‘That’s right. The business was on its last legs before that happened. When I lost those teams, it nigh finished me.’
‘Am I right in thinking,’ Spur said, ‘that there’s more freighting business between here and Tucson and here and the capital than you could handle?’
Damyon laughed ruefully.
‘There’s enough for two freighting businesses.’
‘Did anybody ever try to buy you out?’
‘Sure. Linden Travers, the mayor and Will Furbee, the sheriff. Will was looking forward to giving up the law business in the next year or so.’
‘Which one would you have sold to?’
‘Neither. I’m on my last legs, but I’m not dead yet.’
‘If you had sold you would have sold to which one of those two?’
‘Will Furbee.’
‘Why?’
‘He was a good friend of mine.’
‘Did everybody know that?’
‘It was no secret. Hell we’d known each other for years. I lost this eye and this arm as one of Will’s deputies.’
‘Any other accidents happen like the Indians or you gettin’ shot at?’
‘Fellow like me has accidents happening all the time.’
‘Such as?’
‘Aw, hell, there’re too many of ’em to tell of.’
‘Try me with a couple.’
‘Couple of months back my hay burned. A week back three mules went sick. Died on me. Girth broke on my horse and I near broke my neck. I could go on all night. I’m that kind of man.’
Spur talked a little longer, then he walked back to the hotel. On the way he passed an ugly Negro riding a fine bay horse and leading a large ugly mule. He knew it was Cusie Ben from one end of the street to the other. They passed each other with no sign of recognition.
Spur walked into the hotel thinking: I reckoned that old sonovabitch would show up. He sure does smell trouble.
It was a comfort to know that Ben was here. He knew that he’d have a gun watching his back. And he reckoned he was going to need it. He had never smelled danger more strongly than in this place.
Dusk was gathering now and the lights were lit in the hotel. To the right of the lobby was the door to the dining room and from it came the steady murmur of men’s voices.
The girl was behind the desk and she smiled at him as he asked for his key. She had changed into a green silk dress. It was cut low at the neck in the latest city fashion and it did a lot for her. She didn’t need anything doing for her, but it did it.
‘I never asked you your name.’ he said.
‘If you’re curious about it.’ she said. ‘You’d better ask now.’
‘I’m askin’.’
‘Silena Dueby.’
‘Mighty pretty name. Your pa own this place?’
‘I own it.’
He thought she was flirting with him.
He took his key and their fingers touched: She felt as good as she looked. Spur tried to forget his girl on the Cimarron Strip and succeeded well enough for his conscience not to bother him.
‘Married or bespoken?’ he asked.
She flushed and looked a little mad. It made her look good enough to eat.
‘Mr. Spur,’ she said, but he interrupted her.
‘I’m an impressionable man,’ he said, ‘and I don’t want to make a fool of myself.’
‘You have obviously done so on a former occasion.’
‘In a lesser moment with a lesser lady.’
‘I suggest, sir, if you want to have dinner that you go into the dining room.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
She bit her lip, then dimpled and said: ‘I’m single and I’m not bespoken.’
‘The men in. this town must be crazy,’ he said.
‘Perhaps it is that I’m particular.’
He laughed.
‘You can afford to be, ma’am,’ he said and walked up the stairs to his room.
When he had cleaned up, he went downstairs and entered the dining room. Heads turned. They knew who he was. Silena Dueby was inside the doorway.
She said: ‘Would you take the vacant table at the far end of the room, Mr. Spur? And I would appreciate it if you would not wear your gun to meals. We try to keep a certain standard here.’
‘Ma’am,’ he said, ‘I’d rather appear without my pants,’ and left her in the utmost confusion.
Eyes followed him to his table. He turned and said loud and clear: ‘Good evenin’, gentlemen, Sam Spur’s the name.’ He sat down as he received mumbled replies and wondered if the murderer was here.
Before he could look over the other diners in any detail, he looked up as somebody came to his table.
He opened his eyes. He couldn’t believe that there could be two such women not only in one town, but in the same house. He didn’t have to be told that this one was Mexican. She was about eighteen, deliciously plump, strong in the hip and slender in the waist. She wore a wide colorful skirt and a white blouse that did nothing to deny the obvious beauty of her body. She had large almost black eyes that smiled and a neat but generous red mouth that smiled. From her dress, he gathered that she was unmarried.
In his excellent Spanish, he said: ‘Would it be impertinent, señorita, to enquire your name?’
She laughed with delight.
‘My name is Manuela Morales, señor.’
‘And are you to bring me my meals here, señorita?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Then I shall eat ten meals a day.’
She put her hand to her face and giggled. Men turned in their chairs to watch. A couple of them looked indignant.
‘What may I bring you now, señor?’
‘Steak.’
‘And what with it?’
‘Nothing. Just the largest finest steak you have out there in the kitchen.’
She floated away. He reckoned that this could promise to be the nicest assignment he had ever been on.
A man left a table on the other side of the room and came toward him. He was well-dressed and he sported a fine brown beard neatly clipped. His eyes were the palest blue, so pale that in the lamplight they seemed to be colorless. They gave him an odd, almost alarming, appearance. He was very good-looking and he knew it. Just the same, the quiet self-assurance rode well on him.
He held out a hand and said in an educated voice: ‘Kerby Blaxall, at your service, Marshal.’
Spur stood up and shook the brown hand offered him.
‘Happy to meet you, Mr. Blaxall.’
‘My friends and I wondered if you would care to join us at our table, Mr. Spur. We’d be honored.’
Spur smiled to himself. A year back and this smooth number would have been contributing to the price on his head.
‘Delighted,’ he said at his most urbane.
At the other table, he was introduced to the mayor, Linden Travers, a small fat man with an ivory dome for a head. He had an oily smile and an oily handshake.
Next, Marcus Tottling, a man who had lived well for most of his forty years. Spur didn’t doubt that he went to church on a Sunday and whoring Saturday night. In between, he liked his drink. He had a handshake that made Spur think he was touching a wet fish.
The third man was a man of the open ranges. This was Charles Beddoe, the largest cattleman in these parts. And he let the world know it. He was large physically, too, and his whisper was like the mournful bawling of a longhorn. His graying mustache wandered aimlessly over the lower part of his face and hid his mouth completely.
The questions came, as Spur knew they would. He was here to be pumped. He wondered whether it would be the best ploy to make them friendly toward him or hostile. He reckoned he’d be friendly for a start and see where that took him.
He fended off most of their questions, but, at the same time, let them think when he had spoken that they were now men in the know. They were the big men around here and they liked to be in the know.
The steak came. He filled
his mouth and talked on. They listened to him, not only because he was a deputy United States Marshal, but because he was Sam Spur and a known death lay resting against his hip. They made him sick to the stomach, but he stayed with it. He wished he were outside somewhere in the hills by a bright fire with Cusie Ben. When he was tired of the sight of their sweating faces, he looked past them to Manuela Morales and his eyes were refreshed. Once or twice, she flashed him a brilliant smile. He liked that.
He slogged through his steak and the talk. The steak was good, the talk was like going through a morass.
He heard Blaxall say: ‘This is too early in the day for you to have any idea who did this thing, Mr. Spur?’
‘Come, come, Kerby,’ the mayor piped, ‘Mr. Spur only rode in a few hours back.’
Spur laid down his knife and fork, finished his mouthful. He wanted to make this as dramatic as he knew how.
‘What makes you think,’ he said, ‘that it’s too early?’
They stared at him.
‘You mean?’ said Blaxall.
‘I mean I have a pretty good idea who did it.’
He stood up and wiped his mouth on his napkin.
Tottling goggled up at him.
‘You can’t mean …’ he said.
‘I have a pretty good idea who I want. An’ I’m goin’ to have him inside twenty-four hours, gentlemen.’
Beddoe, the cattleman laughed hoarsely.
‘You wanna bet on it?’ he roared.
‘It wouldn’t be honest to take your money,’ Spur said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll take a little air.’ He walked out of the dining room and winked at Manuela as he went.
She giggled. He’d never heard a girl with a nicer giggle.
~*~
Mike Student was nervous and he didn’t mind admitting it. He walked into the Lucky Strike and he would have liked nothing better than to be a hundred miles away.
Over the heads of the men drinking there, he could see the slim figure of the boy at the bar. There was something deadly about the youth that the deputy couldn’t define. He’d taken part in his share of shoot-outs in his time, been in posses after dangerous men, he’d lived through a day-long fight with the Apaches, but the idea of taking on that kid didn’t appeal to him one little bit.
He eased up to the bar next to the boy and ordered a drink. The drink came and he downed it with gratitude. With Western courtesy, he said to the boy: ‘Have a drink.’
The boy turned slowly and the deputy stared into the deadliest pair of eyes he had ever seen in his fife. For a moment, he thought the kid would spit in his face and he wondered tremulously what he would do if he did. He was crazy to have listened to Spur. But he hadn’t wanted to show himself yellow. He wished now that he had shown himself in .his true colors.
The kid said: ‘I don’t drink with lawmen.’
The insult was given out in a loud clear voice.
Men heard it—they couldn’t fail to.
The talk ebbed away. Men turned. Then they started drifting off to either side. It was like a ritual dance.
Suddenly, Student knew that he was the focus for all the eyes there. Suddenly, he was naked. If he backed up now, he might as well ride out of town and never come back. He liked it in this county. He liked being deputy-sheriff. Who knew, with Furbee dead, they might make him sheriff. He’d like that.
His mind fluttered.
He had to pull this deadly kid in. What the hell was he going to charge him with?
‘So,’ he said, ‘that horse at the hitch rail, the one you rode in on, that yourn?’
The kid turned and leaned his elbows on the bar. The barkeep behind him moved hastily to one side.
‘You sayin’ I stole it, lawman?’
‘That’s about the size of it,’ said Student.
Do I draw now? he wondered.
‘You got proof?’
‘Enough.’
The kid was still grinning.
He said: ‘All you have to do is take me? You man enough to do it?’
Student was sweating. He could feel the moisture dripping off his chin.
‘There’re too many here for you, boy.’
The grin dropped from the boy’s face. He looked at the men standing around.
‘You ain’t man enough to face me man-to-man,’ he said bitterly.
Something sang inside Student. The kid was going to play along.
Student drew his gun. It wasn’t a bad draw.
‘Somebody take his gun,’ he said and he thought his voice shook.
A man stepped forward and took the boy’s gun. He handed it to Student without getting between the lawman and his prisoner. Student stuffed the gun inside his belt and said: ‘Let’s go.’
The kid walked ahead of him and stepped onto the street. Over his shoulder he said: ‘Quit pointin’ that fool gun at me, deputy. It might go off.’
‘No talkin’,’ Student said. He was starting to feel good.
They reached the sheriff’s office. The light was burning in there. The cell door was open.
‘Git in the cell,’ Student said.
The kid walked into the cell and sat on the bed in there. Student locked the gate shut and turned the key. He took the key and hung it on a hook on the wall. Then he holstered his gun and walked back to look at his prisoner.
‘What’s your name, son?’ he asked.
Sam Spur was going to be pleased he’d pulled this off so smoothly.
‘I’m the Cimarron Kid,’ the boy said.
Mike Student nearly fainted.
Chapter Six
The fresh air refreshed Spur after the heat of the dining room. He finished a smoke, crushed it under the heel of his boot and walked back into the hotel.
He found Mike Student in the lobby. The deputy looked both shaken and proud.
‘I done it, Spur,’ he said. ‘I arrested him.’
‘Nice work.’
Student sounded a little indignant when he said: ‘You didn’t tell me it was—’
Spur said quickly: ‘Come up to my room.’
He looked around. Silena Dueby was standing outside the dining room doorway. He smiled at her, she tossed her head and turned away. When they reached Spur’s room, Spur said: ‘Did he give you any trouble?’
‘No, but you should of told me.’
‘Would you have done it if you’d known?’
That stopped Student. He admitted: ‘I guess not.’
‘Did he give you a name to charge him under?’
‘Tom Dolan. That his real name?’
‘One of ’em. What did you charge him with?’
‘Horse stealin’.’
‘Can you make it stick?’
‘I’ll make it stick all right.’
‘When can you take him to court?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Good. But horse stealin’s a pretty bad charge. Hell, I’ve known men hang for that.’
‘It just come out. But I’ll think of somethin’. I’ll get a fine.’ Spur raised his eyebrows. Student was transparent.
‘It’ll be a pretty big fine for liftin’ a horse. Profit for the sheriff’s office, huh?’
Student had the grace to blush.
‘I’ll come down and see him in the mornin’,’ he opinioned. ‘A night in jail’ll do the Kid a world of good.’
Student left.
Spur put a chair under the handle of the door, pulled off his boots and lay full length on the bed. He thought comfortably for an hour, then got between the sheets. They were very white and very cool. He would have expected as much in a place that belonged to a girl like Silena Dueby.
The last thing he thought about was the woman’s garter that had been found on the sheriff’s body.
~*~
He was up before the heat of the day hit the town. He washed, shaved and went down to breakfast. Manuela served him. Silena was nowhere in sight. He flirted a little with the Mexican girl, then walked down to the sheriff’s office. Stu
dent was taking breakfast in to his prisoner.
‘Morin’, Kid,’ Spur said. He smiled benignly.
The Kid left his breakfast and stood gripping the bars. He was quietly and venomously mad. Spur wasn’t surprised. The Kid told him about his ancestry to way back and there wasn’t a legitimate birth in the whole bunch.
Student said: ‘My God, you goin’ to take that from him?’ Spur smiled.
‘Pay no heed. He’s just bein’ sentimental.’
Student said: ‘What’s he like when he gets nasty?’
‘He kills you, I reckon,’ Spur said.
The Kid shook the bars of his cell door like an infuriated wild beast.
He said: ‘Lettin’ a pig like this arrest me could ruin my rep. I musta been crazy to let you talk me into it.’
Spur said: ‘Use your head. Don’t get Student here mad or he’ll make the charge of horse stealin’ stick.’
‘Aw, no,’ the Kid said with some bitterness. ‘You won’t let that happen. No, sir, you need me an’ you need me bad.’
‘All right—calm down an’ I’ll tell you what you do.’
The Kid still looked as if he’d rather bend the bars and step out But Spur talked just the same. The Kid was going to be free that day. Did he have enough money to pay a fine? The Kid said he wasn’t goin’ to spend no money of his on payin’ a fine which Spur had incurred. To hell with him. Spur thought there was some justice in this. He handed ever a roll of bills to the Kid. Then he said: ‘I see Ben’s in town. Don’t you contact him unless you have to.’
‘Just get me out of here,’ the Kid said.
‘Now,’ said Spur, ‘I’m goin’ to tell you what you do when you get out of here.’
When he finished, the Kid groaned in a kind of agonized despair.
‘Hell,’ he said, ‘I oughta spit right in your eye. You know that? You just tell me what I get outa this?’
‘A righteous glow maybe,’ Spur said.
‘A bullet up my butt more like. I can’t see why I do these things for you.’
Spur turned away. Over his shoulder, he said, ‘You just know a better man when you see him.’
The Kid tried to walk through the bars to get at him. Then resisted the attempt.
Mike Student said: ‘Beats me why he strings along with you, Mr. Spur.’
‘Beats him too,’ said Spur. ‘You watered your charge down a mite?’
The Brave Ride Tall (A Sam Spur Western Book 9) Page 4
