"Do we have a choice?"
"I reckon not."
"It's what Holly MacNeil would've found waiting for her, and it would have squashed her like a bug. Damn right. We're going to slam down this unholy shit so hard, it's going to bounce."
Iron Heart had been watching the graves alongside the road throughout their time spent observing the mine. He spoke abruptly.
"I go now."
He withdrew.
Kate and J.D. followed him back to the boulders where their horses waited.
J.D. said, "Iron Heart, throw in with us. You're not just one crazy Indian anymore. There might be only one Indian among us, but if we're thinking about taking on a pack of zombies, then the three of us are sure enough plumb crazy. We've got that much in common."
Kate said, "It's got to be done."
J.D. said, "The question is, how?"
Iron Heart said, "Rider pass here today. Man Iron Heart never see before. White man. Very white! Red eyes. Wear black. Gunfighter."
Kate and J.D. exchanged a glance.
Kate spoke their shared thought.
"Lucien Grubmire."
The albino gunslick had a rep throughout the Southwest as a sadistic, merciless mankiller.
"He ride up to big house where Count live. Come to work."
J.D. said, "Is he there now?"
Iron Heart shook his head, no.
"Count shoot white, white man. Man make Count angry. Count kill him. But it get worse for white, white man."
Kate frowned. "How could it get worse than being dead?"
"Count orders his men to feed dead gunfighter to zombies. They feast on the dead. Yowl like coyotes. Children of the night."
J.D. said, "If we're going to tear this playhouse down, we're not going to do it from out here."
Kate said, "Darling, you sound like a man with a plan."
"There's a reason Iron Heart told us about Lucien Grubmire."
Iron Heart said nothing. He lowered himself to sit, cross-legged, near the arranged boulders, the carbine angled across his lap as when they had first seen him.
Kate said, "You're thinking if Grubmire could ride straight up to that castle and apply for work, then you can get an audience with the Count the same way."
"Yup, that's what I'm thinking."
"And what then?"
"Why, what do you think? I put a slug between the Count's eyes, send him to Hell where he belongs and everybody's troubles are over."
"You think it will be that easy?"
"Sure. Why wouldn't it?"
Kate sighed.
"J.D., you're a fine specimen of manhood but sometimes I wonder about your mental capacity."
"Well, don't. I know the Count's got backup, but so do I." He patted his twin sidearms. "Besides, we've already thinned their ranks by three."
"Aren't you forgetting that the Count killed Grubmire?"
"I'm smarter and faster than Lucien ever was. You know that"
"And what about those walking dead?"
"What about 'em? Once the Count is out of the picture, his spell over them will be broken, right? That's how spells work."
"J.D., I don't know squat about spells and zombies and neither do you. All we know is that they exist and we've got to deal with 'em."
J.D. scratched the back of his neck. Kate recognized this as one of his subconscious gestures of indecision.
"So what do you suggest?"
"We coordinate things. We get Lieutenant Pearson to help." Her eyes shifted to the Indian. "Iron Heart, you'll never have a better chance to put that dynamite to use."
The Indian didn't respond. He remained seated cross-legged upon the ground, staring into the shadows.
J.D. said, "How about it, Iron Heart? Are you with us?"
Iron Heart said, "My place is here."
Kate said, "But this is your opportunity to—" She interrupted herself upon becoming aware that J.D. had moved to stand beside his black stallion. He was busy with one of his saddlebags. "J.D., what are you doing?"
"I'm fixing to ride up to that castle."
"But that's crazy! You can't go up there alone! If that boyo can cast spells on dead people, Jesus Horatio Christ, J.D., who knows what else he can do?"
"There's only one way to find out. And don't take the Lord's name in vain."
"Aw, it's just a sign of how upset you're getting me. You're kidding about this, right?"
She had to ask even though she knew the answer.
J.D. said, "It's perfect timing for me to ride up for a palaver. The Count needs to hire an extra gun. That's what Grubmire was doing there."
"But in that saloon, his men tried to kill us!"
"Yeah, but he may not know that. This is all happening mighty damn fast."
"Colonel Hitchcock—"
"What about him? We rode straight here from seeing him at the fort, and no one's ridden past here since we showed up. I don't need that much time once I'm inside the castle. I just need me a second or two alone with the Count."
"But dammit, J.D., what about me?"
"You're staying here."
"Like hell I am. Iron Heart said he won't help, so I'm riding with you. "
"Not this time. Reason with that crazy Indian." J.D. spoke loud enough for Iron Heart to hear him. "You two get word to Lieutenant Pearson. Flirt with him if you have to."
She strode right up to him. Her breasts, always high and firm, pressed against him.
"Mister, will you please stop and think for one second? You are one stubborn cuss, Jehoram Delfonso."
This stirred Iron Heart somewhat. He frowned.
"Huh? Who that?"
He tried to repeat the name but could not.
"Never mind," J.D. snapped peevishly at him, and to his wife he said in a gentler tone, "Now, honey—"
"You can't just go riding up there on your own. You'll be coyote bait before midnight." She turned to her horse. "Come on. Saddle up. We'll take 'em by surprise with guns a-blazin'."
He snagged her by the wrist. Arrested her forward movement. Whirled her back around to face him. She came willingly into his arms that encircled her.
He said, gently and close to her ear, "I am a stubborn cuss. My way is the only way this time, baby. You stay here and get the Indian onboard. And try to do something about them zombies."
Kate reared back, remaining in his arms but with eyes glaring.
"I'm riding with you. Don't tell me what to do, J.D."
He sighed a heartfelt sigh.
He said, "I ain't the only stubborn cuss in this family. I've got a job needs doing and I can do it best alone. Sorry, hon."
Kate blinked, caught off-guard,
"What do you mean, you're sorry? What—hey!...what the hell are you—J.D., don't you dare!"
He quickly and forcefully drew her wrists together behind her back, binding her wrists together using the strip of rawhide he'd removed from his saddle bag before she walked up to him.
Kate instantly began sputtering, cursing, angrily struggling with all of her might this way and that to free herself of the professional knots.
J.D. lurched away from her like a man avoiding a rattler.
He said, "It's best this way. You'll find a way to free yourself and by that time I'll be doing what I have to do alone. I don't want you dead." He thought of the fate of Lucien Grubmire and added, "Or worse."
He swung into the saddle.
Kate stopped struggling. She steadied her breath. He was right, damn him. She wouldn't be hogtied like this for long. She'd break free. But the anger that coursed through her felt hot enough to start a forest fire.
"J.D., you're an underhanded, double dealing son of a bitch, and when I get even you'll be sorry. You hear me? You'll be sorry, you big lunkhead!"
She realized that she was sputtering. She drew another deep breath but could not stop quivering with rage.
And the big handsome bastard she'd married had the nerve to throw a warm laugh in her direction.
He sa
id, "Damn, woman. You sure enough get my blood to boiling when I see you mad."
Then he spurred his mount and galloped off up the road.
Chapter 16
J.D. followed the narrow trail that forked off from the main road just before the mine entrance came into view. He rode slowly, not wanting the stallion's hoof beats to draw attention. He wanted to approach the castle without being noticed, if possible.
The trail, wide enough for no more than a buggy, ran across the spine of the ridge. The looming castle exuded a medieval grimness in its towering dominance over the mine site below.
The gathering gloom of dusk shrouded much of the surrounding terrain. The call of a night bird carried on a soft breeze. The western horizon was a brassy brown, the sky overhead already empurpled, darkening as the temperature started to drop.
J.D.'s every sense was attuned to his surroundings. So far, no one seemed to have detected his presence.
Thoughts of Kate came unbidden and refused to go away.
He'd never seen her as angry as she had been when he'd snookered her with that rawhide trick. It wouldn't be easy, patching things up with her when this was over. She'd been mad enough to spit bullets. But she would eventually find it in her heart to get over being pissed off at him. She always did. Dead, on the other hand, was forever. It made more sense having her use her wits—and, yes, her anger at him—to put together some sort of backup for after he took the Count down for the count.
He was being optimistic but there seemed little benefit in being anything else this far along the trail.
Lieutenant Pearson was right.
A cancerous, monstrous evil was creeping across these pristine wide open western spaces as surely as the gloom of night was now claiming the land. A monstrous evil, and no damn mistake.
And he was riding into the belly of that monster.
Yes, it was even worth risking the wrath of Kate. True, she was a gunfighter of speed and skill equal to his own. So it was crazy, and she would find it insulting as hell, but the way things were shaping up, J.D. wanted his wife kept safe. He was riding in to face the unknown, and he could only do this alone. Especially if she was right about him becoming coyote bait before midnight...
He loosely draped the stallion's reins across a hitching rail at the front entrance of the castle. He clumped on up to the front door. His spurs jingled, but this close to his quarry he didn't give a damn. He gripped a huge iron knocker bolted into the thick wooden door and hammered three hard, distinct knocks. He stayed attuned to the atmosphere of his immediate surroundings. He filled his right hand with a six-shooter.
The way he figured it, the three Starlight Mine gunslicks he and Kate took down in Yonder would've normally been assigned to patrol the castle grounds while the remaining three ran security down at the mine. The Count's security force had not yet been reallocated. He was overly confident. Or maybe it was just a matter of priorities; the need to keep an eye on his "workers" outweighed any other concern.
His plan was simple. The strategy of direct action was always best. A bigshot like Count Vlad would never deign to answer his own front door. His knocking would be answered by a gunslick or maybe even one of those "walking dead." In either case, J.D. would open fire without hesitation. Then he would storm in and let the Count have a bellyful of lead. He heard the clicking from inside of a complicated lock mechanism.
The door drew inward.
The Indian girl, who had been rudely dismissed by Colonel Hitchcock from his office at the fort, stood with one hand on the door handle. She saw the gun in his hand and her eyes flared wide. She gasped.
J.D. lowered the revolver. He lifted his left index finger to his lips.
She nodded understanding. She regained her composure. Her lips, a tight line. Her eyes, wary. Her breathing, shallow.
J.D. whispered.
"Do you recognize me?"
She nodded.
"Are you a prisoner here?"
She nodded, yes.
He said, "I'm here to kill them."
He expected her to register relief and gratitude. Cooperation.
Instead, the girl raised the back of one hand to her mouth. Fear shadowed the other emotions in her eyes. She was a prisoner, yes...a terrified prisoner, at the moment in servitude as a maid.
A male voice with a foreign accent called out from a room behind her, "Blue Feather, who is it?"
Before she could reply, J.D. raised his voice so as to be heard in that inside room.
"Name's Amos Grubmire. I'm looking for my brother, Lucien."
An improvisation, intended to pique interest, achieved its purpose.
"Ah," said the voice. "Send him in."
Blue Feather's eyes caught J.D.'s as he stepped past her. He could not read her glance. Then she went about closing and locking the door.
For some reason—he wasn't sure why—he holstered his six-gun. However, his palm remained on its grip.
He stepped into a great hall.
Stone floor. High vaulted ceiling. Shadowy walls. A gloomy, echoey place.
A tall man, wearing impeccable evening clothes complete with some sort of beribboned medal about his neck, stood before the mantle of a blackened, cold fireplace.
Count Vlad.
"Ah, Mr. Blaze. I bid you welcome. A fascinating gambit, your effort to gain entry by making a reference to Mr. Grubmire, who dropped by earlier today, seeking employment. Alas, he has traveled on."
J.D. kept a cool façade but his mind clicked away, taking into account the unexpected development of Blue Feather's presence and her apparent lack of enthusiasm at being rescued.
That's how frightened she was of her captors!
He had seen it before. She feared that he would not survive this attempt to help her, and afterward she would endure much for having conspired with him. He had little choice but to accept and sympathize with a frightened girl's point of view. But where did that leave him?
The Count smiled a sinister smile.
"A glass of wine, Mr. Blaze?"
J.D. thought, Uh oh. Things were already not going as planned...
Chapter 17
Kate tried everything she could think of to loosen the strip of rawhide with which J.D. had bound her wrists. Her dear husband had done such a perfect job on the knots, she couldn't even begin to loosen them.
She could not remember ever being this pissed off at anyone in her entire life!
From being raised on a farm, learning how to ride and shoot at an early age, to the devastation brought upon her life and her family during the not-so-long-ago War Between the States, to coming of age as a Mississippi riverboat gambler and her travels west, life had managed the occasional stretch of unspoiled grace here and there, but unexpected, cruel and often hurtful twists of fate had for the most part been her life.
And she had survived. Every stumbling block made into a stepping stone. She never ceased reaching forward in life, never looking back. Learn from your mistakes. And here she was, madder than a nest of hornets. Mad enough to kill! Damn that J.D.
She would dearly love to wring his neck .
Leaving her here with Iron Heart, who had observed the entire incident—if he was paying attention at all!—with his iron eyes staring straight ahead. Not a single visible response from the Indian even when J.D. rode off, when she was shouting every unladylike insult and swear word she could think of after him.
To add insult to injury, Kate's chestnut, usually an extremely well-behaved animal, decided to merrily trot off after J.D. and his stallion. For a short time it had seemed that she would be stranded without a horse! Eventually the chestnut wandered back. Kate knew what most likely happened. J.D. had urged the animal to return. This suspicion enraged Kate even more.
As for the strip of rawhide that bound her wrists, nothing seemed to work. It wasn't easy, navigating with her arms tied behind her back. After entreaties to Iron Heart fell on deaf ears, she first tried easing leaning against a boulder not far from where he sat, where s
he found a sliver of rock wedged in beneath the boulder.
She parted her wrists as far as she could, which wasn't very far, and started sliding the rawhide repeatedly back and forth over the wedged rock. But all she succeeded in doing was to acquire minor nicks and abrasions, and the rawhide bound her wrists tighter than ever.
She tried turning her back to her horse, nudging his face with her wrists. She urged the beast to nibble at the rawhide but that quickly proved to be an even dumber idea than trying to saw through rawhide with a rock. She stopped before the fool horse chomped off one of her fingers.
And through every second of each of those attempts, her brain flared with an almost unbearable rage directed solely at J.D. A rage that practically caused her flesh to quiver and explode from her body with its sheer ferocity. What really irked her, what really chaffed her britches, what really got Kate's shit hot was that her bonehead old man thought he was doing something noble and gallant by hogtying the little lady and leaving her behind so that he, the big brawny he-man, could ride off and get killed.
Was she supposed to be grateful?
Such concern for her precious life could have led the fool to K.O. her with a pop to the chin. At least he couldn't bring himself to physically injure her. Big fucking deal! What a fucking idiot she'd married! What an insult to her, to treat her like a child in need of protection rather than the equal to him in every respect that she had damn well proven herself to be time and again.
She tried to be fair. She wanted to be fair. Okay, she loved the man. And yes, they had faced death together on practically a regular basis during the course of hiring out to take on everything and everyone from bloodthirsty outlaws to bloodthirsty Indians. Some allowance should be made for the presence of zombies. That could be enough to color anyone's thinking...for maybe a minute or two! But not J.D. Oh no, not her old man. He loved his woman so much, he had to leave her tied like a prize hog while he went and had all the fun.
She would show him.
Damn, she was pissed off!
A three-quarter moon was rising. Normally it would have been a beautiful sight that would have elicited a few moments' notice from her. But on this night, the moonlight served only to limn in silver the stoic, unmoving figure of Iron Heart.
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