Upon arrival in Arvada they put their horses up at the livery and got a room at the Arvada House Hotel, across the street from the Cattleman’s Club.
Once in the room J.D. walked to the window. From there he could see the front of the club.
“Weatherby won’t like this,” Kate said, unpacking. She insisted on putting her clothes in chest drawers and closets whenever they checked into a hotel. J.D. used to live out of his saddlebags, but since marrying Kate that had changed.
“He doesn’t want anyone from that club to know we’re here,” she said.
“He doesn’t want them to know why we’re here, love,” he said. “The fact that we are here doesn’t matter, without that.”
“But won’t they be able to guess?”
“Why?” J.D. asked. “We could just be passing through. And didn’t Weatherby say they didn’t know about his splinter group?”
“Yes, he did.”
“There you go,” J.D. said. “That means we can go get a drink, and then find a good steak dinner.”
“And what else?”
He touched his nose. “And sniff around a bit, maybe have a talk with the local law.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like talking to the law. Or rather, they don’t seem to like talking to us.”
“Any local lawman will like talking to you,” he said. “At least until they find out who we are.”
“I need to freshen up,” she said.
“I’ll go and get a drink and wait for you in the nearest saloon. We passed it on the way in.”
“The Red Garter?”
“That’s the one.”
“I won’t be long,” she said. “Try not to drink too much and get into trouble until I get there.”
“Me? Trouble?” he asked. “Since when do I look for trouble?”
“I didn’t say you look for it,” she said, “but it does seem to look for you, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t think that’s fair,” he said, “but I’ll try to watch my step.”
“See that you do.”
* * *
J.D. entered the Red Garter, which was doing a brisk business for that time of the afternoon. He figured later in the day it would be packed.
He walked to the bar and caught the bartender’s attention.
“Whataya have, friend?”
“Beer.”
“Comin’ up.”
J.D. studied the men in the saloon. It looked like a mix of townspeople, ranch hands, probably some drifters. He didn’t see anybody who looked to him like a hired gun, or a stock detective. Professionals always had the look, and he could usually spot them. But if any members of the gang of rustlers were there, it would take him a bit longer to pick them out. Men who stole for a living usually liked to talk about the things they’ve stolen. All you had to do was listen, and J.D. Blaze was a good listener.
The bartender brought the beer. J.D. paid him, picked it up and drank half of it.
“Ahhh,” he said, because it was good and cold.
“Passin’ through?” the barman asked.
“That’s right.”
“Well, you found the best place in town.”
“Looks like it.”
“The girls’ll be out later, and believe me, they’re worth seein’.”
The bartender was a tall, slender man in his forties who seemed very comfortable behind a bar. He had probably been doing it for a long time, in many different places.
“You seem like a man who knows a good-looking woman when you see her.”
“I worked in a lot of different places, mister,” he said. “I know there’s lots of saloon girls who look tired, who been doin’ it too long, but not these girls. These are the prettiest girls in town.”
“Can’t wait to see,” J.D. said.
Although he knew Kate wouldn’t be happy about it. She didn’t much care to see him around pretty girls. He had been a ladies’ man before they met, and she was afraid he might still be, even though they were married. He hadn’t done anything to make her worry, though. At least, not to his way of thinking. It wasn’t his fault that women liked him. After all, he understood that men found his wife beautiful and desirable, but he knew she’d never step out on him. He only wished she trusted him as much.
Well, maybe Kate would find him before the girls came down, and they could get out of there.
He finished his beer and waved to the bartender for another.
Chapter 7
J.D. was on his third beer when Kate walked into the saloon. He had his back to the door, but he could feel it when she entered. All the attention in the place went right to her.
It was still too early for the saloon to be crowded, so as she walked to join him at the bar everyone took notice. J.D. turned just as she reached him.
“Center of attention,” he said, “as always.”
“Get me a beer, please.”
He waved to the bartender for a beer.
“For the lady,” the man said, when he brought it, “it’s on the house.”
“My wife, Kate,” J.D. said. “This is Benny.”
“Hello, Benny,” Kate said, gracing the man with a smile. “Thank you.”
“Anything for a beautiful lady,” Benny said.
Kate took up a position next to J.D., ignoring the attentions of the other men. Eventually, they went back to their conversations or games.
“Found out anything?” she asked.
“Nothing,” J.D. said. “I did as you suggested and have been keeping low.”
“But you’ve been listening.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Lew over there is trying to get a loan to keep his general store going, but the banker, Hemmings, is not having it. And over there, that’s Andy Porter, he’s sleeping with banker Hemmings’ wife, Lori. And that fella—”
“Okay,” she said, “what about our business here?”
“Oh, that,” he said. “No, at the moment there are no rustlers in here.”
“And you can tell that?”
“Of course,” he said. “I can smell ’em.”
“So where do we go from here, then?” she asked.
“Around town,” he said. “A couple of more saloons, maybe a stop at the sheriff’s office. And...”
“And?”
“Well, you could stop at a dress shop or two, a hat shop, you know, woman stuff...”
“Woman stuff?”
“Just don’t shoot anybody while you’re there.”
She gave him a look and said, “I suppose I’ll have to do it, because if I let you go I know what’ll happen.”
“Oh yeah, what?”
“Some sweet young thing will see you and—”
“Never happen, my love,” he said, cutting her off. “You’re the only sweet young thing in my life.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, “buy me another beer. I’m going to need it if I’m going dress shopping. You know how I hate those women!”
Chapter 8
J.D. had two more beers in another, smaller saloon, then decided to go and see the local sheriff before he was too drunk to do it.
He entered the sheriff’s office without knocking. The man seated behind the desk looked up in surprise, whiskey bottle in one hand, glass in the other, and a badge on his chest.
“Who are you?”
“J.D. Blaze.”
The sheriff stopped pouring.
“Blaze?”
“That’s right.”
“The gunfighter?”
“That’s the one,” J.D. said. “You got another glass?”
“Huh? Oh, sure.”
The man opened a drawer, took out another glass, blew the dust from inside and poured. Blaze accepted the drink. He’d drunk out of dirtier glasses in saloons.
“I’m Sheriff Bill Allen,” the lawman said. “Have a seat and tell me what I can do for you.”
J.D. sat across from the man and sipped whiskey. It washed the stale taste of beer fro
m his mouth.
Sheriff Allen was about fifty, a little on the beefy side. The broken blood vessels in his nose attested to the fact that today’s drinking in the office was not a one-time thing.
“I’m looking for trouble,” J.D. said.
“Wow,” Allen said.
“What?”
“Well, usually when a gunfighter comes to my town they insists that they’re not looking for trouble.”
“I am a gunfighter,” J.D. said. “I mean, what’s the point of denying it? And what I do is look for trouble.”
“Okay.” The sheriff leaned forward and poured some more whiskey into J.D.’s glass. “So tell me what kind of trouble you’re lookin’ for?”
“The rustler kind,” J.D. said. “I’ve heard that there’s been some heavy rustling going on around here. Thought I’d come and check and see if it’s true.”
Sheriff Allen poured himself some whiskey.
“So, is it?”
“There’s always some rustlin’ goin’ on,” Allen said.
“Yeah, but for me to have heard about it in another state, it has to be more than a little...right?”
“Mr. Blaze,” Allen said, “how long do you plan on stayin’ in town?”
“Well, that depends,” J.D. said.
“On what?”
“On how much the bounty is on those rustlers.”
The sheriff sat back and his chair creaked beneath his bulk.
“I didn’t say there were rustlers.”
“You didn’t say there weren’t,” J.D. said, “and I’ve been in a couple of saloons today.”
The lawman smiled.
“They’re not talkin’ in the saloons.”
“And you know that how?”
“Because they’re not allowed to.”
Blaze looked surprised.
“You mean in this town it’s against the law to talk about rustling?”
“It is these days.”
“This is getting more interesting,” J.D. said.
“It ain’t my intention to interest you,” Allen said.
“Well, too late,” J.D. said. He put his empty glass down on the desk. “Give me another drink and tell me what’s going on?”
Allen poured more whiskey into his glass and said, “How is it I don’t know you from Adam, just met you, and I’m about to break the rules?”
“Maybe you’re afraid of me?”
Allen studied J.D. for a few moments, then said, “Shit, you’re probably right.”
“Well, then,” J.D. said, “tell me about these rules you’re going to break.”
Chapter 9
“It’s a beautiful fabric,” the old biddy who ran the dress shop said. “It would make a beautiful dress.”
“I’m sure it would,” Kate said, disinterestedly. She stared out the front window at the saloon across the street. She could probably get more answers there than she’d been getting at dress and hat shops.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“But I have other bolts of fabric—“ the woman started.
“I’m sure you do,” Kate said.
“But I stayed open to show you—“
“I really couldn’t care less,” Kate said. “Close up. Go home. Good-bye.”
Kate left the store and walked across the street to the Ace High Saloon. As she entered she squinted against the smoke in the air. The place was crowded with men who were serious about their drinking or gambling. Still, she attracted attention as she walked to the bar and found a space between two ranch hands.
“Hey, sweet thing,” one of them said. “Buy you a drink?”
“I can buy my own drink, thanks,” she said.
“Hey,” the man said, “I was just tryin’ ta be friendly.” He looked past Kate at his friend and said, “Did you hear this bitch?”
“What did you call me?” Kate demanded.
“Take it easy, lady,” the bartender said. “Here’s your beer.”
“Yeah,” the ranch hand said, “here’s your beer.” He grabbed it off the bar and poured it over Kate’s head. She was wearing her hat, so the damage was minimal as the beer dripped off, but it was enough.
“Sonofabitch!” Kate said. She hauled off and punched the man in the face—not a slap, but a closed fist punch. He reeled back, arms waving as he tried to maintain his balance. The men behind him scattered out of the way, and eventually he fell onto his ass.
“Hey!” his friend yelled.
Kate turned quickly to face the man before he could make a move.
“You want some, too?” she demanded. “You got something to say?”
The man, smaller than his friend, put his hands up and backed away.
“Hey, take it easy, lady,” he said, eyeing the gun on her hip.
“I got somethin’ to say,” a voice said.
She turned and saw a tall man in his forties facing her. He was fit, dressed expensively, and handsome.
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Hal Evans.”
“And?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Kate. Are these two your men?”
“They are,” Evans said, as the man Kate had punched got to his feet.
“I got this, boss.”
“Do you?”
The man turned to look behind him, then waved. Three other men moved out of the crowd to stand alongside him. They all had guns on.
“Miss,” Evans said, “these men are not ranch hands.”
“They’re not?”
“No,” Evans said, “they’re hired guns.”
“Is that a fact?” She eyed the men. “All four of them?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I should be,” he said. “I’m paying them.”
“Then you should teach them how to wear their guns,” she said, “and how to keep them clean.”
She shook her head and eyed the four men again.
“What are we going to do, boys?” she asked. A little bit of beer still dripped from the tip of her hat, making her mad all over again.
“Boss?”
“Kate, the man you knocked to the floor is Ed Lachman. Ever heard of him?”
“Maybe. And the others?”
“You wouldn’t have heard of them,” Evans said. “They just work for him.”
“He works for you, and they work for him?”
“That’s the way it works.”
“And what do they do?”
Evans shrugged. “This and that.”
“For instance.”
“Well,” he said, “if I told them to kill you right now, they would. See, I can’t have my number one gun being knocked on his ass by a woman in front of a saloon full of men and not do something about it.”
“And by doing something about it,” she said, “you mean having them do something about it.”
“Yes.”
“Well,” she said, “how would it look to have your number one gun killed by a woman in front of a saloon full of men?”
“Ha!” the number one gun exploded. “Like that could happen.”
“Why don’t we see, Ed?” Evans said.
“Sure,” Lachman said. “Men, spread out.’
“No, no, Ed,” Evans said, “not them, just you.”
Lachman looked at his boss, then back at Kate, who was standing with her hand hanging easily down alongside her gun.
“Okay, boys, stand back,” he said.
“You don’t want to do this...Ed, is it?”
“That’s right,” Lachman said. “Don’t tell me you never heard it. I got a reputation.”
“Yeah,” she said, “don’t we all.” She looked at Evans. “I’m not going to get shot in the back, am I?”
“No,” Evans said. “You have my word.”
“Okay,” she said, “good.” She looked at Lachman. “You willing to get killed just to prove a point?”
“What other reason is there?” he asked, with a shrug.
; She shook her head. “What an idiot.”
“Just for that I’m gonna kill you slow,” he said. “In pieces.”
“By the way,” Evans said, “before the shooting starts, what’s your full name?”
She looked at Evans, then at Lachman when she gave him her answer.
“Kate Blaze.”
Chapter 10
“Blaze?” Evans asked.
“That’s right.” She kept her eyes on Lachman.
“Married to J.D. Blaze?”
“Kate Blaze,” she said. “That’s all you have to know.”
Evans looked at Lachman and thought his number one gun looked nervous.
“That don’t matter,” the man said. “Don’t matter who her husband is, she’s just a woman.”
“Mr. Lachman,” Kate said, “you have a knack for saying the wrong thing.”
“Fuck you,” Lachman said.
* * *
The door to the sheriff’s office slammed open and a man ran in.
“Sheriff, you better come quick!”
J.D. turned to look at the man as Sheriff Allen got to his feet.
“Take it easy, Henry,” he said. “What’s goin’ on?”
“There’s gonna be a shootout at the Ace High,” Henry said.
“So?” Allen asked. “That ain’t unusual.”
“It is when it’s a woman doin’ the shootin’,” Henry said, “or gettin’ shot.”
“Oh, shit,” J.D. said, coming out of his chair.
* * *
“Your call, Lachman,” Kate said.
“Bitch.”
“You’ve called me enough names,” she said, “time for you to make your move.” She’d read that line in a dime novel one time.
Lachman turned his head to look at his men, and Kate saw a silent message pass between them. She knew that the rules had just changed.
Lachman turned back, and in mid-turn he went for his gun. Kate outdrew him cleanly, fired once, putting a round dead center in his chest. His eyes popped and his mouth fell open. He fell to the floor with his gun still in his holster, but by that time she had turned her attention to his three friends, all of whom were grabbing for their hoglegs.
She knew she was dead...
* * *
J.D. went through the batwings first, ahead of the sheriff. As he did he heard the shot, saw the man fall. He quickly sized up the situation correctly and drew his gun.
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