Blade 5

by Matt Chisholm

  From the depths of a stall, Doke said: ‘I sure reckon.’

  The marshal said, without too much confidence: ‘I should ought to hold you two for inquiries. I mean, it ain’t every day of the week we have men shot.’

  ‘I’m real sorry, Marshal,’ said Blade, ‘but me an’ Doke have to travel some. I suggest, Mr. Marley, you remove that wounded man yonder. He’s bleeding all over your barn floor and the smell of blood is likely to disturb the horses.’

  And so it was that Doke Struther rode out of town with one Joseph Santiago Blade.

  Chapter Two

  Doke Struther never did really know why he so obediently rode away from that obscure Colorado cow-town with Blade. He guessed maybe he was in a state of shock from not only being sober but also from taking part in a deadly gun fight, even though it lasted no more than a few seconds from start to finish. At the time, there didn’t seem anything else to do except get on that bay horse and ride along with the man who had broken his word and refused to give poor old Doke that bottle of whiskey.

  I say ‘poor old Doke’, but of course he was not old at all. He was, in fact, twenty-seven years of age. He looked forty—and a pretty bad forty at that. His thoughts grew bitter as he rode and they were mostly turned towards his companion. Only once did he speak before they halted to eat around noon. This was to demand from Blade the information concerning their destination.

  ‘We’re going nowhere,’ was the reply. ‘Except towards sobriety, a clear head and a steady hand for you, Doke.’

  Doke said: ‘Why the hell’re you doin’ this? That’s what I want to know. I don’t have no wish to go horseback ridin’. I don’t want to go anyplace else than where there’s a drink.’

  Blade said: ‘Nobody forced you to come.’

  There didn’t seem any answer to that. They halted and unsaddled to let the horses roll. Blade built a fire and had the coffee on the boil in no time at all.

  Doke said: ’'The last thing in the world I want is coffee. I want a real drink. Blade, if I don’t get some whiskey, I reckon I’m goin’ to die.’

  Blade found a small bottle of whiskey in his saddle pocket. He gave it to Doke, telling him: ‘Just a small one. No more than clean your tonsils, hear?’

  Doke got the bottle to his mouth and he tilted back his head. There were three loud gurgles of satisfaction before Blade took the bottle from him.

  He looked mad at Blade and Blade looked mad at him.

  ‘I said a small one,’ Blade accused.

  ‘You think you’re God or somethin’?’ Doke demanded.

  Blade carefully corked the bottle, tossed it in the air, drew his gun with that incredible effortless speed and fired once. The bottle shattered and whiskey showered over Doke who stood looking like a man in deep shock.

  ‘My God,’ he exclaimed, ‘I never saw a man do a meaner thing than that.’ He sat down and he wept.

  Blade said: ‘I have rules, Doke. If you disobey them, you suffer. Just like a horse that won’t learn.’

  ‘I ain’t a goddam horse,’ Doke said through his tears.

  ‘You ain’t worth a horse’s ass,’ Blade said. He poured coffee into a cup and handed it to Doke. They sat around drinking coffee, Doke sniffing and sniveling. He swore when he burned his mouth on the hot bitter drink.

  When they had killed the fire by pouring the dregs of the coffee over it, Doke said: ‘I heard of you, Blade.’

  ‘Nothing good, I bet.’

  ‘You’re right. I heard you were the meanest son-of-a-bitch west of the Missouri.’

  Blade laughed.

  Then he stopped laughing very suddenly and he listened.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ he demanded.

  ‘All I can hear is a little man inside my head tellin’ me if I don’t get a drink soon I’m goin’ to die.’

  Blade said sharply: ‘Saddle the horses, fast.’

  Doke said: ‘Quit givin’ me orders, hear? I don’t have to do what you tell me.’

  Blade growled out: ‘You saddle the horses or I kick your butt from here to Denver City.’

  Doke gave an inarticulate cry of rage and swung at Blade with his right fist. It was as slow as an ox-drawn wagon. Blade batted the fist aside and hit him with the flat of his hand across the face. The blow didn’t look much but it lifted Doke off his feet and dumped him on the ground. After that, Doke climbed to his feet and saddled the horses, while Blade repacked the mule.

  When he had the horses saddled, Doke demanded: ‘What the hell’re we getting our shirt-tails in a twist for?’

  ‘I heard shots,’ Blade told him. ‘Somebody’s in trouble.’

  With a sneer, Doke asked: ‘Do we run away from or in the direction of the shots?’

  Blade told him: ‘Just fork your horse and stay with me.’ He swung into the saddle and Doke followed his example though with less haste. Blade touched his roan with his quirt and hit a fast pace. Doke stayed with him and was still puzzled why he did. As he rode, he asked himself why the hell he didn’t just turn around and high-tail back the way he had come. He was pretty sure that Blade would do nothing to prevent him.

  They came out above a fairly wide shallow valley surrounded by low hills that shouldered back the rearing mountains. And here, dwarfed by the massive scene and under a vast bright sky, they saw small puffs that could only be rifle smoke. Blade reined in his horse on a ridge and Doke followed suit. Now they could both hear the popping of guns.

  Doke said: ‘I don’t aim to fool around with guns, Blade. Let’s get the hell outa here.’

  Blade gave him a withering over-the-shoulder look.

  Blade said: ‘There’s a wagon down there. There’s some folk in trouble. Let’s out-flank ’em like we did the fellows back in the barn, Doke.’

  Doke said: ‘Fightin’ another feller’s fight once in a day is sure enough in my book.’

  Blade said: ‘If that’s the way you feel...’

  Without another word or a glance at Doke, Blade dropped the lead-line of the mule and jumped his horse down the face of the ridge. Doke watched him go with a great swell of hatred for the man welling up in him.

  ‘Goddam you to hell, Blade,’ he screamed in a kind of helpless fury. ‘This time I ain’t goin’ to fall for it. I’m goin’ to stay right where I’m at an’ I’m goin’ to watch you git your goddam fool butt shot off.’

  Something below caught his eye. He raised himself in his stirrups for a better look and knew he had seen the flutter of a woman’s skirt. A woman, he thought. There would have to be a woman, wouldn’t there? Why couldn’t Blade stay out of other folks’ affairs? Not even a drunken bum like Doke Struther could stay out of a fight with a woman in it. With a woman in trouble there wasn’t any question which side a man had to choose. He kicked the bay in the slats and went careering down the face of the ridge. At the bottom, he swung his horse too sharply to the right and nearly threw himself out of the saddle. He swore luridly and rode on, cutting away to the north. He could see Blade’s hat bobbing above the scattered brush to the south.

  At that moment, the awful thought that he didn’t have any ammunition for his pistol struck him. But it was too late to do anything about it now, for some of the attacking force had already spotted him and one of them sent a shot so close to him that he ducked low in the saddle. He could have simply ridden out of the fight, but strangely the idea never occurred to him.

  There was a man standing right in his path ahead of him, rifle ready in his hands. He was no more than thirty yards away. Time enough for the fellow to put the butt to his shoulder and take his time on a careful shot that would take Doke out of the saddle, dead as mutton, with no trouble at all.

  Doke tried to turn the bay, but the animal had the bit between his teeth and he took no notice at all of Doke’s demands. Sweat flooded out of the unfortunate man and he wrenched the animal’s head around savagely, the fear gnawing at his guts now. The animal got the message and turned abruptly. As it did so, something went badly wrong. The animal stumbl
ed. Maybe if Doke’s brains and body had been in better condition, he would have been able to keep the animal on its feet. But he never even tried. The bay went down and Doke was fortunate to be hurled clear of the horse as it hit the dust.

  Doke landed hard and badly. But he knew the man had fired as the horse went down and that the accident had saved Doke’s life.

  He lay there, fighting for breath and hearing the man running towards him. He looked up to see that the man was big and bearded. Doke shut his eyes tight and prayed.

  He prayed that the man would think that he had killed Doke.

  The man came very close and he kicked Doke in the ribs. He said: ‘Git up. I know you’re playin’ possum, you dumb son-of-a-bitch.’

  Doke didn’t know what came over him. He opened his eyes and at once saw that the man’s rifle was not pointed at him. It seemed fairly safe to kick the man in the crotch, which Doke at once did.

  The man opened his mouth and his eyes very wide. Then he closed them very tight. After which he sank slowly to his knees, saying: ‘Oooooh.’ Doke rose to one knee and hit the man hard with the barrel of his revolver. The man now said: ‘Aaaaah,’ and fell over sideways.

  Doke looked around and could not see anybody near at hand, so he loaded his revolver from the man’s ammunition belt, filled his pockets with rifle bullets from the man’s pockets, put the revolver away under his belt and picked up the man’s rifle.

  He now felt warlike and manly. Briefly, he had forgotten his terrible need for a drink. Some older habit than the desire for drink had taken over.

  He went at a stumbling run towards the sound of shooting and, when he had gone no more than fifty paces, he came up on a man from behind. The fellow was crouched behind a boulder and was shooting at a wagon which stood on the open trail about a couple of hundred feet away. Doke wasn’t too sure which side he was meant to be on, but he reckoned that Blade was all set to rescue the folks with that wagon. He felt fairly confident that he was doing the right thing when he levered the rifle and shot the man.

  Doke reckoned that this was turning out to be his day. He noticed that the man he had just shot was lying face down and trying to line up his rifle on this new danger. The target was a small one, but Doke knocked the fellow out of action with his next shot.

  Now there came a great shout to the north of him.

  ‘Pull out, boys. We been suckered. Harry and Billy are down.’

  Doke looked around.

  He saw a rider busting through the brush to the west and knew that it was Blade cutting in towards the wagon. A number of men burst from cover over an area of about a quarter mile square. Blade rode clean past the wagon and rode down on a running man, firing a Winchester single-handed as he went. Doke started shooting too, swinging his rifle from one dodging figure to another, liking the power of scaring the daylights out of fleeing men. For a moment it was better than drink.

  He heard a sound behind him and whirled, ready to cut a man down, but he saw that it was only the bay horse which had failed him so short a time before. He caught hold of the dragging line and climbed into the saddle. The animal cantered through the brush and came suddenly on the wagon. It had been pulled by a six-mule team, but now the nigh wheeler was down and kicking, sending the rest of the team into a panic. There was a woman standing near the wagon and, as Doke came into view, she brought a rifle up to her shoulder as if to shoot.

  ‘Don’t fire,’ Doke yelled and she hesitated.

  He reined in his horse.

  The woman screamed: ‘Stay where you are and drop that rifle.’

  ‘Hell, ma’am,’ said Doke, ‘me an’ my partner just saved you from a fate worse’n death.’

  But he dropped the rifle and he sat in his saddle staring at the woman. And well he might because she was about the finest looking lady he had ever seen in his life. What was more, she was mother naked from the waist upwards.

  ‘Turn your head away,’ she yelled at him.

  He took one last look and turned his head away. The vision of those magnificent breasts stayed with him. He reckoned they would stay with him for the rest of his life.

  He could see that Blade was now headed back towards the wagon. Further down the valley he could see a number of riders spurring away northward. The wounded wheeler was kicking up a hell of a racket. Somebody ought to put a bullet through its head.

  He turned back to the woman, saying: ‘Somebody should ought to put that mule out of its misery.’

  To his astonishment, the woman’s place had been taken by another woman. This one was just as handsome as the first, but she was fully clothed. Doke smirked.

  ‘Howdy, ma’am,’ he said and cocked a leg over the saddle horn of his saddle.

  The other woman appeared from the wagon. Now she wore a poncho of wool over her bare body. Doke thought about those breasts under the wool and he swallowed hard. If the consequence of fighting with guns was coming on beautiful women like this, he was in favor of fighting with guns. Now he had time to look at them, he saw that about the only thing they shared in common was their beauty.

  The one he had caught without her shirt on was a big strapping wench, all hoyden and bold looks. Large challenging eyes and a mouth that defied description. Her hair was that rare golden red that goes (in spite of the possessor’s denials) with a quick temper. But Doke liked a woman with some spunk. Right now those glorious orbs were snapping defiantly at a man-controlled world. Any man who thought he could control this one had better do some thinking or change his technique.

  The other, in contrast, was slender almost to thinness, though not quite. Her looks, while being more subtle than the red-gold girl, were as striking. Her raven black hair had been cut almost as short as a man’s. From under black eyebrows there looked the brightest pair of blue eyes anybody could wish to see. Though so finely made, the girl was deep breasted and carried herself with all the ease and pride of a dancer.

  Doke was struck dumb.

  Blade came riding up, reined in his horse and looked from one girl to the other, then back to the first again.

  ‘You mean,’ he said, ‘that it was you two doing all the shooting.’

  ‘It was,’ said the dark girl with the blue eyes. And those two words had a strange foreign accent to them as though she had used English for a long time, but she had not been born with the language. She added: ‘Indeed it was.’ Then Blade knew that she was Irish.

  The red-gold girl said: ‘What is so goddam strange about two women being able to look after themselves?’

  ‘Wa-al,’ said Blade, leaning his elbows on his saddle horn and smiling amiably, ‘fighting women ain’t the kind of thing a man finds every day of the week. Wouldn’t you say so, Doke?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Doke. ‘In all my born days, these two are the fightinest ladies I ever met up with an’ that’s a fact.’

  ‘Allow me to introduce us,’ said Blade. ‘My name’s Joe Blade and that there is Doke Struther. He’s a drunk, so, if you have any liquor around you’d best keep it under wraps.’

  Shock showed on the girls’ faces. Not shock at Doke being a drunk, but of his apparent partner being so frank about his weakness. As for Doke, he was struck as dumb as a Dutchman’s elbow. For a moment, he thought he must have heard wrong.

  ‘What was that you said?’ he demanded in a shaking voice.

  ‘Who, me?’ inquired Blade looking puzzled.

  ‘Yeah, you,’ said Doke. ‘You’re maybe forgettin’ I have a gun full of shells here. I could blow your fool head off.’

  Blade straightened up.

  'You mean you ain’t a drunk?’ he asked.

  Doke tore his attention from Blade. He knew if he carried this conversation any further, he would only make matters worse for himself in the eyes of these two delectable females.

  ‘Ain’t anybody goin’ to put that poor damn mule out of its misery?’ he demanded and got down off his horse. He pulled out the Colt gun that Blade had given him, stumbled over to the still kicking mule a
nd shot it through the head. Killing that mule seemed to calm him down a mite. But it didn’t do much to calm the remainder of the mule-team. They immediately tried to bolt and became entangled with their traces. Blade jumped from the saddle to help him get the animals back into their traces. The girls came to their aid and together they got the team quietened down.

  It was only when all the cursing, fuss and bother were over that Blade noticed that Doke was no longer with them.

  ‘Where’s your friend?’ asked the red-gold girl.

  Blade said: ‘Was there some liquor in your wagon?’

  ‘Yes, there is,’ said the dark girl.

  ‘Was,’ said Blade. ‘Past tense, lady. He’s drunk it.’

  The girls let out loud ‘Ohs’ and rushed around to the rear of the wagon. Blade heard the red-gold girl cry out: ‘You come out of there, you drunken beast.’

  Doke bawled something incoherent back at her. Blade ran to join them to see Doke step over the tail gate out into space. He looked vaguely surprised to find there was no firm ground under his feet. When he found firm ground with the length of his body he looked amazed. Then he passed out and lay supine.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ said the dark girl, ‘first those dreadful men try to rape us, now this. We’ve lost a valuable mule, our men are dead and we’re all alone in this dreadful wilderness.’

  Blade stood admiring the performance.

  ‘You said that as if you really meant it, ma’am,’ he said.

  Both girls turned on him.

  Red-gold screamed: ‘Of course she means it. It’s true. Do you think she’d joke about a thing like that?’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting she was joking,’ said Blade. ‘I think she’s serious. A serious actress.’

  The dark girl said in an unladylike tone: ‘You son-of-a-bitch.’

  ‘That ain’t no way for a lady to talk,’ Blade said.

  She said: ‘Lady! There’s no room for ladies in this godforsaken West. There’s only women here.’