The Jeweled Spur

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Here, now, lad—none of that!” Shorty broke in. “You got to be respectful to Mr. Danton. He’s a square one—and you’ll be meetin’ some who ain’t such gentlemen as he is.” Then turning to the guard he said, “Don’t mind him, sir. He’s going for his first jolt, and that grates on a fellow’s nerve, you see.” Shorty kept the conversation going, and after a time Danton took his watchful gaze off Cody.

  The stage rumbled on, and after a stage stop, Danton stared at the pair, saying, “I’m riding on top. Drop out any time you want to, and I’ll be glad to save the state the trouble of feeding you.” He had a sawed-off shotgun in his hands, and there was no doubt that he’d use it.

  “Nothing like that, Mr. Danton,” Shorty chirped. Holding up the manacle that was joined to Cody’s wrist, he grinned. “Where would we be going all chained up like this? We’ll be fine, no trouble, sir.”

  As soon as Danton climbed to the seat, the driver called out, “Hup—Babe—Job!” and the stage rocked forward as the horses trotted down the dusty road.

  “Now that the fat devil is out of the way, we can spread out a little,” Shorty said with evident pleasure. “Real swine, ain’t he, now?”

  Despite himself Cody was amused. “Mr. Danton? I thought he was a real gentleman.”

  Shorty winked at him, and a crooked smile revealed yellow teeth. “Kept us from gettin’ half-starved and in out of the weather. Part of the game, Cody,” he assured his companion. Then he studied him and asked, “How long you got at the Rock?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  Shorty caught the look of despair in the young man’s eyes, and said quickly, “Aw, now that ain’t so bad. You’ll come out a young man—maybe with time off, it’ll be only ten years.”

  “I won’t stay there that long.”

  Instantly Shorty leaned forward, hissing, “None of that, boy! It’s the shortest way to the lime pit. That’s where they put the bodies of them that try to escape.”

  “I’ll get out,” Cody gritted his teeth. “Man wants something bad enough, he’ll find a way.”

  “Maybe most things, but not escape from the Rock,” said Shorty flatly.

  “It’s been done, hasn’t it?”

  “Not that I ever heard.” Shorty drew smoke into his lungs, expelled it, and then said, “Lemme tell you the way of it, Cody, then when you get there, you’ll see there ain’t no sense in hopin’.” He spoke quickly, his eyes darting like a bird’s. “The prison itself, why it ain’t much. Got bars and steel doors, but a man might get out of those. It’s what he finds outside that’s rough.”

  “What’s outside?”

  “See, the chief guard’s name is Jocko Valentine. He don’t like much, but he does like huntin’ down prisoners. It’s his hobby, like, and he’s had quite a few years to sharpen his skill. It’s like a game to him, I’d say.” He puffed on the cigarette with enjoyment, then added, “Like some men enjoy hunting deer, well, Jocko likes hunting men.”

  “I’ll take my chances when I’m outside.”

  “That’s it, Cody, you won’t have no chance! If it was just Jocko, I’d say maybe, but he keeps three Apaches, and blamed if they ain’t like huntin’ dogs! I swear they can smell a man farther off than most of us can see ’im!”

  Cody sat there, rocking with the motion of the stage. His skin was slick with sweat, which the fine dust that boiled into the coach coated with a gray film. He hadn’t had a bath for three days, not since Danton had come to pick him up at War Paint. He had slept in fits and snatches and had eaten little. Only one thing was on his mind—even before he got to prison—and that was getting out.

  Shorty tried to reason with the young man, but soon saw there was no use. “All right,” he sighed finally. “You’ll see when you get there. But listen to your old Uncle Shorty, ’cause I been there. Don’t give the guards no sass—none of ’em. They don’t care no more about us than if we was dogs. One word—even a look like you give Danton—and it’d be the Oven for you.”

  “The Oven?” asked Cody curiously.

  “Yeah, a pit two feet wide, two feet deep, and six feet long. You get in it, and they put a heavy piece of sheet steel over you. You get one canteen of water.” A tremor ran through the small prisoner, and his eyes filled with fear. “Temperature gets up to 115, and you lay there cookin’ in that pit. Can’t roll over—have to face that steel, which gets hot enough to burn your hand.”

  “You were in it, Shorty?”

  “Once—and just for one day.” Shorty looked at his hands, which were trembling. He held them clenched tightly together and whispered, “Some men go crazy in there. They kept one feller in it for a week, and he come out raving mad.” He pulled himself together and took a deep breath. Expelling it, he shook his head and said earnestly, “Don’t get out of line, Cody. You might be a tough young fellow, but they got ways of breaking tough men. They like it when a man tries them out. Kind of breaks the boredom for them, one of them told me once.”

  “I’ll watch it—and, thanks, Shorty.”

  “Aw, we got to stick together. Wish we was gonna be cell mates, but they never put two new men together. But we’ll be seein’ lots of each other. I can put you wise to the way things is—make life a lot easier.”

  By the time the stage reached the prison, it was dusk. Shorty had talked constantly, sharing his wisdom gained by long stays at the Rock, until Danton had climbed back down into the stage. But when Danton had returned, Shorty stopped talking at once.

  “Here we are,” Danton said finally. He stretched his legs and arms, saying, “I’ll be glad to get rid of you two.”

  “Aw, now I don’t feel that way, Mr. Danton,” Shorty said cheerfully. “You been the best guard I ever had, and that’s no lie.”

  Danton ignored this and climbed down. “All right, out of there.”

  Cody got out of the stage awkwardly, handicapped by his chains. One of them caught, and he stumbled and fell, almost pulling Shorty down with him. A rough laugh scored the air, and he was yanked to his feet as if he’d been a child. “Can’t even get out of a stage, con?” The man who held him was over six feet four and powerfully built. He wore a white suit with a white planter’s hat, and his eyes were hard as bolts. “Come on, con, get up.”

  “Hello, Captain Valentine,” Shorty said, hopping to his feet. “Good to see you again.”

  The huge man stared at him, and then he snorted. “You again, Cavanaugh? You didn’t get enough your last two trips?”

  “Well, I’m back, Captain!” Shorty grinned. “Looks like you’ll be having me as a permanent guest.”

  Captain Valentine glared at him, then turned his eyes on Cody. “Name?”

  “Cody Rogers.”

  Instantly a massive hand struck his cheek and almost knocked him down. He caught his balance and remembered Shorty’s advice. “Say sir when you speak to a guard—any guard!” ordered the captain.

  “Yes, sir, Captain. It won’t happen again.”

  Valentine glared at him, and then he seemed to lose interest. Turning to a guard, he said, “Put Cavanaugh in with Taylor—Rogers with Bailey.”

  Cody stood still as Danton removed the manacles, stuffed them into a bag, then turned and got back on the stage. Even before it pulled out, Cody was prodded with a stick carried by a heavyset guard. “This way, you two.”

  Cody and Shorty moved obediently toward the large two-story building that loomed before them. Looking around, Cody saw that it was in the middle of one of the most barren and arid spots he’d ever seen. Even in the falling darkness he saw that the desert stretched away beyond the eye’s sight. Guards could spot a man five miles off, he thought, but when the guard prodded him again, he turned his head and followed Shorty inside the gate. The prison was built around a large square yard, and the guard led them at once to one of the doors. “New prisoners for A, Mulligan,” he called out, and there was the sound of a heavy bolt scraping. When the door opened, the guard said, “This little one goes with Taylor, the young one with Bail
ey.”

  “Okay,” answered Mulligan, stepping aside as they entered.

  Two guards stood inside, and one of them said, “Brad, you take them to lockup, will you?” as he slammed the door shut. Both men carried shotguns, which they kept leveled at the two new prisoners.

  “You two, up those stairs.”

  “Ah, I always like the second floor,” Shorty remarked. “More air in the night.” After walking past a few cells with prisoners curiously staring out, he was ordered to stop. The guard produced a chain full of keys and unlocked the cell, pushing open the steel door. Shorty stepped inside, saying, “Be seeing you, Cody.”

  “Get down the hall,” the guard commanded, giving Cody a shove. When they had walked by what seemed like many cells, the command came, “Stop right there. Turn around and I’ll cut you in half!” Cody stood very still as the guard fumbled with the key. Finally the door creaked open and the guard said, “In with you.”

  Turning, Cody stepped into the cell, and the door swung shut. As the key turned, it grated on Cody’s nerves, and he stood there, trembling from fatigue and fear.

  “Just get in?” said a voice behind him.

  Cody whirled to see by the faint light of a lantern in the hall a man sitting up on his bunk. “Yeah. Name’s Cody Rogers.”

  “Al Bailey.” The response was spare, and after a silence, he said, “You missed chow. I got a hunk of bread and some bacon.”

  Cody discovered he was hungry, but he shook his head. “No, I don’t want to be a moocher.”

  “Sit down,” Bailey said and began searching for something. When he came up with a small package, he handed it to Cody. “Go on, eat it.”

  For a moment, it looked as if he was about to hand it back. Instead, Cody slowly unwrapped it and muttered, “Thanks.”

  Bailey watched as he devoured the small fragments, gulping them down. Then he said, “Water in the bucket to wash it down.” After Cody had drunk freely of the tepid water, he asked, “Been a long trip?”

  “Three days.”

  “First time in for you?” asked Bailey.

  “First time,” muttered Cody.

  Bailey pointed, saying, “Take the bottom bunk. You’re bigger than me.” He ignored Cody’s protest, saying, “You’re probably tired, and we’ll be rousted out at dawn. Get some sleep.”

  Cody suddenly discovered that the pressures of the last three days were catching up with him. He sat down on the bunk and pulled his boots off, which seemed to weigh twenty pounds apiece. He lay down with a groan of relief, and sleep came to him so suddenly it was as if he’d been clubbed.

  Al Bailey stared at his new cellmate and shook his head.

  “Welcome to the Rock, Cody,” he murmured softly.

  ****

  “Come along, Rogers—you got visitors.”

  Cody straightened up with surprise and stared at Captain Valentine. Cody had been building a stone wall for a new addition, and his hands were raw from handling the sharp rocks. “Visitors for me, Captain?”

  “Come on, go get cleaned up.” Jocko Valentine grinned at Cody wolfishly. “Can’t have folks thinking we don’t take good care of you men, can we now?”

  Cody moved quickly, not forgetting to say, “Thank you, sir.” He’d taken the advice of Shorty Cavanaugh and Al Bailey, and had lasted six months inside with no trouble. Early on he’d seen the brutal treatment a couple of prisoners had received for mouthing off at the guards. After that he’d decided to be the most polite convict at the Rock, and ever since, even Valentine had stopped watching him for an escape attempt. Quickly, Cody washed up at the pump, put his shirt on, and then followed Valentine to the south wing. He had been there on cleaning detail, and when Jocko nodded at a door, he entered. Inside he found Dan and his mother seated at a table.

  “Here he is,” Valentine nodded. “You’ve got thirty minutes.”

  Dan and Hope rose, and both were shocked at the sight of Cody, though they tried to conceal it. He had lost weight and was burned a rich copper hue from the blistering sun. His hair was cropped short, and his face was concealed behind a beard.

  “Son!” Hope said and moved toward him. She embraced him, and for a moment she feared that he would stand there motionless—and then his arms went around her, and she held him fiercely. The two stood there holding each other, and as Dan watched, a hollow sadness filled his heart.

  Finally Hope stepped back, and Dan moved forward to grip Cody’s shoulder. It was thin but muscled like whipcord. “Good to see you, son,” he said.

  Cody stood there, trying to cover the sudden surge of emotion that flooded him. He was so accustomed to keeping things inside that he could not speak or react as he wished. “Well, it’s good to see you both. You’re looking good.”

  “Sit down, Cody,” Hope said quickly. “We brought you some things to eat, and Captain Valentine said we could give them to you.”

  And he’ll take them away as soon as they’re outside the gate. Cody took a piece of cake Hope forced on him and ate it slowly. “That’s real good, Mom,” he said. “You always were the best cook in the world.” Then he said, “Tell me about everything.”

  For ten minutes he listened as they brought him up to date on what had happened. Finally Dan cleared his throat and said, “Son, my brother Mark came to see us. I wrote him about your trouble, and he came as soon as he could.” Dan’s eyes were hopeful as he continued, “He’s hired a private detective, Cody—a good one.”

  “What does the detective say?” Cody asked.

  “Oh, we don’t know him,” Hope said. “He wants to remain unknown. But he’ll find out the truth about the murder. I’m sure he will.”

  “That was good of Mark. Thank him for me, will you?” said Cody as he finished eating what they had brought.

  Hope felt a sense of despair at the deadness in Cody’s voice. He doesn’t believe in anything anymore. “It’ll be all right, Cody, you’ll see.”

  “We’ve been praying mighty hard for you, and so have all the family. Tom and his bunch, especially. And that girl of theirs, Laurie? She wrote your mother the best letter. You got one, too, didn’t you?”

  “We don’t get much mail,” Cody shrugged. “They throw most of the letters away. Don’t ever send money, because I’ll never see it.”

  Dan sensed the futility of trying to change Cody in one brief visit, so for the few remaining minutes, he and Hope tried to be as cheerful as they could. When the guard stepped inside and said, “Sorry—time’s up, folks,” they quickly arose and went to Cody.

  Holding him tightly, Hope whispered, “Please—don’t give up on God, Cody!”

  He didn’t answer, but he squeezed her tightly. When he turned to the tall man beside her, he said, “You’ve always been a real dad to me, Dan—better than any real father I might have had.” He hesitated, then added, “Best if you just forget about me,” then turned and walked out of the room without looking back.

  “He didn’t mean that, Hope,” Dan said, putting his arm around her. “He’s just discouraged. He’ll be all right when we get him out of this place.” He led her out of the door, and she kept her tears back until they got into the buggy that Dan had rented. She sat straight, the tears running down her face, but she turned to Dan and said quietly, “God will deliver him, Dan. I know it!”

  But there was no such hope in Cody, and that night when he and Al Bailey talked about the visit, Cody expressed his true feelings. “My folks think they can get me out of here,” he said. “But they’re wrong. If I ever get out of here, it’ll be over the wall.”

  “You know how that goes,” Al said softly.

  “Better be killed by Apaches than rot in this place!”

  Bailey was silent for a long time, then said, “I feel the same way—and I’m goin’ out, Cody!”

  At once Cody leaped out of his bunk and stood up, peering into Bailey’s face. “Mean it, Al? You’re really going to try for it?”

  Bailey nodded. “Been making plans for a long time, but never
found a man I’d trust till you came along.” He sat up, and while his legs dangled over the bunk, he began to speak rapidly. “It’ll be tough, but it can be done, Cody. Now, here’s the way I’ve got it figured . . .”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Race With Death

  “It’ll never work, Al—we must be crazy!”

  Al Bailey turned his light blue eyes on Cody, snapping angrily, “You been hollering for a month to make this break. Now come on and keep your mouth shut!”

  The two men had just left the main building, entering the crowded open compound called “The Yard.” It was a busy place, filled with men standing in small groups talking, while others walked around getting their exercise. A babbling sound of voices filled the air, and Cody stared around nervously as the two walked steadily on the outer perimeter of the square. Looking up, he saw the guards with shotguns and hunting rifles lining the roof of the building and shook his head in a jerky motion, saying, “Al, it’s broad open daylight! Those guards can see everything we do!”

  “We’ve been over that a hundred times. Every escape that’s ever been tried here took place at night. They’ve gotten careless in the daytime, Cody, but they tighten up as soon as the sun sets. So we’ll outfox ’em by taking off when they’re not looking for anything.”

  “They’re always looking for something,” Cody muttered, then shot an embarrassed glance toward his companion. “Sorry, Al,” he said apologetically. “I’m being a pain in the neck.”

  Bailey grinned slightly, shrugging his frail shoulders before asking, “Want to back out, Cody?”

  “No—I’m in, Al. Just got a little case of buck fever, I guess.” He took two more steps, which brought them to the wall, then wheeled and started toward the other end of the yard. “You got the liquor?” he asked, his eyes running over the guards who lounged on the roof.

  “In the infirmary, all doped up.”

  “You dope it up with that stuff you been stealing?”

  “Laudanum. I put enough in there to put an elephant down.”

  “I don’t want an elephant down, just those three Apaches.”