Gun (A Spur Western Book 8)

by Matt Chisholm

  ‘Shucks,’ he said simply. His arm about her tightened. ‘With you safely on your way, I won’t have any problems. I swear.’

  ‘Mr. Doolittle,’ she said tersely, ‘let us get something straight. One, you are strong enough to take your arm from around my shoulder. Two, we are going back into Arizona together. Is that clear?’

  ‘You’ll be awful compromised, ma’am. They sure talk in Sunset. Spur is definitely not goin’ to be crazy about marryin’ a girl who spent a night in the hills with a man of my reputation.’

  ‘Do you mean you’re a womanizer?’

  ‘A gentleman doesn’t like to discuss things like that with a lady.’

  ‘We’re wasting that valuable time you were talking about. We have to cover as much ground as we can before dark when they can pick up our tracks.’

  ‘True enough,’ he agreed. ‘But, ma’am, believe me, we stand more chance if we split up and you head north on this horse.’

  ‘We’ll hear no more of this nonsense,’ she said tartly. ‘Come, we’ll walk east through the hills.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ he said, ‘it sounds to me mighty like you’re takin’ command. We’ll settle that little problem right here an’ now. I never took orders from man or woman in my life. If we’re to stay together like you say, then I give the orders.’

  She giggled a little and he was quite startled by the feminine sound.

  ‘Mr. Doolittle,’ she told him, ‘I suggest that we compromise and settle for a partnership.’

  He chuckled.

  ‘That’s mighty sweet soundin’, ma’am,’ he declared. ‘There’s my hand on it.’

  Her hand found his in the darkness and they shook. His left hand patted hers softly and he said with the utmost gentleness: ‘Girl, don’t you fret now, I’ll get you outa this.’

  ‘Mr. Doolittle,’ she said, ‘I have no doubt of it.’

  They moved off into the darkness, leading the horse behind them and he said: ‘Under the circumstances, I think we could cut the formality. My friends call me Charlie.’

  ‘I think we’ll keep it at Mr. Doolittle,’ she replied. ‘You must remember that I’m spoken for and I don’t think Mr. Spur would approve.’

  ‘Mr. Spur,’ Doolittle declared with some asperity, ‘can go to—’ Then he remembered that he was a gentleman and gentlemen didn’t use bad words in front of ladies, not even in the wilderness of Mexico.

  Though Netta had declared a partnership, it was Doolittle, weak though he was, who decided on their movements. He took them first to the water and there every one of them, girl, man and horse took aboard their full capacity of water. There was no knowing, as Charlie said, when they would next have the chance to drink. Now they headed east and came down into a shallow valley which Doolittle shunned because he had no wish to give their pursuers the opportunity to get above them. So they climbed and travelled just below the skyline of the valley wall.

  It was not long after this that they heard the clatter of hoofs off to their right and they halted and waited and held their breath. Doolittle’s big hand clamped down on the nostrils of the horse until the hoofbeats died away into the night again. Still they waited until they were sure that there was no sound in the night and then they mounted the horse, Charlie in the saddle and the girl behind him with her arms around him. This he declared quite unabashed was the most delightful form of travel he had ever experienced and claimed that it was well worth all the hardship he had suffered at the hands of Maddox and his crew.

  They traveled steadily all night, turning north so that by the time dawn came upon them, Doolittle thought that they were now in the territory of Arizona. Not, he added, that that did them much good. Maddox could put paid to them here as well as a few miles south. The girl by this time was tired to the bone and Doolittle, worn down as he had been by his treatment from the outlaws, could scarcely sit the saddle. The horse too was footsore and could scarcely take another step.

  Doolittle found them the best spot he could, but there was neither water nor grass for the horse. He found them a hiding place in the rocks that would afford them some shade when the sun rose. It would have been wiser to push on, but he knew that none of them could go a mile further. They were too tired to chew on the jerky even. Doolittle debated with himself for some time where best to put the horse and decided finally that if Maddox came up with them while they slept it might be safer if the animal were at a distance. He had reason for thinking this.

  The animal was unbaked and exhausted. It might serve as a watchdog, but it would never bear the pair of them to safety if it came to a running match. Among these rocks a person on foot might stand as much or more chance than one mounted. The only point in their favor was that the animals of the men behind them could be as tired as their own animal.

  He took the horse across the valley over which their little camp was situated and tied it in cover. He then tramped back across the valley and climbed into the camp. The girl was lying on the horse blanket with her head on her coat. Her fine features were drawn with exhaustion and looking at her he told himself that if he couldn’t save her he wasn’t worth a damn. He promised himself then and there, as he had done a dozen times before during the night, that he would get her to safety and that no other man but he would have her. He lay down beside her and at once fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He didn’t know what had awoken him, but he came awake with a start. The sun was overhead and it burned his eyeballs. He sat up and looked at the girl. She stirred at his movement, but she didn’t wake.

  He heard the sound again.

  A horse whickered. The sound trembled on that hot air. He listened and heard an iron shoe strike rock.

  They were here.

  Alarm flooded through him.

  He rose to his knees and found that his body was agonizingly stiff and every muscle boasted an individual pain. His head had cleared, however, and the world no longer swam around him. He raised his head cautiously above the rocks and peered below.

  In the center of the valley, motionless, was a rider and his mount. The man carried a rifle across his saddlebow. The sight of the weapon was a reminder to Doolittle just how defenseless he was.

  The horse that had borne Doolittle and the girl through the night whickered again and the horse below answered. Charlie told himself it hadn’t been a bad idea to tie the horse on the far side of the valley. The rider down there was Wayne Gaylor.

  He looked south beyond Gaylor and saw a moving object.

  Another rider. Gaylor turned and signaled to the other man and this second one urged his horse forward in a trot. The horse was tired. Doolittle could see that even at the long distance.

  He bent down and put his left hand over the girl’s mouth.

  She came awake with her eyes wide and startled.

  He took away his hand and whispered: ‘They’re here.’

  She sat up in alarm. She went to speak, but he hushed her.

  ‘Now you do exactly like I say,’ he said. ‘No time for argument and who’s boss. You do like I say and I can swing this. Hear?’

  She nodded, watching him.

  He thought: That second rider is Holy Madder. Where the hell is Maddox at?

  ‘You work your way through those rocks yonder and you go to the top of the ridge. You keep flat and they don’t see you. They see you an’ everythin’ spoiled.’

  She looked indignant.

  ‘You’re just trying to be rid of me while you play at hero, Mr. Doolittle,’ she said. ‘I know you men.’

  His left hand gripped her wrist and his face was close to hers. His gaze gripped hers like a snake’s gripped a rabbit’s.

  ‘You damn little fool,’ he hissed. ‘I’m tryin’ to save my skin too. I can’t do that with you around. Savvy?’

  ‘I understand perfectly,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Maybe Spur could do it better,’ he said. ‘But I’ll get by.’

  She smiled suddenly and to his surprise touched his u
nshaven face with the tips of her fingers.

  ‘Mr. Doolittle,’ she said, ‘I’m sure Mr. Spur would do no better. You’re a very gallant gentleman.’

  Charlie looked floored for a moment. Then he blushed.

  ‘Shucks,’ he said.

  ‘Here I go,’ she told him and started crawling.

  ‘Netta,’ he said.

  She turned her head. There was a smudge of dirt on her face and her fine dark hair had come loose about her face. Her mouth was too big for her fine bone structure, but he was a man who liked a woman with generosity in her mouth.

  ‘Yes, Mr. Doolittle.’

  ‘I’m formally makin’ my second offer of marriage.’

  She seemed to hesitate for a moment.

  ‘Maybe we should consult Mr. Spur,’ she said.

  ‘If he agreed, what would you say?’

  She stared at him for a moment. Did she in that moment guess something of the situation? He didn’t know.

  ‘If ever such an occasion arose, Mr. Doolittle ... I ... shall we say that I wouldn’t look more favorably upon anybody but yourself in sight.’ She continued crawling. He watched her out of sight and came daringly to the conclusion that she had devastating ankles.

  When he peeked down at the men below, they were riding with thirty or forty yards between them, their rifles held ready, up the steep slope of the far side of the valley toward the tied horse.

  It was time he moved, he decided.

  They would find the horse, they would find his tracks and they would follow them. On how closely they followed them and whether they stayed together would rest his slim chance of success. Bleakly, he thought that if by some miracle he could manage to kill one or both of them before he himself died there might be a chance of the girl gaining a horse and riding north to safety.

  He started crawling in the opposite direction to that taken by the girl, going down the wall of the valley. The backs of the two mounted men were to him. He didn’t hurry and he kept close, knowing that his own and the girl’s life depended on him.

  The two men halted and stepped down from the saddle, leaving their horses ground-hitched. They now started to climb cautiously. By the time Doolittle had reached the spot he wanted, almost at the base of the slope, they had disappeared from sight.

  Where the hell’s Maddox? he wondered and the question worried him. He could be anywhere. Coming quietly in from the north; on the far side of the ridge over which the girl was crawling. The thought made the courage drain almost entirely from Doolittle.

  He searched around for rocks the right size for what he wanted. He found several, gripped two in his left hand and one in his right. He couldn’t help smiling to himself—a puny David going out against two heavily armed Goliaths. Maybe inside ten minutes his bullet-ridden body would be lying among these rocks. He tried to banish such thoughts from him. He was sweating and he was scared and he faced up to the fact. It was all a terrible mistake, him trying to play the part of a hero like Spur. Girls like Netta were drawn to such men. He was a fool to think that she would look at a fellow like him, a dull businessman with a freighting business.

  A man came in sight on the far side of the valley, rifle in the crook of his arm. He stood a moment gazing out over the country before him.

  Suddenly, he pointed and Doolittle heard his faint shout.

  The watching man’s heart turned over.

  Doolittle’s crude plan had gone wrong at the start.

  The man had seen the girl.

  The other man appeared, running. He stopped for a brief moment, then the pair of them were scrambling down the hillside toward their horses. Loose rocks rattled.

  In God’s name, what can I do? Doolittle thought in despair.

  They reached their horses and swung into the saddle. The animals turned and half-slid and half-hopped down the steep slope. They hit the flat running. Inside a few minutes, it would be all over.

  Doolittle, crouched in cover with his pitiful rocks in hand, watched intently, praying that one of them would come along his sign as he had hoped, would come near enough for him to make his hopeless attack, anything to earn a few minutes for the girl.

  But they didn’t. Neither of them gave any heed to the sign. He doubted they had even seen it. They were wholly intent on the girl. One of them yelled shrilly as he spurred his tired horse forward. The nearest, Wayne Gaylor, would pass by Doolittle at a distance of some thirty yards.

  The hiding man was beside himself.

  Suddenly, before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he was on his feet, shouting.

  Gaylor turned his head.

  Doolittle yelled again.

  ‘Gaylor, you yaller bastard.’

  For a moment, he thought the man would ride on past. Doolittle screamed his rage and defiance. Then the horse came around and Gaylor charged toward him. There seemed to be no thought in the man to discharge his rifle, even if such a thing was possible at the rate his horse was travelling. He headed for Doolittle, shouting.

  Doolittle stood his ground, his first rock held ready. He had no idea of stepping aside. The thought never entered his head. He wanted only to stop the charging man.

  When the thundering horse was almost on top of him, he made his throw, hurling the rock with all the strength in his body.

  He never knew where he hit. All he ever knew was that the horse and rider on top of him seemed to come apart as if through a violent explosion.

  It was only then that Doolittle leapt aside.

  As he stumbled and went down he had a wild impression of a horse’s body somersaulting and flying past him. There was a piercing scream. Whether it came from the throat of the man or the beast he would never know.

  He staggered to his feet and stumbled forward.

  The horse was kicking frantically. Gaylor was on his hands and knees, fumbling blindly.

  It seemed to take a thousand years to reach him, But Doolittle swung his foot and landed his toe in the man’s ribs. Gaylor gave an animal noise and rolled over.

  Doolittle looked around. His eye fell at once on the rifle, lying ten yards from the fallen man. He ran toward it and, as he did so, he heard the shot. He heard it thud into the body of the horse behind him. The animal stopped kicking.

  Doolittle was on one knee with the rifle in his hands, jacking a round into the breech. Dimly, he was aware of a rider above him in the rocks.

  He was earning time for the girl, he told himself. This was what he wanted. He must kill that man there or he would get to the girl.

  He fired.

  He saw the horse up there jump, but he couldn’t be sure if he had made a hit or not. The man was turning the horse. He was exposed up there and he didn’t like it. Neither did he want to be parted from his horse. He turned and spurred along the side of the steep slope.

  Doolittle gulped air into his starved lungs and went back to look at Gaylor. The man was groaning and holding his head. Doolittle went through his pockets and found some shells for the rifle. He stuffed these into his own pockets, took off the man’s gunbelt and started with it up the side of the valley.

  The rider had disappeared. Doolittle started to fret that he had crossed the ridge and reached the girl. If he had the girl, Doolittle was helpless. He sweated and strained up the hill, cursing his bodily weakness. It was as though he fought his own infirmities as much as the slope of the hill. By the time he reached the summit of the ridge, his senses reeled and his legs were collapsing under him. The rifle and the revolver were almost insupportable weights.

  Below him, his uncertain gaze could see nothing but dust, rocks and brush. Here and there cactus raised its organ-piped head. Desolation and silence.

  He wanted to find the girl but he dared not call, for that would only locate her for the men who were searching for her. He could not get it out of his head that Maddox was somewhere around.

  I’ll stay here, he thought. They’ll see me here and they’ll come for me.

  Cautious Doolittle had lost his he
ad. This girl had made him lose his sense of proportion. And she didn’t give a damn for him. Even now, crouching down in cover below there, she was thinking of Spur and praying that he would come to her rescue.

  He was spotted almost at once.

  A rifle shot crashed and echoed in the hills and a bullet kicked up dust almost at his feet. He jerked his head this way and that, searching for the marksman. He could see no drifting gunsmoke. He slung the gunbelt over his shoulder and jacked a round into the breech of the rifle.

  ‘Mr. Doolittle.’

  He started. That was the girl’s voice. He looked to his left and saw her beckoning to him, crouched down behind some rocks.

  ‘Stay where you’re at,’ he called. He wanted that rifleman to shoot again so that he could locate him. He heard a scrabble of rocks on the side of the ridge from which he had just come. Looking back, he saw Gaylor on his feet and a horseman near him. This was Maddox. Now, he knew, he was in real trouble. He wished to God the girl had not stopped where she was, but had worked her way further east. He swore softly to himself.

  The girl called: ‘Mr. Doolittle, if you don’t come to me I shall come to you.’

  ‘You stay put,’ he called angrily.

  Maddox had spotted him and was swinging down from the saddle. Doolittle clapped the butt of the rifle to his shoulder and fired once. He missed and both Maddox and Gaylor went for cover. A moment later Maddox was sending lead in his direction. Doolittle flung himself flat on the top of the ridge. Here he was slightly protected by rocks, but he was not sure that he was covered from the marksman behind him.

  He heard movement near at hand and Madder fired. He turned his head and saw the girl crawling toward him.

  Jesus, he thought in a panic, that damned girl...

  Her elegant travelling costume was now in rags. She looked a mess, but, at the same time, as she crawled toward him she made the loveliest sight he had ever seen, her eyes bright with excitement and determination. The last few yards were steep for her and, as she reached for them, Madder put a shot which was no more than inches from her. It whined away into the heavens. Doolittle reached down for her, grasped her hand and hauled her up beside him.