Blaze! Ride Hard, Shoot Fast

by Wayne D. Dundee

  BLAZE!

  RIDE HARD, SHOOT FAST

  Wayne D. Dundee

  Blaze! Ride Hard, Shoot Fast by Wayne D. Dundee

  Text Copyright 2015 by Wayne D. Dundee

  Series Concept and Characters Copyright 2015 by Stephen Mertz

  Cover Design by Livia Reasoner

  A Rough Edges Press Book

  www.roughedgespress.com

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Chapter One

  "They're comin'. Just the two of 'em. Everything 'zactly like you instructed," announced Howie Brimble as he dropped the final two feet to the sandy floor of the narrow canyon after descending from the lookout post he'd been occupying up on a rocky ledge. Brimble was a rail thin specimen, middle thirties in age, a drifter/sometimes cowhand clad in worn, baggy clothes that spoke of meager pickings over a considerable spell. Even with an extra hole punched to enable drawing it tighter, the gun belt around his waist looked ready to slip down off his bony hips at any moment.

  In sharp contrast to Brimble, the man he was reporting to, Dale Hoyt, was thick bodied and heavy jowled. He, too, was dressed in range clothes but his garb, though a bit dusty and "lived in", remained in respectable shape and still had plenty of wear—except maybe for the lower half of his shirt, the way it was strained by his expanded gut until it threatened to bust the buttons above the buckle of his gun belt. The latter was of tooled leather and its matching holster held a pearl-handled Colt worth more than Brimble's whole outfit a half dozen times over.

  "Sounds good," Hoyt responded. "And no sign of anybody following 'em, right?"

  "Nary a one. From up there, I could see for miles out onto the flat and there wasn't a wisp of dust from anything else movin', not even a prairie dog."

  "See? Just like I said...They got way too much ridin' on that stupid horse to try any trickery or do anything except go along with what was demanded of 'em." A broad, smug smile split Hoyt's fleshy face as he said this, addressing Brimble as well as the two other men who sat their horses just behind where Brimble stood. "This is gonna be easier'n takin' candy from a baby. Hell, we should have asked for an even bigger ransom."

  One of the horsemen, a narrow-faced Mexican by the name of Renaldo, as lean and dangerous-looking as a coiled whip, smiled slyly, revealing a prominent gold tooth. "Maybe it is not too late to sweeten the pot, eh? That Mrs. Grigg is a fine looking woman. A sampling of her candy as part of the bargain surely would—"

  "Knock that shit off. There'll be none of that," Hoyt cut him short. "We take the money, they get their horse back, and it's done. Clean. With the big race still to run, they can't afford the time or bother to pursue us all that hard. But if we go messin' with the woman, that would make it a whole different matter."

  Renaldo shrugged, still showing his gold tooth. "Just a passing thought."

  The second horseman, a beefy Swede named Nystrom who could never seem to keep a shock of pale hair from spilling out the front of his hat and down over his broad forehead, snorted nastily. "Yeah, one that passed straight through your crotch, like so many of your thoughts do."

  Now Renaldo's bright tooth showed as part of a lewd grin. "Staying alert for such possibilities and opportunities has often made my crotch a very happy place, amigo."

  "Like anybody but you gives a shit how happy your crotch has been," Hoyt growled. "Now get your mind out of the gutter, says I, and stay focused on the job like I laid it out." The big man swept his arm to indicate first one side of the canyon and then the other. "Howie, crawl on back up there a ways, not as high as you were before but high enough to be able to cover me in case of trouble...Nystrom, you do the same on this other side...Renaldo, you back off a ways with the horses. Once I've seen the color of their money and I signal you, bring their nag forward and we'll make the trade...Everybody got it? Just play it tight, do like you're told, and this'll go nothing but smooth. By tonight, after we've split up the take and hightailed it away from here, we can find ourselves some place where they've got dollies on hand who'll be more than willing to give us all happy crotches."

  * * *

  As the buggy approached the desolate canyon, the bearded man at the reins said to the pretty, raven-haired woman seated beside him, "Well, my dear, I believe that stretch of broken land up ahead with the jagged notch of a canyon cutting back into it marks the spot where our leisurely morning ride will come to an end and we start earning our keep."

  "Speak for yourself, buster," replied the woman somewhat tartly. "I started earning my keep the minute I allowed myself to get squeezed into this damn whalebone corset. Why any woman would willingly strap herself into one of these on a regular basis is beyond me. Furthermore, aside from the near torturous discomfort, all any fool needs to do is consider the size of your average whale cow to figure out that all those bones don't do them much good in the tiny waist department to begin with."

  The bearded man chuckled. "Now there's a provocative statement that would set the hoity-toity ladies back east—the ones who come up with the so-called fashion trends that sweep across the rest of the country, I'm talking about—right on their delicate little ears."

  "Maybe. But I refuse to believe it's actually other women who come up with these contraptions. Only a man could be sadistic enough to not only invent such a thing but to then convince a bunch of innocent, vulnerable, trusting women that it's a good idea."

  "Innocent? Vulnerable? That's laying it on a little thick, don't you think? You seem to be forgetting it was Eve who got the whole fashion thing started by plucking that apple. Right away it led to fig leaves covering up all the good parts and then, eventually, came corsets and bustles and who knows what will be showing up next. But what I do know is that most fellas I've ever met would rather have their gals running around with less on, not more."

  The woman arched a skeptical brow beneath the wide-brimmed bonnet perched on her carefully arranged pile of dark hair. "See? Right there. It's exactly that kind of silver-tongued gibberish that spins the heads of more impressionable women and convinces them to do stupid things like cinching their waists so tight they can hardly breathe!"

  "Well, apparently the one you've got on isn't working right then, because it seems you're able to breathe well enough to argue as stubbornly as ever. I will concede, though, that us men don't always want our women running around bare. There are times when doing a little unveiling...removing some of those, er, contraptions as you call them...can be pleasurable in and of itself." J.D. Blaze reached up to give a rakish tilt to the derby style hat that was quite a change from his normal headgear. At the same time he flashed a wide grin through the false beard spirit-gummed to the lower half of his face. "A service, I hasten to add, which I gladly will provide as soon as the time is right for you to get shed of that blasted corset...and whatever other bits of clothing we might decide are unnecessary."

  "'We' might decide?" the woman mocked. "That's pretty bold talk, mister."

  "I'm a pretty bold fella."

  "Uhmm. I can't deny the truth in that," allowed his wife, Kate, normally a golden-haired beauty—yet no less sassy in demeanor—when not decked out in her own disguise.

  By now they'd nearly reached the mouth of the canyon, which Kate indicated with a tip of her bonnet, saying, "In short order, I figure it's a safe bet you're going to have the chance to exhibit some of that boldness you're so proud of. Afterwards, on
ce this piece of business out of the way and we've finished earning our keep for the day, we'll see how much you've got left to bring to those other services you offered."

  * * *

  A short ways into the canyon, it made a sudden, sharp twist to the right. Just past this turn, Dale Hoyt stood waiting, feet planted wide, a pleased, confident look on his face.

  When Hoyt raised his hand to signal for a halt, J.D.—in the guise of one Jonathan Grigg, wealthy newspaperman—drew back on the reins and complied. Hoyt waited for the dust cloud that had been stirred by the buggy's wheels to roll past, then smiled amiably and said, "Good morning to you, Mr. and Mrs. Grigg. I appreciate you acceptin' my invitation."

  "Like we had any choice," said J.D. coldly. "Now let's dispense with any unnecessary chit-chat and get to the business at hand."

  "Want to cut right to it, eh? Okay, that's fine by me." Hoyt pointed, stabbing the air with a blunt finger. "If you know what's good for you, then you've got an envelope or some such with bills divvied up the way you were instructed. Hand it over and we can get done with this real quick."

  J.D. withdrew a fat envelope from his breast pocket. But when Hoyt started forward to relieve him of it, this time he was the one who got halted by a raised hand. "Not quite so fast," said J. D. "I'm not in the habit of paying for a pig in a poke. Or, in this case, a horse. Before you get this envelope, bring Midnight Shadow forward so we can have a good look at him."

  Hoyt's expression twisted with annoyance. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the spot farther down the canyon where Renaldo waited with four saddled horses and one bareback one, a sleek, gleaming black stallion. "He's right back there. Can't you see?"

  "I said a good look," J.D. insisted.

  Hoyt hissed out an exasperated sigh. Then, making more of a production out of it than necessary, he turned part way around and motioned with a big sweep of his arm for Renaldo to bring the black horse closer.

  While Hoyt was putting on this show, J.D. leaned slightly toward Kate and whispered, "There's another one on my side, a ways up in the rocks of the canyon wall."

  "Same over here," Kate whispered back.

  "Okay," J.D. murmured. "When I open the ball, we take care of those two first. Then you swing next to the fat one, I'll get the one with the horse."

  "Right...Be careful of the horse."

  "Gee. Thanks for reminding me."

  Hoyt turned back to face "the Griggs" as Renaldo came plodding closer. "You can see," he said, "that your precious Midnight Shadow is fine."

  "He looks okay," conceded J. D. "But there's just one problem."

  Hoyt scowled. "Eh? Whatya mean?"

  "The smell," J.D. explained calmly. "I don't know how we'll ever get the stink off him after he's been hanging around the likes of you..."

  For a clock tick of time, Hoyt looked perplexed—on the brink of becoming angry but finding it hard to believe that anyone in the position of the man he thought to be Jonathan Grigg would make such a provocative remark.

  It was in that moment of confusion and indecision that J.D. and Kate exploded into action. Two hands flashed simultaneously, Kate's reaching into the folds of her long skirt and J.D.'s to the holster inside his unbuttoned coat. Each streaked back into sight gripping a drawn Colt. Still in near perfect concert, the Grigg impersonators twisted sharply in their seats and brought the weapons they'd just produced to bear on their respective sides of the canyon, aiming at upward angles.

  Kate triggered two rapid-fire rounds square into the narrow trunk of Howie Brimble. The tightly-spaced double punch pounded into the frail man, slamming him hard back against the rough cliff face before his reaching, dying fingers ever touched the grips of his gun. Unable to fall backward, Brimble could only tip away at an awkward angle, his legs buckling under him. He sank down. When his knees hit the rocky ground, the impact delivered the final indignity by causing the gun belt so precariously cinched around his bony hips to be jarred loose, leaving it to slip free and fall in a puddle around the propped-up heap of his corpse.

  For his part, J.D. also fired two initial rounds, fanning them so fast it sounded almost like a single blast. His target, the considerably bulkier Nystrom, had been manning his position with gun already drawn. But since he was careless enough to be holding it aimed at nothing in particular, it did him little good. What was more, in his eagerness to observe the money transfer, Nystrom was doubly careless in the way he left himself exposed by leaning too far forward and out on the ledge where he crouched. Both of J.D.'s bullets entered under the Swede's chin, just back from its blunted point, drilling up through his brain and out the top of his head. His hat was blown off. As he pitched to one side, instantly dead, the spill of pale hair that always refused to stay captured by the front of his hat was once again hanging down over his forehead and now, dribbling from it, came a thick mixture of blood and skull particles.

  Before the bodies of either of their victims had settled completely to the ground, J.D. and Kate swung back around to again face forward from the buggy seat, their expressions grimly set above smoking gun muzzles.

  Dale Hoyt was caught flat-footed, completely out in the open. He tried to hurl his heavy body off to one side, seeking cover or at least to present a moving target, while at the same time he grabbed clumsily for the fancy gun in the fancy holster on his hip. Both attempts were pathetically ineffective. Kate sent another pair of slugs sizzling his direction—the first catching him in the side of the throat; the second striking a little higher, making a neat round hole as it entered his right temple but then exiting messily out the other side through a hole the size of a fist. The heavyset man managed three sagging, staggering steps before he collapsed with his hand clamped on the pearl grips of the revolver he never got unleathered.

  Of all the horse-napping gang, only Renaldo, as whiplike quick and dangerous as the initial impression he gave, managed any return fire at the surprising pair who had so suddenly turned the tables on him and his comrades. But a single shot was the extent of the fight he was able to put up and, unfortunately for him, it was a poorly aimed one at that. As the slug whined between the heads of the Blazes, J.D. took truer aim (the slight pause to do so, for the sake of making sure he didn't hit the horse they were here to rescue, being the only reason Renaldo was able to get off a shot at all) and planted a return round smack between the Mexican's eyes. Renaldo fell straight back and hit the ground as flat and hard and unmoving as a wooden plank.

  "Cut it a little thin there, didn't you Mr. Bold?" quipped Kate, reaching with her free hand to casually straighten her bonnet. "If you'd given him any more time to get sighted in for another shot, I might no longer have a head to be straightening this bonnet on."

  "That would've been a real shame," J.D. replied, exaggerating a look of concern. "If that bonnet Mrs. Grigg lent you got all mussed up, her and her husband might have tried to deduct its cost from the balance of their payment."

  Kate gave a backhand swat to his shoulder. "I'm serious. A thumbless, three-fingered man could have rolled and smoked a cigarette in the time it took you to make that shot. What were you waiting for?"

  "You told me to be careful I didn't hit the horse," J.D. reminded her. "So I took an extra second to make extra sure."

  "Okay. I guess I've got to give you that...We're fine, Midnight Shadow looks fine. Those are the main things."

  "We're a helluva lot better off than these horse grabbers, that's for sure," J.D. said, making a gesture to indicate the fallen men sprawled about them.

  Kate shrugged. "The way they had it set up for us to be in a crossfire from the two up on the canyon walls didn't leave much choice. If we'd've tried to get the drop on 'em without shooting or given them any more time to possibly see past these disguises, you think they would have hesitated to open up on us?"

  "Not hardly."

  "So there you go."

  J.D. sighed. "You're right. Nothing for it now but to grab the reins of that horse before he takes a notion to run off, the
n load these bodies up and hoof it back to Cheyenne with the whole works. We know we got folks there waiting to claim the horse. Remains to be seen who'll step forward to take the trash off our hands."

  Chapter Two

  Kate Blaze stretched luxuriously on the spacious hotel room bed. She was quite naked, her splendidly curved body on proud display, nipples erect and flushed to a bright plum color, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on porcelain skin, dreamy smile upon her lips, and that special afterglow of lovemaking enveloping all of her.

  "Oh, Mr. Bold," she said in a thick whisper. "You did a wonderful job of rescuing me from the clutches of that dreadful whalebone corset—exactly as you promised. You have my compliments and my gratitude."

  "Shucks, ma'am," said J.D. from where he lay beside her, also nude. "I do my best to meet expectations. But, I gotta say, the pleasure was all mine."

  "No, not all yours," Kate assured him.

  "All the same, any time you need rescuin' from another such predicament, you let me know and I'll be up to the job."

  "Oh, really?" said Kate. "How soon would you be up to the job again? After all, part of the ensemble that went with the corset" —as she said this, she reached up to touch the black wig still in place, although somewhat askance, atop her head— "remains stubbornly clinging to me. That being the case, one could technically make the claim your rescue mission isn't fully done yet. Are you up to completing it right away...or do you need to catch your breath first?"

  "I'll be happy to handle the job, darlin'," said J.D., tipping his head to kiss her nearest nipple, "but I surely could stand to catch a breather first."

  Kate sighed wistfully. "As usual. It's left to the woman to take care of the menial tasks." So saying, she pushed to a sitting position and reached again to the wig, beginning to unpin it.

  "Whoa, wait a minute," protested J.D. "What's the big hurry?"

  Kate looked at him. With her arms raised the way they were, her breasts were thrust out firm and full, their still-erect tips swaying faintly only inches from his nose. "This thing is starting to itch," she explained, "and it already got loosened up when we were..." She let the words trail off as her expression shifted. Went thoughtful for a moment, then turned into a scowl. "Wait a minute. All that exuberance you put into our little romp just now—was that because I was wearing this black wig?"