Blackshot Sixshooter Collection

by Kurt Barker

  They stood with their eyes locked together, hers blazing with anger, his cold and firm. With a haughty snort, Consuela tore open the front of her blouse. She did not bother to turn away from Blackshot, who watched her big bare tits jiggle and shake as she stripped the bloody shirt from her body. She pulled the thin undershirt quickly over her head and tucked it into the waist of her skirt. Her breasts bulged from every opening, and the thrust of her nipples was evident against the flimsy fabric, but at least it wasn't wet with blood, and Blackshot wasn't exactly going to complain at the sight of it. Consuela stood with her hands on her hips, regarding Blackshot coolly.

  “Who the hell are you, and how are you mixed up in this mess?” Blackshot said.

  “I am Consuela de Olivera, daughter of Don Joaquin de Olivera. My father was a wealthy man and came from Juarez to settle here and build a ranch. He owned much of the land in these parts until a short time ago.... Until Dan Ragan came.”

  “And now the land belongs to Ragan, eh?”

  Consuela nodded, scowling bitterly. “He did not even bother offering to buy it from my father. He simply murdered him in cold blood, and took everything he owned. There was no one to stop him.” She paced angrily as she talked. “As for me, I thought he would murder me along with my father, but he had other plans; Ragan brought some sham of a judge out from the nearest town and made a wedding ceremony and forced me to marry his animal son! That way it was all covered by the law, you see? I inherited my father's estate and now it belonged to my 'husband' and of course, his dear padre! The famous Diamond Dan got to have his cake and eat it too!”

  “So you were a prisoner in your own home, and married to the son of the man that killed your father,” Blackshot said. “Sounds like you've had a pretty damn rough go.”

  An imperious light shone in Consuela's eyes. “They couldn't break me. I bided my time and did what I was told. I performed my duties as a wife; yes, even in the bedroom. I put up with it all because I knew one day my chance would come.”

  “To escape?”

  “For revenge.”

  Blackshot's mouth curved into a wicked grin. “I knew we had something in common.”

  “I heard the men talking about you,” Consuela said, casting a searching look across him, “They talked like you were some kind of demon or something; I could tell they were afraid to come after you. They all bragged that they would defeat you easily, but underneath the bravado they were afraid.”

  “They were right to be.” Blackshot said, jerking a thumb toward the corpses at the edge of the clearing.

  “Just who are you, anyway?” she asked.

  “The name's Tom Blackshot, ma'am,” he said, tipping his hat. “Soon to be known as the man that killed Diamond Dan Ragan.”

  Chapter 7

  Blackshot found his trusty Colt revolvers hung across his saddle, which Ragan's men had not bothered to take off his horse's back when they had made camp. He buckled them around his waist and shoved a boot into the stirrup to mount the roan.

  Consuela appeared from the underbrush and stood by his horse. Her face was grim and her big brown eyes showed her concern. “There are too many men out there,” she said. “They'll kill you.”

  “They'll try.”

  “Take me with you.”

  “Why, so they can kill you, too, princess?”

  “Don't call me that again!” she flared, stamping her foot indignantly. “I know the estate like the back of my hand! I can show you how to sneak in without them seeing you. It's your only chance not to die; now take me with you!”

  Blackshot flashed a broad smile at her. “I reckon you're going to do what you want to do no matter what I say,” he said. “Well, saddle up if you're fixing to. I'm riding and I don't wait for anyone.”

  Consuela hiked her long skirt up to her hips, and placed her small bare foot atop Blackshot's boot in the stirrup. “I'm riding with you,” she said. “I can't the ride these wild outlaw's horses, and the bastards killed my mare. Help me up!”

  Blackshot took her outstretched arm and pulled her up onto the stirrup, then put his hands around her narrow waist and lifted her astride the saddle. Instead of climbing up behind him as he expected, Consuela slid herself down in between his legs. Her warm round ass ground against his hips as she positioned herself in the saddle, and it was all Blackshot could do to contain the reaction of his body.

  “This is going to be a long night,” he muttered, touching the spurs to the horse's flanks.

  The last of the sun's rays had been banished from the sky, and a full moon had begun ascending overhead. Its pale light made the path to Ragan's estate easier to follow, and they rode quickly, with Consuela guiding the way. They stayed off the trail, keeping what few trees and bushes there were between them and the open path to minimize the chance of running into another ambush.

  Soon a distant light emerged from the dusky gloom ahead, and Blackshot could just make out the silhouette of the broad face of a ranch house.

  “We're almost there,” Consuela told him in a hoarse whisper.

  Blackshot was glad to hear it. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep riding with that thick, luscious ass bouncing in his lap, before his manhood finally overruled his mind and burst through his jeans.

  The light from the estate was showing brighter now, and the long white wall that encircled the ranch house was visible in the moonlight. Through the tall wrought iron gate, Blackshot saw an old stone fountain in the center of a broad courtyard, and a fire was burning in front of it, its reflections sparkling on the bronze patina of a pair of ancient cannons bracketing the gate. Shadowy figures moved in the glow of the firelight, telling Blackshot that several men were stationed in the courtyard.

  Consuela pulled on his hand and they slowed to a trot, taking a wide arcing path around the perimeter of the estate until they reached a spot by the side wall where the brush grew thick and close to the stucco wall. Just beyond a tall, sprawling bush that leaned over the top of the wall into the courtyard, they came to a breach in the wall. The plaster had split apart, revealing a deep gash in the bricks beneath which looked just wide enough for a man to slip through. Blackshot eased the horse forward to the shadow of the bush and swung down from the saddle, helping Consuela down after him.

  Drawing one of the black Colts from its holster, Blackshot approached the gap in the wall cautiously, and leaned into it to get a view of the courtyard. An old wagon in a state of disrepair stood just to the left of the breach, blocking it from the view of those at the front of the house. The dim reflections from the firelight danced on the pitted spokes of the wheels, and the occasional faint voice could be heard from the direction of the fire. The courtyard by the side of the house facing the broken wall was dark and still, and Blackshot detected no signs of movement.

  He slid silently through the narrow breach, and after satisfying himself that there was no one around, he offered his hand to Consuela and helped her through the gap. A lock of hair had escaped her pony tail and fell across her face as she slid through the opening, the curve of her ass rubbing the wall on one side and her breasts bulging from her thin shirt as they pressed against the other wall. What a crime that such a body had been wasted on a bum like Rattler Ragan! The image of the first time he had seen her, naked on the ground, bronze skin glistening in the sun, flashed into Blackshot's mind, and only with an effort did her return his thoughts to the business at hand.

  Consuela tiptoed across the sandy ground to the dilapidated wagon and peeked around the corner. Scanning the side of the house, still dark and silent in the moonlight, she whispered to Blackshot, “There is an entrance to the servants quarters back here. Once inside, the back stairs will lead us right to the old devil's room. We can slit his throat and be far away before his gang even knows we were here.”

  “That sound like a reasonable plan to me,” came Blackshot's voice from a distance away. Consuela turned to see him emerging from a wooden shed that stood against the back wall of the courtyard. His ey
es flickered with a wicked light, and he carried a dusty keg with the word “Gunpowder” printed across it in faded letters. “Only that ain't the way I work,” he said.

  Consuela's big brown eyes widened. “What do you think you're doing?” she hissed. “Are you loco?!”

  “I saw those old cannons out front when we rode in,” Blackshot replied, sitting the keg on the warped boards of the wagon bed. “I reckoned they were mostly for decoration, but I figured a man wouldn't own cannons without also owning the stuff to set 'em off with, just in case he got the notion.”

  He felt Consuela's little hands tug at his sleeve, trying vainly to draw him away from the keg of powder. “You're out of your mind!” she whispered hoarsely, “You can't fight all those men alone! Every one of them is a killer! We should kill Ragan and get away, far away!”

  Blackshot turned and looked into Consuela's eyes. “This was your daddy's house,” he said. “It belongs to you now; not to Ragan, not to his gang, not to whichever one of these sons of bitches runs the gang after Ragan's dead. That's the way I see it, and that's the way I aim for it to be.”

  Tears glistened in Consuela's eyes. “I don't want anything to happen to you,” she said softly.

  “Get yourself behind the shed and stay there 'til I call for you,” Blackshot said with a grin.

  Blackshot pried open the keg and let some of the black powder spill out onto the boards of the wagon. He turned the keg onto its side and propped a loose board against its side to keep it from rolling to the front of the wagon. Satisfied with his handiwork, Blackshot slipped to the side of the wagon and put his broad shoulder to the boards. He slowly and steadily applied his prodigious strength to the bulk of the wagon, and the wheels rolled forward with a faint creak. Blackshot drove his legs into the ground with powerful thrusts, propelling the wagon forward at greater speed. As he reached the edge of the house, he jumped aside and flattened himself against the building while the old wagon went speeding along toward the front courtyard.

  There were about a dozen men sitting or lounging in the vicinity of the fire, and when the creaking and whining of the wagon wheels came to their ears, they jumped up in alert. Steel flashed in the firelight as pistols were drawn from hips and rifles were brought to bear. The old wagon hurtled into the courtyard and smashed into the stone fountain with a splintering crash. The men approached the wreck cautiously, but not cautiously enough, for they did not see the keg come rolling out of the back of the wagon and into the fire until it was too late.

  The explosion shook the house and tore through the camp, sending bodies and parts of bodies tumbling through the cloud of dust and fire that cascaded across the courtyard. The few outlaws that had survived the blast fled, stumbling over chunks of burning stone and severed limbs as they sought to escape the raging inferno. A tall, broad-shouldered form emerged from the thick mist of smoke and dust ahead of them, and white flames burst forth in a roar. The bodies crumpled to the dust and fell into obscurity as clouds of smoke washed over them.

  The big double doors at the front of the house burst open, and a half dozen outlaws streamed out into the courtyard with guns drawn. The two men in front were cut down by Blackshot's guns before they realized what was happening. The others scrambled for cover, firing wildly in his direction as they ran. One pitched forward into the fire with blood spurting from his neck as one of Blackshot's bullets beat him to the safety of the stone fountain.

  Blackshot circled around the blazing remains of the wagon, running low, keeping the fire between himself and the remaining gunmen as he reloaded the Colts. A tall leafless tree standing not far from the fountain caught his eye, and he made a run for it. As he neared the tree, a burly, tattooed man with a bald head burst from the rolling clouds of smoke, and Blackshot looked down the barrel of a shotgun aimed right at his head. He dove forward as the hot blast tore past his hat brim, and let rip with his own guns as he hit the ground. One slug slammed into the man's hip and the other punched through his kidney, sending him staggering across Blackshot's path and collapsing in the dust by the wall, a trail of blood marking his path.

  Blackshot regained his feet and lunged behind the tree just as a bullet smacked into the trunk. Through the billowing smoke he saw the dark form of a man crouching beside the great hulk of the crumbling fountain. Blackshot squeezed off two quick shots at the shadowy figure just as a sharp light flashed from it. A slug slammed into the dirt in front of the tree, sending a shower of dirt across Blackshot's boots, and the dark figure by the fountain tumbled forward and lay motionless as the waves of black smoke covered it.

  Blackshot caught a quick flash of movement from the corner of his eye, and turned just in time to see a glistening blade arcing toward his face. He recoiled against the tree trunk, and the knife rushed by him, tearing a long gash in his shirtfront. The muscular, wild-haired man who wielded the blade sprang upon Blackshot before he could bring his guns to face him, and he felt a heavy fist slam into his ear. One of Blackshot's hands was pinned beneath the wild man's knee, but the other one darted up to the wrist of the man's knife hand and held it at bay.

  The wild man's free hand came flying toward Blackshot's face again, and only a quick jerk of his head from kept the blow from landing square on his jaw. Blackshot's feet scrambled in the dusty turf until one boot found purchase on a tree root, and mustering all of his strength he drove upward, knocking the outlaw off of him. He jumped to his feet before the other man could recover, and landed a solid kick to the man's midsection, while still retaining his firm grip on the hand that held the knife.

  With the man prone on the ground, Blackshot dropped to one knee, pinning the outlaw's arm under him. Then, closing his other hand around the man's fingers that held the knife, Blackshot brought all the power in his thickly-muscled arms down against the other man's own straining strength, and drove the blade into the man's chest up to the handle. When the outlaw's grip weakened, Blackshot took up the slack, twisting the blade home until the man's body went limp, blood gurgling from his chest.

  “That's some pretty impressive work,” called a voice from behind Blackshot. He whirled around and saw a great hulk of a man facing him, standing with his back to the raging inferno. His face was broad and thick-lipped, and his wavy hair was streaked with gray. With one huge hand he held Consuela in front of him by her hair, and with the other he pressed a heavy pearl-handled revolver to her head. A thin stream of blood trickled from Consuela's lips, but her eyes blazed with defiant anger. “But not impressive enough, you dirty rat bastard,” the notorious Diamond Dan Ragan sneered.

  Blackshot did not move, stealing a quick glance at the Colts which lay in the dust just a few feet away. The glance did not go unnoticed by the old outlaw. “Don't try it,” Ragan barked. “If you think I won't put a bullet through the little whore's head, you're mistaken!”

  “I don't care!” Consuela screamed. “Kill him, Blackshot! Shoot through me if you have to!”

  A deep rumbling laugh burst from Diamond Dan. “Ain't she a little spitfire? Always good for a laugh. Now get up and move away from them guns-- take care to move nice and slow, boy!”

  Blackshot stood up slowly and took a couple of deliberate steps in the direction Ragan indicated. Ragan turned a little, keeping Consuela's body between them, never taking his eyes from Blackshot for a second. Had he looked at the body of the dead outlaw at Blackshot's feet he would have seen that the knife was gone from his chest, but his eyes were trained only on Blackshot.

  “I've heard a lot of big talk about the great Diamond Dan Ragan the last couple of days,” Blackshot said to the big man. “Mighty tall stories, mighty tall.”

  Ragan sneered wickedly. “Every one of them true, my boy. You'll see the truth of them soon enough.”

  “Bullshit,” Blackshot scoffed. “If you're such a great man, how'd you turn out a gutless piss ant like Rattler? The little yellow shit begged for mercy before I put a bullet in his cryin' face.”

  “You lie!!” Diamond Dan roared, his fac
e flushed with fury. “I'll shut your lying mouth right now!” He drew the big revolver from Consuela's temple and swung it toward Blackshot's grinning face.

  In an instant the knife flashed across the distance between the two men and struck through Diamond Dan's wrist. He struggled to regain control of his gun, but Blackshot had already snatched up his own pistol from the dirt, and it roared into action. A slug slammed into Ragan's shoulder, making him stumble. Consuela wrenched free from his grasp and leaped aside as another bullet smashed into Ragan's chest. He staggered backward, the flames licking at his boots, his lips moving as if to speak. Whatever he planned to say, he didn't get the chance, for Blackshot's next bullet plowed through Ragan's forehead, sending a shower of blood and brains into the blazing fire. He toppled lifeless into the inferno and disappeared as the flames rushed over his lifeless body.

  And so the fear of all the borderland, the infamous Diamond Dan Ragan was no more.

  Chapter 8

  Blackshot went to where Consuela knelt and lifted her to her feet. She was sobbing, and she threw her arms around Blackshot and held tight to his shirt as she cried silently against his broad chest. He put his arm around her and led her away from the scene of carnage.

  When they reached the porch of the big ranch house, Consuela pushed herself away from Blackshot's body and wiped her eyes.

  “I'm okay now,” she said quietly. “Are you okay?”

  “Everything's okay now,” Blackshot replied, gently rubbing his hand across her back.

  “Yes, everything is okay now,” she repeated slowly. She looked up at Blackshot's face with a new light in her eyes. “Come in. Come inside my house.”

  She pushed aside the heavy oak doors which still stood a little ajar, and walked into the wide foyer of the house. It was a fine room with plastered walls and a vaulted ceiling, and a wrought iron railing which ran the length of the broad staircase and upstairs balcony. Consuela walked to a table with a carved face which stood near the door, and took a brass bell from atop it. She gave it a shake, sending its ringing echoing through the large room. There was no apparent response, and Consuela rang the bell again.