by Kurt Barker
Blackshot took a step toward the door and as he did so his left hand trailed behind him and grabbed hold of the back of the chair. Suddenly he slung the chair around his body and brought it slamming down onto the heavy young man's face, breaking his sunburned nose as the wood shattered against his skull. The man's gun blazed out, the slug burrowing into the dirt floor as he reeled backward with blood streaming from his nose and mouth.
Before his sagging legs could fail him, Blackshot grabbed him by the collar and thrust him toward the others while he launched himself toward the back door with the same motion. A rifle roared behind him and and he heard the meaty thud of the bullet hitting flesh, and a wheezing gasp from the bloody man.
“Shit! Shit!” The panicked voice was followed by another shot which splintered the frame of the back door as Blackshot carried it off its hinges with a driving shoulder. Rolling onto his hands and feet, he looked around him for the best means of escape. Behind the house the barren ground extended only a dozen yards or so before reaching the deep chasm that fell down between the cliffs. There was nowhere to go but down!
Chapter 14
Looking quickly up and down the little lot for anything that could be of aid, Blackshot saw only a few rotten logs stacked up against the back wall, but then spotted an old ax head resting against one of them. He scooped it up as he sprinted toward the corner of the house. Pressing himself to the wall, he stole a quick look around the edge of the cabin, but saw nothing. No one had followed him out the back door either; after what had just happened, none of them were feeling brave enough to chase him down hastily even without his guns. He listened for a few seconds but couldn't detect any sound that would tell him where the three remaining gunmen were.
Crouching down, he reached one of the rotting logs and hefted it against the wall by the back door, about head-high. The response was immediate; from just inside the door the bright flash and throaty crack of a rifle flared out, and the door frame was torn apart by a pair of bullets. No sooner had the report of the shots died away but the voice of Lucky barked, “Quiet, dammit!! Cut out that shooting!”
The voice that answered from near the back door jangled with fear: “He fuckin' rushed me! He's coming! Help me out!”
“Shut up, stupid!!”
Lucky's voice had come from the front of the house; he was probably posted up by the front door were he could cover the inside of the house as well as any attempt to make a run for the horses. As long as he was there, there was nowhere Blackshot could move safely, and it was only a matter of time before one of the other two plucked up the courage to come out and get him.
As quietly as he could manage, Blackshot picked up another small log from the stack. Sliding around the corner, he lofted it into the air and watched it land with a muted thump on the sandy ground near the front corner of the house. A second later he heard soft footsteps from the front of the house hastening toward the corner.
Wasting no time, Blackshot turned back and stole along the back door on tiptoe. Suddenly he lunged through the door; the long-haired man was no more than a few feet away, rifle at the ready, but Blackshot fended it aside with a jab of his forearm and speared into the man with his full weight. The rifle went off with a burst of fire that bit into the rafters above the back door as the two men tumbled to the ground.
“Help! Help!” the man cried, thrashing mightily to free himself from Blackshot's embrace.
“Too late for that,” Blackshot muttered as he raised the ax head in his hand and brought it down with all his might.
The heavy blade plunged into the long-haired man's skull between his eyes, splitting his head open in a spurt of blood. A scream died on the man's lips and his arms fell limp against the ground. Blackshot jerked the iron wedge free, and a gush of blood and gray matter spilled out onto the ground around the man's head.
“I guess I was wrong about you not having any brains,” Blackshot said. “At least, I was until now.”
Footsteps were coming fast now from behind the house. Just as Blackshot sprang to his feet, Lucky burst through the back door with a rifle in his hands. They were too close together for him to attempt a shot, but he jabbed the butt of the gun out towards Blackshot's head. It caught the brim of his hat and sent it flying, but he ducked under the stabbing blow and drilled an elbow into gunman's midsection. Lucky staggered back but pulled down on the rifle, locking it around the back of Blackshot's neck.
Blackshot threw his arms around his opponent's waist and surged out the back door; they reeled to the ground and landed hard, and he felt the pressure from the rifle barrel at the back of his neck lessen. Fighting free with a vigorous twist, he locked his fingers around the other man's hand. The rifle thundered and he felt the searing heat of the blast but he did not let go.
Lucky's legs wrapped around Blackshot and his free hand pawed at his face even as he struggled to gain control of the rifle. Blackshot's still held the ax head in his left hand but that arm was pinned under his body, and he could only turn his head this way and that to avoid the other man's gouging fingers. With a mighty effort, he managed to plant one foot in the dirt and heave himself upward like a bucking horse, knocking Lucky onto his back as he strove free from his grasp.
Before there was any chance to react, Blackshot pounced on the rifle and held it to the ground with one hand while the other swung the ax blade with all the strength he could muster, severing Lucky's gun hand with a vicious blow. The big man bellowed in pain as a geyser of blood issued from the stump of his wrist and he writhed in the dirt, fighting to get to his feet. A sharp punch to the jaw sat him back on the ground with teeth spitting from his lips and then Blackshot's fingers were fastening around his throat.
“Let's test that theory of yours,” Blackshot snarled, and with a powerful jerk he pulled Lucky off the ground and hurled him over the edge of the cliff. For a moment there was no sound and then a weighty crunch echoed up the canyon walls. Blackshot dusted off his hat and returned it to his head. “Huh, you were right; it was a big drop,” he said.
At that moment the noise of a whinnying horse came to his ears from the front of the house; the bald man was making a break for it! Blackshot sprinted through the back door and out the front just in time to see the man climbing onto Khamsin's back. For an instant he was astride the stallion and an instant later he was pitching sideways into the dirt as Khamsin shook him from his back like he would a flea. As the man fumbled in the dust to push himself upright, Blackshot's boot slammed into his chest and pinned him to the ground. He grabbed for the two Colts in his waistband but they were already in Blackshot's hands with their muzzles pointing right at him.
“Take it easy! Don't shoot!” the man shouted. “Let's talk this out!”
“You set me up for a big fall,” Blackshot growled.
“Wait! The sheriff paid me to do that! I'll give you the money!”
“Save it,” Blackshot said as flames bloomed from the mouths of the Colts. “There might be tipping in hell.”
Chapter 15
Khamsin's hooves were a blur of speed as they flew down the rocky trail. Blackshot was pushing the stallion as fast as he dared on the winding downhill track above Jubilation; he wasn't sure if Preston would still be in town but he aimed to catch him before he went out to the well if he could. Stones bounced ahead of them down the slope as the horse slipped and slid on the loose gravel but didn't slow down.
Once back on level ground, they weaved their way through the narrow lanes along the outskirts of Jubilation until final coming out onto the main street. Blackshot turned and rode past the saloon as he made his way toward the sheriff's office. As it came into sight he spotted a man lounging outside the door. The man got up as he approached and waved to him. He was a stocky, unkempt middle-aged man with a dented slouch hat pulled down over his stringy hair, and his face was immediately familiar to Blackshot; it was none other than Buster Groom.
“Hey you!” Groom shouted. “You that Blackshot fella? The one what's lookin' for me?
”
“Yeah, that's me.”
Groom held up his hand with the wrists together. “Well slap the irons on me and take me in! I'm giving myself up! I ain't spending one more minute dealin' with that rotten old whore!”
“Where's the sheriff?” Blackshot demanded.
“Aw, he left outta here a while ago, and his deputies too,” Groom replied with a dismissive wave. “He said they was too busy to arrest me! What kind of sheriff is that now, huh?”
“Buster, you son of a bitch! Get back here and stop playin' the fool!” The sharp voice came from down the street, and it belonged to a rotund woman in a dirty dress, who was waddling toward them with a scowl on her ruddy face.
“Go home, you old biddy! Look what your damn nagging and bitching has led me to! I done turned myself in and I'm goin' back to jail!” Groom turned to Blackshot and held out his hands again. As he spoke, his words were drowned out by a blast from the whistle of the train sitting at the station a few blocks away.
Blackshot cast a glance in the direction of the train, smoke billowing from its stack in great plumes as it prepared to leave the station, and saw something that made him stop and look again. A few people were boarding the passenger cars and one was a woman in a long black dress; a thick veil extended from the brim of her black hat, obscuring her face, and she carried a large carpet bag in one hand.
“Hey, Blackshot!” Groom called. “I said, are you gonna take me to jail or not?”
“I haven't got time for you now!” Blackshot barked as he spurred Khamsin forward.
“Whaddya mean?! Why won't nobody arrest me in this fuckin' town?! You can't leave me with this worthless hag!”
Blackshot cussed his luck as he rode for the train; here was easy money that he didn't even have to work for, and he had no choice but to turn it down! He told himself that he would solve this problem with the sheriff quickly; if he didn't get back soon, Groom and his woman would patch things up and he'd have to start hunting for him all over again!
Chapter 16
The train had just begun to pull out of the station when Blackshot reached the platform, the engine whining as it labored to drag the tons of steel and wood out of its repose. There was no time to reach the platform, so he rode up alongside the slow-moving train and jumped from the back of his horse to the door of the first passenger car, using the rail outside of the door to pull himself inside.
There were a dozen or so people in the seats, and all eyes turned to him as he made his way down the aisle. Blackshot smiled and tipped his hat. “Train inspector,” he said. “Got to make sure there are no violations.”
Looking across the rows, he didn't see the veiled woman anywhere. A flicker of black caught his eye, and he just spotted the skirt of the black dress disappearing through the back door of the car. He strode quickly down the aisle and followed the retreating figure through the door, and then slid across to the next car and stepped inside. The woman was halfway down the aisle, walking quickly toward the back of the car with the carpet bag still clutched in her hand. He could see her blonde hair extending a little beyond the bottom of her veil.
“Miss Peters!” Blackshot called. “Miss Grace Peters, is that you? It's me, Tom Blackshot!”
Grace turned slightly and gave an awkward half-nod, still shuffling toward the rear of the car.
“Just a moment, Miss Peters! I'll have a word with you if you don't mind!”
There were not many passengers in this car, but they had all turned to look at Grace, and she stopped with her hand on the rear door of the car and turned hesitantly to face Blackshot, who was approaching quickly. As he reached her, he doffed his hat and gave a slight bow.
“It is such a pleasure to see you again, Miss Grace,” he said in his best country gentleman voice. “I just wanted to take a moment to thank you for all the kind hospitality that you and your sisters showed me when I visited your fine home, and of course to further offer my condolences on the recent passing of your dear husband.”
“Thank you.” Grace's voice was a whisper, and she glanced nervously at the door as she nodded to him.
“Here, let me help you with that bag. It's the least I can do.” Blackshot reached out for the handle of the carpet bag, but the woman jerked it away.
She turned away and fumbled to open the door. “No... thank you,” she whispered. “Must go.”
“At least I'll get the door for you. Here, I insist.”
Blackshot slipped through the door ahead of Grace and held open the door of the adjoining car. This car was darker inside and held several crates stacked high against one wall and bags of grain along the other.
“Watch your step, Miss Grace,” he said with a broad smile as she passed by him through the door.
As he lifted his hand from the door, Blackshot grabbed a handful of her veil and snatched it off her head, sending both it and her blonde wig flitting off into the passing underbrush. The shocked face that stared back at him was familiar to him, although he had only seen it in a faded photograph.
“Or do you prefer that I call you Mariposa?”
Chapter 17
Mariposa's face was as beautiful as it had been the picture that Sam Marvin showed Blackshot in the Herald office, but there was nothing lovely about the expression on it now. The large dark eyes flashed with fire and her ruby lips twisted into a snarl of rage. Suddenly her hand, which had dropped into the folds of her skirt, flew up holding a silver Derringer. Blackshot chopped down on her wrist just as the little gun went off, firing its load into the boards of the platform as it fell from her hand and bounced off onto the rails below.
Mariposa turned and lunged into the freight car but Blackshot's hand darted out and latched onto the handle of the carpet bag. “What's your hurry?” he said. “We've got a lot to talk about!”
“Let go, you bastard!” the girl fumed, tugging at the bag. “I'll teach you not to mess with me!”
She let go of the bag in an instant, and Blackshot saw the sudden flash of sunlight on a long thin blade as it slipped from her sleeve into her hand. He had just time to feint away as the knife slashed at his face and tore into the collar of his shirt. Mariposa drew it back and jabbed it out again toward his stomach with deadly force. Twisting aside to dodge the thrust, he clamped his fingers around her forearm and drove her backward into the dark train car with his shoulder lodged against her chest.
She fell against the piled-up bags of grain, fighting savagely to free herself from Blackshot's grip. He slammed her arm against the wall of the car, dislodging the knife from her hand. Mariposa thrashed against him, pulling her body away from his, and Blackshot saw her free hand grabbing the butt of a long-nosed Navy Colt that had been secreted under her jacket.
“Shit! How many weapons are you carrying?” he grunted.
“Enough to finish your sorry ass!” the girl spat.
“That's what I thought.”
Letting go of her arm, Blackshot slung a heavy fist squarely into Mariposa's jaw. She spun around on her heels and reached out to steady herself on the wall, but then her legs buckled beneath her and she slid down the side of the grain sacks and collapsed to the floor with her wild brown locks falling across her face. The revolver was still clutched in her fingers and Blackshot pried it free and sat it on a nearby crate. Retrieving the long knife which had landed next to the door, he set it next to the Colt and then knelt down over the fallen girl and began to search her for more weapons.
Within a few minutes Blackshot had added another derringer, a folding knife and a small clear vial containing a strange-colored liquid to the pile on the crate. As he rolled Mariposa onto her side, he felt something hard and metal on her thigh. He grinned and swore under his breath.
“What an arsenal!” he muttered, shaking his head. “I could spend all week disarming this woman!”
Taking her by the arm, Blackshot sat her upright and stripped off her jacket. Her blouse and skirt soon followed, and then her underclothes, in which he found another poison vi
al sewn into the fabric. He stood up and took in her naked form; the sinuous curves and supple caramel flesh of Mariposa's body were even more impressive in person than in the photograph, but it was not her ample breasts or curvaceous hips that caught Blackshot's attention; a razor-sharp stiletto was strapped in a sheath to her thigh.
As he was removing this, he saw the butt of a snub-nosed revolver protruding from her boot and took that as well. He pulled off her boots and examined them but found them to be free of any other weaponry, so he slipped them back onto her feet.
Satisfied that he had completely disarmed the woman, Blackshot turned his attention to the carpet bag. Inside he, of course, found another pistol which he placed on the ever-growing pile, but under that was a burlap sack which filled almost the whole bag. He untied the string which held the sack closed and opened it to reveal more money than he had ever seen at one time in his life; stack upon stack of bills, some wrinkled from water damage or stained with mud, but enough to keep a man or woman in the lap of luxury for many years.
“Well, hello, missing payroll,” Blackshot said.
Chapter 18
Mariposa stirred behind him and groaned faintly. Blackshot shook her by the arm and said, “Come on, nap time's done.”
She moaned softly again but did not move, so he gave her a sharp slap on the ass. Her eyelids flew open and she started, her hands grasping at the floor in a vain attempt to push herself upright. As her eyes came into focus she spotted the carpet bag sitting open on the floor by her feet, the sheaves of money protruding from the top.
“Get your hands off that! It's mine!” the girl cried, springing suddenly upon Blackshot and clawing at his face with her nails.