The Deathtrap Girl

by Kurt Barker

“Oh, so you scrapped with a few of the young guys that Sun Wolf keeps around to do his dirty work; big deal! You wouldn't stand a chance against the sort of men in his inner circle by yourself; you don't know what they're like! I shouldn't have wasted my time with you!”

  “Stop, you're getting me all choked up with your outpourings of gratitude,” Blackshot said. “If you don't want my help, go look for somebody else. Maybe William Littlehorse knew some other old cantankerous codgers you could call in; why don't you could check his cabin for correspondence from them? You might get lucky.”

  Poloma said nothing, folding her arms across her chest and glaring icily at him.

  “No? No army of graybeards waiting in the wings?” Blackshot asked.

  “Shut up.”

  “Then come along and don't press your luck with me. You can ride, can't you?”

  “Of course I can ride.”

  “Then get your ass in the saddle and take me to Sun Wolf.”

  Poloma stalked off down the hill toward the shack and returned a few moments later on the back of a roan mare. The horse wore neither saddle nor bridle, only a blanket across its back. The girl had swept her long hair back from her face and pulled it into a ponytail.

  “Well, aren't you going to get your horse, or is the invincible super man planning to run alongside mine?” she mocked.

  Blackshot whistled and an instant later Khamsin came charging up the hill and stopped beside him, shaking his mane impatiently. Poloma raised her eyebrows, not able to entirely conceal her admiration for the powerful stallion under Blackshot's command. “I thought you were in a hurry,” he said as he lifted himself into the saddle. “Now get moving.”

  The girl pressed her heels to the roan's sides and started it cantering through the woods parallel to the water. Blackshot drew alongside and they rode across the face of the hillside through the slushy snow. The air was brisk but the sun was warm on their shoulders, and the little creek had swelled to a real river with the runoff from melting snowdrifts.

  “How far off are they?” Blackshot inquired.

  “I don't know exactly,” Poloma admitted. “Sun Wolf moves camps a lot. I'm going to the last one I scouted and we'll track them from there.”

  “Oh good, I was hoping I'd get in some more tracking,” Blackshot sighed. “If I don't spend at least half the day following a faint trail of prints through snow and ice, my hands start to shake.”

  “I'll find him!” the girl snapped. “Don't you worry about that; you should be thinking about what happens once we do!”

  “We could start by telling him that his client's dead, and there's no reason to go forward with the plan.”

  “If you knew anything about Sun Wolf then you'd know that it won't do a damn bit of good,” Poloma replied bitterly. “He won't care about Reuben or the money; he's doing this for his own pride. Hell, he'd have paid Reuben for a job like this!”

  “I thought as much, but there's no harm in telling him. It'll give him something to think about.”

  They turned away from the river and Poloma led the way through the scattered trees along the hillside. She had picked up the pace, which was fine with Blackshot, who was eager to be done with this messy situation as quickly as possible. He felt a fresh pang of regret as he imagined himself once again in Jessop in front of a warm fire with a stiff drink at his elbow and a fat wad of reward money in his pocket, and pushed the thought out of his mind.

  “It'll make him start thinking about killing us, that's what!” Poloma said. “Well, about killing you, anyway. He already wants to kill me.”

  “Even though you're his girl?”

  “Because I'm his girl. Being close to Sun Wolf means obeying Sun Wolf; if you don't follow his orders then in his mind you're betraying him. I was closest to him so my 'betrayal' was the greatest, and he's not the sort of man to forgive something like that.”

  “You don't seem like the sort of girl that's looking for forgiveness.”

  “Sun Wolf's always so smart, but he can be stupid, too!” Poloma said with anger in her voice. “He should know me by now; once he tries to force me to do what he wants, I'd rather die than do it!”

  “So it's a battle of wills then, is it?” Blackshot chuckled humorlessly. “A fight to the death to win the right to say you got your way!”

  “What do you care?!” Poloma shot back. “I told you that you can leave!”

  “If Sun Wolf wins then the Schenker family will lose, too. That's what I care about, and that's why I'm going to make sure he doesn't get his way.”

  “Don't think you'll have an easy time of it; Sun Wolf will see this job through if it's the last thing he does.”

  “Oh, it will be,” Blackshot said.

  Chapter 26

  They had ridden for not more than fifteen or twenty minutes when Poloma pulled her roan short and held up her hand to Blackshot. A few yards ahead of them the ground sloped gently downward toward the base of a rocky outcropping, which formed a little gulch with some shelter from the wind.

  “They camped there,” Poloma said. “I found it last evening, but they had already picked up and moved on somewhere else. I can trail them from here; they won't be too far, I'll bet.”

  As they approached the clearing Blackshot spotted a man sitting against the rocky wall. Instinctively his hand moved toward the butt of the Colt at his side, but almost at the same time he saw that there was no need. The man's throat had been slashed open and his chest and arms were caked in dried blood. He had long black hair and wore a buckskin coat over faded jeans and moccasins, and it didn't take a detective to deduce that he had been a Comanche raider.

  “It looks like they forget something when they moved,” Blackshot said.

  “They left him behind because he had been shot,” Poloma said as she dismounted, indicating a wound on the corpse's side that was bound with a blood-soaked cloth. “I don't know who did it; maybe he fought with one of the others and it went too far.”

  “Maybe.”

  Sensing something in the tone of his voice, the girl looked up sharply. “Are you the one that shot him?”

  “Are you the one that shaved him too close?”

  “I wouldn't have had to if you had been a better shot.”

  “Is this what Sun Wolf had to put up with every day? No wonder he's got a screw loose.”

  “Oh, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about,” Poloma snapped as she climbed up out of the gully and stood on the hillside. “We had something special together. I don't expect a hayseed like you to understand.”

  Blackshot spurred Khamsin forward suddenly and he sprang toward the girl. “What are you playing at?” she sneered as he bore down on her. “Did I hurt your little feelings?”

  Before she could stop him he darted out his hand as he rode past and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her off her feet. She shrieked out a stream of oaths at him but the words were drowned out by the roar of a rifle, and a bullet sparked against the rock where she had stood a moment before.

  As quickly as he had taken hold of it, Blackshot released his grip on Poloma's hair as he sped toward the the stand of bushes where he had seen the glint of sun on a rifle barrel just before the shot was fired. He could see movement through the thick branches and knew another shot would come any second.

  Suddenly a dark figure lunged out from behind a tree on his right hand side, a long knife flashing in his hand. His free hand latched onto the pommel of Khamsin's saddle, and Blackshot saw a wild fury in the eyes that stared up at him from the black-painted face. Without easing his pace he lashed out a fist toward the man's jaw even as he felt the tip of the blade tear through the sleeve of his coat.

  The bushes were close now and Blackshot jerked the reins just as fire flashed from the rifle in front of him. The bullet whistled beneath Khamsin's hooves as the stallion launched himself into the air, leaving the knife-wielding man tumbling head over heels in their wake. As they sailed over the bush the man bearing the rifle tried to lift it for a
nother shot, but the big horse's front hooves struck him square in the chest, driving him to the ground.

  Blackshot pulled the reins taut, turning Khamsin about and trampling the body of the gunman underfoot. Flecks of red sprinkled the stallion's legs as its churning hooves crushed the wood-be assassin to a bloody pulp under Blackshot's guidance. As he urged the horse back to a gallop he drew one of the Colts from his side; the knife wielding man was on his feet again and crouched beside a tree, ready to strike as he read his opponent's movements.

  As Blackshot drew near him, he saw a sight that made his heart sink; there were three more Comanches in the clearing surrounding Poloma! The knife was drawn in her hand, but she had been knocked to the ground and one of the men stood over her with his foot on her wrist, pinning her arm down. He was a huge muscular brute of a man with a white scar across the bridge of his crooked nose, and on his head he wore a faded Mexican army cap with a bullet hole directly at its center.

  The girl fought furiously to free herself and kicked out at the giant, but he only smiled and drew out a large revolver from the back of his waistband. He turned it and gripped the barrel, raising it over his head like a club, ready to come crashing down on Poloma in an instant!

  Chapter 27

  Blackshot spurred Khamsin into a dead run straight for the clearing. As he reached the man with the knife he reeled of two quick shots in his direction, sending him diving back behind the tree for cover. The men in the clearing looked up at the rider speeding towards them and two of them scrambled up the hill to avoid him, but the big man that stood over Poloma didn't move.

  The gun was still raised in his hand, but before he had a chance to react Blackshot turned the horse right at the other men, scattering them. Then, just as the stallion flew by, he launched himself from its back like a missile, spearing straight into the brawny Comanche. The giant toppled backwards to the ground with Blackshot on top of him, the gun flying from his grip.

  As they hit the dirt together, Blackshot threw himself clear of the huge hands that reached for him, rolling onto his back and then up to one knee. His back was to the man now, but he was facing the other two raiders, who were just gaining their feet after avoiding the charging Khamsin. One bore a shotgun with a pistol grip and a sawed-off barrel, and the other carried a revolver in one hand and a short knife in the other.

  They turned their guns on Blackshot, but in a flash the Colts were in his hands, the cylinders spinning like train wheels as the shots barked out a furious tattoo. His first bullet caught the shotgun-wielding man in the shoulder just as he pulled the trigger, sending a blast of buckshot skyward as he staggered back. Another slug drilled through his throat and burst from the back of his head in a shower of blood and brains, ensuring that he would not get a second chance to fire.

  His partner fared even worse, for he did not even manage to get off a shot before hot lead punched through his gut, doubling him over and spraying the snow at his feet with blood. Another bullet followed closely behind, tearing through his groin while a third smacked into his thigh. The weapons fell from his fingers as he pitched forward into the crimson-stained snow and lay still.

  “Look out-- Ahh!”

  Poloma's sharp cry was cut off by a dull thud and a hollow gasp. Blackshot spun around but even as he did so an immense hand closed over his with crushing force. The slab-like face of the huge Comanche was suddenly right in front of him, calm and smiling, and an arm as thick as a tree trunk tried to pull him into a bear hug. Poloma lay on the ground behind the giant, clutching her stomach and laboring to breathe.

  Blackshot strove free from the big raider's clench, but the grip around his hand held tight. The brute was applying all his immense bulk to force him to the ground and pin him down, and it was only with a mighty effort that Blackshot was able to steady himself on one knee and check his fall. He jabbed the heel of his hand into the bigger man's jaw with his own considerable strength, forcing his head back as they struggled together on their knees.

  A massive fist stabbed out at Blackshot's face, clipping his ear and sending his hat flying as he just managed to dodge the full force of the blow. He jerked his body sideways to put some space between them and planted his boot against his opponent's chest. Kicking out, he tried to release the vise-like grip on his gun hand, but only managed a glancing blow as the big man twisted away and pounced at him like a mad grizzly bear.

  They fell to the ground together, the pistol skittering from Blackshot's hand as they landed. The giant lunged for it, but Blackshot thrust a shoulder into his midsection, knocking him onto his back. Scrambling atop him, he drove his muscular forearm into the bigger man's throat with all his strength. He did not stay there for long, however, for the bulky Comanche stuck one foot in the ground and lurched upward, wrapping an arm around Blackshot's waist and carrying him into the slushy mud once more.

  “I eat your eyes,” the colossus said casually, the laconic smile still on his face.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” Blackshot grunted.

  The huge fist descended like a sledgehammer at his head once again, and he barely managed to wriggle away from the blow, feeling it thump into his thickly-muscled shoulder. Blackshot drove his own hard fist into the big man's stomach, and arced another punch toward his jaw as he felt strong fingers pawing at his face. They closed on the hair of his scalp and tried to shove his head into the mud, but he slammed his forearm against the inside of his opponent's elbow and fought free.

  As the giant sought to trap him in a clench again, Blackshot slipped from his grasp and jammed a knee into his side, separating them. He jumped to his feet and circled as the other man rose up, staying clear of the heavy blows that struck out at him again and again.

  Blackshot had a feeling that this man mountain could fight like this all day and most of the night, and be happy to do so. It would take as much strategy as strength to overcome the brute, and his mind raced for any idea that could give him the edge. The Comanche, on the other hand, was simply wading in now and throwing his sledgehammer fists at Blackshot, knowing that one good solid hit would be enough to end the fight.

  As he dodged and fended off the deadly blows, Blackshot saw Poloma from the corner of his eye, her long black hair spilling across her face, feebly lifting herself onto her hands and knees. Between her and where the two men struggled, her long-bladed knife lay half buried in the trampled snow. As the massive raider struck out at Blackshot once again, he ducked under the blow and sprinted toward the knife.

  The Comanche saw what he was doing and hurled himself at Blackshot, sending him flying with a heavy tackle and knocking Poloma back to the ground at the same time. As Blackshot slid on his back through the slick muddy snow, the big man snatched up the knife and lumbered toward him like a charging bull.

  “I eat your heart,” he rumbled.

  “Eat this,” Blackshot growled, for as he had planned, the giant's blow had landed him right next to his fallen Colt which now lay ready at his hand. He fired every bullet that it held into the big Comanche's lumbering body, with the last one winging neatly through the hole in his cap.

  The man grunted and staggered forward unsteadily, blood trickling down his stunned face. Finally he dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, the knife still clutched in his huge fist. Poloma pushed herself up onto one elbow, her dark eyes wide.

  “Is he--?” she gasped.

  “He'd better be,” Blackshot groaned as he got to his feet. “I'm out of ideas on how to finish him off, short of borrowing one of Sun Wolf's cannon.”

  “That was Horse Eater- that's what they called him,” the girl panted. “He wasn't right in the head, but Sun Wolf kept him around because he liked to kill things and he was very good at it.”

  “Seems like a reasonable arrangement to me,” Blackshot said, pulling the knife out of the dead man's hand.

  “I... I didn't think it was possible to kill him-- for one man to do it. He was so strong...”

  “It's possible to kill just about anyone,
” Blackshot replied.

  With a sudden snap of his arm, he slung the long knife up into the air. An instant later a dull thud sounded, followed by a gurgling cry. From the top of the rock the man with the painted face came tumbling down, clutching at the blade which was lodged in his throat while his own knife slipped from his fingers. He slammed heavily to the ground just a few feet from where Poloma sat, and lay motionless, eddies of blood pooling around his head.

  Blackshot walked over to the girl and held out his hand. “Can you stand?” he asked.

  Her eyes were wide and they traveled from his face to the bodies of the five hardened killers that littered the little clearing, and then returned to stare incredulously into his cold gray eyes.

  “Who the hell are you?” she asked.

  Chapter 28

  “Tom Blackshot's the name; hayseed sheriff deputy and sometime nurse for bitchy Comanche girls,” Blackshot said as he helped Poloma to her feet.

  She staggered on wobbly legs, but when he put out his hand to steady her, she drew away. “What are you, some kind of hired gun?” she demanded. “Who's paying you?”

  “Ah, money! I remember when I used to get some of that stuff for working! Nowadays I'm a champion of the downtrodden who traipses around in the snow all day looking for missing girls and I don't see a dime for it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It's true; you saw what I did,” Blackshot said, waving his arm toward the bulky body of the giant Horse Eater. “My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure.”

  “Fine, don't tell me,” Poloma replied. A mischievous smile crept across her lips. “I'll get it out of you eventually.”

  “Such talk. Where's your horse?”

  “I don't feel like riding. Let me come with you.”

  Although she tried to maintain her previous aloof air, Blackshot could detect a definite change in the girl's demeanor. She was a woman who had been taught to value strength, and now that she had seen what he was capable of, there was a new note of respect in her voice when she spoke to him; respect, and maybe something more.