Spur
Page 16
Spur started forward, running, silent on the sand. The sheriff reached the horse and for a moment it stayed still. He got his left foot in the stirrup-iron and was about to swing up when Spur halted and bawled out: “Hold it.”
Gomez froze, helpless, one hand on the horn, one foot in the stirrup-iron. His face showed sweating over his right shoulder.
“Stay right there or I drill you,” Spur told him and started forward. “Drop the rifle in the water.”
The weapon dropped with a splash. All the coolness was gone from Gomez now, his hot rage showed on his face. Spur transferred the rifle to his left hand and drew Jody’s gun; then he dropped the rifle and had reached Gomez. Lifting the pistol from his holster, he flung it into the brush.
“Take your foot down,” Spur ordered, “but keep your back to me.”
Gomez obeyed. But his foot was no longer down than he moved with the incredible speed that he was capable of. He dove forward under the horse’s belly, came up and Spur glimpsed the little up-and-over hideaway gun as he fired over the back of the horse.
The bullet caught Spur high in the right shoulder and staggered him backward. Gomez may well have killed him then with the second barrel but the horse, alarmed by the shot, jumped forward and left the sheriff exposed. Spur fired. By this time Gomez was moving and the bullet intended for his heart struck his right arm. The little pistol dropped from his grasp and he staggered back, holding his arm, his face white. Spur reckoned the limb was broken. He jumped in on the man even as Gomez reached for his knife, swung the Colt and hit him hard over the head with the barrel. The Mexican fell without a sound. Spur put away his gun, caught him by the collar and dragged him out of the shallows. On the sand, he reached peggin string from his pockets and bound the feet together, then, with a stick cut from the brush, he splinted the arm and bound both arms firmly to the body. By this time, he was feeling a little unsteady from his own loss of blood. That was the second piece of lead he had had lodged in him in the last few days and he couldn’t say that he was enamored of the habit. But he reckoned he could keep going till he reached town.
Next, he caught the two horses and with some difficulty loaded the now conscious and groaning sheriff across one saddle. He tied him there again, mounted and set off for town.
On the way, he was met by Jim Lowe, riding hard and worried. His first words were: “You hit?”
“Nothin’ bad. He shot me with a little pop-gun. How’s Jody?”
“Dead.” Lowe jerked his head to the still form across the saddle of the led horse. “What happened to him?”
“He’ll stand trial.”
They rode on toward town, Spur filled with black thoughts of the little man who had sided him through all this terrible business, the man who had vouched for him when he went to the governor, the man who had had faith in him.
They came in sight of town and it seemed that everyone was there to greet them with Inez in the forefront of the crowd.
When they had crossed the bridge, Spur said to Lowe: “Take that and lock it up.” Lowe picked up the lead line and led the horse away through the crowd. Spur got down wearily from the saddle and Inez rushed into his arms; something like a cheer went up from the crowd and he felt good, better than in any-other time in his whole life.
When he looked up, he saw Maria Regan. She was smiling now.
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