by Kurt Barker
The house consisted of two rooms, separated by thick canvas sheets that hung from the ceiling. The room in front was furnished by a sturdy square table and a pair of chairs, one of which now lay on its back. The flickering glow of the fire that shone in through the little windows was the only light in the house, and it cast uncanny dancing shadows on the canvas curtains. Blackshot took a step into the house, scanning the room on either side of him with his peripheral vision.
Suddenly the curtain that separated the rooms was pulled back, and he saw the tall, muscular form of Lightning Bear standing before the open back door. In front of him he held a thin, narrow-faced woman in a faded dress, his thick arm bent tight around her throat. He brandished a long knife in his hand, and the black and red paint that covered his grinning face gave him a suitably devilish appearance.
“Take it nice and easy, fucker,” Lightning Bear sneered, holding the point of his blade to the woman's cheek. “If you make me jumpy, my hand might slip.”
“That would be unlucky for you,” Blackshot growled. “My hand has been known to slip like that sometimes, too, and I can feel one coming on.”
“Yeah, you be cool! You want to talk to Sun Wolf, right?”
“Wrong. He wants to talk to me.”
“Then you better listen to him, fucker!”
A slight scuffling sound came to Blackshot's ears and he spun around just in time to see the door slammed shut behind him!
Chapter 42
Blackshot drove his boot into the flimsy door, but though it shook it stayed put, held fast from the other side by one of the raiders. The back door banged behind him, but he did not bother to turn around for he knew that Lightning Bear and his hostage were gone. Instead he fired a shot into the front door, just above the knob. There was a yelp of pain from the other side, followed by a clattering on the little porch.
Before Blackshot could try forcing his way out again, though, gunshots barked from outside and bullets came tearing through the boards in front of him. He leaped aside, rolling across the floor as a second volley ripped through the thin walls of the farm house and splintered the oaken table. As his finger poised on the trigger to return fire, he stopped, remembering Poloma. She was out there with them; they had hidden somewhere close at hand, maybe in the snow or on the roof, and waited until the moment was right to strike.
Blackshot jumped up and stood against the window frame. Before he could take a look out, a bullet sang by the brim of his hat and bored into the rafters, sending a shower of splinters and dust drifting to the floor. He ducked down and crossed to the bullet-torn curtains, slipping into the back room without disturbing them in case anyone was watching from outside.
There was only one window in the little back room and it was shuttered closed. Blackshot had no doubt that the house was surrounded and any attempt to open the shutters would surely draw fire.
“Black hat man!”
The words came through the front window, pronounced by a deep and smooth voice. Blackshot did not respond, but stole softly across the room toward the window. The voice spoke again, confident and calm: “I know you can hear me, black hat man! You are going to die now, so you are not important to me any longer, but I want you to know who is ending your life.”
Blackshot made his way to the far side of the room and slid against the window frame where he could look out without exposing himself to the guns that were assuredly trained on the house.
The silky voice continued: “Do you know the name of Sun Wolf? Did you know it when my stupid bitch tricked you into fighting against me? You were a fool let that silly whore push you into my business, and now your foolishness will be punished. And what good did it do her? Look at her now!”
There was movement in the yard and Blackshot edged forward to get a look out the window. Standing in the open about ten yards from the house was Sun Wolf and he held Poloma in front of him. Her eyes were rolled back and a trickle of blood ran down her forehead where a sharp blow had cut her scalp. She was unconscious and only Sun Wolf's strong grip at the back of her neck was keeping her on her feet.
As for Sun Wolf, his appearance had changed dramatically from when Blackshot had seen him in his camp. His powerful form was clad in a faded wool shirt and denim jeans with a blanket draped across his broad shoulders. The war paint was gone from his face, but his visage looked none the less cunning and vicious for it. Instead the white paint had been streaked through his long hair, making it appear gray- and making him appear very much like old William Littlehorse.
A cruel smile crossed Sun Wolf's lips as he saw that Blackshot was guessing his plan. “See, I'm not through with her yet!” he crowed. “She's still going to help me complete my plans, whether she likes it or not! There's been a terrible accident, you see, and sweet little Poloma was badly hurt! Who knows what would have become of her if the kindly old man who lives in the woods hadn't found her and brought her to her father-in-law's castle straight away! Hurry boys! Young Master Reuben was in the accident too, and he's in a bad way! You'd best get out there quickly or it'll be too late! Don't mind this old man; he'll carry the girl straight up to Papa's room and make sure she gets the care she deserves!”
Sun Wolf chuckled maliciously, and the voices of his gang joined with his in a chorus of sinister laughter. Their merriment was cut short when Blackshot spoke out through the window. “That's a mighty good plan,” he called. “I couldn't have thought of a better one myself, not if you'd given me a month to do it. I'd say it's pretty well perfect except for the part where I come after you and cut you down like a dog before you ever get a chance to pull it off.”
“And you'll manage that just as easy as you please, eh? You know magic or something?”
“Ask Horse-Eater.”
Sun Wolf's eyes narrowed. “Too bad I never learned your name,” he snarled. “I hope someone around here knows what it is so they can put it on your tombstone if there's enough of you left to bury.”
“Don't waste your time talking. If you don't get a good head start it'll make it too easy for me to hunt you down, and that'll take a lot of the fun out of killing you.”
“Oh, I've got plenty of fun planned for you,” Sun Wolf retorted. He motioned with his hand and a moment later Blackshot heard a dull thud against the back wall of the farm house.
Suddenly a wave of flame rushed up over the windowsill and through the gaps in the back door, and in an instant the whole side of the house was ablaze in a wall of fire!
Chapter 43
The flames crackled and snapped as they licked up the thin boards of the farm house walls and spread to the roof. Blackshot turned to the window to find that Sun Wolf was gone and Poloma with him. A flash of silver by a tree near the house caught his eye and he looked to see that it was a pistol in the hand of one of Sun Wolf's henchmen. Blackshot jumped back from the window just as shots cracked out and the window frame was cut by hot lead.
A quick shot from the Colt smacked into the tree's broad trunk and forced the gunman back into cover, but rifles roared from the corners of the house and Blackshot had to dive away from the window as the slugs punched through the wall behind him. He crossed the room on all fours, staying well clear of the front door; a glance over his shoulder at the ravenous firestorm steadily consuming the house told him that he had to think fast.
The barking of guns sounded again over the roaring of the fire, and bullets bored fresh holes through the door, answering any questions Blackshot might have had about escaping that way. His eyes moved quickly but thoroughly through the small room, searching for anything that he might be able to use to his advantage. There was a bucket on the floor beneath the square table which was half full of water, but even had there been a dozen more like it, they would not have sufficed to quench the fire that raged around him.
As he scanned the room, his gaze lit on the wood stove that sat against the wall near the curtains and the little table that stood beside it atop a threadbare rug. Recalling suddenly what the farmer had said, Bla
ckshot scrambled to the table and cast it aside; under the rug he found that the ground had been hollowed out into a hole that was a couple of feet deep and contained a pair of large flour sacks. The first sack contained two brown jugs, full of the corn whiskey, no doubt. He threw open the second sack and found that it held a jumble of old keepsakes, but also a hunting knife in a leather sheath and an old Navy Colt with a handful of ammunition.
“Good on you, old man,” Blackshot grunted as he hefted the sacks out of the hole.
The poor fellow had surely been warned on his wife's life not to give away any hint of the trap that Sun Wolf had laid, but he had still tried to clue Blackshot in to at least something he could use to maybe survive. A plan was forming in his mind now, and none too soon, for the fire was spreading steadily across the walls and almost surrounding him now.
Perhaps ironically, it was not the pistol that Blackshot chose to use, but the jugs of whiskey. He lifted one from its sack and pulled the cork; immediately he was hit with a whiff of alcohol so strong that it almost knocked him back on his heels.
“I wish I'd known about this earlier,” he said to himself with a wry grin. “If I'd have gotten one glass of this stuff down Sun Wolf's throat, that's the last anyone would have ever heard of him!”
Unsheathing the knife, Blackshot jerked the curtain beside him down from its moorings and cut a generous swath from it which he then dipped into the powerful brew. A flame to light the end of the cloth was easy to come by, and then he returned to the window with the jug and the remnant of the canvas in hand, staying low so as not to give himself away. Quickly he retrieved the bucket from under the table and sloshed the water onto the curtain and onto his boots. Then he pressed himself against the wall and rose up to his feet beside the window.
Stealing a quick look outside, he could still make out the form of the gunman behind the tree. He was being careful not to reveal himself for a target after Blackshot's bullet had come too close for comfort, but that didn't matter now; with all his might Blackshot heaved the flaming jug through the window. It shattered at the foot of the tree, casting flames high up the sides of the trunk and onto the man behind it.
A scream of terror burst from the marauder as he sprang from behind the tree with fire trailing from his back and legs, and climbing up his long hair. An instant later the scream was cut short as Blackshot's bullet ripped through his cheek just forward of his ear, sending him reeling forward with blood spurting from his mouth as a second slug stabbed into his ribs and pitched him sideways into a graceless pirouette.
The flaming body had barely hit the ground when the return fire erupted from the corners of the house, withering the window frame and the wall beyond. It made no difference to Blackshot though, for he was already sprinting across the room with the wet sheet wrapped about his head and shoulders.
With a mighty lunge, he threw himself through the fiery hole where the back door had once stood. The heat from the inferno seared his flesh as he passed through the flames, but then he was clear of it, tumbling across the steaming ground and into the cold, wet snow.
The fire had caught the edges of the sheet where the meager water had not reached, but Blackshot cast it from him as he rolled away from the burning house. The damp chill of the swiftly-melting snow met with his hot sweat and sent a shock through his body, but he barely noticed, for his mind had more deadly threats to consider. His guns were in his hands as his eyes swept around the back yard and the surrounding hillside. No sign of movement; he supposed that whoever was covering the back of the house had joined the others in the front once the back had been set ablaze.
It was likely that the shooters stationed around the house did not yet realize that their prey had escaped the trap, and Blackshot did not intend to give them time to figure it out on their own. The wind from the plains was still carrying the smoke from the consumed barn (and now the house) up against the sloping hill, creating a thick haze between the house and the treeline.
Pulling the kerchief up over his face again, he plunged into the dense smoke. “Now I know how those squirrels felt!” he grumbled.
Chapter 44
The rushing and crackling of the fire as it consumed the little house was well loud enough to cover the sound of footsteps, so Blackshot charged along the side wall at full speed, unconcerned with a stealthy approach. As he neared the corner of the house, he spotted the form of a man through the smoke, crouching beside a tree just a few feet from the house. His back was toward Blackshot, and he leveled a repeating rifle at the front of the house, steadying it against the trunk of the tree in front of him. He wore black like the others, but one sleeve was soaked in a dark, sticky liquid, and the arm inside it was held stiff and immobile against the man's side.
This was the raider that had held the door shut to prevent Blackshot from escaping the house. He had learned a lesson about the dangers of crossing Blackshot but had not learned it well enough, for now he was about to receive further instruction. Just before Blackshot reached him, the man must have heard or sensed that someone was near, and his head jerked around only to see a mighty arm come smashing down into the side of his neck like a sledgehammer driving a railroad spike into the dirt.
The rifle was launched from the Comanche's hand into a snowbank behind the tree as he reeled to the ground. His body stiffened in an unnatural position like a fallen mannequin as the impact knocked all the air out of his lungs. Blackshot's boot stabbed into his throat and pinned him to the ground, crushing his windpipe beneath the grinding heel. Fumbling hands pawed weakly at Blackshot's pants leg, but he ignored them, increasing the pressure of his boot until they fell away limp.
Just then the cracking of pistol shots sounded from the far side of the house. Blackshot looked up to see the marauder stationed near the opposite corner of the front wall, pistols in both hands, firing into the window.
“This shack is probably more lead than wood at this point,” Blackshot called as he stepped out of the smoke. “Why don't you take a break?”
He put a bullet though the man's chest right between his collarbones. The man stumbled backward, a geyser of blood spurting from between his fingers as he clutched at the base of his neck, painting the white canvas of slushy snow in spattering crimson patterns. This impromptu artistry was marred almost immediately, as more hot lead cut through the Comanche's belly and he tumbled face down into the quickly-melting snowdrift and lay still with his guts issuing from his side.
He was not the last of the ambush party, though; Blackshot's eyes roved quickly up and down the hazy yard around the blazing house for any sign of the deadly Lightning Bear. Just then a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye made him turn and look toward the hillside, just in time to see the rangy form of Lightning Bear springing at him like a panther, the long knife raised above his head.
Blackshot had just time to dart out a hand and grab hold of the big Comanche's wrist, stopping the sharp blade mere inches from his neck. The force of Lightning Bear's heavy body crashing into his own knocked him to the ground on his back, almost side by side with the body of the dead rifleman. Strong fingers wrapped around his, pinning his gun hand to the dirt beside his head. They strove together on the wet ground like wrestlers in a contest where losing would mean instant death.
“You should have left Sun Wolf's bitch alone!” Lightning Bear grunted, his wild eyes giving his red-streaked face the look of a demonic madman. “I hope you got to fuck her, 'cause I'd hate to see you die over her for nothing!”
“Your concern for me is truly touching,” Blackshot muttered, “but you're worried about the wrong guy.”
Suddenly he released his grip on Lightning Bear's wrist, instead dragging the arm downward using the force of his opponent's strength. The big Comanche lurched forward awkwardly, and the long blade in his hand sunk deep into the soft earth beside Blackshot's head. At the same time, Blackshot let go of his gun, and without its bulk to prevent him, he easily slipped his sweat-slicked hand from Lightning Bear's gras
p.
Blackshot slung an iron-like fist into the side of his opponent's jaw, snapping his head sideways. Then with a violent lunge he twisted onto his side, throwing Lightning Bear off of him. The powerful Comanche still held the knife in one hand and fought viciously to pull it free from the wet dirt, but Blackshot's vise grip on his wrist held fast.
Feinting away from a stabbing blow from the marauder's free hand, he drove his forearm into Lightning Bear's chest, landing atop him with all his weight. With his shoulder forcing the tall man's head back against the ground, Blackshot wrapped both hands around his wrist and jerked it upwards, freeing the long knife in his hand from the muddy turf.
Lightning Bear held tight to the knife handle despite Blackshot's best efforts to pull it free, and his other arm shot out and circled around Blackshot's throat, his fingers clawing viciously. Locked in a desperate clinch, the two fought their way upright onto their knees.
“When I'm through with you, I'm gonna take your head back to Sun Wolf,” Lightning Bear snarled through gritted teeth. “It'll make a nice souvenir!”
He tried to lock his arm around Blackshot's throat, but a stabbing shoulder into his midsection prevented him. With a sudden pivot, Blackshot chopped his forearm savagely down into the inside of the Comanche's elbow, and as the arm that held the knife buckled, he leaped upon it with all of his prodigious might. They fell together back to the ground, and the long blade plunged into the center of Lightning Bear's chest as Blackshot forced it in up to the hilt.
“Didn't I tell you? Papa Sun Wolf is going to have to do without you,” Blackshot growled. A scarlet stream was burbling up around the blade, and he could feel his opponent's force steadily diminish against his own. Climbing to his feet, he dragged the dying man upright and hurled him into the raging inferno of the farmhouse just as the flame-eaten rafters crumbled and collapsed, swallowing up his body in the roaring blaze.
