by Kurt Barker
“You're fired,” Blackshot said.
Chapter 45
The cold wind that swept up the valley cut through Blackshot's sweat-soaked clothes like a hail of razor-tipped arrows as he stumbled out of the ashen cloud that consumed the slope beside the blazing farmhouse. He had no sense of how much time had elapsed since Sun Wolf had left with Poloma, but he knew there was not a moment to lose if he hoped to prevent the deadly calamity. He broke out into a run toward the thicket where he had left Khamsin.
As he did so, Blackshot passed the tree where the farmer had been lashed, and saw that the ropes lay on the ground and the man was no longer there. He didn't see him or his wife anywhere in the yard. He put them out of his mind as he jumped into the saddle and spurred the black stallion toward the open plain; there were more pressing matters to occupy his mind now.
As Blackshot turned in the direction of the Schenker estate, a troubling thought suddenly occurred to him: how would he get into the fortress? The guards wouldn't just let him in because he said so, and they weren't likely to believe the story he had to tell. Even if he did manage to convince them that Sun Wolf had tricked them, it would be too late by then to stop his plans.
A distant movement off to Blackshot's right caught his eye, and he looked to see a wagon moving slowly up the trail that led toward Dryer Hill. Two people sat on the buckboard, a man and a woman, and even at that distance he could make out that it was the old farmer and his wife. Why had Sun Wolf let them go free?
The answer came to Blackshot in a moment: Sun Wolf was sending them to Dryer Hill to spread the news of what he had done and what he was about to do. This was to be a great achievement for him, and he wanted the story to be told far and wide.
Blackshot cussed him under his breath; in spite of every effort that had been made to foil his plans, Sun Wolf had found a way to counter each setback and come out on top. He was like the Persian master rug weavers who did not discard a rug when their students made mistakes in weaving and ruined the design, but instead built a new pattern around the mistake and made the design more beautiful than ever. Blackshot may have destroyed his gang, but now Sun Wolf would be at the Schenker estate carrying out his plan and the very guards that watched the gate would protect him from Blackshot.
He watched the wagon roll slowly up the hill, and swore again. Then suddenly an idea struck him, and he turned Khamsin toward the distant buckboard and took off at a gallop in pursuit. There might just be one last chance to spoil the master's design!
The couple in the wagon heard Blackshot approaching and slowed to meet him. They both looked up at him with nervous eyes as he pulled alongside. “I'm sorry for what happened,” the farmer said. “I don't blame you if you feel pretty hard done by.”
“We're honest folks,” the woman added. “We'll do anything we can to make it right by you.”
“How about you help me with something, and we'll call it even?” Blackshot offered.
“We'll do anything you tell us to do,” the old man assured him.
“You know where Old Man Schenker lives? The big house with the walls around it?”
“Yes sir, I know it.”
“That's where I'm going. Follow along as fast as you can.”
Blackshot turned Khamsin back down the hill and the farmer maneuvered the wagon around on the narrow trail to fall in behind him.
“You got a plan to put a stop to that feller's mischief?” he called as they rode.
“Me? No,” Blackshot replied. “I'm just going to use one I learned from the smartest guy I know!”
Chapter 46
When Blackshot reached the edge of the woods that faced the tall front wall of the Schenker estate, he turned off on his right and continued through the trees for a space, careful to stay hidden from the sight of the watchmen in the gatehouse. The trail on the way had been freshly trampled down by the hooves of several horses heading away from the house, so he knew that Sun Wolf had succeeded in the first phase of his plan, and a number of the guards would be gone now. A strong opening gambit, but now it was Blackshot's turn to move.
Once he had reached a good spot behind a thicket of patchy brush by the forest's edge, Blackshot turned and looked back to where he had stationed the farmer. The man and his wife stood behind their wagon where it had been secreted among the trees, awaiting the signal to act. Blackshot beckoned to them, and they sprang into action; a heap of sticks and dry leaves had been stacked in the back of the buckboard, and now they struck matches and kindled the pile into a healthy fire.
As the flames grew and licked at the sides of the wagon, the couple pushed it forward, slowly at first but gaining speed as they cleared the trees and sent it rolling across the snowy expanse toward the wall of the estate. Alarmed voices shouted along the wall as the pair ran back into the safety of the trees, and Blackshot spurred Khamsin forward into the open.
The blazing wagon rattled down the gentle slope toward the gatehouse, but as the ground rose up again at the foot of the wall it lost all momentum and came to a halt a few yards away. In spite of failing to reach its destination, the wagon had done its job quite nicely, for by the time Blackshot reached the wall around the corner, all the remaining guards had gathered by the gate.
He pulled Khamsin up close against the wall and hoisted himself up to where he was standing on the Arabian's back. His fingers could just reach to take hold on the top of the rampart, and with a strenuous effort he heaved himself up and over the wall. Near the corner was a wooden staircase leading down into the courtyard, and he was down in a flash and safely behind the side of the keep before anyone noticed he had been there.
Blackshot grinned as he imagined what Sun Wolf would think of being undone by a ruse that he had designed himself. There was no time to dwell on idle thoughts though, and he set about to find a door into the house. Stealing quickly but quietly along the side wall, he reached the back of the house and peeked around the corner.
Behind the high walls of the keep stretched a vast rear courtyard which was lined with carefully manicured cherry trees. A network of clean-swept walkways wound around lush gardens which, even in this weather, displayed exotic winter blooms. This was where the old baron went for enjoyment, Blackshot surmised; walking among the neat rows of flowers in the shadows of the high walls that kept him and children safe from the outside world. Poloma had been like a sudden breath of fresh air to a family who had not realized that they were suffocating; fiery, unmannered, tactless and proud, she was as different as could be from the few curated friendships which the old man allowed, and a sudden reminder of a world that they had cut off.
Poloma had long ago erected walls of her own, and though they were not made of stone like the Schenkers', for a time they had done a good enough job of keeping out unwanted thoughts of living at peace and feeling real love and contentment. In the end though, they had served her no better than those that Schnenker had built, and she had been driven by desire to give up her whole life just to hang on to a shred of a dream that she hoped was real.
The courtyard was empty now, and it would remain that way forever unless Blackshot could intervene in time. He spied a door along the back wall and moved quickly toward it. It was locked but not strong, and it opened easily to the force of his shoulder. He found himself in a large kitchen, almost face to face with a stocky woman in a white uniform. She opened her mouth to scream, but Blackshot threw out a hand and clamped it over her lips.
“I'm only here to hurt one person and it's not you or your boss,” he hissed. “No time to explain now, but I need you to keep quiet.”
The terrified woman made no attempt to move, but when Blackshot took away his hand he saw her open her mouth wide, and only just managed to stifle her scream once again.
“I can see we're not going to get along, you and I,” Blackshot muttered. He dragged her by the arm to the pantry and thrust her inside, slamming the door shut behind her. “There, now you can scream yourself hoarse if you want!”
Judg
ing from the muffled sounds coming from behind the door, she planned to do just that. Blackshot made a mental note to go back and let her out when it was all over, and stepped out into the hallway. A broad spiral staircase surrounded by tall windows stood at the end of the hall, and he crossed to it and ascended stealthily to the upper floor. At the top he was met with a long, dark hallway lined with doors on either side and ending at a pair of tall, intricately-carved oak doors. One of the side doors stood open, allowing some light into the hall, and just outside this door a crumpled blanket lay strewn on the floor.
Blackshot strode straight down the hallway to the end and threw open the tall wooden doors. The room was larger than some saloons that he had seen; a great train wheel rimmed with candles hung suspended by a chain from the ceiling as a chandelier, and an immense four-poster bed dominated the back wall. It was on the bed that Blackshot saw old Gustav Schenker, a bald, rotund man with a luxurious silver beard, lying unconscious and wrapped tight in the bedclothes.
At the foot of the bed, Hans was propped against the frame with his hands lashed securely to the bedpost. He looked groggy and the side of his head bore a purple welt from which blood was trickling. At the opposite bedpost Poloma was tied in similar fashion, only a little girl lay against her chest, sobbing silently into her bosom. Blackshot presumed this was Hans' daughter, and he noted that she had been tied fast to Poloma, serving as a cruel reminder of her failure to save the young girl from her fate.
Sun Wolf stood at the center of the room, his face emotionless but his eyes burning with a simmering hatred at the sight of Blackshot.
Blackshot stepped into the room and tipped his hat. “The name's Blackshot,” he said. “You said that you didn't know my name, and I wanted you to hear it before you die.”
Chapter 47
When Sun Wolf spoke, his voice was calm but menacing. “I grow so tired of men who think they're clever when they're not. You escaped my men somehow and found a way in here; good for you. But just what do you think you'll accomplish here other than dying? Look.”
He lifted one hand, showing that it held a long taper with flame flickering at the end. With his other hand he gestured to the floor. A long line of gunpowder stretched from Sun Wolf's feet across the room to the bed and was strewn around it on every side, as well as on the sheets.
“So you saved out a keg of powder just in case,” Blackshot said, nodding approvingly. “I gotta hand it to you, that's good thinking. I'll bet your daddy must have been proud to have such a smart kid.”
“Yes, I plan for every eventuality,” Sun Wolf replied. “If you're not bright enough to figure it out on your own, I'll point out that if you shoot me, this match will fall into the powder and there won't be a damn thing you can do to stop the happy family from burning to a crisp. Not the best course of action, wouldn't you agree?”
“I'll bet you've got an alternative in mind.”
“Of course.”
“I can't wait to hear it.”
“Take the little girl and go. The child doesn't really matter to me, so if you behave yourself you can save her life. It'll be a little win for you.”
“And a big win for you. Even if I double-cross you and wait on the stairs to drygulch you, you've got another way out.” Blackshot pointed to a pair of tall stained glass doors behind Sun Wolf which opened onto a wide back balcony.
The Comanche smiled. “A win is a win. It's the only offer I'll make you.”
“Do it! Take her away from here!” Hans groaned.
“No! It's a trick! Stay away!” Poloma cried, wincing as she squirmed against her bonds in an attempt to shield the child with her body.
Blackshot tipped the brim of his hat back on his head. “Right from the start Poloma told me that I couldn't beat you at your own game, and I must admit it's true,” he said. “She also said that for such a smart guy, you can be stupid sometimes, and that's true, too. You've been so busy winning your game that you haven't noticed that we're not playing your game anymore; we're playing my game now.”
With speed that would rival a flash of lightning, Blackshot's hands swept down to the Colts at his hips and came up firing. A bullet slammed into Sun Wolf's shoulder, jolting him backward and knocking the taper out of his hand. It fell into the line of gunpowder and sparked immediately, hungrily licking up the powder as it raced toward the bed. However, Blackshot's other gun was not aimed at Sun Wolf; a second shot had been fired at the same instant, this one traveling upward and severing the chain that held the chandelier. The huge iron wheel shook the room as it thundered to the floor, landing across the gunpowder trail between the bed and the spark and stopping it short.
Cut off from the line of fuel, the spark fizzled out against the iron wall of the chandelier, but there was still plenty of flame spewing from Blackshot's guns. A torrent of hot lead slammed into Sun Wolf's body, sending him reeling backward with a trail of blood in his wake. He stumbled up against the balcony doors and clutched at them vainly, but the unrelenting hail of bullets thrust him through the shattering glass. He fell across the balustrade, painting it red with his blood, then toppled over the edge and careened down to the pavement far below. The meaty thud of his body colliding with the ground was audible even to those in the bedroom.
Blackshot turned up his collar and shivered. “My goodness, that's a cold wind coming through that door!” he remarked. “You'd better get somebody to fix that right away; a fellow could catch his death in this room!”
Chapter 48
The parlor of Gustav Schenker's house was no less sumptuous that his bedroom, and Blackshot was glad to sink into the inviting leather armchair and relax for a few moments. A tumbler of brandy and a plate of tea sandwiches sat on the table at his elbow, served reluctantly by the cook, who had not entirely forgiven him for locking her in the pantry even though the situation had been thoroughly explained to her.
The brandy put even the “good” brandy at Captain Mike's to shame, and Blackshot found that it warmed his bones in quite a pleasant fashion. A doctor had been called for the old man, and Poloma had refused to leave his side until he arrived. Hans had taken his daughter away to her room, and a host of butlers, maids and guards had generally bustled about and seen to all the things that needed seen to, including installing Blackshot in the comfortable parlor. From the chatter he had overheard he gathered that the doctor had pronounced the old man to be in good health, so any cause for worry had passed.
The door to the parlor opened and Hans Schenker came into the room. A strip of white cloth was wrapped around his head, holding a bandage in place across the welt on his temple. Blackshot rose to meet him and they shook hands. “I suppose I could spend all day thanking you and still not convey our gratitude completely,” Hans said.
“Forget it. How are your father and your daughter holding up?” Blackshot asked.
“They'll recover. It's been quite an ordeal, but now it's over and I feel that we will be able to start afresh. That man....”
“Sun Wolf.”
“Yes, Sun Wolf; he told us everything. About Reuben and his plan, and how he died and what Poloma went through to try to stop him; all of it.”
“It's a shame about Reuben,” Blackshot sighed. “It must have come as quite a shock to you and your father.”
“It was a sad blow for sure, but I can't say that it was truly a shock,” Hans replied. “Reuben had always been trouble. I can't count the number of times Father used his money and influence to get him out scrapes with the law or his school, or how many lectures he gave him about morality and responsibility that fell on deaf ears. I wouldn't have guessed that Reuben would go as far as murder to get his hands on Father's money, but I can't say I was very surprised when I found out.”
“Have you talked to Poloma?”
“A little. She's gone now; she said she should stay away until after Reuben's funeral, that it wouldn't be right for her to be around then. She told me she has other things that she has to make right, too. She'll be back, though;
I made he promise that she would come back.” He looked up earnestly at Blackshot. “You may think I'm foolish, Mr. Blackshot, but I don't blame her for what she did to Reuben, and I... I care about her; we all do. In spite of everything, we want her to stay with us.”
“I'd say you were foolish if you didn't feel that way,” Blackshot replied. “I suppose I'd better get going, too. I've got other matters to settle as well.”
“Wait, I don't want to send you away empty handed after everything you've done for us,” Hans insisted. “Name your price and you'll have it.”
“There's a farmer and his wife out in the woods, and I sent a couple of your men to invite them in. Thanks to Sun Wolf they lost their home and their farm, and thanks to me they lost their only wagon. I reckon they could use a reward right now.”
“They will get a very substantial reward, you have my word on that,” Hans assured him. “But I hate to let you leave without some benefit of you own.”
“Thanks, but I've got a reward that's been waiting for me for too long,” Blackshot replied. He slipped a hand into his pocket and felt the envelope full of papers for the mayor of Jessop. The badge that Maisie had given him was there, too, but suddenly he realized that something else that had been there was missing. With a smile he said, “And I believe I've got some other benefits coming my way, too.”
By the time Blackshot had secured Khamsin in the stable behind Captain Mike's saloon, the moon was high in the sky and the wind had picked up in its ferocity. He strode quickly across the frigid yard and around to the front door. The saloon was dark, but a dim light shone from the little window in Maisie's room. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but then thought better of it and tried the knob. It had been left unlocked. He smiled again as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
