Blade 5

by Matt Chisholm

  ‘Good for you,’ said the voice.

  Blade eased the improvised sling over his head and shoved the Winchester away behind him. He took his revolver from his scabbard and placed it by the carbine.

  ‘Any hideaways, knives and the like?’ the voice demanded.

  ‘You have all my weapons,’ said Blade.

  ‘By God, you’d best be tellin’ the truth.’

  The cold circle of steel abandoned his cheekbone. Something metallic hit rock and the man picked up the Winchester. Blade knew that the man had thrown down his own weapon for the carbine. Which meant that the man’s gun had not been loaded. Blade cursed silently to himself.

  ‘So your gun wasn’t loaded,’ he said.

  It was the other man’s turn to chuckle. The sound told Blade that he had been right. The man was old.

  ‘Now, you back up, son, so I can get a look at you.’

  Blade pushed himself around and backward. The guttering candle threw its light on an old man with a long and almost white beard. A very tall old man with stooped shoulders and sharp pale eyes. He was smiling.

  ‘What’s your name, boy?’ he demanded.

  ‘Blade—Joe Blade.’

  The old man nodded. ‘I heard of you. Knowed your daddy. Yup, you sure favor him. It’s the nose.’

  His ancient jacket was tattered, and tied around the middle with a length of rawhide. His patched pants were pushed into battered miner’s boots. He did not appear to have a shirt on. His clothes were dry so most likely he had been down here underground at least for a few hours.

  ‘How do they call you, old man?’ Blade asked.

  ‘Mart Summers.’

  It was like hearing a name from the roll call of history. Standing in front of Blade was a man who had been across the mountains with Jim Bridger and Joe Walker. This man fought alongside Kit Carson and sold his pelts to the Bent brothers. All Blade had ever heard about this man was good. He was hard, tough and straight. You could ask no more of any man.

  ‘I heard of you, too, Mr. Summers.’

  ‘It’s only right,’ said Mart Summers., ‘Now, them varmints’ve blocked my exit Or so they think. But you an’ me, son, we’re goin’ up and out.’

  ‘Mr. Summers,’ said Blade, ‘maybe you have my guns, and you could hold ’em on me for a hundred years, but I ain’t going to climb this funnel. I had enough getting this far.’

  The old man said: ‘There’s an easier way up than that, boy. There’s a narrow passage at the end of this ledge, right behind you. There’s an easy way up right there.’ The old man tossed something towards Blade who picked it up and found it to be an Indian parfleche, one of those hide containers that was the Indian’s portmanteau. There were loops of rawhide fastened to it. ‘Fill that up with gold, son. Then we’ll get goin’.’

  Blade said: ‘You’d be a sight better off to stick right here for a while.’

  ‘Mebbeso,’ said the old man. ‘But I have a Winchester now. An’ I’ll wager you have some animals not so far off. Right?’

  ‘Sure,’ Blade told him. ‘But can you tell me how we’re going to reach them with Lister and his men hanging around?’

  ‘We’ll come out on the mountain a hundred feet above ’em,’ said the old man. ‘With this Winchester of yourn I ain’t scared of that kind.’

  Blade said: ‘Well, I’m scared like hell of that kind.’

  The old man said: ‘I’m glad your old daddy ain’t around to hear you talk that way. Now, let’s go, huh?’

  Blade started loading the pokes of gold into the parfleche. When he reckoned he had as much as he could carry in the bag, the old man snorted with disgust and ordered him to put in more. Blade told him he was mighty glad he wasn’t one of the old man’s burros. Summers told him to hush up and not get too sassy. Blade put in some more pokes and then closed the bag and tied its strings. When he lifted it from the ground it nearly pulled him over.

  ‘I ain’t going to get far with this,’ he told Summers.

  The old man said: ‘You’ll go as far as this here Winchester says. Now, get goin’.’

  Blade hefted the bag on to his back and slipped his arms through the straps. The weight of his burden nearly doubled him up. How he was going to climb up from here, he had no idea. He handed the old man the candle and started to feel his way along the wall. As the old man had said, he came to a corner. Another half dozen staggered paces and to his astonishment he found himself at the foot of a rough staircase of rock. He was even more surprised to find that enough daylight came in to see his way up it. But how to start the climb was another matter. In his poor physical condition the weight had already nearly finished him.

  ‘If I’m going to climb this,’ he told Summers who had pressed close behind him, ‘I’m going to need a rest first.’

  ‘Like hell you get to rest,’ snarled the old man. ‘Young feller like you should ought to be ashamed. Hell, ain’t you got no spunk? Get movin’ afore I lose my temper with you.’

  Blade braced himself and began the climb. Almost at once he found that he could only raise one foot in front of the other up the large stone steps with the greatest of efforts. Six steps nearly put paid to him. He also had the doubtful pleasure of contemplating his coming out into the open above and walking into a well-aimed shot from Harry Lister.

  The climb seemed to go on forever. Each step added to his difficulty. By the time he had climbed a dozen, he felt as if all his muscles were bursting and his head was swimming so much that he feared he would go over backward to the depths below. The crude staircase started to twist and turn, so that once or twice he walked blind into a wall of rock and dirt. Each time he fell to his knees and had to fight his way back on to his feet again. Every now and then old Summers prodded him urgently with the muzzle of the Winchester.

  Finally, Blade came to a halt and sat down, resting the pack on the step above. The old man cursed him foully and told him to get on.

  Blade said: ‘Goddam well shoot me, you old fool, if you have the notion. I’m beat.’

  ‘My Christ,’ exclaimed the old hunter, ‘I’m goddammed if I know what the youth of America is come to.’

  ‘I ain’t the youth of America,’ Blade told him, ‘and I’ve come to a dead stop.’ His injured hand ached, his left leg felt as if it would never work properly again and his whole body felt as if it wanted to give up the ghost.

  ‘I can only hope, Mr. Summers,’ he said, ‘that Harry Lister and his merry men are waiting up there for you and they take that goddam Winchester and they shove it and all your goddam gold up your goddam—’

  ‘Silence!’ roared the old man, the flickering candle flame lighting up his enraged face, ‘afore you say somethin’ you will later regret.’ He poked a furious forefinger at Blade. ‘You forget about that Lister. Just you be scared of me, you whippersnapper.’

  To extend his rest period, Blade said: ‘Whose gold is this, any road?’

  ‘Mine,’ said Summers fiercely. ‘I been looking for this gold since before you was a twinkle in your old man’s eye. I heard tell of this hoard way back in thirty-two. An old Indian told me of it an’ I been a-lookin’ for it ever since. This is my gold, boy, an’ I ain’t livin’ to see no other sonovabitch enjoy it. Anybody comes atween me an’ my gold an’ I kill him.’ A conspiratorial look came into his bright old eyes. ‘I have land earmarked down in New Mexico. I’m goin’ to end my days like a Spanish hidalgo. A place in the sun with sweet wine and beautiful women. You might call it a mountain man’s paradise. If I ever go to heaven, boy, it’s goin’ to seem dull after my last days in this vale of tears.’

  ‘Did the girls try to steal it from you?’ Blade asked.

  The old man chuckled. He grinned like a randy wolf.

  ‘Them gals,’ he said. ‘Did you see ’em? Hell, I coulda made them two little fillies happy on a rainy night. Lovely as Mexican grapes, they was. Sure, they stole some gold. Not much. As much as they could carry atween ’em. They come on me in camp with my burros. They hit me wi
th a rock while I slept and they snuck off like thieves in the night. I let ’em go. What they stole didn’t amount to a heap of beans.’

  ‘They cached it in these hills someplace,’ said Blade, ‘and they’re back here trying to find the spot.’

  ‘Issatso?’ said the old man with interest. ‘Wa-al, if I come up with ’em, they owe me an’ they can pay in kind.’ He went off into a cackle of mirth.

  Blade grinned.

  ‘You’re a dirty old man.’ he said.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Summers. ‘I’m old an’ I’m a man. When I git tired of vittles an’ women, you can plant me under. Now, on your feet or I’ll be plantin’ you.’

  With a groan, Blade stood up again and bent under the weight of the gold. Once more he slowly advanced up the steps. Five minutes later he felt the wind on his face and stood just below the hole that opened on to the mountain. He went to dump the gold at his feet, but the old man stopped him. ‘Stay right there. You ain’t goin’ to make a break for it holdin’ that load.’ Summers went past Blade and hauled himself up through the hole above them. A moment later, the old man thrust his head and shoulders back and told Blade: ‘There ain’t nothin’ stirrin’ here. Come ahead.’

  Blade drove himself up the remaining steps and found himself suddenly high above the world, standing on a slightly sloping green shoulder of the mountain. Directly above him was the deep blue of a watery sky. The rain clouds scudded away in the distance. The short lush grass was so green it was unbelievable. The rocks near him still shone black with rain. After the hole in the mountain, the world looked incredibly beautiful. Blade drew the fresh after-rain air into his lungs. It was like nectar. ‘Now,’ said the old man, ‘you can go ahead and take a rest.’ With a sigh of relief, Blade lowered his burden to the ground and dropped down beside it.

  ‘You’re in pretty poor shape for a young man,’ Summers told him coldly.

  ‘Ain’t I just,’ said Blade.

  ‘Where your horses at?’ Summers demanded.

  Blade looked the country over, then pointed and said: ‘South-east of here.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘With this pack? Maybe four hours off.’

  The old man nodded. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, ‘you rested long enough. I don’t have all the time in the world.’

  ‘You ain’t going anywhere,’ said Blade.

  The old man looked surprised and angry. ‘Aw, no? What makes you think that?’

  ‘Well,’ Blade told him, ‘for one, there’s a girl behind you that’s going to hit you over the head with a rock again.’

  ‘The oldest trick in the world,’ said the mountain man. ‘You don’t catch an old-timer like me with an—’

  Blade winced as the rock landed on the old head. Mart Summers, last of the mountain men, pitched forward on to his face.

  Chapter Eleven

  Salome Richardson looked genuinely sad as she surveyed the old man she had just felled to the ground. She also looked slightly disheveled, somewhat tired and very beautiful.

  ‘Poor old bastard,’ she said.

  Blade said: ‘You’ll do that once too often and the poor old man will be dead.’

  She looked as if she were going to cry.

  ‘A girl has to do what she can to make her way in a male-dominated world,’ she said.

  Blade climbed wearily to his feet. ‘A few more like you around, sweetheart, and it won’t be male-dominated for much longer.’

  She picked up Blade’s fallen Winchester even as the thought to dive for it entered his head. She pointed it at him. He heard a sound from behind him and looked around to see Doke and Roxanne coming up from below, pushing their feet through the short wet grass. Doke smiled at him benignly and said: ‘Am I glad to see you, Joe. We thought you was lost or dead.’ Then he saw the old man lying still on the ground. ‘Who’s he?’

  Blade told him: ‘The owner of the gold. The girls originally stole it from him. To do that, they had to hit him over the head with a rock. Salome just hit him again. You will notice if you open your eyes real wide that she is pointing her Winchester at me. If you look around, you will see that Roxanne is pointing a gun at you.’

  Doke’s eyes were wide open, almost as wide as his mouth, when he looked around and saw Blade was only speaking the truth.

  He sat on the ground and put his head in his hands.

  ‘How,’ he demanded of the world when he raised his head, ‘do you get to be as damn sneaky and treacherous as this? Do you work at it or does it come naturally?’

  ‘You’re born with a natural talent,’ Blade informed him. Roxanne walked to the parfleche and opened it.

  She turned to Blade. ‘Where did you get this?’

  Blade said: ‘There’s a hole in the mountain behind you. There’s a long flight of steps down to a ledge. On that ledge is twenty times as much as this.’

  She smiled very sweetly.

  ‘Cousin darlin’,’ she said to Salome, ‘we have two strong men. We could take twice as much as this down to the horses.’

  Salome said: ‘Doke, you take this bag and you go down and fetch up some more gold. We’ll keep friend Joe right here and if you don’t come right back here we shall take it out of his hide. Hear?’

  ‘Now, wait a minute,’ said Doke.

  Salome’s voice grew hard. ‘Listen to me you lily-livered son-of-a-bitch, just you go ahead or me and Roxanne is goin’ to get mighty tough with you an’ your precious Blade.’

  Blade said: ‘She means it, Doke. Was I you I would do exactly what she says.’

  Doke hesitated once more, but the girl holding the Winchester made an impatient gesture with it. Doke started for the entrance to the tunnel. As he passed her, she stopped him and deftly disarmed him. He gave Blade a despairing look and tramped on for the hole.

  Roxanne came and held Blade’s arm. She smiled at him affectionately and said: ‘I’m mighty relieved to see you’re still alive, lover.’

  ‘I’m pretty relieved myself,’ said Blade.

  ‘How does it fed,’ she said, ‘to be the friend of a very rich girl?’

  Blade smiled. ‘I’m anybody’s for a handful of old Spanish coins.’

  She hugged his arm to her, whispering: ‘It’s lovely to hear you say that. I was scared you’d have scruples.’

  ‘Nary a scruple,’ he told her. ‘Not with a gal as beautiful as you.’

  ‘Don’t he just talk too smooth?’ she said admiringly, appealing to her cousin.

  ‘I still don’t think he’s as pretty as Doke,’ Salome retorted.

  ‘Aw, you an’ your ole Doke,’ said Roxanne.

  Mart Summers started to stir. He sat up with a dazed and bewildered look on his face, fought to focus his eyes and put a hand to his head. Then his eyes fell on Salome.

  ‘Goddam,’ he said in quiet disgust.

  Blade said: ‘Who wins the sucker prize, Mart?’

  The old man gave him a mean look. Some of the meanness was taken from it by his eyes being impossible to focus. He staggered to his feet and looked around him uncertainly.

  ‘You two gals,’ he said, ‘you sure look like angels. But you don’t hail from no heaven. By God, you’re straight out of hell.’

  ‘Sticks and stones,’ said Salome.

  ‘But you’ll get your come-uppance,’ the old man said. ‘Two human bein’s cain’t be as goddam evil as you an’ grow fat on it.’

  ‘Who the hell wants to be fat?’ demanded Roxanne.

  ‘So what happens now?’ Mart Summers asked.

  Salome smiled happily. ‘Doke brings the gold up from the tunnel and we head for civilization. We want a tub, some fine clothes and a little high livin’.’

  Blade said: ‘One’ll get you ten you don’t make it.’

  Roxanne looked up at him fondly and said: ‘You’re on.’ Then she looked worried. ‘Say, honey, you ain’t thinkin’ up some smart scheme to stop us, are you? You’re too young an’ pretty to die.’

  Salome said: ‘No good you whinin’ an’
carryin’ on, Rox. If that gray-haired bum of yours gets smart, I’ll cut him down like he was nothin’.’

  Blade did not have to be convinced. Salome’s lovely eyes were hard as steel.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t have to do a thing. It’s all being done for me this very minute.’

  Roxanne caught him by the arm: ‘What you been cookin’ up, sugar?’

  ‘It ain’t me,’ said Blade. ‘It’s your other boyfriends.’

  The two girls looked at him as if they suspected that he had quietly taken leave of his senses. Then it dawned on them that he was not gazing at them with admiration, but was looking past them at the rocks above. Slowly the girls turned and saw what Blade saw.

  Two men stood in view, the rocks waist-high around them. They held rifles in their hands. One of them was Halliday, the prairie-dog man. He looked delighted.

  Salome turned slowly to face them.

  Blade said: ‘They ain’t all, Sal. Take it easy.’

  He heard Roxanne gasp in dismay as other men appeared, nearer at hand. Harry Lister came into view, walked easily. He looked delighted too. He grinned amiably at Blade as he passed him. When he halted, he looked from one girl to the other with an amused, almost amiable, expression.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said, ‘the show’s over. If you lay down your arms, I’ll let bygones be bygones and you can ride away, free as the air.’

  Salome stood there looking mad all through. Blade found it almost possible to feel sorry for her. The gold was so near, but she had lost it. Roxanne looked as if she would burst into tears.

  Salome said through her even white teeth: ‘We still hold guns, buster. You don’t have the gold yet.’

  Lister said: ‘Don’t fool yourselves, girls. We mean business. We don’t hanker to shoot women, but I wouldn’t try us.’

  Old Mart Summers cried: ‘You’ll all goddam thievin’ sonsabitches. This ain’t the gals’ gold and it ain’t your gold, young feller. That there gold is mine, I found it—I have first claim on it. Joe Blade is witness to it.’

  Lister bared his teeth unpleasantly. ‘Dad, you just thank your lucky stars you’re alive. Keep your mouth shut and don’t give us trouble and, who knows?, maybe you’ll come out of this showin’ a little profit.’