by Kurt Barker
They lay together on the bed for some time, sucking the thick warm air into their lungs in panting breaths. After a while, Tara pushed herself up into a sitting position and stretched, the sweat and cum on her voluptuous body glistening in the candle light.
She leaned over to Blackshot and gave him a light peck on the cheek. “You've really turned this whole boring trip around,” she said. With that she stood up and gathered her clothes from the floor. She tucked them under her arm and opened the door, blowing a kiss to Blackshot as she disappeared into the hallway, still naked and wet.
Chapter 3
When the morning sun rose over the eastern horizon it brought with it an oppressive heat that made the distant mountains shimmer in a thick haze. Blackshot was up early, and stopped only for a cup of coffee before heading for the stable to retrieve his horse. He was stopped halfway across the street by the voice of Arthur Buckley.
“I say! Not leaving so soon, are you?” the old man called. He approached with an outstretched hand, and as Blackshot took it he could see the strain that showed through his friendly smile.
“I planned to,” Blackshot replied. “No reason to hang around here, I don't suppose.”
Buckley paused, seeming to struggle with a decision, then he blurted out, “I need your help. I'm in trouble.”
“What's wrong?”
“Let's go to the saloon. We can talk there. If you don't mind?...”
Blackshot followed the old man to the saloon and they sat down at a table far from the bar. The room was empty, as it was still early, and a short time after they sat down, the curtain that hung over the door in the back of the room was pulled aside and the half-shaven face of the bartender looked out. Buckley indicated that they did not need service, and the curtain was closed, leaving them alone.
“Those bandits yesterday....” Buckley began hesitantly.
“Yeah?”
“They weren't bandits. At least, they didn't happen open the stage at random to rob it.”
Blackshot leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “They were after you?”
“Yes. Well, they were after something that I possess, to be more precise.” The old man's hat sat in his lap, and his fingers played nervously with the brim. “I should explain it from the beginning; I am a businessman, and I have had some success in various businesses over the years, and made good money. However, I've also made a few missteps in business at times, and partly because of these missteps and partly because of a.... weakness I have for gambling at cards, I have often lost as much as I have made.
“Well, after a few lean years recently, things were finally looking up for me. One of my business ventures turned me a nice profit, and I got the idea of investing it- you know, so I wouldn't be tempted to- anyway, I got a tip from a good friend who told me that the railroad had plans of putting a line out this way, and if I were to invest my money in land out here....”
Blackshot nodded. “You'd be all set for life.”
“Exactly! Uh, and not just me!” the old man added quickly. “I'd finally be able to put away a good sum for my daughter. I want her to be taken care of.”
“I suppose the land deal didn't go as planned?”
“Well, when I traveled out here to buy the land, it turns out that another fellow wants to buy it, too,” Buckley continued. “He makes an offer, trying to buy it out from under me, but it's a low offer. He's trying to cheat the folks out of their stake, seeing as they don't know about the railroad! Well, I come right over the top of him and outbid him with a fair price. Of course, I end up with the land and the other gent, Castle's his name, isn't happy about it.”
“Castle? Joe Castle?” Blackshot inquired.
“Yes, that's the fellow. You know him?”
Blackshot sighed. He knew Gentleman Joe Castle; confidence trickster, swindler, robber, and sometime killer- the kind that did his killing by putting a bullet in a man's back under cover of darkness where the law couldn't pin it on him. The rest of the old man's story played out clear as day in Blackshot's mind. “I reckon this Joe Castle tried to bully you into backing out of the deal, and when that didn't work he tried to swindle you out of the deed to the land, and when that didn't work he smiled at you real polite and said something like 'I guess the better man won' and maybe even shook your hand, and went straight out to hire some killers to take the deed off you in a fake holdup.”
The old man's eyes widened and his face took on a grave expression. “You see the mess I've gotten myself into,” he said. “I suppose he'll keep trying until he gets the deed.”
“He'll keep trying,” Blackshot replied.
They sat in silence for a minute, then Buckley spoke. “I looked in on the fella that they shot yesterday. He's looking better. He told me about you. He said a man can hire you to.... take care of things.”
“Like the deed?”
“I'm taking it to Carver City to the Justice of the Peace to get it filed and settled all official-like. Now I'm thinking I've been a fool. I'm no match for a man like Castle.”
“Fine,” Blackshot said. “Give it to me and I'll make sure it gets where it belongs.”
The old gentleman sighed. “You're taking a great burden from off my shoulders,” he said. “I'd never make it to Carver City alive. And Tara! What a silly jackass I was to bring her with me! She could have been killed! As it is, she's probably badly traumatized by what happened; Tara's a delicate girl, you know.”
“I wouldn't worry about that,” Blackshot said. “I get the feeling that she's handling the situation a lot better than you think.”
“I hope you're right....”
“I'm pretty sure of it.”
Chapter 4
The dull thudding of the gray's hooves echoed faintly on the rocky outcroppings that dotted the parched landscape. The sun was now directly overhead and sweat glistened on the horse's strong neck, even though Blackshot was keeping the stallion to only half its galloping pace.
Blackshot didn't like the landscape ahead; too many hiding places were presented by the undulating walls of the canyons, some of which narrowed to an extent that a man could reach out and touch a rock wall on either side of him as he rode. Setting up an ambush would not be hard, and by now the dead men would be missed and Joe Castle would know that something had gone wrong.
Did he know that Blackshot was his target now? Probably not yet; Blackshot had only left Larsonville an hour ago. Castle would know the route to Carver City, though, and he was not likely to let any traveler pass unchallenged.
The air was thick and still, and the jagged terrain in front of Blackshot shimmered in the heat. Suddenly, a slight movement caught his eye. Was it just a trick of the light? Maybe a lizard scuttling through the dusty rocks? Maybe. Blackshot scanned the landscape ahead, but nothing moved; nothing seemed out of place. Everything was as it was a moment ago, but all his instincts told him that something was wrong.
Blackshot pulled the reins back gently, slowing the gray's gait a little without it showing. He didn't want to stop outright, for he felt sure that he was being watched and he did not want to betray his awareness of the situation. His eyes roamed the sandy trail, the sun-bleached rocks, the outcroppings of gray vegetation that clung close to the dusty soil; until he saw it. A tall rocky outcropping jutted out of the dry earth ahead, split by the trail into two craggy spires that stood close on either side of it. Protruding just a couple of inches from the rock on the right was the black toe of a man's boot.
Blackshot let his left hand fall to his side as he rode, and as he closed within a few dozen yards of the outcropping he slid one of the Colts into his palm with a barely perceptible movement. The man would not be alone. There would be at least one more man lying in wait, probably behind the opposite crag. Most likely there were others there, too.
Now closer to the rocks, Blackshot could see other great stones standing close behind the two spires, forming a sort of chamber around the trail. He would enter into it and his riderless hors
e would exit the other side; that was apparently the plan. But Blackshot had a different idea in mind.
As he drew closer to the rocks, close enough that he knew the men could hear the thumping of his horse's hooves on the arid turf, he quickly raised the Colt and unleashed a stream of lead into the rocks behind the two spires. Sparks leaped from the stony faces as the bullets ricocheted through the chamber.
Blackshot jerked the reins to the left and sent the gray leaping off the trail as a flurry of cries and swearing erupted from the rocks. One man burst from the outcropping, panicked, fumbling to draw his pistol with one hand and clutching a red stain on his thigh with the other. A slug from Blackshot cut through his gut, and he stumbled into the underbrush and collapsed, blood spraying from his side.
Off to the left hand side of the trail, maybe a hundred yards away, was another rock; a giant broad-faced boulder as tall as a standing man. Blackshot aimed the gray for it and drove the spurs into its flanks. Behind him a ragged volley of gunfire spewed from the mouth of the chamber, knifing through the clouds of dust kicked up at the horse's heels as it sprinted for the safety of the boulder.
Once in the shadow of the great stone face, Blackshot swung down from the saddle and thumbed shells into the empty chambers of the black revolver before drawing the other one. As near as he could tell, there were three men left beside the dead one. A bullet sparked on the side of the boulder. They would be spreading out, approaching the boulder cautiously. Probably one had gone out the back side of the rocky chamber and was circling around to cut off any avenue of escape, he figured.
Blackshot leaned out to the edge of the boulder and fired blindly around the side in the direction from which he had come. The response came instantly; two rifles barked harshly and lead cracked the face of the rock, sending chips and pebbles skittering across the ground. Two rifles; so it was as Blackshot thought. The third man was moving to box him in.
There was another outcropping of rocks about fifty yards behind Blackshot, smaller and more sparse. He thought about his chances of jumping on his horse and making a break for them, but he discarded the idea. They didn't afford much cover, and the gunmen would be close enough for a good shot at him now if he went out in the open.
And they surely were close now. Plenty close enough to hear the hooves of a galloping horse. No sooner had the idea formed in Blackshot's mind than he sprung into action. He crept out to where the gray stood, a few yards behind him, and let out a shout as he gave it a slap on the rump, setting it sprinting away as he leaped back to the rock face and pressed himself close against it.
A wiry, long-haired man in a ten gallon hat rushed past the boulder, a repeating rifle raised to shoulder to shoot down the rider on the horse. The sight of the empty saddle and the blur of movement at the corner of his eye made him turn his gun, but by then Blackshot's first bullet was driving through his skull, painting the face of the boulder with blood and brains.
The other man, a stocky, mustachioed Mexican in a faded military jacket, had come around the opposite side of the boulder. He arrived just in time to see his partner's body sliding down the side of the boulder to the ground. Blackshot was nowhere to be seen. On instinct, he spun around and leaped to the other side of the boulder, gun trained ahead. There was no one there.
As he turned again to look behind him, a shadow fell over his face. Before the man could raise his rifle, the lunging body of Blackshot dropped onto him from the top of the boulder. He struggled to break free from Blackshot's powerful grip, but in an instant the long, thin blade of the knife that had belonged to his dead partner until a moment ago plunged into his back. Blackshot drove the knife with all his might into the straining body of the man until the tip of the blade burst from his chest and Blackshot felt his body go limp.
Blackshot released his grip and the body fell heavily to the ground at his feet, sending a thin cloud of dust up into the balmy air. He flattened himself against the face of the boulder and wiped the sweat from his face with a shirtsleeve. Two down, one to go. But where was the one?
At that moment the one was not fifty yards away, creeping slowly toward the boulder, keeping to what cover he could find. He was a short, muscular man with a long scar etched across his sun-browned face, and he held a repeating Remington at the ready. The gray horse had run up to him a few seconds before, and he had given it a good slap on the rump that had sent it running even further into the hot wasteland. He could see the body of the long-haired man slumped against the side of the rock, his disfigured head painted a deep red. His quarry was waiting on the other side; no doubt about it. The man moved deliberately from rock to rock in a wide arc around the boulder, staying low the whole time.
Suddenly a bulky figure in a black hat and shirt lunged from behind the great rock. The scarred man snapped off three quick shots at the moving man; one sparked brightly on the face of the boulder, but the other two found their target and the man tumbled to the ground with blood spraying from his side and thigh.
The body lay motionless as the dust that had been driven into the thick air by the man's impact settled to the earth again. The scar-faced man approached cautiously, aware that there might still be some life in his prey yet. He sprang to the sloping wall of the boulder and pressed his back to it, keeping his rifle aimed at the man on the ground. Blood was puddling in the sand around the unmoving body; he was as dead as a man could be.
The gunman walked to the body, and dug his boot into its side to turn it over to where get at the man's pockets. He wasn't really sure what a land deed looked like, but he would just take every paper he could find on the body. Would the deed have been ruined by the bullets and blood? The boss should have known that might happen. He'd have to take what he got. When the limp body rolled over onto its back, the scarred man let out a gasp. It was the Mexican dressed in the other man's shirt and hat!
“Find what you were looking for?”
The low, growling voice came from behind him, and he whirled around with just enough time to see the flames that roared from Blackshot's guns reflect in the sweat on the broad bare chest before the slugs were tearing through him. He staggered backwards, stumbling over the corpse of his partner, and fell, some of his guts hitting the ground before he did.
Blackshot slid the black Colts into their holsters and stepped over the dead men to retrieve his hat. He looked down at the tattered and blood soaked shirt on the body of the Mexican. It wasn't good for much now, but it had not been his body that was inside it when it was ruined, so he did not mourn it overmuch. Now he needed his horse.
Blackshot circled around the boulder and scanned the face of the canyon, shading his eyes with his hand. A dot of shimmering gray caught his eye in the distance. The horse was standing still now, but had run a good half mile before stopping. Blackshot spat in the dust. Another successful but inconvenient ploy. No sense complaining about it now.
With a shake of his head Blackshot strode out into the vast, arid expanse between himself and his horse. He had gone about a hundred yards when the loud report of a rifle exploded the silence of the canyon. Instinctively Blackshot dove forward, and a bullet smacked into the rocks at his feet, sending a shower of gravel across his legs and boots. A few feet away a small boulder stood at the edge of a little gulch, and Blackshot scrambled behind it, drawing his guns.
As the echoes of the rifle shot died, the silence was broken again, this time by a voice. “I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Tom Blackshot?” Blackshot took a look around the side of the rock, but saw no one. The voice came from jagged rocky rim of the canyon, and the speaker had taken care to be stay out of Blackshot's line of sight.
The voice continued. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Joseph Castle, and you have something that belongs to me.”
Chapter 5
Gentleman Joe Castle paused, letting the echoing dissipate in the stifling air. “It is a land deed. I know that you have it in your possession. If you hand it over to me, I give you my word I will l
et you leave unharmed.”
“That's mighty nice of you!” Blackshot called. “I can't promise I'll do the same for you, Joe!” While his position was not ideal, it did provide an adequate shield from the canyon ridge, which curved away from the trail in the direction of Larsonville so that the gunman could not circle around and shoot him from above.
The voice came again: “Do not trifle with me, sir! You may be a man of reputation, but so am I! You will never reach Carver City alive with that deed!”
Blackshot leaned out from behind the boulder and squeezed off a shot into the rocks the lined the rim of the canyon. The echoes resounded almost as loud as the shot, and a trickle of pebbles tumbled from the ridge to the ground below.
“You think because you disposed of those no-account saddle tramps back there that you can escape me, too,” Castle shouted, “but you are quite mistaken! When I learned it was you I would be dealing with instead of the old fool, I sent for the Camacho gang!”
Blackshot knew of the Camachos; Nando and Rudy Camacho were fearless bandits whose band of raiders had terrorized the border towns the last couple of years. The brothers were hardened killers, and the men that rode with them were no less ruthless.
“They won't give you a chance to bargain like I have!” Castle continued. “This is your last opportunity to hand over the deed!”
“Come and take it from me if you're man enough!” Blackshot snapped back. “The only deed you'll get from me is for a hot spot in Hell!”
There was silence for a moment, and then the rifle barked again. In the distance, Blackshot saw the legs of the gray horse buckle. It stumbled then fell heavily to the earth.
“Enjoy your walk to Carver City, Mr. Blackshot!” came Joe Castle's bitter voice from the ridge. A short time later, the sound of horse's hooves could be heard receding from the canyon rim, and he was gone.
