The Jeweled Spur (20 page)

The night soon swallowed them up, and they disappeared into the short hills, then began to climb the steeper heights. Once they passed close to a mountain lion and it let out a shrill scream—almost like a woman in terror. But then it turned and padded away, the echo of its cry fading into the stillness of the night.

****

“Can’t tell you how grateful Hope and I are, Mark,” Dan Winslow said. The two men were sitting at the kitchen table drinking black coffee from large white mugs. Ever since Mark had arrived earlier that morning, Dan had tried to express his gratitude, and now shook his head, adding, “I know how busy you are—”

“You’d do the same for me,” Mark broke in. Leaning back in his chair, he looked relaxed, but there was an alert air about him, and he said, “Would have been here earlier, but I wanted Heck to come with me.”

“He’s a good investigator, you say?” asked Dan.

“Heck Thomas? Best there is.” Mark nodded firmly. He sipped his coffee, then added, “I didn’t want to be seen with him—and you don’t need to either. He’ll be around, but you’ll never know it—nor will anyone else.”

Hope had been taking a cake out of the oven, and now she set it down on the counter and came to stand beside Dan. “I don’t understand that, Mark. What can he do?”

“He’ll be working undercover, and he may have another man with him. Nobody will connect him with Cody or with you. That way he’ll be able to move around unhindered. Heck’s the best man in the world for getting information out of people.”

Hope put out her hand and rested it on Dan’s shoulder. “Does he think he can help?”

Mark shook his head. “You’ll never get Heck Thomas to
say about that. He keeps his mouth shut tight as a jug until he’s got the job done. Most secretive man I ever knew.”

“We want to pay him, Mark,” Dan insisted.

Mark reached over and slapped the muscular shoulder of his brother. “Don’t try it,” he grinned. “What’s the use of being rich and famous like me if I can’t be a big spender. You wouldn’t want to bruise my ego, would you?”

“It’d take a pile-driver to do that,” Dan smiled. Then he said, “It’s going to be hard, just waiting.”

“Yes, that’s the hardest thing there is,” Mark admitted. “But we’ve all got to do it. Watch and pray, that’s our job now—and leave the method up to Heck Thomas.”

****

The minute Dan stepped off his horse, Hope knew something was wrong. He tied his horse, and then slowly walked over toward her. There was a tightness to his lips that warned her.

“What is it, Dan?” she asked quietly.

“It’s about Cody,” Dan said, then hesitated. He’d tried to think of some way to break the news to her in an easy way, but he knew there was no way to do that. “He’s broke out of prison, Hope.”

“Oh no, Dan!” she gasped.

Dan pulled a single sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. She scanned it, then lifted her face to him. “Why did he do it? We told him about Mark hiring the best detective in the country to find the truth.”

“I guess it was pretty rough on him. I’ve known men who could stand anything except being cooped up. I guess Cody is one of those.”

“What will happen now?”

Dan shook his head. “I doubt he’ll get in touch with us. What we have to pray is that he doesn’t get caught. He’ll be listed as armed and dangerous—and a lawman could shoot first.”

Hope shook her head, her fine eyes clouded with grief. “But Mark said that Heck Thomas was making some headway. If only he could get proof!”

“If he does, we’ll have the story put in all the newspapers in the country, Hope. Maybe Cody will see it and give himself up.”

They stood there on the porch, hurting and filled with uncertainty. Finally Dan put his arm around her and turned her toward the house. The two of them moved slowly, almost painfully as they entered the door. “We’ll keep on believing God,” Hope whispered. She leaned against him, and deep down a cry rose, but she choked it back and grasped his arm tightly.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A New Friend

From the moment the two big men had piled into the boxcar, Sam Novak had known that they would be trouble. He himself had scrambled on at a small town twenty miles north and found the boxcar occupied by only one man. He had tried to start up a conversation, but his fellow traveler had been uncommunicative, simply answering in monosyllables. He had finally pulled his coat around him, had lain down on the straw, and had gone to sleep.

The train had clattered over the rails, stopping only once. The door had slid open with a clatter, and two more big men had gotten on and slammed the door behind them. One of them straightened up at once, looked around the car, and saw the two men already there. He said nothing but fixed his glance on Novak, as if trying to figure something out. The other hobo, a tall, lean man with long arms and a thatch of blond beard, plopped down and took a deep breath. “We made it, Deuce,” he said. “I thought for a while there our goose was cooked.”

“Shut up, Harry.” The man who spoke was not as tall as the first, but was very broad and large inside the plaid wool coat that barely met over his burly chest. He glanced again at Novak, then demanded, “Any brakeman been checkin’ this car, Bo?”

“Not since I been on,” Novak answered briefly.

The man named Deuce nodded, then sat down, his back to the side of the car, and drew his legs up. The two were typical
hobos, Novak knew, differing only in that they were bigger and stronger than most. An alarm went off in his head, and he thought,
Sooner or later they’ll shake me down—or try to.
He had no illusions about his own ability to withstand two such opponents. He was a lean young man, not over five ten, well built but not massive, as were the two who sat silently staring at him as the train rumbled over a trestle.

The cold December air blew in through every crack in the boxcar, chilling Novak to the bone. He pulled his coat closer about him and yanked his black cap down, folding the flaps over his ears. He had been almost asleep when the train had stopped and the two new passengers climbed on, but now he knew he would have to remain watchful. As he sat there, he made up his mind to get off at the next stop. Casting a glance at the fourth occupant of the boxcar, he wondered if he ought to do something to warn the young man, but he shrugged his shoulders, thinking,
I guess he wouldn’t welcome any advice from me.

Despite the frigid air whistling through the car, Sam Novak’s eyes began to grow heavy. He had not slept much for the past two nights and had eaten almost nothing in twenty-four hours. Determined to stay awake, he leaned his head back and fastened his eyes on the pair, studying their features by the first thin rays of dawn that filtered through the slats of the car. They were, he saw, vicious men, feral and sly. He knew then for certain that he would have to stay awake.

But the rhythmic clicking of the wheels over the rails, the swaying of the car, and his lack of sleep caught up with him. Slowly his eyes shut, and twice he snapped his head upright, forcing himself to stay awake. Finally he dropped off into sleep, his chin falling on his chest.

He awakened suddenly to a hand touching him. Without thinking he struck out with all his might and drove the taller of the two men backward. Instantly the one called Harry stood up and came over beside his companion. “You’re a butterfingered scoundrel, Deuce,” he smirked. “You’ll never
make a pickpocket.” He turned his pale eyes on Novak and said, “All right, Bo, hand it over.”

“Hand what over?” Novak challenged, although he knew very well what the pair had in mind.

“Gimme your cash,” Harry snapped impatiently. “Come on, snap it up!”

Novak scrambled to his feet, put his back against the wall of the car, and clenched his fists.

Deuce grinned at him, his features blunt and fearsome in the breaking light. “Look at that! Enough to scare a man to death, ain’t it?”

The other laughed loudly and said, “I reckon it’ll take both of us to get this one, Harry.” He stepped forward and his grin dropped from his face. “All right. You can have it either way you want it—easy or hard. But either way, we’ll get what you’ve got in your poke,” he said menacingly.

“Yeah. Come on, be smart, Bo,” Deuce added carelessly. He slapped one fist into the palm of the other hand, the action making a meaty sound. He repeated it as if he enjoyed the feel of it, and then lifted his right hand. “C’mon, we ain’t taking you to no doctor after we stomp you, so let’s have it.”

Sam Novak knew he was being foolish, but there was a stubborn streak in the young man. He wished desperately that he had a gun or a knife, anything—but he had no weapons at all. Suddenly, he did the only thing he knew. He made a dive, dodging the tall man on the right, and headed for the door, but the instant his hands touched the car door, strong hands like claws grabbed him and yanked him back, sending him sailing across the car.

He slammed into the opposite door, striking his head so hard that for an instant brilliant lights flashed before his eyes. Shaking his head, he scrambled to his feet and held his fists up. Harry snapped, “Come on, Deuce, let’s get this over with.” He stepped forward, and when Novak threw a blow, he simply blocked it with his left arm and sent a right cross that caught the young man high on the forehead, driving
him sideways. It was a disaster for Novak, and only some sort of instinct allowed him to turn and begin to fend off his two aggressors.

The two men made a joke out of it. One of them would hit Novak in the face or the body, and when he heard a gasp he would grab him and throw him across at the other, who would catch him and repeat the action.

“We can keep this up all day, fellow,” Harry grinned. “Why don’t you be smart now and give us your money?”

Novak’s right eye was rapidly closing, and blood was trickling down from a cut over the eyebrow. His mouth was bleeding where his lips had been crushed against his teeth, and his side ached from the pounding he’d taken, but he gave no sign of giving up. Glaring at the two, he shook his head and said, “You’re small-time punks!”

“All right,” Deuce said, scowling. “Put him down, Harry.”

Harry stepped forward to deliver a crushing blow, but at that very instant something gripped his coat near the collar, and he felt himself yanked back bodily. He staggered back against the door, hollering, “Hey, what’s going on!”

Deuce wheeled about while Harry caught his balance, and the two of them whirled to stare at the young man who had left his place on the straw and stood facing them. He was wearing a battered hat, and his clothes had seen rough wear. Quickly, Harry took in the form of the man and saw that he was tall, about six feet, but seemed to be slender, although it was hard to tell with the bulky clothes. “You better stay out of this,” he warned. “You could get hurt bad.”

The eyes that regarded the two from underneath the hat were steady. They were the darkest kind of blue and did not waver. “Let him alone,” he said, almost conversationally. “You can get on the other side of the car.” Saying this, he moved across, planting himself firmly beside Novak.

Harry cursed, and Deuce shouted, “Get him, Harry.” Harry was fairly adept at barroom brawling. He had depended on his burly strength, and now he cocked his massive fist back.
But even as he drew it back, the young man snapped a punch at him so fast that Harry had no chance to blink, catching him in the mouth and driving him backward. Deuce yelled and threw a punch, but Novak saw it coming. He didn’t attempt to hit the man but kicked with all his might at the kneecap. Instantly, Deuce was on the floor of the car yelling, “You broke my knee!”

Harry came back, his mouth bleeding, but still tough. He threw himself at the interloper, cursing, caught him, and pinioned him to the wall. He raised his hand to slug him in the ear, when suddenly he felt steely hands grasp him behind his neck. His head was pulled forward just as the young man ducked his head, and Harry felt his nose break. Hearing the sound of the crunch as he took the terrible blow, he turned loose of his adversary. Before he could even move, Sam Novak gave him a taste that he’d dished out to the other man by kicking him in the knee with all his might. He had on hard-toed, short boots, and agony ran through Harry. He did not fall, but when he backed up against the door, his knee felt on fire, and the pain in his mouth and nose was as bad as anything he’d ever felt.

“Had enough?” demanded the stranger. “Or you want your other knee kicked in?”

Deuce got up from the floor of the car, glared at the two, but mumbled, “Come on, Harry—” He hobbled toward the other end of the car, slumped down, and his companion followed him.

Novak watched them, then turned and said quietly, “You saved my bacon that time.”

“Glad to help. Are you okay?”

Novak looked at the young man, felt his ribs, and grimaced, “Be a little sore, I guess. Come on down here. I got a blanket we can wrap up in.”

The two moved away toward the other end of the car, keeping their eyes on the pair who glared at them as they nursed
their wounds. Novak gave his name, and then the other said quietly, “Name’s Logan, Jim Logan.”