Blackshot Sixshooter Collection

by Kurt Barker

  Her mouth set defiantly. “That was just business. He and Roy pay cash to fuck me just like my other clients. Carlos is the only one I don't charge.”

  Blackshot laughed. “Well, if that's not love, I don't know what is! Now get dressed; we're going to go have a chat with lover boy!”

  “Please! Promise me you won't kill Carlos!”

  “Don't worry about me!” The voice came from just outside the door, and Blackshot looked up to see the former Mehmet Ali Pasha, almost unrecognizable in a gray suit and bowler hat; he brandished a silver revolver as he stepped into the room. “You should be worrying about yourself, Blackshot!”

  Chapter 11

  The graceful and self-assured manner of the Eastern nobleman was gone with the robes; Carlos's face was pale and sweat-lined, and the gun trembled in his hand. He beckoned the girl to come to him.

  “Get your clothes, Gaby. We're riding out of here,” he said.

  “Carlos-” Gaby hesitated, looking from him to Blackshot.

  “Do as I say! Big Roy rode to town and I want to be well away from here by the time he gets back.”

  “Can't you just send him away on another errand later, or did you lose your little bell?” Blackshot said.

  “Yeah, I know you got the bad end of the deal, and I'm sorry for that; really, I am,” Carlos replied. “But at least you got paid well, and if you're here and not Skinner Carson, then you've still got the money.”

  “And that settles our accounts then, you figure?”

  “Please, Blackshot!” Gaby cried. “We didn't mean for this to happen!”

  “Look here, Blackshot!” Carlos cut in. He fished in his vest pocket and produced a little bag of silver coins. “I'll give you what I've got left, but that's all I can do for you! If you're smart you'll take it and get out of here!”

  “Fair enough,” Blackshot said. He held out his left hand, and Carlos tossed the bag to him. Carlos's eyes followed Blackshot's hand as it snatched the bag out of the air, and did not see the right hand streaking up towards him until it was too late. The iron fist slammed into the side of his jaw and sent him reeling sideways to fall face down on the bed as Blackshot tore the revolver out of his hand.

  “Stop!” Gaby screamed, tugging on his shirtsleeve. “Don't hurt him!”

  “First I'm not supposed to kill him and now I can't even hurt him! You're no fun at all any more.” Blackshot emptied the shells from the pistol and tossed it onto the bed. “Most fellows that have pointed a gun at me have gotten a lot worse.”

  “He wouldn't have used it!”

  “I know. That's why he's still breathing,” Blackshot snapped. “Lucky for him, I'm inclined to believe your story; well, parts of it, anyway. It looks like we'll be waiting for Big Roy to grace us with his presence.”

  “No, we have to go!” Gaby insisted. “You should go, too; you don't know what Big Roy will do!”

  “Only one way to find out. Let's find out together.” Blackshot grinned at the consternation showing on the girl's face. “Or do you have something you want to tell me?”

  Gaby glared at him, her plump bare breasts rising and falling rapidly on her chest. Finally she burst out, “Alright, dammit! Big Roy went to town to round up some fellas that are handy with guns! He says it's insurance in case Skinner Carson catches up with us! If they find you here instead of Carson, you can bet it won't make any difference to them!”

  Blackshot chuckled and tipped the brim of his hat back on his head. “And if they kill me, they might not stop there, I'm guessing.”

  “Roy knows we want to quit,” Gaby mumbled. “He said we'd talk it out when he got back, but he left Pepe here to make sure we didn't go nowhere.”

  “So you occupy Pepe the Pincher while lover boy gets everything ready for you to ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after in your little tavern. Looks like I made your fairy tale easier by killing Pepe! And here I get not a word of thanks from either one of you.”

  “Oh, shut up!” the girl flared, turning Carlos onto his back with some effort. “You're going to get us all killed!”

  Carlos groaned and his eyes fluttered open. He looked up into Gaby's face and seemed to recall where he was; he sat up with a jerk and faced Blackshot. Blackshot could almost see his mind working furiously, and could clearly see the hand working back toward the pistol that lay on the bed behind him.

  “Haven't you learned your lesson about playing with guns?” Blackshot scoffed. “The time you're wasting thinking up more worthless schemes is time that would be better spent riding.”

  Carlos's eyes widened. “You're letting us go?”

  “Get out of here and get out of the con game while you're at it. You two aren't cut out to swim in these waters.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Blackshot!” Gaby gasped, hurriedly pulling on her clothes. “I promise, we won't-”

  Her words were cut off by the clattering of horses' hooves outside on the road. The pace of the horses slowed outside the barn, then came to a stop. Carlos and Gaby stared at each other, then turned to Blackshot. Blackshot strode to the door, palming one of his Colts as he stepped out into the night.

  “Excuse me, folks,” he said. “It appears we have visitors, and it would be rude of me not to greet them personally.”

  Chapter 12

  There were six men gathered in the barn; Big Roy stood in the midst of the group, looking quite the dapper gentleman in a checkered coat that stretched tight across his broad, muscular back, and a new hat perched jauntily on his bald head. The large bronze hand that held a thick cigar between the thumb and forefinger also sported a gold ring on the pinkie.

  The other five provided great contrast, as they looked to be as disreputable and no-account collection of saddle bums as had ever been assembled. Some were young cow punchers itching for action and others were drifters with years of hard living behind them, but one thing that they all had in common tonight was a revolver hung low from every belt.

  A scattering of laughter arose from the group in response to a witty remark from Big Roy, who turned toward the door, puffing on the cigar as he went. “There's whiskey in the innkeeper's room; bad whiskey, but whiskey,” he said. “Take a little if you've a mind to, but go easy; I don't pay dudes to get drunk, and you'd better be ready when the time comes!”

  When Big Roy reached the door he found himself staring down the barrel of a black Colt revolver. “The time has come,” Blackshot said.

  One of the men swore loudly, and they turned as one to face the intruder. All hands were poised above the butts of their guns, but with the Blackshot's pistol pressed to their boss's head, none drew.

  “Why don't you send these clowns back to whatever gutter you pulled them out of,” Blackshot growled. “We can settle this man to man.”

  “I knew you'd try something underhanded, Carson!” Big Roy intoned loudly. “So, you plan to add murder to horse stealing, eh?”

  “Back off, Carson!” one of the men barked. A short, sallow-faced tough with a handlebar mustache and a blue army cap, he poked a dirty finger at Blackshot. “You pull that trigger and I'll drop you before you can blink!”

  “Hell, no!” The cry came from a gangly, hawk faced man that stood behind the others. His eyes were wide and panicked as he gripped the first man's arm. “That ain't no feller name a' Carson! That there's Tom Blackshot, the gunfighter! I ain't havin' no part a' that!” He backed away from the door, hands held up.

  “You're an idiot!” Big Roy roared. “This man is a horse thief and a drygulcher!”

  “I seen him when he killed Rattlesnake Ragan!” the lanky man howled, pulling his horse from the stall. “Rattlesnake was fast as lightnin' but he got cut right down! I ain't havin' no part a' that!”

  He stuck his spurs into the horse's flanks and flew out the door like a shot, disappearing into the night with only a mist of dust in the air to tell that he had ever been there. The remaining men exchanged worried looks, and eyed their own horses with sidelong glances, all except the ma
n in the army cap, whose eyes never left Blackshot.

  “Now there goes a fellow that figures to see the sun come up tomorrow,” Blackshot said. “He'll be the only one of you lot that does, if you don't follow him pretty quick.”

  The mustachioed man stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. “So you're Blackshot, the gunslinger, huh? I heard tell of you, too. Some say you're pretty fast,” he sneered. He pointed to the butt of the revolver at his hip, which bore several notches carved into it. “Some said the same thing about other fellas I run across, but they didn't say it no more after I was through with 'em.”

  “That's downright fascinating,” Blackshot replied. “I'm sure you can thrill many a saloon full of whores and drunks with a story like that, if you leave now and live to tell it.”

  Before the man could answer, Big Roy cut in. “Shut up! Where's that other fool?!”

  “Ah'm here,” a voice drawled from the back of the room.

  “Did you do what I told you?!”

  “I done it.” A wiry, ruddy-faced man with a thick black beard appeared from behind the horse stalls, gun in hand; The muzzle of the gun was pressed into the back of Gaby, who he pushed into the room ahead of him. A sullen Carlos stood beside her, hands in the air.

  Big Roy grinned at Blackshot. “I'd say this this changes things a bit, wouldn't you?”

  Chapter 13

  Big Roy tried to step away from Blackshot, but the gun jabbed into the side of his head, stopping him in his tracks. “Take it easy,” Roy muttered. “You let me go, I let them go. That's fair.”

  Blackshot shrugged. “Why should I care about those two? They're your partners, not mine.”

  Beads of sweat glistened on Big Roy's forehead. “Pepe!” he shouted. “Where's Pepe?”

  “You mean the little feller?” the bearded man drawled. “He's back there in the room with his head pointin' the wrong way to the rest of his body.”

  “Carlos, you bastard!” Big Roy bellowed. “You're a backstabbing piece of shit! I'll gut you like a fish, you and your gutter whore both!”

  “It wasn't Carlos that finished him, it was me,” Blackshot said, “and I was just getting warmed up.”

  With a sudden flick of his wrist, the gun at Big Roy's head was turned to the back of the room and spitting fire. The bearded man stumbled back against the wall clutching his throat, then slid to the ground, blood streaming down his chest through his blood-soaked beard.

  Almost as soon as Blackshot had moved, the man in the army cap went for his gun. His hand was a blur of speed, but not as fast as Blackshot's hand, which flashed from his side with the second Colt roaring to life before the other man's gun was half way level. A bullet smacked into his hip, turning him sideways as his pistol discharged uselessly into the ground, then another lifted the cap from his head and took part of his brain with it.

  As the man toppled to the ground, Big Roy sprang forward, throwing his bulk into Blackshot's shoulder and knocking him back from the barn door. Then he leaped aside, putting the heavy door between himself and Blackshot.

  “Kill him while you've got the chance!” Big Roy howled, rushing through the remaining gunmen toward the back of the barn.

  A ragged volley of gunshots erupted from inside the barn, splintering the door and wall, and kicking up geysers of dust in the rutted turf outside. Undeterred, Blackshot sprinted forward and dove through the door with both guns hammering. The man nearest the door, a stocky half-Comanche with a crooked jaw, took the brunt of the first shots, doubling over as slugs plowed through his stomach and groin.

  As he fell lifeless to the ground, the other two men fled for cover behind the half wall the separated the horse stalls from the rest of the room, firing wildly in Blackshot's direction to cover their retreat. Only one of them made it to the wall; the second man's body jerked as a bullet knifed through his side and another smashed into his chest, pitching him into the rump of a nearby horse with blood spewing onto the floor and the horse's legs. The already frightened beast reared up with a whinny and broke free from its tether, trampling the fallen man as it galloped out the door of the barn, its reins flapping at its sides.

  The surviving gunman reached out from behind the wall and snapped off two blind shots, but they hit only wood as Blackshot rolled aside into the opposite end of the horse stalls. Using the crossbeam on the barn wall to propel himself upward, Blackshot hoisted himself onto the back of the horse nearest to him, and with a deft leap he reached the next horse and hopped lightly from back to back down the line of horses. One last jump brought him to the half wall and onto the hapless thug behind it.

  Caught completely off guard by a sudden assault from above, the man had no time to even raise his gun before Blackshot came crashing down onto him, driving him into the dirt with a boot to his chest. The man was thick-set and strong, and fought back savagely, trying to pull Blackshot into a clinch. A pistol butt smashing into his mouth knocked him back to the floor with blood gushing across his face, but before a second blow could end his fight for good, a sudden scream rang out from the back of the room.

  Blackshot looked up to see Gaby crumpled on the ground, blood running from broken lips. Carlos had leaped on Big Roy's back to prevent his escape, but now he had been slung viciously to the ground by the bigger man, who stood over him with a strong hand clamped around his throat, the other hand gripping a pitchfork which was poised menacingly overhead. An instant before the pitchfork could fall, it was ripped from Big Roy's hand by bullet that severed two of his fingers.

  He roared in pain and lurched backwards just as Blackshot's second bullet punched through his shoulder, spraying blood onto the wall behind him. But before the job could be finished, the man that struggled beneath Blackshot grasped his gun arm and pulled him down into close grips again. With a sharp slash of his forearm to the brute's bloody jaw, Blackshot broke free from his grasp and jammed the muzzle of the Colt under his chin. One squeeze of the trigger settled the contest as the top of the man's head exploded, painting the floor in a long red stroke.

  As Blackshot jumped to his feet, he saw Big Roy disappear out the back door. A moment later, the report of galloping hooves sounded from beyond the back wall.

  “He left a horse out there!” Carlos winced. “The son of a bitch thought of everything!”

  “Almost everything,” Blackshot growled, snatching up the pitchfork.

  He sprinted to the front of the barn and out the door, reaching the corner just as Big Roy's horse came thundering around the side of the building.

  “You're not going anywhere, Roy!” Blackshot called. “You're stuck right here!”

  With all his profound might he thrust the sharp tines of the pitchfork through the big man's gut, carrying him off the back of the streaking horse as the points burst out of his back. He came crashing to the ground and Blackshot followed him down, driving the fork into his belly until the tines were stuck a good six inches into the dirt beneath him. Big Roy's body went as limp as a rag doll and he lay motionless in the pool of blood that grew steadily larger around him.

  “Wh-What? What the hell?....” The innkeeper stood by the side of the barn, an ancient shotgun in his hands. He gaped at Blackshot and the man skewered with the pitchfork, then gazed in befuddlement at the scene of carnage in the barn. “What the hell?” he repeated.

  Blackshot stood up and walked over to the old man as Carlos emerged from the barn, holding Gaby close to him. “It's a terrible thing how heated these political discussions can get,” Blackshot said, clapping the innkeeper on the back. “Some folks just won't see eye to eye. Anyway, these fine people can explain it all to you while you get them a drink. They'll need it, as they have a long ride ahead of them tonight.”

  Carlos pumped Blackshot's hand gratefully as the bemused old man walked away. “You saved our bacon, that's for sure,” he said earnestly. “I couldn't have blamed you if you'd left us to die; you're a good man, Tom Blackshot!”

  “We're going to get that tavern,” Gaby said, tears welling
in her eyes as she clasped Blackshot's arm. “We're getting out of this racket for good, I promise!”

  “You've got my word on that, too,” Carlos insisted, pulling Gaby tight to him. “We're gonna get married and settle down! I've had enough of the con game for good!”

  Blackshot wished them well as he left them and returned to his horse. He figured they would last about two weeks of honest labor before the easy money of grifting and whoring would lure them back, and pretty soon they'd get themselves in over their heads again. Still, with any luck they would be far away by that time and he wouldn't be the one that would have to pull them out of it. Besides, there was still a lose end to this matter that had yet to be tied up, and that was all that concerned him now.

  Blackshot gave the reins a shake, and Khamsin started off at a good canter toward Camino Placido.

  Chapter 14

  The front windows of the von Offenburg villa were dark when Blackshot swung down from the saddle in the courtyard, and he once again forewent the front door and walked straight around to the back lawn. This time he did not test the lock on the tall bay doors, but sent them flying open with a sharp strike from his boot as he had done before. The loud crash shook the walls of the room as he stepped inside. The room was empty now and dark, but sounds from the hall told him that his entrance had not gone unnoticed.

  A moment later a door was flung open at the far end of the room, and Lady Alejandra emerged with a candle on a golden candlestick in one hand, and the leash in the other, which was pulled taut by the straining Ottmar. Her long cinnamon locks fell loose in a thick mane around her shoulders, and she was clad in a gauzy white gown the billowed about her long legs.

  The alarmed expression on her face turned to one of annoyance at the sight of Blackshot. “You again!” she huffed. “I suppose you've come to tell me some tediously sordid tale of your latest dealings with fake sultans and confidence men and such.”