken.”
That shook Randerson. His hands gripped the arms of his chair till his knuckles were white. He started forward and Spur picked up his gun. Randerson sank back in the chair.
“Where’d you learn this?”
“That’s no never mind.”
Silence hung in the room. The banjo in the bunkhouse perked up and two or three voices joined it discordantly. Randerson looked momentarily lost. Finally, he asked in a subdued voice: “What’s your deal?”
Spur said: “I have other information. From this I know you can either throw in with me or have the men who wiped out the burro-train come down on you.”
That startled the man. His head jerked up. His face was drained of blood.
“You know who did that?”
Spur nodded. Unable to sit still, Randerson stood up and paced to the other side of the room. He swung on Spur and said: “Maybe I won’t throw in with you, but take my chance with these killers.”
“Then maybe you can dodge them, but you can’t dodge the rope I have to put around your neck.”
The girl put the back of her hand against her mouth.
Randerson said: “You wouldn’t do it. You ain’t that kind.”
“I wouldn’t do it. It would be the law.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I have a governor’s special commission, Randerson. This time I am the law.”
Lowe turned from the window, astonishment on his face.
“If you’re a lawman,” Randerson said, “you could double-cross me.”
“I haven’t made the proposition yet.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t have a warrant for you, Randerson. Not yet. You an’ me, we could smash this bunch, then you could ride out.” Spur wondered what Jody would think of this deal. He could be piling up a whole lot of grief for himself. But Gomez was out there in the darkness somewhere, maybe headed for this house right now. Spur needed men who could use guns and he needed them now.
The girl stood up.
“Don’t trust him, honey,” she said. “I have a feeling about him.”
Spur said: “I reckon we don’t have much time, Randerson.”
For a moment, Randerson looked flustered, then he got a grip on himself.
“Tell me the name of the man who led the raids on the train,” he said.
Spur hesitated; this was the most difficult part of this move of his. Who would believe that Gomez was behind the raids?
“Gomez,” he said.
Randerson stared at him.
“Gomez? You mean the sheriff? You must be out of your mind.”
“You’ll know pretty soon whether I’m out of my mind or not. Gomez will be here. He’s goin’ to clean you out an’ wipe you out.”
The girl said sharply: “He’s lying. You can see it.”
Lowe growled: “Keep your mouth shut, girl, or I’ll shut it for you.”
Anger flared in Randerson. “Talk to her that way and I’ll get you, Lowe.”
Spur thought the situation childish. Impatience touched him.
“Time’s short,” he said. “Make your decision.” Spur’s mind was working. What happened if Randerson refused to throw in with him? Gomez would come here, but Randerson would have been warned. Either he would clear out, or he would arrange a welcoming committee for the sheriff and his men. Spur calculated, using the small personal knowledge he had of the man. His pride would rule. He had been robbed by Gomez and he would want his revenge. If, on the other hand, Randerson was not convinced that Gomez was guilty of making the raids, he would still need to defend himself. Or run. He hoped that Randerson would not have time to run.
Randerson said: “You could be suckering me. This tale about Gomez is crazy. You get outa here, Spur, an’ take your story to a likelier quarter.”
“I don’t like it, Sam,” Lowe said from the window. “We’ve been here too long already.”
Spur holstered his gun.
“All right,” he said. “Have it your own way, Randerson. Gomez’ll hit you and he’ll hit you hard. I shan’t be cryin’ over you, but think of the girl her
e.”
She gave him a look of hatred.
Spur backed across the room, nodding to Lowe, who, after a hasty glance out of the window at the yard, hurried to join him.
Lowe said: “We get clear, Randerson. Try anythin’ an’ I’ll fire this fancy house of yourn.”
Randerson didn’t say a word, but gave him a bitter look. The two of them went through the rear doorway and slammed the door after them. Randerson stayed still. With an exclamation of exasperation, the girl went across the room to him and said: “Kill them. Call Brocius.”
He smiled and patted her hand.
“They told the truth,” he said.
“What?”
“Do you think I don’t know the truth when I hear it? I know Spur’s reputation. If he says it’s Gomez, it’s Gomez. And if he says the man’s coming here, that’s what’ll happen.”
“But you—”
“Lucy, go to your room and stay there. There’s going to be shooting. Pretty soon, too, I’d reckon. When it starts, you get down on the floor and stay there.”
“You’re crazy. Spur told a pack of lies. “Why—”
“Do like I say.”
There was iron in his voice and suddenly his face was grim. She went to the stairs and climbed them, hearing him cross the room to the yard door. As she reached her room, she heard him bellowing for Brocius.
Chapter Twelve
They reached their horses hidden, beyond the brush by the creek, and swung into the saddle. They listened a moment to be sure that there was no pursuit.
“That got us nowhere,” Lowe said in disgust. “We could of saved our breath.”
Spur said: “It got us just where we want to be. Think, man. Randerson’ll think maybe I’m lyin’, but he’s no fool an’ he won’t take any chances. When Gomez gets here, Randerson’ll be ready for him.”
Lowe said: “You could be right,” and chuckled.
They moved east, crossing the creek with the water coming up to their stirrup-irons and climbed the ridge on the other side. They rode about half a mile before Spur drew rein. They both dismounted, loosened clinches and tied the horses. They then sat down to smoke and wait, listening to the sounds of the night, their ears cocked for the pop of distant guns.
After a long silence, Lowe said: “Maybe it won’t be tonight.”
“It has to be tonight,” Spur told him. “Gomez doesn’t have much time left to him. He must suspect by now that all this is goin’ to blow up in his face. It’s tonight or never.”
But even as he said it, he doubted it. He knew that he was taking a terrible gamble. Randerson and Gomez could fade out of the country. They could be doing it now. Randerson, he didn’t care too much about, but Gomez he wanted. He owed that to the past and his future hung on his bringing the man in. But he would have to have witnesses or Gomez would have to talk. His mind flicked to Inez and Pilar and he wondered how they were faring, hidden out in the hills. He prayed fervently that Gomez didn’t have an expert tracker and wouldn’t be able to trail them. It seemed unlikely in country this size, but it was possible. Gomez had gotten his hands on Inez once.
The niggling doubt brought with it a sudden rush of black depression. He had lived on hope during the past week; now everything rested on the incidents of the next few hours. He should have planned this more efficiently, but wrack his brains as he might, he could not think of anything else he could do. He could only hope that Jody had thought of something bright.
It seemed no more than an hour had passed when Lowe said: “It ain’t goin’ to happen, Sam. Dawn ain’t no more’n an hour off.”
Spur stood up and stretched his stiffened limbs. It was cold on the ridge-side.
“I’m goin’ down to take a look around,” he said.
“We should stay together.”
“One of us has to be able to get back to the women.” Spur tramped off into the night.
Before they reached the summit of the rise, Gomez halted. The others cannoned into each other and cursed softly. Saddle-leather creaked as men eased themselves. Gomez said: “This is far enough, I think.”
“We could be anywhere,” Rick said. “You sure?”
“Every inch of this country, I know like the back of my hand.”
“You can’t see that hand in front of your face,” Rick told him. Rick had a real feeling for the lay of the land, but he couldn’t have been sure where exactly they were. To him they were on a ridge side somewhere south of the Randerson place. It could have been one, two or three miles south for all he knew.
“You will see,” Gomez promised him and got down from the saddle. He gave the order and the men, thankful, stepped to the ground. They had all had enough of riding in the last few days. They cursed Gomez and his crazy search through the canyon country under the broiling sun. A hunch, he had said. He knew that he would find Spur there. But there had been no Spur. Nothing, nothing but bleached bones, dust and the overpowering heat. Men and horses were bushed. More than one man was of the opinion that they should get out while the going was good. They had all made a good pile out of the grisly business. They had had enough. They wanted to clear out and spend their money while they were still whole to have it. Now Gomez wanted more. The man’s greed would get them all killed. He claimed that Randerson would have another fortune cached at the house, but he had no proof of it. Gomez was too confident by far. Up to now his hunches had been right and had led them into a lot of luck, but most of them there tonight had the uneasy feeling that their luck was turning.
It had started to turn for the worse when Sam Spur had appeared on the scene.
This had been a signal for Gomez to be too cute for his own good. He should have killed Spur. Who would have caused trouble over the killing of a man with Spur’s reputation? But, no, Gomez had to be smart. Pin the canyon massacre on Spur, he said, and that’s what he had tried to do.
What worried them most had been Rick Hardwick’s story.
After he had left Shroder and Williams to take the Municio girl to town he had ridden toward the canyon country. He had covered no more than a mile than his horse took a tumble. The cause proved to be a loose shoe and Rick had done his best with his gun butt to fix the shoe so that it would at least hold till he reached town. It was then that he had heard the distant popping of guns coming from the trail which he had left so short a time before.
He waited long enough to fix the shoe and then returned cautiously back the way he had come. He had found the buried dead man and stayed for an hour or more, reading sign as best he could with so much stone around. He was not sure of what it all meant, but he knew that Williams had been shot and that Shroder had then taken up on the ridge into the brush. Here he found the discarded rifle that bore signs of having had its barrel heated in the remains of the fire nearby. That could only mean one thing. Shroder had been taken and tortured. Rick could guess that Spur had done it, but he couldn’t be sure. He found the sign of the other man and woman who had joined Spur and the girl and again guessed that could be Lowe and his Mexican woman. Out of all this muddle of uncertain sign, Rick knew for certain only that Spur, Lowe and the two women had ridden off east and that Shroder had been freed and was headed for town. This could only mean that he had talked.
Therefore, taking first things first: Shroder had to die.
Rick crossed his fingers that his horse’s shoe would stay put and rode after Shroder. Dark came down and there was a strong chance that he would ride past the man camped by the side of the trail without seeing him, but he gambled on the fact that Shroder was hurt and would want to keep going till he reached town. So Rick too kept going.
When he was within five miles of town, he stopped frequently to listen for the sound of a horse ahead of him, but not once did he hear one. So he decided that Shroder must either be back there on the trail or was near or in town. Rick went on to town.
Shroder’s small house stood on the outskirts of town to the north. He was one of the few Anglos living among Mexican dwellings. That
was because before he threw in with Gomez he had not had the money to live anywhere else. He had made a precarious living riding occasionally for outfits when they needed extra hands, cowpoking on the railroads and once, which hurt his dignity, swamping out at the saloon.
As he walked his bushed horse to his door, he felt like hell. As well he might. He had lost a good deal of blood in spite of his stopping on the trail after he had left Spur to tie up his wounds with strips torn from his shirt. His terrifying experience with Spur had taken its toll of his nerve. On top of this was the fact of his having talked. Gomez would know. He always got to know. So, injured or not, Shroder would have to be on his way out of the country. The only thing now in his favor was the fact that he had the money with which to depart. His wife must patch him up and then they must have transportation to the railroad. After that they would be headed for a new life. A spark of hope was lit within him.
He got out of the saddle, clutched at the horse for support as his legs started to buckle under him. He thought he would pass out, but he managed to take a grip on himself and go into the house.
He called: “Lina,” began to cross the floor to their bedroom and measured his length on the floor.
The door to the bedroom opened and the face of a frightened woman appeared in the light of the lamp she held in her hand. She placed the lamp on the floor and fell on her knees beside him, gasping with horror when she saw the blood-stained rags. Her first thought was to fetch Dr. Municio, but even as she started to her feet, her man opened his eyes and told her to stay. He pushed himself upright and said: “We’re clearin’ out, girl. Move now. Clean these wounds, a fresh shirt. Then get along to the livery and fetch a light wagon.”
He looked like death and she protested that he was too hurt to travel, but he shouted at her. The noise they made woke their daughter a drab thin child of ten. She wailed and wanted to know what was going on. Shroder bade her get dressed. She whined, he shouted weakly at her, she sniveled, her mother scolded her and she reluctantly went to her room to dress. Shroder took a stiff drink and stripped to the waist and his wife dressed his hurts. He felt so awful when she finished that he took another drink.
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