Blaze! Western Series: Six Adult Western Novels

by Stephen Mertz

  A freckle-faced kid, not out of his teens.

  "Uh, I wouldn't know, ma'am. The Colonel keeps his door closed and locked most of the time. I send out letters and dispatches. I file reports—"

  "Got it." Kate nodded impatiently. "So, J.D., do you still think coming here to see that oily bastard was a good idea?"

  "Let's step outside."

  On the front steps of the headquarters building, Kate said, "And what do mean, I 'get excitable'? You want excitable, I'll show you excitable--"

  "Honey, relax. You know my ways. Yeah, I'm glad we sized him up. You're right. Something's wrong around here. Something smells."

  "That fat fuck knows plenty," said Kate. "We'd better watch our—" Then she interrupted herself. "Why, hello there, Lieutenant," she said, her voice sweetening noticeably.

  Lieutenant Jase Pearson tipped his hat to Kate. He nodded to J.D.

  "Folks."

  Pearson's mount stood tethered to the hitching rail in front of HQ. Behind him, troopers led their tired horses toward the stables.

  "My goodness, Lieutenant," said Kate in her best Southern Belle flirtation, "but you look absolutely fatigued."

  J.D. grit his teeth, wanting to like the young officer even though Kate was making it difficult.

  He said, "West Point and a few weeks on the frontier don't rightly prepare a man for what we saw today."

  Pearson removed his hat. He swatted trail dust off his uniform, a grim set to his square-jawed features.

  "I only wish I knew what could cause something so ghastly. We got the stage righted. Some of my men hitched their horses and rode it on to Whiskey Bend with the remains of those poor devils. Each of them carried papers identifying them so I'll telegraph their next of kin."

  Kate said, "The undertaker may be able to retire before long. Business is good."

  "There's nothing good about this," said Pearson. "Nothing but pure evil, through and through."

  J.D. said, "The wife's just joshing, weren't you, honey?"

  Kate said, "I do wish you'd stop explaining me to people. She's excitable. She's joshing."

  "Well, aren't you?"

  "Hell no, I'm not joshing. That undertaker's going to have even more work before we're through. Heck, Lieutenant, we even created a few fresh stiffs on our own since we saw you last."

  Her Southern accent and flirtatious manner had evaporated. She was back to being the plainspoken Kate that J.D. knew and loved.

  He said, "Welcome back, hon."

  The look she sent him said he wasn't out of the woods yet.

  "What's that?"

  "Nothing."

  Pearson said, "You saw the Colonel?"

  J.D. nodded. "He knows about the gundown."

  J.D. proceeded to deliver a concise account of the gunfight in the saloon.

  By the time he finished, Pearson's tired features wore a frown.

  "You killed three men who rode for the Count? You told me on the trail that you were just passing through."

  Kate said, "Look, Lieutenant. Three dickwads tried to put us down. We couldn't abide that. Would you?"

  Pearson chuckled.

  He said to J.D., "I do believe I like your wife better when she's not flirting with me."

  J.D. said, "Yeah, me too."

  Kate said, "Very funny. My apologies, Lieutenant. Out there on the trail, it just seemed expedient to...you know, to get my husband and me on our way."

  "All is forgiven, Mrs. Blaze."

  "Oh for gosh sakes, call me Kate. And let's get down to brass tacks. I've had it up to here, stumbling around in the dark. I know this Count Vlad came along before your time, but it wouldn't hurt if you could tell us what you do know about him."

  Pearson said, "Count Vlad is supposedly the wayward son of Balkan royalty. He's traveled the world squandering his family fortune everywhere from the Himalayas to Haiti, from Singapore to St. Louis." Pearson lowered his eyes with the slightest blush. "I trust you will forgive the alliteration. I hope someday to become a published author."

  J.D. snorted. "Forget that notion, soldier. No money there. I've known a few scribes in my time and nary a one of 'em ever amounted to a fiddler's damn. Discipline, that's what a man needs to stay on track."

  "Amen," agreed Kate with an enigmatic glance in J.D.'s direction.

  Her anger was gone, but not the intensity. Never that.

  J.D. concentrated on keeping the conversation on track.

  "I understand The Starlight Mine is a busy operation."

  "I don't know anything about mining," said Pearson, "but they ran twenty-four hours a day before the Count took over and laid off all the locals. The mine's down to just a daytime shift, I hear. But yes, they're producing if the ore wagons are any indication."

  J.D. said, "So here's the question. If the mine is operational, but all of the townspeople have been laid off, packed up and gone...who's working the mine?"

  Kate nodded. "And why does the Count need hired gunmen?"

  "There was a rumor that he was forcing Indians from a local tribe to work the mine, but there's no evidence."

  J.D. said, "You mean slave labor? We fought a Civil War a few years back to outlaw slavery."

  "Yes, but that doesn't mean everyone is going to follow that law," said Pearson.

  "Speaking of which...what's your opinion of Colonel Hitchcock?"

  Pearson paused.

  "I'm a soldier. He's my commanding officer."

  Kate said, "Those are both facts we're well aware of."

  Pearson sighed. "The Colonel is not my idea of a crack military officer. At the moment, that's all I'm prepared to say. I have no evidence of any wrong doing by the Colonel."

  "And if you did?"

  Another pause.

  "Then I would take action. Why? Is there something you've found out that I should know?"

  "Not yet," said J.D. "We just want to know where you stand."

  Pearson's gaze alternated between them.

  "And where do you folks stand regarding the Colonel?"

  Kate said, "He has ordered us off the post. You see, we weren't altogether honest with you back on the trail."

  J.D. decided to share the blame, if there was to be any.

  He added, "We rode here looking to find out some things about that mine, and about what happened to Percy MacNeil."

  Kate said, "And we aim to find those answers before we ride out."

  "Have you seen the mine yet? Be careful when you do. You've depleted their number, but Count Vlad still has another three or four guns on site."

  "That's our next stop," said J.D. "I want to look it over from a distance before the sun sets. So I reckon we'll be on our way."

  "If you come up with any proof of wrongdoing on the Colonel's part, I'll see that it gets into the proper hands. For now, this is strictly between us. And there is one thing suggestion I'd make."

  "It's your turf, Lieutenant. We're listening."

  "There's an Indian you'll find squatting along the side of the road about a mile short of the mine. Folks and the men I serve with call him crazy. The man's wife and child died recently. They're buried under piles of rock alongside the road. He sits there day and night, maintaining a vigil."

  Kate's brow furrowed. "Why bury them alongside the road?"

  Pearson gave a small shrug.

  "No one knows. It's one of those things the tribe is keeping to itself. That turning inward that I was talking about. He won't talk to anyone. A few years ago this wouldn't have happened. The Indians mostly cremated their dead, I'm told, until an edict came down from Washington banning such practices. So now they bury their dead. As to why this particular fellow would do so next to a main road, I cannot say. But I know that Indian sees everything and everyone that goes to or comes from the mine. Talk to him. It could prove helpful."

  Chapter 14

  Kate felt empathy and compassion for the Indian as soon as she saw him. He sat cross-legged along the side of the road ahead, next to a rectangular cairn that cons
isted of two medium-sized boulders. Her heart reached out without knowing him.

  But it was not sympathy.

  This man could take care of himself.

  Slim, but of muscular build. A worn cotton shirt of faded blue. His breechclout was about two yards long. It passed between the legs and hung over the waist belt in front and back. His moccasins were similar to boots, reaching nearly to his knees. Coal black hair reached his shoulders from beneath a red bandana. A carbine across his lap.

  Kate had no illusions about "friendly" Indians in this territory.

  The Apache were a powerful, warlike tribe with deeply rooted enmity against whites. The very word Apache stemmed from the Zuni name enemy. Their strength, endurance and stamina were a source of amazement to all who knew of it. The Apache was swift and tireless. Physical pain and suffering could be borne to a remarkable degree. They inflicted heinous punishment on their captives, the more grotesque the better.

  And yet Kate beheld stoicism about this man that transcended his tribal reputation. He appeared a lone soul who belonged to no one and nothing.

  An eerie silence lay heavy on the air. The sun, angled low over a ridge above and behind the Indian, gilding sparse clouds with gold, cast the man in stark direct light.

  J.D. and Kate drew rein.

  The Indian rose to his feet. A limber smoothness. He stood sturdy as an oak tree. Feet firmly planted. Facing them head-on. The rifle not aimed at them, yet his finger curved around its trigger. A steely, unwavering gaze as unreadable as polished black marble.

  J.D. said, "Hello."

  The man said nothing.

  "We want to talk with you."

  "Keep riding." The voice as cool as polished marble. "I no talk."

  Kate said, "My name is Katherine Blaze. My husband and I want to ask you about The Starlight Mine."

  "Starlight Mine is white man's mine. I have nothing to do with whites. You ride on."

  "Please. We're not here to cause you trouble."

  "That good for you. You start trouble, Iron Heart finish it." He glared at J.D. "Why you let your woman speak for you?"

  J.D. said, "We're told you keep vigil here over the grave of your child and your woman."

  "Who told you this?"

  "Colonel Hitchcock."

  Iron Heart spat upon the ground.

  "An evil man. He mistreats my people. You are friend of Colonel Hitchcock?"

  Kate said, "Hardly."

  "We want to speak with you not to bring you trouble, but because trouble has brought us. Do you know about the stagecoach; what happened to it today, and to the passengers?"

  "I hear people speak of it when they ride past."

  J.D. said, "What did that to those people on the stage? They were torn apart. What could do that?"

  Iron Heart chose not to respond.

  Kate said, "Whatever it was...is it the same reason you stand guard over the graves of your wife and child? Why are their graves here, beside the road?"

  "Many people travel this road." Iron Heart gestured with his rifle. "You go now. Nothing for you here."

  Kate said, "I think there is." Sensations coursed through her. A bloodied, shuddering, dying Holly MacNeil in her arms. A dead man she never met named Percy MacNeil. And a man of mortal power who turned a prosperous town into a ghost town; whose gunmen had tried to gun her and J.D. down. She said, "We've come to set things right. Please tell us why you stand guard night and day over their graves. Please. Tell us what it is that you guard against."

  He stood there for what seemed like a very long time, though it could have been no more than a minute. The black marble eyes remained unreadable.

  Kate understood.

  Iron Heart had never expected her and J.D. to ride up like this. J.D., bless his heart, remained in his saddle, a silent, neutral presence, trusting her and the sincerity of communication she and Iron Heart seemed to have established in such a brief time. Iron Heart was analyzing what he'd been confronted with.

  At last he said, "They call Iron Heart a crazy Indian. I tell you what it is that I guard against, and you believe me, they will call you crazy too. They may kill you. "

  "They may try," said Kate. "It didn't work out so well for them the first time."

  He considered this briefly.

  Then he said, "You not like all the others. Come. I show you."

  They dismounted, leaving their well-trained horses behind. They followed Iron Heart on foot.

  He set a brisk pace uphill across open ground, continually glancing over his shoulder not at Kate and J.D., who stayed close behind him, but in the direction of the graves receding in the distance. By the time they reached high grass not far below the crest of the ridge line, Kate understood.

  Iron Heart was going against his better judgment.

  All are governed by beliefs, impressions and interpretations of the world that are easily labeled superstitious by the skeptic. Indians were little different than "civilized" whites in that regard. One man's religion was another man's superstition. But Iron Heart was neither a religious zealot nor a superstitious fool. He was a man seasoned, toughened by the harsh realities of existence in this savage land. A man not given to fancies. And yet he persevered day in and day out, in fair weather and foul, guarding the graves of his departed loved ones. Something real drove this man. Leaving those graves behind, however briefly, was tearing him apart inside.

  She lowered herself to the ground with the men. The three of them crawled through knee-high grass, side by side, using elbows and knees to gain traction. They reached the twelve-foot-high fence that ran along the ridge.

  A strange nausea began slithering through Kate. It had been one hell of a day since delivering a prisoner to Sheriff Snap Foster in Whiskey Bend that morning, and the day wasn't over yet. What would happen next? She started feeling the way she had after the dream, the nightmare of hideous things shuffling after her, after which she had thankfully awakened in her husband's arms.

  Why should any of that come to mind at this moment?

  They made it to the ridge.

  The Starlight Mine stretched out below, but the castle perched on the opposite ridge was the first detail to catch her attention. It towered over the mine site, stark in the fading sunlight. A Medieval castle! An immense collection of towers reached for the sky.

  She lowered her gaze to the mine.

  Unpainted bunkhouses. Low storage buildings. Tool sheds. The huge loading bin on high stilts. The ore wagons lined up to receive their load. The sound carried faintly of ore rumbling down the chute from the mine entrance.

  Iron Heart said, "The workers. Watch the workers."

  Kate did so. A sudden gasp caught in her throat. She thought for one disoriented second that she was dreaming. An image from a recent dream came to life...

  The mine workers had about them the same strange, shuffling, herky-jerky, sleepwalker movements of the creatures that had chased her in her nightmare!

  Chapter 15

  Kate, J.D. and Iron Heart observed, from their hidden vantage point, the Starlight Mine commence shutting down operations for the day.

  The rumbling of the ore chute ceased. The workers, shuffling in their mechanical, routine manner, gathered in tattered lines and filed, two-by-two, into the mine in a shambling but orderly manner.

  Men with rifles stood positioned along their path.

  Overseers...

  Iron Heart spoke as if he read Kate's mind.

  "They herd workers into mine every night. Workers locked in mine. Fed and kept there until the next sun, then released to work again."

  "Why the rifles? Are they slave labor?"

  "No. They are the walking dead."

  J.D. said, "Uh, maybe you'd better backtrack some. What's going on here?"

  "The Count bring dead to life. Raise from their graves to obey him. Count Vlad sorcerer sent by dark gods."

  "Sorcerer? Walking dead?" J.D. squinted for a clear look across the distance. "Well, from here I reckon they do loo
k a mite peaked..."

  "My people forever burn our dead. Spirits rise in smoke to ancestors. Your people order this cannot be. We must bury dead same as white man."

  Kate nodded her understanding.

  "The Count has created a supernatural workforce: the deceased of your tribe, drawn from their graves through necromancy."

  J.D. squinted his skepticism. "That's crazy talk. There's got to be a rational explanation."

  Iron Heart eyed him resolutely.

  "Zombies. They obey and work or men with guns destroy. They kept like hogs. But sometimes break away. Feed on flesh. Animal. Human. Not matter to dead souls. Feed on living flesh. Men with rifles, so they not escape."

  Kate said, "The stagecoach. Those poor souls out on the trail. The mutilated horses and cattle that Lieutenant Pearson told us about."

  J.D. watched the last of "the walking dead" shuffle into the gloom of the mine.

  He said to Iron Heart, "So this is why you stand vigil over the grave of your wife and child."

  It was not a question.

  Below, a pair of the riflemen swung shut a sturdy steel door. The third man securely locked it. The men walked away. The coarseness of their laughter echoed up to the ridge.

  Iron Heart said, "I will destroy this place."

  "And how do you figure on doing that?"

  "The shed. There, you see? They pass it now. It is dynamite shed. Much dynamite kept there."

  Kate nodded. "Stored for blasting in the mine."

  J.D. got the picture. He grunted approval.

  "A few well placed sticks here and there and one big blow could shut down the whole operation for keeps."

  Kate eyed Iron Heart.

  "What's stopping you?"

  "I am alone. I am one crazy Indian. Count own mine. Powerful man."

  Kate said to J.D., "Do you believe what he's saying?"

  J.D. winced.

  "About zombies working a mine? What's left of my rational brain says it's impossible. But I believe my eyes." He heaved a sigh so loud, Kate was surprised it didn't carry down to the gunmen. J.D. said, "Okay, I'll buy it for now. Something unholy is going on here, that's for sure." He eyed Kate. "And if I'm reading you right, this is what we've been riding for since we left Whiskey Bend. Dealing with a no account Count and a pack of gol-dang zombies. Is that what you've got in mind?"