Hot spur, p.6
Hot Spur, page 6
Chapter 13
Ben North swung down from his saddle and walked the last few steps to the veranda. He tipped his hat to the young woman and nodded to the old man. Even though her eyes were red and swollen, Ben noticed the woman was very young and very beautiful.
“Howdy, folks. I’m looking for Mr. John Grant.”
“Look no further, son. I’m Grant. What can I do for you?”
“I apologise about coming at such a time. I heard about Harry, and that’s what I’m here about. I’m a friend of Harry’s. Name’s Ben North.”
“Ben North, you’re shore welcome. I heard our Harry speak about you. Any friend of Harry is a friend of mine. Step on up and grab yourself a seat. I was just about to order drinks. Will you join us?”
“I’d be mighty obliged, sir.”
One of the ranch hands came out and led the horse away. Big John’s Indian house servant brought a tray of drinks. When they were settled, the old man and the girl waited for the visitor to state his business.
“I don’t know what Harry told you about me. But he’s a good friend to me. Saved my life once.”
The visitor paused for a reaction from his listeners.
“Deuce that boy,” Big John responded. “He’s as closed as a banker’s vault.”
Ben North smiled at the old man.
“That’s Harry, all right. Save your life and then forget all about it. So, you see, when I heard Harry was in trouble, I had to come over and find out if I could help in any way.”
“Too late now, son. Harry’s in prison.” The old man sank back in his rocker, pain and sorrow etched in deep furrows on his face. “It were all my fault, too,” he muttered, “all my fault.”
“Mr. Grant, can you tell me what happened? I need to get a clear picture of the case.”
The old man sighed deeply. He took a long swig from his whiskey glass and then proceeded to tell Ben what had happened that fateful night in the Hot Spur.
“I was kind of drunk, and this fella kept pushing and pushing. Harry tried to calm me down some, but this fella was steaming for trouble. I went for my gun. After that, I don’t know much. I took this slug that’ll be the death of me. Harry shot the fella.” The old man looked sorrowfully into his glass. “Now Harry’s locked away, and I’m sat here waiting to die.”
Now it was Allison’s turn to give comfort to the old man. She reached across and took his big paw in her dainty, white hand. Ben stared in fascination at the two so different hands locked together.
“Nonsense, John. You weren’t to blame. The man was obviously looking for trouble. If it hadn’t been you and Harry, it would have been some other poor critter.”
But the old man could not be consoled. His pain-stricken eyes stared sightlessly into the distance.
“Mr. Grant, this fella that was causing the trouble, by any chance you know his name?”
The big man blinked, his attention slowly coming back to his guest.
“Name? I reckon so. It came out at the trial. Name of Jonah Jones, a drifter by all accounts. No one knew nothin’ about him.”
Ben sat up straight in his chair, his eyes alight with some inner knowledge.
“You sure? Jonah Jones, you said. Can you describe him?”
Big John’s tortured eyes stared at the young stranger.
“Describe him? He’s branded into my memory like a hot iron on a steer. He was kind of shabby-like in dark clothing. Almost like an out-of-work preacher. His face… His face was like a…a corpse, pale and narrow-like. Wore gloves. I remember that. Damndest thing seeing a man wearing gloves in a saloon.”
Slowly Ben sat back in his chair.
“I’ll be confounded. Jonah Jones,” he murmured. To his listeners’ frustration, he fell into a contemplative silence.
“You…you knowed this fella, Jones?” Big John asked at last.
“I sure do. He’s a deadly assassin, or was if you say Harry downed him. Gun for hire. Kill anyone for money—man, woman, or child. Cold as a tombstone in a snowdrift. If you don’t mind me speculating, Mr. Grant, someone wanted you dead. That’s why Jonah Jones were in Lourdes. He was hired to kill you. It weren’t your fault Harry’s in prison. It’s the fault of the person who hired him. Jones only kills for money.”
His listeners sat staring at him in dumbstruck silence. His words lightened something within Allison. She looked up hopefully at the lawman.
“There’s someone in with Harry Grant. That, also, was a travesty of justice,” she said tentatively.
“Tell me about it, miss.”
After listening to her story, Ben North took a sworn statement from her regarding the circumstances of Luke’s conviction for theft.
“I’ll do my best, Miss Allison. Seems to me a lot of injustice has been going on around here. As upholder of the law, it’s my responsibility to put things right if I can.”
Chapter 14
There were five of them, hard, sinewy men. Lean and ragged, they were like hungry wolves and just as mean and unpredictable. Their victim wriggled and fought as callused hands dragged him into the latrine.
“I likes it when they struggle,” one of the men giggled.
“Sure as hell got some spunk,” another responded.
The youngster desperately twisted his head. As the hand clamped to his mouth loosened slightly, he bit hard into a finger. With a foul oath, the man jerked at his injured hand, but the kid’s teeth were clamped with remorseless determination.
“Goddamn, git him off me!”
But his companions could not help. They were laughing fit to bust. It was slightly hysterical mirth. The men were stirred up with sexual tension and expectation. Their mirth was uncontrolled, as was their undue haste when they dragged the kid into the latrine. The man with the bitten finger swore and was dragged helplessly in the wake of the captive.
A prison guard looked on indifferently and wondered briefly if he should join in the fun. The victim certainly was a good-looking kid and young. Young and tender, he mused as the temptation to join in persisted. However, he thought better of it when he contemplated the calibre of the men intent on molesting the youngster.
They were the hardest villains in a prison full of tough hombres. To join in the fun would mean setting down his carbine. Somehow, he didn’t think the pleasure of the kid’s tender body would compensate for a hole in his head.
Inside the latrine, the hard case with the bitten finger cuffed viciously at the kid’s head. In the end, the boy was forced to let go. The man stood back, blood dripping from his hand. He kicked the boy in the side. His victim tried to twist away, but strong hands held him firm.
“Son of a bitch, I’m going to kill that little varmint.”
“Goddamn hell you won’t, Jess. We’ll keep him for ourselves. And he sure as hell won’t die from what we’ll give him. Make him a mite sore, but we can use him as often as we want.”
“Git them britches off him.”
The struggles of the youngster grew more frantic as he twisted in the iron grip of his captors. He was helpless in the face of the implacable disregard the men showed for his efforts. They shredded his clothing like vultures stripping flesh from a corpse. Buttons were ignored as the eager men tore at his shirt and pants.
“Flip him over.”
The men stared with slavering lust at the naked youngster stretched on the ground. Where his clothes had covered him, his skin was white in contrast to his face and hands tanned by wind and sun. He was naked and vulnerable, a tender morsel for brutal men locked up for years with no hope of release.
“I’m first.”
The man was undoing his pants, while the other four restrained the youngster. With the hand removed from his mouth, the boy screamed.
“No, you bastards. Don’t do this. I ain’t done nothing to deserve this.”
“You was born, boy. That’s what you done. You was born. We’re your mother, and father, and brothers, an’ sisters now. We all family now. We going to love you to death, boy. And you going to love us right back. Ain’t that right, fellas?”
“Sure,” came back the chorus. “We going to love you to death.”
The boy opened his mouth to scream again, but a wad of his torn shirt was shoved between his jaws.
“Just you lie there and think of me as yore daddy.”
So intent were the men on their debauchery, they failed to notice the movement by the door.
Chapter 15
Harry Grant had been looking for his young rustler acquaintance when he heard the scream. His advance inside the latrine was silent. The first the men knew of his presence was when his boot connected with the man holding Luke’s right leg. The man grunted and pitched forward against the one kneeling behind Luke.
“What the hell?” he spluttered, thinking his companion was trying to usurp his place.
Then he realised his error as he saw Harry boot another of his friends in the side of the head.
“Goddamned…” he screamed as he tried to rise, but as his pants were around his ankles, he was at some disadvantage.
The men Harry attacked were fast, vicious, and dangerous. They had spent all their lives scavenging. Lying and stealing came naturally. All human life was there to be exploited. Compared to most men, they were brute beasts. And they had the instincts of wild animals. Recovering quickly, they leapt to their feet and quickly closed with the attacker.
Harry backpeddled then suddenly swung a right cross at his nearest opponent. The fist smashed into the man’s mouth but did not stop him. The man came on and closed with Harry. There was nothing for Harry to do but keep going back. Suddenly he crashed against the wall, and the man was able to wrap his brawny arms around him. Harry brought his knee up and at the same time smashed his forehead into the man’s nose. But these men were tough as wild boars and just as dangerous. For all Harry’s efforts, the man’s arms stayed in place.
By now his companions were swarming around the two struggling men. Seeing help on the way, the man entwined with Harry arched backwards and deliberately toppled to the floor. Struggle as he might, Harry could not loosen the man’s grip. A boot crashed into the side of his head, and Harry saw stars.
Desperately he drove his forehead into the injured nose again. The man grunted, and Harry struck again but not before a boot hit him in the kidneys. However, the grip around him loosened, and the next kick flung him sideways and out of that crushing grip.
Harry rolled and rolled again, but the brutal kicks kept landing. In desperation, he grabbed at the nearest boot and heaved mightily. There was a yell as the boot’s owner floundered and crashed heavily to the floor. The man Harry had head-butted was on his hands and knees, shaking his head as blood streamed from a busted nose.
Somehow Harry was on his feet again. An attacker moved in and swung a punch. Harry blocked and punched back. Blows were coming from all directions. Slowly he gave way, looking for an opening to deal a crippling blow. But the men he fought were tough hombres, used to roughhousing. They were slowly wearing him down. Then the opening came. Swiftly he kicked, and his boot slammed into a knee. There was a yell as the joint snapped and the man went down. Now there were three in front of him.
Harry was a mess. His body was a mass of aches and bruises where boots and fists had landed. Blood streamed from his nose and from a cut above his eye. He knew he could not last much longer at this pace. But his attackers were winded, also. There was a pause in the frenzied action.
“You’re dead, cowboy.”
The man who spoke looked in as bad a shape as Harry.
“Your grave’s all ready for you in this shit-house.”
Harry was breathing deeply, wondering if maybe the speaker was right and he wouldn’t come out of the latrine alive. The wrestler who had been head-butted was back on his feet, his face a mask of blood and gore. Though he swayed unsteadily, he was still a force to be reckoned with. Without warning his attackers surged forward.
Desperately Harry swung and punched. But more of his attackers’ punches were getting through. He crashed back against a wall. The men closed in for the kill. Harry braced himself for the onslaught.
A fist pummelled his head, and at the same time a boot came from nowhere and kicked him in the stomach. Harry grunted and went down. He knew this was the end.
Once on the floor, the men would kick and stomp him to death. He had seen it before. Men gathering round a fallen victim kicking and stomping until the victim was either dead or so badly beaten he never recovered. There was no mercy in these men. There was the bestial light of killing lust in their faces as they closed in.
Harry curled himself into a ball, hoping to protect his head from the vicious kicking. The kicks rained down. Harry’s body jerked as the boots thudded home. He was a mass of agony. Suddenly, as the outside attacker raised his boot to stomp, something solid and big hit him on the side of the head. He grunted and sagged against the wall. Harry saw movement beyond the attackers and looked up to see a naked form behind them. The youngster was wading into the hard cases swinging a large, wooden bucket.
His assailants turned to fend off this new attack. For one man it was fatal. The bucket took him full in the face, smashing even further an already crushed nose. He screamed as he went down, the bones of his nose driving up into his brain.
It was Harry’s chance. He was on his feet kicking and punching. Attacked from behind as well as in front, the men broke and tried to flee. But the naked figure was seized by a demon. A maniacal strength seemed to possess the slim form as it went about the business of wreaking as much damage as he could on his tormentors.
The bucket swung with the vicious fury of the young man out for revenge. There was no defence against the wild swings of the heavy object. Limbs, held up to fend off the blows, were smashed aside like twigs. The berserk youth ignored the few blows that managed to land on him. He was out for the kill. The bucket smashed into heads and faces.
With Harry on one side attacking with renewed fury and the savage bucket wielder on the other side, the men were being quickly beaten into submission. Even with all the would-be rapists on the floor, the bucket rose and fell with unrestrained fury.
Harry blinked away the blood blinding his vision and saw the naked Luke battering the inert forms strewn around the floor. A few were groaning, while some made no movement at all, even when the heavy, wooden bucket smashed into their somnolent forms. Harry staggered over to the boy.
“Luke, Luke, for God’s sake.”
But the boy did not appear to hear him. The bucket rose and fell with unbridled determination, smashing heads and faces into bloodied pulp.
In desperation, Harry grabbed the boy’s arm.
“Luke, Luke, it’s finished. It’s over!”
The boy stared at him, and slowly the light of madness faded. There was a thud as the bucket fell from his hands, sounding loud in the sudden silence as the frenzied action ceased.
“Harry, you...you all right?”
“Come on. Let’s get the hell outta here.”
At the entrance of the toilet they stopped, and Harry cautiously looked into the yard. Out in the bright sun everything appeared normal. Prisoners slouched against the walls or sat in the dust and talked, or played cards, or made up games with pebbles. He was aware of the nakedness of the youth beside him.
“Git your clothes. Pull them on.”
Luke did as he was bid. He was in a daze, and Harry had to guide him. The garments were torn, but Harry made the boy drape them around him as best he could. There was nothing he could do about the blood on his own face and hands.
“Just walk out easy. Make it slow as if everything’s normal.”
The burning sun was a shock to their eyes after the dimness of the latrine. Harry tried to keep Luke on the side away from the guard. But he need not have worried. The guard hardly glanced at them as he continued to patrol. None of the guards on the watchtowers were interested in the two prisoners as they walked across the yard.
With a groan of pain Harry slumped to the ground with his back against the prison wall. Every bone and joint in his body throbbed in agony. He felt light-headed. As he probed his nose, he felt the bones grating together. He groaned again at the sudden pain. Luke swung his head to him, concern in his eyes.
“Goddamn it, they busted my nose.”
Luke looked at his saviour. The face was like a slab of raw beef. Eyes, nose, and mouth were swollen to twice their size.
“Mr. Grant, you look awful.”
Harry frowned at his companion. Even that slight movement hurt his face. The young man’s unmarked face looked back at him with deep concern in his eyes.
“I suppose you wish you’d never met me,” Luke said dolefully. “I’ve been nothing but bad luck for you. First, I help steal your cattle, then I go on the lam when you was takin’ me in, and now this. Why’d you save me just now?”
And Harry wondered only briefly why he had gone to the rescue. But he knew the answer to that already. He could never stand by and ignore someone in trouble. Then he cursed inwardly as the picture of the beautiful, young girl he had last seen standing in the road with tears in her eyes rose in his mind. He had promised her he would look after her beau.
Harry felt a great loneliness well up within him. He had never before seen a woman like Miss Allison, and he knew he never would see the likes of her again. When he got out of prison—that is, if he survived—she would be long gone. Her man Luke would have been released long before that, and they would have departed for faraway pastures.
Chapter 16
Ben North rode away from the Big G towards Lourdes. As he rode, he planned his strategy. He always thought best when out riding. The horse could be left to follow the track while he put on his thinking cap.
He had spent some time in the office of the Big G. There he had written to various officials. These letters had been given to one of the Big G’s hands to carry to the nearest mail station. Now he was on his way to Lourdes in order to gather evidence to back up his misgiving regarding the trial of Harry Grant.
