Blaze! Spanish Gold

by Ben Boulden

  J.D. dropped to the ground. He rolled behind a rotting tree fallen long ago. The Colt in his hand. A ghost, pale and ugly appeared in the tent’s doorway. Fear and determination on his face. The devil himself, J.D. thought. The albino.

  J.D. sighted the Colt’s barrel at the ugly man, pulled the trigger.

  The man lurched, ducked low and ran along the tent toward the back of the meadow. J.D. cursed at the missed opportunity. He fired at the man’s retreating figure with the same result. The albino disappeared around the tent.

  J.D. sighed, wiped sweat from his brow. He stood on bent knees and eased closer to the tent. The men at the campfire gained some respectability as the albino shouted orders. A few wild shots echoed in the night. A shower of dirt erupted to J.D.’s right. Then from outside the camp a rifle boomed. The campfire men dropped to the ground, their rifles silent.

  J.D. crawled to the tent’s blank canvas door on hands and knees. The shadowy dance from earlier now gone.

  J.D. whispered, “Kate.”

  A commotion from within the tent, without a verbal response to his inquiry, gave J.D. the idea Kate wasn’t in the tent or she didn’t know it was him.

  So he tried again. “Kate. It’s me, J.D.!”

  * * *

  Dirt rained across Gentry’s back. With his free hand, he searched for the lost Colt.

  When he felt its cold steel with a finger he wanted to exclaim, but instead he palmed the big gun and scooted backwards on his belly. The dirt and rocks scratched his face. The pain in his shoulder forgotten as an unseen shooter attempted to ventilate him a second time in a single day. He hit a short rock wall at the narrow passage’s edge. He sat up and slid feet first to the cliff’s base. A sense of relief when he found ankle high grass. And more relief when he was behind a large split boulder.

  Gentry took a snap shot at his tormentor. The gun bucked awkwardly in his left hand. He wasn’t much of a pistol shot on his best day, but with his weak hand he was hopeless.

  He turned to the camp. The three campfire men moved in upset circles. He spotted Ames’ shadow for a moment before it disappeared into the undergrowth ahead.

  After several seconds, Ames popped up again. A dark oval against the fire’s brightness. A lick of flame. A clap of thunder. The hotelier’s rifle shouted at the night.

  The nearest campfire man jerked. He landed on his back, skidded to the fire’s edge. His face skyward. A leg twitched, fell motionless. Gentry hoped it was the son of a bitch who’d killed Billy.

  A shadow moved across the illuminated tent to Gentry’s right. A tall man. A crooked bowler on his head. A larger revolver in his hand. He shouted at the two surviving campfire men. The men calmed and took cover behind the sitting log at the fire’s edge. No one appeared to notice their fallen comrade.

  Another shot erupted from the tent’s front side. The bullet’s trajectory carried it several yards to Gentry’s left. Its stomach-dropping crackle audible in his ears.

  Gentry ducked. Cursed at the shooter.

  The running man didn’t flinch. He never looked back. He moved along the tent’s side, skittered behind it to take away the shooter’s angle and made a wide loop around the meadow.

  Gentry recognized the man’s gait as Guggenheim. The smarmy bastard moved like a man who knew what he was doing and where he was going. He raised the Colt, placed its bead on the albino.

  His hand shook.

  He didn’t breathe.

  Panic rose in his chest.

  The lawman pulled his finger from the Colt’s trigger as fear crawled cold across him. He shouted at the night. At his impotence. His fear.

  Guggenheim circled behind where Ames was hidden in the long grass. The hotelier unaware of the outlaw’s approach.

  The albino raised his pistol.

  Gentry shouted, “James!”

  Guggenheim fired at point blank range. Once. Twice.

  Thunder rolled.

  CHAPTER 26

  When the shooting started Kate dropped to the tent’s dirt floor.

  Emma whimpered.

  Alabaster grinned; madness sparkled in his pink eyes. Without a word he darted from the tent into gunfire.

  Kate yanked her trouser leg above her boot and removed the derringer. She crawled to where Emma huddled on the cot. Kate motioned for the girl to silence with a finger to her lips. She grasped Emma’s hand and squeezed reassuringly.

  From outside J.D. whispered, “Kate.”

  Emma’s eyes bulged with panic.

  “Kate. It’s me, J.D.!”

  “I know who you are, J.D.!” Kate shouted. “Give me a second.”

  The tent’s door flap pushed inward. J.D.’s grim face appeared. He moved on all fours to Kate and Emma.

  “You okay?”

  “You sure took your damn time getting here.” Kate’s relief at J.D.’s presence palpable in her tone if not her words. She turned back to Emma, said, “We need to get—”

  The tent’s door flap whisked open. Kate’s and J.D.’s guns steady on the newcomer.

  “Joshua?” Kate looked from the boy to J.D. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I told you to stay put.” J.D. seemed determined to keep his eyes away from Kate’s.

  The Winchester in Joshua’s hands. “I thought you needed help.”

  Kate shook her head. “We need to get out of here.”

  Joshua scurried to the back of the tent. He helped Emma to her feet, held her arm as they moved to the tent’s door. Emma limped lightly on her hurt ankle. Kate watched the boy’s bravery with pride. When he flinched and stopped she feared he had been shot, but his eyes were locked on an old parchment on the table.

  Kate said, “What is it?”

  A fat tear dropped to the dirt floor at Joshua’s feet. He held his hand two inches above the parchment for a beat. Then lifted it from the table. A small yellowed newspaper clipping fluttered to the floor.

  Kate placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Joshua?”

  Joshua showed the parchment to her. A rough map drawn on its face. She looked from the boy to J.D., confusion in her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  J.D. passed the newspaper clipping to Kate. “This may help.”

  Kate read its first line, “Itinerant man found mutilated on West Broadway.” To Joshua, she said, “Did you know this man?”

  He looked at Kate with tear filled eyes. He nodded, motioned to the map. “This was my uncle’s.”

  “Sonuvabitch,” J.D. said.

  The tent’s interior faded to black when Kate turned off the oil lamp. Emma whimpered quietly, Joshua snuffled faintly.

  “Joshua, take Emma into the trees and hide.”

  Kate turned to J.D. “We have work.”

  * * *

  Gentry closed his eyes.

  He cursed his injured arm and his new-found cowardice.

  When he opened his eyes again, he saw Guggenheim standing over Ames’ hiding place. The albino crouched down. A ghoulish smile on his shadowy face, an evil clown. He said a few words Gentry couldn’t hear and then stood. He pointed his gun at Ames again.

  Gentry fought panic. He stubbornly held the Colt. He aligned its front sight on Guggenheim’s chest. His hand shaky and weak. He pulled the trigger.

  The big revolver almost jumped from Gentry’s hand; smoke and fire belched into the night.

  Guggenheim staggered. He looked startled. His head swiveled from left to right.

  Gentry started to pull the Colt’s hammer back.

  But Guggenheim bolted. He ran smoothly past the campfire. He disappeared into the trees at the meadow’s far side.

  Gentry took a deep breath. He counted his thundering heartbeats. At fifty, the lawman stood. His knees rubber. His bowels liquid. A hesitant step and then another moved him past the boulder and into the meadow.

  His eyes alert, the Colt surprisingly steady in his left hand, he walked through the tender grass. A few feet shy of Ames’ unmoving body, he stopped. He wiped sweat from his brow.
<
br />   Gentry said, “Goddamn. I’m sorry, James.”

  * * *

  J.D. eased from the tent. He held its flap open for Joshua and Emma. The two moved past him. Their only sounds were Emma’s breathing and the swish of grass on feet and ankles.

  Kate followed. She touched J.D.’s shoulder as she crossed through the door and pointed to the campfire where the men cowered behind their makeshift cover.

  “We need to take care of those two.”

  J.D. motioned Kate to the left and he went to the right. No need for stealth since the men’s faces were flush with the ground, mouths and noses buried in dirt. The night had fallen into eerie quiet. The soughing wind pushed trees, whispered through grass. The crack and pop of dry pine.

  J.D. crouched down. He worked his way behind the men. Their backs to him. He moved silently, kept to his toes. When he was in position a few yards behind the men, J.D. checked on Kate. She stood twelve feet away. A 45-degree angle from J.D.

  J.D. scowled when he realized her only weapon was the tiny derringer, but admired the woman’s moxie. He knew Kate would face the devil, nothing but a .22 caliber double shot in her hand.

  J.D. caught her eye. She nodded. He took a step forward. He raised the Colt to shoulder level. “Game’s up, boys!”

  Kate said, “Drop your guns!”

  “Don’t shoot!” The man nearest Kate threw his revolver in the air. It bounced a few feet from Kate. The man rolled over. A white streak in his hair and buck teeth in his mouth.

  The other man held his gun up. His nose still in the dirt.

  J.D. said, “Throw it away!”

  When the man had obeyed, Kate retrieved the first gun and J.D. grabbed the other.

  The Colt’s dilapidation made J.D. think these two were far from hired guns.

  Kate scowled at her new revolver. After a moment, she stuffed it in her belt. The derringer still in her right hand.

  Kate said, “What are you boys doing here?”

  Buck Teeth looked at her, more than simple confusion in his eyes.

  “Well?” J.D. said.

  He stammered, finally said, “We was hired to carry it.” He looked at his companion, whose face was still in the dirt. “Ain’t that right, Ennis?”

  “That’s right, Enos.”

  “Carry what?” J.D. said.

  Buck Teeth—named Enos—looked at J.D with dull eyes. “The gold, mister. Ain’t you here for the gold?”

  “Where is it?”

  The man with his face in the dirt. Ennis to his friends, it seemed. Pointed to a narrow trail. Its grass freshly flattened. “Over there.”

  Kate said, “You have a surname, Enos and Ennis?”

  “A wha—”

  “Slaughter, ma’am,” Ennis said without lifting his face from the dirt.

  J.D. said, “If we ever see you boys again, we’ll kill you both.”

  Ennis lifted his head. He looked at his brother. “That mean we can go?”

  “If you don’t hurry it up, we’ll shoot just because,” J.D. said.

  The brothers jumped to their feet, hollered at each other and ran into the trees.

  “You think their parents were siblings?” Kate said.

  “Siblings?”

  “You know, brother and sister?”

  J.D. grinned.

  Kate looked at the dead man. “I know this one.”

  “Me too,” J.D. said. “His name’s Sully.”

  * * *

  A shouted voice at the campfire startled Gentry. A grudging smile creased his face when he saw J.D. and Kate. Their guns raised against the two remaining campfire men. It gave him reassurance. A little of the courage taken by his gunshot wound and the day’s pain seeped back into his body. He crouched next to Ames and took his pulse. The vein thudded strongly beneath his finger.

  He turned James onto his back.

  The hotelier’s eyes fluttered open. A grim smile on his face. A bullet score on his left temple. James pointed to his ears and damn near shouted, “I can’t hear nothing!”

  Gentry put a finger to his lips. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. He sat back on his haunches, removed his arm from the sling and stretched it away from his body. He grimaced with pain.

  “Can you stand?”

  Ames squinted at Gentry’s mouth, trying to decipher the words.

  Gentry made a walking motion with his fingers.

  Ames smiled. “Sure.”

  Gentry gave Ames a hand to his feet. He helped him walk to the where J.D. and Kate stood over the man Ames had killed.

  Gentry said, “Am I glad to see you two.”

  * * *

  J.D. pivoted at the voice. His Colt steady. Its barrel at the lawman’s chest. He smiled when he recognized Ames and Gentry.

  “I wondered when you two would show up.”

  Kate moved to the injured men. She took Ames’ arm in her hand. She helped him to the fire where he sat on the ground. His back to the log where the Slaughter brothers had cowered only moments before.

  “What happened?”

  Gentry said, “Guggenheim creased him.”

  J.D. jerked at the albino’s name. “Where is he?”

  Gentry pointed to a narrow path leading into the forest. It was the same trail the Slaughters claimed led to gold. “Right down there.”

  J.D. looked at Kate. “Let’s go.”

  “Hold up!” Gentry shouted. He held Kate’s Colt by its barrel. “You’ll need this.”

  CHAPTER 27

  The starry shroud covered the valley so close Kate thought she could touch it if she tried. The night quiet as the grave. The trail moved from the meadow to the trees. It climbed several hundred feet before it dropped into another valley. This one smaller than the last. A light shimmered ahead. It was attached to what appeared to be a mine entrance. Heavy wooden braces at the edges and across the top. A doorway into the mountain’s heart.

  Three men talked animatedly in the mining lamp’s flickering glow. Alabaster, Timmons and Wiley. Their words indistinct. Kate moved smoothly from the narrow path into the towering firs and ponderosas at its edge. The Colt comfortable in her hand. J.D. followed.

  Kate’s and J.D.’s approach slowed, but the men’s distraction allowed them to move within several feet of the mine’s entrance. Kate held her hand in the air to stop J.D.

  “—as much mine as it is yours.” Timmons poked Guggenheim’s chest with an extended finger. The rhythm matched the cadence of his words. His face bright with anger, spittle splashed from his mouth.

  Guggenheim stood his ground. His face taut with anger. He slapped Timmons’ hand away.

  Stephen Wiley stepped between the two men. A hand on each man’s chest. He pulled his hand away from Guggenheim. The palm level with the ground and gave him a “calm down” motion.

  Guggenheim nodded. He took a small step back.

  Wiley, his hand still on Timmons’ chest, said, “We have a thousand gold bars”—he pointed to the mine entrance—“that’s worthless if we take it to a bank like we found it. Its Spanish markings will set alarm bells off all over the territory. The tribe knows it’s here. You understand that, right? The old man in Salt Lake lived out here on the reservation. He knew where it was, and others do, too. The feds will take it away if we try to cash it. The Utes will kill us if they find out we have it.”

  Timmons gulped. His face blanched pale in the lamp’s light. “What about the Blazes?”

  “We’ll take care of them,” Wiley said. “Just like we took care of Jones.”

  A careless smile rose on Timmons’ lips. “He really made that rope jump, now, didn’t he?”

  Wiley returned the smile. “He sure did. We okay, now? You understand we need to keep our heads?”

  Timmons, his eyes flat, nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  Wiley turned to Guggenheim. “We good?”

  Guggenheim stood still for a moment, starring through Wiley, before he shoved him. Wiley stumbled backwards, slammed against the support beam
to the mine’s entrance, gasped as the air was forced from his lungs.

  With his right hand Guggenheim pulled the fancy hog leg from its holster and shot the gambler between the eyes.

  Timmons’ blood misted a halo around the timid light, splattered in thick gobs on the mine entrance’s cross beam. He crumpled in a heap, dead before he hit the ground.

  “Holy—”

  “Shut up!” Guggenheim shouted. “I’ll shoot you if you don’t shut up.”

  Wiley stared at Alabaster, fear plain in his eyes.

  Kate looked over her shoulder at J.D. Then she stepped onto the narrow trail. The Colt at shoulder level. Its barrel pointed straight at Guggenheim. Who stood less than ten feet away.

  Kate said, “Drop it!”

  Guggenheim visibly flinched, his fingers loose on the gun. He turned his head a few inches towards Kate.

  “Do what the lady said.” J.D. was at Kate’s right shoulder. His big Colt ready.

  Kate grinned. “This is the husband I told you about.”

  Guggenheim seemed to grow paler when he saw the two gunnies. He looked at his silver-plated revolver. He hefted it in the palm of his hand as if he were seeking its guidance.

  “I wouldn’t, Guggenheim,” J.D. said, “Kate’s looking for an excuse to plant you.”

  Alabaster smiled, raised his pistol.

  Kate’s first shot hit Guggenheim in the chest. The second caught him below the left eye. The albino stood straight. His hands at his sides. The gun dropped from his fingers. The smile plastered on his ugly face, blood blossomed from his mouth. He raised his right foot as if he were walking, but instead fell hard to the ground.

  Stephen Wiley, his hands above his head, squealed.

  Kate said, “I don’t like agreeing with Guggenheim, but if you don’t shut up, I’m going to shoot you.”

  The city man’s face pale. His eyes wide, closed his mouth.

  “Her bark’s worse than her bite,” J.D. said.

  Wiley looked at Guggenheim’s dead body, then at J.D. He opened his mouth to talk or scream, but thought better of it.

  “You boys found some Spanish gold on Indian ground, I take it?” J.D. said. His Colt back in its holster.

  Wiley nodded.