Blaze! Western Series: Six Adult Western Novels

by Stephen Mertz

J.D. said, "I know where we can get some answers."

  "The mine?"

  "Oh we're heading there, all right. Don't you worry about that. That business in the saloon has got me real curious about all this."

  "Glad to hear it."

  "But before we do anything, we've got to know what sort of hell we're riding into."

  Chapter 11

  It was a standard layout for a frontier military outpost, situated on high ground with clear visual command of the surrounding terrain, a thoroughly defensible position comprised of barracks, a parade ground, administration buildings and other structures, all within the confines of a twenty-foot high wall of pine, cut from trees hauled a considerable distance from the mountain forests. Atop one of the four corner watchtowers, an American flag unfurled in a slight breeze.

  There was a scattering of teepees to one side of the wide, well-trod approach trail for the front gate. Living accommodations for the Indian scouts and their families, and other "friendlies" who provided services, a common practice in outposts like this where soldiers hired so-called "friendly Indians" for lowly tasks like latrine duty and cleaning the stables.

  Colonel Beauregard J. Hitchcock was the commanding officer. His office furnishings were Spartan and functional. A flag on one wall faced a picture of the President. Maps occupied additional wall space. There was not much else except for the Colonel's huge desk.

  Hitchcock studied the Indian girl who sat facing his desk. He puffed on a cigar. He wished to convey the impression to this innocent young thing that he was granting serious consideration to her request. In fact, the cloud of exhaled cigar smoke that wreathed his head served to conceal that he was slowly and thoroughly undressing her with his eyes.

  Her name was Blue Feather. He had never set eyes on her before five minutes earlier when his orderly had announced her and he had granted her this interview.

  At first, he'd been irritated. It was the tail end of a crappy day, filled with the usual routine drudgery of command. Then there was the rider sent by Lieutenant Pearson, delivering news of discovery of the overturned stage and the slaughter of the passengers. A damn crappy day. He had little interest in prolonging it with another damn redskin wanting to cause him trouble.

  But he had his orders. The government was far too lenient in dealing with these savages...

  One look at Blue Feather, however, and his fatigue and irritation vanished. She could not have been much past her sixteenth or seventeenth birthday. His throat went dry at the way the fading sunlight caught her standing there, awaiting admittance to his office.

  She wore buckskin and sandals. Her long black hair was braided. A necklace of turquoise bits rested against the smooth flesh of her throat. Brown eyes, downcast.

  Delicious, thought Hitchcock. These savages...their women excited him. It wasn't something he was proud of. It shamed him that creatures that were less than human could arouse such forbidden lust.

  There was the occasional civilian trapper, scout or cowboy who would take an Indian woman to be his wife, but doing so invariably led to the couple being shunned by both societies. That would never do. He had political aspirations. Another six months to serve on this godforsaken frontier and he would return East a military hero. He had backers in New York and Washington. He would welcome the restraints of civilization where he could function without the constant temptations of dark flesh. The trouble with being a regimental commander this far from civilization was that he could make his own rules, and to the Indians on the nearby reservation he was all powerful.

  He wanted Blue Feather the moment he saw her.

  Seated now before his desk, she looked so pretty. So innocent. So scared. He had a raging erection. He wondered about the size of her brown nipples under the fabric of her buckskin dress. In his mind he could already see the little curly dark patch where she was a virgin. But he would save the best for last. First he would make her roll over onto her smooth, muscular stomach and he would—

  Blue Feather cleared his throat.

  "Colonel? Please say you'll be able to help me."

  This brought him back into the moment.

  Patience, he told himself. Patience. A scuffle and noise wouldn't do. This pleasure must be stolen quietly. Patience. He took another draw on his cigar, enjoying the pleasant sensation of the smoke filling his lungs as much as he enjoyed the anxiety that made this lovely girl all the more desirable. He exhaled. He spoke with as much gravitas as he could summon.

  "You realize, of course, my dear, that granting what you ask would put me in a most awkward position. On the one hand, the rules and regulations, the white man's law, are quite clear when it comes to drunken Indians. Your brother was drunk and disorderly. Frankly, it would be a shirking of my duty to dismiss the charges and set him free. That would set a dangerous precedent. The law clearly states that he be confined for a thirty day period following the date of his arrest."

  Blue Feather clasped her hands.

  "But he is only a boy."

  "He was man enough to get drunk and break the window of that millinery shop. My mission, and that of my command, is to provide protection to the settlers."

  "Colonel, please. If I promise that it will never happen again...if I take him home with me and take him to the white man's church that was built on our land..."

  "You would see that your brother goes to church with you every Sunday?"

  "Oh, yes. Yes, I promise."

  He took a final draw on the stogie. He exhaled and extinguished the cigar in an ornate gold ash tray at the corner of his desk. He rose from behind his desk. When Blue Feather started to rise, he motioned, arresting the movement.

  "Remain seated, child. It is within my power, as you know, to grant the release of your brother at my discretion, which could be first thing tomorrow morning."

  Her brown eyes stared up, following him.

  "No sooner than that?"

  "Well, perhaps today...if you cooperate."

  "Cooperate?"

  Genuine puzzlement did delightful things to her expression, hinting at the beauty that would be hers when she reached womanhood.

  He stood behind her.

  "You know, Blue Feather, speaking strictly as a man I cannot help but notice what a beautiful young girl you are. For an Indian."

  Blue Feather shivered when he rested a hand on either of her shoulders. She said nothing. His hands drifted down and roughly cupped and squeezed firm young breasts through the buckskin fabric of her dress. She gasped. But her back remained ramrod straight.

  He whispered in her ear.

  "I have the power to release your brother anytime I want. Or I can just as easily find a reason to double his sentence. The guards despise you Indians. They would make it...unpleasant for him. My decision is up to you, my dear. Do you understand?"

  Her only reply was a brief nod.

  He released her breasts.

  He said, "Good."

  He stepped before her. He began to unbutton the front of his trousers where his member throbbed as if trying to escape.

  A single tear formed in the corner of Blue Feather's left eye. The tear slid down her cheek.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Hitchcock paused before he could expose his hardness to her. Anger flared within him.

  He called, "Orderly, I left specific orders that I was not to be disturbed."

  A pipsqueak voice replied from the other side of the locked door.

  "I know, sir. My apologies. But there are two civilians here who have asked to see you."

  Hitchcock cursed to himself.

  "Just a moment!"

  He hurriedly buttoned his fly. His erection subsiding, he stepped away from the girl.

  Among the few things that could ever curtail his lust for Indian girls were his political aspirations, which required his being receptive and friendly to every civilian he met who wasn't breaking the law. One day all of those yokels whom he'd made time for would vote for the open, friendly fellow who had bee
n so forthcoming and had taken the time to commiserate with them. Whereupon he, Beauregard J. Hitchcock, would be sworn in as President of the United States.

  First things first.

  He told Blue Feather, "Come to me tomorrow. One night in the brig won't kill your brother. Tomorrow we shall resume where we left off. Then you can take your brother home. Is that agreeable to you, my dear?"

  A brief nod. No words.

  He crossed the office. Unlocked the door.

  "I hardly need tell you that if you confide in anyone about what just happened between us, or if you do not come to me tomorrow, then things will not go so well for your brother. I shall personally see to that." He held open the door. "That will be all."

  Blue Feather hurried from his office, her eyes downcast.

  Hitchcock turned his attention to the man and woman who stood waiting beside the orderly's desk.

  The fellow was a tough customer, competent-looking as hell.

  The blonde woman at his side exuded an air of contained strength that Hitchcock found vaguely unsettling. His eyes roamed over the shapely feminine contours of her body.

  She appeared not to notice. She frowned, watching the Indian girl leave the orderly room.

  Hitchcock said, "Don't mind her. Lowlife Indian trash. The little slut tried to bribe me. But that's over and done. Please, step into my office. How may I help you?"

  Chapter 12

  Kate didn't cotton to the Colonel from the moment she set eyes on him.

  Hitchcock was a big man. Wide across the shoulders. Six feet tall, and yet there was nothing imposing about him. His complexion was florid, as if he had just run up a flight of stairs...which certainly would have winded the post commandant since much of his heft consisted of a big belly pressing outward as if to escape from his buttoned tunic.

  She could not image this man riding across the prairie, leading his troops into battle. This sorry excuse for a soldier had managed to grow fat and dissipated while serving on the frontier; the true mark of a soul committed to self gratification more than duty.

  Kate had learned to read men early. She knew many of their ways simply from growing up with rough-housing brothers. She found it prudent to develop this understanding into a survival skill once she began plying her trade as a riverboat gambler on the Mississippi following the War. All manner of trouble could flare up in a whiskey-soaked late hour card game if Lady Luck decided to fuck with someone who couldn't take the loss or who flat just didn't like losing. These days, when she plied her card skills to finance dry spells between jobs, J.D. was present to keep an eye on things. But in the days before she'd met her husband, her life depended on being able to quickly and accurately size up every player, every man, in a glance.

  Colonel Hitchcock gave her the creeps. His gaze undressed her, stitch by stitch, until she felt his eyes probing where they had no damn business. But there was more to her revulsion than that.

  There was the look of revulsion and fear in the eyes of the young Indian woman who had fled—Kate could think of no other word—from the Colonel's lair when Hitchcock had opened the door to greet them. Revulsion. Fear. The girl had the look of a victim lucky enough to escape.

  J.D. was his usual taciturn, unreadable self. If he had picked up on any of the signs Kate had regarding the Colonel, he chose not reveal it, even to her.

  Hitchcock waved them to the twin visitor chairs facing his desk.

  The seat Kate chose was warm.

  The Indian girl had been sitting here.

  She studied Hitchcock, seated behind his desk, erect posture, brimming with an air of self-importance. Nothing about the man made her comfortable. What had been going on in this office between Hitchcock and the "lowlife Indian trash," as he has so blithely referred to the girl?

  The Colonel gestured to the humidor on the corner of his desk.

  "Cigar?"

  J.D. said, "No thanks. My name is J.D. Blaze. This is my wife, Kate."

  Hitchcock relit a cigar that rested in an ashtray next to the humidor.

  "I know who you are. You were passed through by Lieutenant Pearson at the scene of whatever the hell happened to that stagecoach out on the trail. Pearson and his men have not returned yet. Dispatch riders keep me informed. The lieutenant would not have let you pass so easily had he recognized your names as I have. J.D. and Kate Blaze, the only gunfighters in the west who are married. Your reputation precedes you, as does your notoriety."

  Kate sniffed. "Notoriety? Places are usually a damn sight better off after we're through with 'em."

  "That," said the Colonel "is not the point. The point is: what are you doing here?"

  Kate thought, So much for 'How may I help you?'

  J.D. said, "We didn't see a lawman's office in Yonder. I reckon that makes the Army responsible for keeping the peace in these parts."

  Hitchcock nodded with visible impatience.

  "You reckon right."

  "Well, to my way of thinking, Colonel, it's always best to talk straight from the git-go. You're going to find out sooner or later that me and Kate had to settle a little trouble in town before we rode out here to see you."

  "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

  "Three gunslicks out of the Starlight Mine threw down on us."

  Hitchcock's eyes narrowed.

  Kate added, "The town undertaker, if there is one, has three new customers to service. That is assuming those gunslicks were well-paid and the undertaker is working for found."

  Hitchcock rested a beefy arm on his desk.

  "I'll want a detailed report on this."

  Kate said, "If you're charged with keeping the peace in these parts, I'd say we just helped you considerable. This Count has got the townspeople buffaloed, or at least his gunnies do it for him. That ain't right in a free country. Put that in your report."

  Hitchcock's florid complexion deepened.

  "You keep a civil tongue in your head, young lady. I don't like your manner."

  "Hell, that's okay, Colonel. I'm not selling it."

  J.D. sent her a stern look. He cleared his throat.

  "Excuse the wife, Colonel. She gets excitable sometimes. Fact is, we shot down three men in self defense. You won't have any trouble rounding up citizens to back that up."

  Hitchcock glowered a moment longer at Kate.

  "Something must have been said to provoke trouble. They didn't just open fire on you."

  "Close to it," said J.D. "We were asking about the mine. They took exception to us doing that."

  "And what exactly is your interest in the mine?"

  J.D. shrugged nonchalantly.

  "Someone we crossed trails with, when we were riding through the Nations, asked us to look up a friend that he hadn't seen in years if we happened through these parts."

  "The friend's name?"

  "Fella back in the Nations? I don't rightly recall."

  Kate piped up with, "Slim something."

  She thought, That's it, J.D. Keep poor Holly's name and family out of it. This is our fight now...

  Hitchcock said, "I'm talking about the name of the person you came here to find."

  J.D. said, "Name of MacNeil. Before all the shooting started, we found out that Mr. MacNeil sold the mine."

  Kate added, "And that's when those punks threw down on us."

  The Colonel harrumphed.

  "Well, you can tell your friend Slim that yes, Mr. MacNeil sold the mine, all right. But MacNeil died not long after that. Him and this friend must have been out of touch for some while."

  J.D. said, "Anything suspicious about the death?"

  "Not a damn thing. Why would there be?"

  "No reason. Just asking."

  Hitchcock nodded. "That's what got those gunslicks riled. Folks around here don't take much to outsiders sticking their noses in where they don't belong."

  Kate said, "Hold on there, General."

  "Colonel," the Colonel corrected.

  "Whatever. Are you sidin' with those varmints that
tried to gun us down?"

  Hitchcock studied her long and hard.

  She didn't feel like she was being undressed this time. His eyes stared deeply into hers because he wanted to assess what danger lurked there.

  He said, "It would be a good idea if the two of you got on your horses right about now and rode off this army post and kept on riding."

  Kate never broke eye contact with him. The man made her skin crawl.

  "So the Count has the U.S. Army buffaloed too."

  Hitchcock stood abruptly.

  "This conversation is ended. The two of you leave my office or I will have you forcibly removed. I do not take kindly to personal insult."

  J.D. and Kate got to their feet.

  Kate said, "My, my. But I notice you're not denying anything, either."

  "There's nothing to deny. Out, both of you, or you'll spend time in the jailhouse." The Colonel's eyes suggestively caressed her every curve. "I doubt the lady will find our accommodations satisfactory."

  J.D. said, "What about the stagecoach?"

  "What about it? Did you have anything to do with that?"

  "You know we didn't."

  "Then it was Apaches," said Hitchcock, "who else?"

  Kate said, "That's what we're wondering. What about the cattle mutilations?"

  Hitchcock glowered, his complexion as red as the side of a barn.

  "How the hell would I know anything about cattle mutilations in a country this wide-open and desolate? Hell, I don't know! Maybe it was creatures from outer space! All I know is that you folks—"

  Kate held up a hand.

  "We heard you. You want us gone, and I don't blame you. Adios, Colonel. Don't send snipers to ambush us on the trail, okay? It's been tried and, bub, we always ride away."

  J.D. ushered her through the door. He glanced back at the Colonel.

  "Like I said. Excitable."

  He eased the door shut after them.

  Chapter 13

  In the Orderly Room, J.D. said to Kate, "Dang. You sure don't put much stock in getting along with people."

  Her eyes blazed.

  "Don't lecture me. There's something going on around here that stinks to high heaven." She glanced at the orderly, apparently busy behind a cluttered desk. "Isn't that so, Private?"