by Kurt Barker
“What is there to tell?” he bristled. “I said I want to see Poloma! She's here, isn't she? Everyone's saying that she's here!”
Maisie and Blackshot exchanged glances. “You say her name's Poloma,” Blackshot said. “You know her, then?”
“Know her?” the young man retorted indignantly. “She's my wife!”
Chapter 14
“Son of a bitch!” Maisie exclaimed, then put her hand over her mouth.
Blackshot's sentiments were pretty much the same, but he kept it to himself. Instead he told the young man,“You'd better sit down and tell us who you are.”
“I don't want to sit down!” the young man protested. “I want to see Poloma!”
“You'll see her after I know who you are,” Blackshot said firmly. “I'm acting sheriff here and I intend to get to the bottom of this mess.”
The man was about to protest further, but the look in Blackshot's hard gray eyes made him think again. “Very well,” he sighed, and walked to the table as he had been told. “At least tell me how she is, won't you?”
“She'll be fine. She's being well taken care of, I can promise you that.”
“Well, that's somewhat of a relief, anyway,” the young man said, taking off his hat and coat as he sat down.
His clothes were equally as expensive-looking as his outer wear, from his crisp new jeans to his fine leather boots, but it was the pistol holstered at his hip that drew Blackshot's eye. It was polished to a nice shine and the grip showed no signs of wear, as if it had just come out the door of the Smith and Wesson factory, and Blackshot guessed that it had never been fired; even the holster looked stiff and new. The young man looked every bit the well-to-do tenderfoot, and somehow he had gotten mixed up with an Indian girl that was herself somehow mixed up with a band of killers, or at least would-be killers.
“Let's start with your name,” Blackshot said, “and then I want to know about the girl.”
“My name is Reuben Schenker; you've heard of my father, maybe? Gustav Schenker, the railroad magnate?”
“No, I haven't. He's out here working on some new rail line, is he?”
“Oh no, he's long retired now. He built an estate out here, a few miles West of town in the valley.”
“Strange sort of place for a rich man to settle down,” Maisie mused.
The young man threw up his hands in disgust. “Don't I know it! I think the old boy must have lost some of his marbles, living out in the wilderness like that! It's not like he even enjoys it; he's so afraid of being robbed by bandits or marauders that he's built the place up into a real stronghold, with guards and everything! Hell, the army could learn a thing or two from him about building a fort!”
“And you live there, too?” Blackshot inquired.
“Yes, unfortunately,” Reuben said sulkily. “I went to school back East and I'd have been perfectly happy to stay there, but the old man wanted me out here. He's got my older brother here already to run the business and the estate; I guess I'm just supposed to hang around as a backup option.”
“It hasn't been all bad out here. You didn't meet your wife back East, I'll bet.”
A look of embarrassment crossed Reuben's face. “Sorry, I shouldn't have gone on about that stuff; it's not important now. No, I certainly didn't meet Poloma in school! She came to the estate one day with a band of Lakota fur traders that had traveled from up North somewhere to peddle their wares. Father wouldn't let them in, of course, but they camped nearby and I happened to see her and, well.... I know it may seem strange for a man like me to fall in love with a girl like her, but there was something about her that drew me to her instantly.”
“Oh no, I don't think it's strange at all,” Maisie assured him, her eyes twinkling as she cast a sidelong glance at Blackshot.
“Certainly not.” Blackshot had to suppress a smile as he spoke; having seen Poloma naked they both had a pretty good idea what had drawn the young man to her in spite of their different backgrounds. “What happened to Poloma last night?”
Reuben ran his fingers through his curly hair. “I don't know,” he sighed. “She went out about noon to walk in the woods; she likes to do that, even when it's cold. Sometimes she lingers for a couple of hours, so I didn't think anything of it when she didn't come back for a while, but as it got on toward sunset I got worried and went out to look for her. I didn't see her in the woods, and I found no trace of her anywhere I searched, until today when I happened into town and heard that a girl had been found and taken to the saloon.”
“No one helped you look for her?” Blackshot asked.
“My father and brother are useless to me in this sort of matter,” Reuben sniffed. “As you can guess, Father didn't approve of my marriage to a woman like Poloma, and wanted nothing to do with her. My brother Hans is a spineless sycophant who follows the old man's lead on everything, so he treated her like dirt, too.
“The way the two of them saw it, Poloma must have gotten tired of civilized life and ran back to her tribe, and they couldn't have been happier! Oh, there are a few hands around the estate that were willing to buck the old man and help me search for her, but that's all. Look, can't I see her? I just want to see for myself that she's okay.”
“Fine, you can go in,” Blackshot replied. There were still plenty more questions that he wanted answered, but there didn't seem to be any reason to keep the young man from seeing the girl any longer.
They got up and followed Maisie as she led them down the hallway to her bedroom. The door to the room was held fast by a string looped around the doorknob and tied tightly to a board which was placed across the door frame, preventing the door from being opened.
As she loosed the string to pull the board away, Maisie noted the puzzled look on Reuben's face and said, “Swings open on it's own otherwise.” Blackshot once again had to suppress a grin.
Once the door was drawn open, however, any hint of a smile vanished; the little room was empty. Poloma was gone.
Chapter 15
“What the hell-” Maisie started.
“Hey, what's the idea?” Reuben demanded.
Blackshot pushed his way past them both and stepped into the bedroom. The air in the room was cold and brisk; looking up he saw that the little window above the bed was standing open. He swore silently; he had thought that the window was too small for a human to fit through, but somehow the girl had managed to do it.
“Damn it! She's gone,” he growled, passing through the others again and into the hall.
“Oh hell! She took my good boots!” Maisie cried from behind him. As he made for the bar room Blackshot heard the doors of the massive wardrobe creak open, followed by another exclamation. “Well, the little sneak thief isn't naked anymore! Of all the damn nerve!”
“Hey, don't call my wife a thief!” Reuben protested. “If anything's missing, I'll pay for-”
“My gold necklace!” Maisie shrieked. “That fucking bitch! I kept that little whore alive and she pinched the only good bit of jewelry I've got!”
Reuben began once again to dispute this characterization of the fair Poloma, but Blackshot was no longer listening. He had no idea how long ago the girl had escaped, but she would have left tracks outside the window, and he was going to hunt her down even if it took all night.
As he approached the front door of the saloon the tumult in the bedroom was spilling out into the bar room behind him and attracting the attention of the crowd. Soon the boozy voices of Captain Mike and his cronies were added to the cacophony of Maisie's fuming and Reuben's vain attempts to uphold Poloma's honor.
Just as Blackshot pushed the door open, the voices behind him were drowned out by the sudden roar of gunfire outside. A heavy weight fell against the door, pushing it shut in Blackshot's face, but he forced it open again even as he heard the hooves of galloping horses thudding down the muddy street. He sprang out into the chilly twilight, and saw that the weight that had slammed into the door was the body of a man!
The man lay on his sto
mach and struggled vainly to get onto his hands and knees before collapsing again; red stains were spreading quickly across the back and side of his faded jacket. As the light from the open door of the saloon fell on him, Blackshot made out the familiar gray braids and scarred face of William Littlehorse!
The dark forms of two men on horseback were streaking down the street away from the saloon. Captain Mike staggered to the door behind Blackshot with an antiquated shotgun clutched in his shaky hands. “What the bloody hell's all this racket?!” he boomed. Several bar patrons appeared at the door behind him to get a look, almost knocking him onto the prone man on the porch.
“Maisie, get your doctor bag!” Blackshot shouted as he sprinted across the snowy lot toward the stable. He wasn't sure if these were the same men that had ambushed him earlier in the day, but he was very sure that they weren't going to elude him this time.
Khamsin stamped impatiently in his stall and fire flashed in his eyes, as if he could sense that the hunt was on, and his hunger for action would soon be slaked. Blackshot was barely on his back when the powerful stallion was off like a shot through the stable door, and an instant later they were in the street. As they rode by the front of Captain Mike's, Blackshot caught a glimpse of Maisie kneeling over the prone figure of William Littlehorse, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers.
The clatter of the horses' hooves ahead was faint in his ears, but grew steadily closer as Khamsin's furious gait inhaled the ground between them. The leafless trees passed by in a blur, and Blackshot could see the riders now, their bodies silhouetted against the purple sky as they emerged from the gloom of the forest.
As he drew within twenty yards or so of the pair, a pistol roared and the muzzle flash lit the dark trail briefly as one of the men fired over his shoulder towards Blackshot. Aiming from the back of a galloping horse was impossible and the shot went well wide of it's mark, but two more shots followed quickly. In the fleeting illumination of the shots, Blackshot made out the man's face; it was a young face but hard, and a line of black paint was drawn across the copper cheeks. His wild black mane fluttered in the wind behind him as he rode.
Palming one of his Colts, Blackshot fired a quick shot toward the fleeing men. He wanted the two to understand that he was not going to be shaken from their trail that easily. He wasn't expecting to hit anything with the shot, but a sudden burst of cursing from one of the men told him that the bullet had found a target or had at least come pretty close.
Up ahead on the right a rocky shelf jutted out from the hillside like a giant stone ax blade, its mossy face only partly covered in snow. Here the riders veered left and disappeared into the blackness of the forest, for the trees and brush had became thicker as they neared the bottom of the hill. Too thick for fast riding, Blackshot realized; they would have to turn right again past the rock if they hoped to keep up their speed.
Spurring Khamsin on, he rode straight for the rocky shelf; the fleet hooves of the stallion sparked on the stone as they took him up the side of the rock, and then with a mighty leap they touched only air. A moment before they launched off the side of the cliff it occurred to Blackshot that he really had no idea what was on the other side, but for better or for worse, he was about to find out!
Chapter 16
The ground that came rushing toward Blackshot on the far side of the rocky cliff was mercifully empty of trees, but was very nearly full of the two horses and riders that had come swinging back around the rock face as he had predicted. The nearest horse shied away violently as Khamsin landed suddenly in front of it, nearly throwing its rider. Before the man could recover, Blackshot threw out a long arm that caught him right beneath his jaw, launching him off the horse's back as it fled away from beneath him.
“What's your hurry?” he growled. “The Dryer Hill Tourism Board will mighty disappointed if you gents run off so fast!”
No sooner had the first man hit the ground, than the pale moon was glinting on the barrel of the second man's pistol as it cleared his holster. He looked older than the other man, lean and gaunt-faced but with the same long black hair, and red markings painted across his brow and cheeks. In a flash Blackshot's hand streaked to the Colt at his side and it was spitting fire in almost the same instant.
The man's body jerked as a bullet tore through his elbow, sending the pistol flying from his grip and nearly severing his arm. His other hand fumbled for the horse's mane to try to keep himself upright, but two slugs punching through his stomach quickly unseated him. He dropped like a rag doll to the snowy ground with his guts spilling out from his lifeless body.
The remaining man scrambled to his feet, spitting blood as he did so, and his hand sought for the revolver at his side. Before he hand a chance to draw it from its holster, a heavy boot slashed across his jaw, sitting him back down on the ground.
Blackshot leaped from the saddle and drove his heel into the killer's chest before he could rise again, pinning him to the turf. The next moment the man was staring into the muzzle of a black Colt just inches from his face, and he lay back on the ground, hatred burning in his dark eyes.
“Okay, you and I are going to have a little chat,” Blackshot snarled. “Let's start with who are you and why you shot that man!”
“Go fuck yourself, asshole,” the young man spat defiantly.
“Such language! What would you mother say?” Blackshot murmured, and slashed the barrel of the revolver across the man's mouth, starting it bleeding afresh. “If you don't want to end up like your friend then you'd better learn some manners. Who the hell are you?!”
“Who's going to teach me manners, huh? You can stick that gun up your ass!”
Blackshot was about to show him exactly who was going to teach him manners, when he saw the man's eyes dart to the side for an instant, and sensed an almost inaudible sound of movement behind him. He spun around suddenly and saw what looked at first like a shadow descending on him; a man dressed all in black sprang out from the brush upon him with a long Bowie knife raised in one hand!
As Blackshot fell backward to the ground he just had time to jab a forearm up to deflect the blade that was arcing toward his chest. The knife ripped through the his collar and then was raised again for another blow, but Blackshot managed to grab a handful of the man's shirtsleeve and hold his arm at bay. His attacker's long dark hair fell around Blackshot's face as they struggled, and dark eyes gleamed viciously from a face that was painted black from the cheekbones upward.
From the corner of his eye Blackshot spied the other man getting to his feet. His hand moved behind his back and appeared again holding a knife that would rival the one his comrade was wielding. He stumbled toward them, his clenched teeth red with blood.
Blackshot's mind raced; the black-clad man atop him was not as large or powerfully-built as he was, but was strong enough, and fought furiously; there was no time to simply overpower him. As they strained against one another Blackshot suddenly relaxed his arms, and the man almost fell headlong across his chest. Driving him backward just as suddenly with a headbutt that flattened his nose, Blackshot kicked the man aside even as his partner loomed above him with the knife raised overhead.
“Now I'm gonna teach you some manners, tough guy!” he sneered as he drove the blade downward.
Blackshot rolled aside just as the blade whistled by his head, and spun up onto one knee with a pistol in his hand. “Go fuck yourself,” he said, and blew off the top of the man's head with two quick shots.
As his body crumpled to the ground with a cascade of blood and brains showering onto the flanks of the horses, the man in black sprang up at Blackshot again. This time Blackshot was ready and stayed on his feet, grabbing the man's wrist in his iron-like grip. Again they strove, but strong though the man was, on even footing he was no match for his opponent's raw power. Blackshot forced his arms downward while the wild man fought desperately to free himself, twisting this way and that so that they turned about each other like two dancers locked in a tango of death.
Just at the moment when Blackshot felt as though his opponent's strength would finally give out, a pistol roared out behind him and he felt a bullet streak by so close that it tore his shirt and burned his side. It thudded into the chest of the black-clad man and he staggered backward, his arms suddenly weak in Blackshot's hands.
As he crumpled to the ground with a wheezing gasp Blackshot spun around to see Reuben Schenker standing at the base of the cliff, smoke wisping from the barrel of the shiny new pistol in his hand.
“Bloody hell. He's dead, isn't he?” he stammered.
Chapter 17
“Yeah, he's dead all right,” Blackshot hissed as he walked up to Reuben. He jerked the big revolver from his hand with such force that the young man staggered and fell to one knee. “A couple of inches to the right and you'd be asking him the same question about me!”
“Hey, look, I was trying to help-”
“That kind of help I don't need! Get up!” Blackshot didn't wait for him to comply but hauled him to his feet by his shirtfront. He led him to where the three bodies lay. “Do you know any of these men? Ever seen them around?”
“Me? No, of course not,” Reuben sputtered, trying to avert his eyes from the gore at his feet. “How would I know them?”
“Maybe you wouldn't. Maybe Poloma would. What's the real story with that girl? You want to stick to that yarn about the Lakota fur traders?”
“It's the truth!” Reuben protested. “I've told you everything I know about Poloma! She's a gentle girl who wouldn't hurt a soul-”
“Yeah, she's a little angel who's got a lot of devils hunting her down.”
“You don't know that this has anything to do with Poloma! These fellows are probably some kind of raiders on the warpath! Or maybe they're related to that old man, and they shot him over some family quarrel!”