Longarm and the Lone Star Legend

by Tabor Evans

  He'd selected his weapons with care. With him he had his bow and two leather quivers. In one quiver was packed an assortment of twenty-five arrows. The other quiver held twenty-five arrows all of one kind. Ki could only hope that Longarm would remember what Ki had told him days ago.

  That Longarm was with Jessie, Ki had no doubt. The story written with blood in the pecan grove had been easy to read. Both Jessie and Longarm had struggled valiantly, costing the enemy dearly for their capture, but prisoners they now were…

  Unless they were already dead.

  If one was, they both were; of that also, Ki was certain. Still, he refused to allow that particular possibility to take root in his mind. For one thing, forlorn heartache had no place in a samurai preparing to do battle. For another thing, be the two alive or dead, his plan of action would remain exactly the same. He would disrupt the enemy's camp, disabling as many of them as he could. If Jessie and Longarm were alive, they would reveal themselves to him in some way. Ki would then aid them in making good their escape, and the trio would retreat to some sanctuary. Jessica would then express what she wished to accomplish next, and Ki would do his best to carry out her desires.

  On the other hand, if the two were dead, Ki would sooner or later come across some evidence proving this. At that time he would stop his random attack to concentrate on finding the one he had earlier struggled with, the blond foreigner. He would kill this man, for he was sure Jessie would desire as much, and then he would go back to battling the rest of those who had sided with this foreigner, until they managed to bring him down. If Jessie was dead, he would fight with the ferocity of a man who does not care what happens to him. It crossed his mind that he probably ought to stay alive long enough to carry out his threat against the governor, should that man disobey his order to send for the army; buy if Jessie was dead, what was the point? If Jessie was dead, would it not be better to die where she died, and hope that her spirit, her Kami, lingering near the scene, could watch proudly as he wrought havoc upon her enemies?

  The how and when of dying were always tricky matters, Ki knew. Better to wait for more facts about the situation before attempting to ascertain the proper etiquette in this case…

  Rock outcroppings encircled the quarry compound. Ki knew them well. In happier times, he and Jessie had explored and climbed these "baby mountains." As soon as he had surmised which way the tracks were heading, he'd known instinctively that the deserted stonecutting site was the hideout of the mystery riders. There was water there, and timber for fires, in addition to the obvious shelter for men and horses that the deserted buildings could provide. Those high rock walls, broken only by the single trail that led into the shallow canyon, created a natural fortress around the collection of buildings.

  Fortress or prison, Ki thought, smiling to himself. It depended on who controlled the walls…

  He could not afford the luxury of a preliminary reconnaissance. True, it was a dark, nearly moonless night, and he would have the advantage of stealth surprise, but he was only one man against what he was sure would be many sentries. Some might be amateurs, but most would be professionals, men quite experienced in the art of killing and staying alive despite the efforts of other professionals.

  In all, it would be a pleasure, Ki thought, for a samurai's greatest pleasure is fighting. But it would not be easy. The only thing he could think to do was to make his way as best he could toward the center of the compound. If and when he found Jessie and Longarm, he would begin to divert the enemy's attention from them by drawing it upon himself. Until then, he would just infiltrate, striking at the enemy as he went.

  He checked the glittering array of shuriken blades and stars lining the inside pockets of his vest. In addition to these, he had the pair he carried in the two sheaths strapped to his forearms. Both his bow and his shuriken would be useful for distance killing, but he carried one final weapon for close work: a nunchaku.

  Normally, Ki would have depended on his te techniques, but his enemies were many and his time was short; the nunchaku would help to even up the odds.

  Next to the bo, or staff, the nunchaku was Ki's favorite weapon. This was because its original effectiveness was derived from the fact that it appeared to be only a harmless farm implement, a tool of the common people. The Okinawans had originally used the forerunner of the nunchaku as a grain flail. It was only after Ki's own people, the Nipponese, had confiscated all of the Okinawans' real weapons that these proud people developed te, and kobudo, the art of using tools as weapons. A nunchaku consisted of two sticks of varying lengths attached together at one end by a few inches of braided horsehair. Ki owned many different sorts of nunchaku. The one he now carried was a han-kei, or half-size version. Instead of the two halves reaching approximately from his palm to his elbow, which was the traditional length, the two sticks were each only seven inches long, and flat on one side, so that they fit smoothly together. The han-kei form of nunchaku was easy to carry; Ki kept it tucked into his jeans like a dagger. With it, Ki could effectively perform virtually every te block and strike, but with the extra power brought to the techniques by the hard wood of the nunchaku's handles and the centrifugal force generated when he whipped that handle around on the end of its horsehair braid. Rail-like blows from the weapon could shatter a man's bones. Thrusts could smash his face or throat. A finger, wrist, or other joint caught between the two sticks would crack like a pecan shell in a nutcracker. The only kobudo weapon that Ki considered superior to the nunchaku was the bo or staff. But its five-foot-plus length made the bo too cumbersome a weapon for the sort of fighting Ki had to do this night.

  Ki began to climb the rocks. He would cut a path through the first line of sentries. He would then situate himself to have a clear view of the compound, and then wait for the hour or so before dawn.

  It was just human nature, he mused philosophically. That first gray glimmer rising up in the east had a way of comforting men, what with its full promise of another day of light and life on this earth. Men on guard during wartime — even professionals — tended to relax a bit with the first hint of dawn. Some clock inside them seemed to command it. Long ago, Ki had taught Jessica this curious thing. If she was still alive, she would know that the hour just before dawn would be the time to make her attempt at escape, that that would be the lime when he would come to help her.

  His bow strung across his shoulders, his twin quivers of arrows riding on his hips, Ki climbed the rock face as quickly and quietly as an ape. His climbing techniques were, after all, based on those of the monkey. A samurai soon learned that his bare toes could flex and bend to grip like fingers. A samurai who became a te adept also learned the art of sticking, of shifting one's center of gravity this way and that countless times in a moment, so that falling became unlikely. Down and up are, after all, relative terms, and Ki merely reminded himself that to the climbing samurai, down did not exist. Besides, the tall rock was part of the world, and who could fall off the world?

  Ki's fingers slid up to hook themselves over the top of the outcropping. He flexed his elbows, biceps straining, to support himself as he peeked about to see if a sentry was anywhere nearby. There was no one. Ki quickly hauled himself up and darted into the shadows cast by the tumbled boulders.

  The interior slopes of the ring of outcroppings surrounding the compound descended much more gradually. A man did not have to climb, but could walk down these rock-strewn hills. From his vantage point, Ki could see sentries, alone and in pairs, scattered about. Evidently he was expected! None of them that he could see were armed with those "coffee grinders," but such a weapon was not really appropriate for this sort of sentry duty, where there was no clear, agreed-upon field of fire for which a man was required to be responsible. Ki also noted that the large clumps and piles of rocks and boulders strewn about the landscape kept the various sentries from being able to see one another.

  Ki smiled. All in all, things were working out well. The path down toward the fires that glimmered in and around
the compound's buildings was a maze. Guards stood here and there at various turns and twists of that maze. Ki would traverse it, removing the guards as he came…

  The gun barrel pressed behind his ear was as cold and hard as the slab of granite upon which Ki was leaning. He groaned inwardly. He was off balance, in no position to attempt a te counter-move.

  "You even breathe fast, little brother, and I'll blow your head off," a deep, calm voice said. "You're carrying a bow, little brother. Ill show you a trick my father taught me."

  Ki felt a strong hand tug him up into a standing position. The bow strung diagonally across his back and shoulder was removed as the twin quivers were plucked from his waist.

  "Now cross your arms across your chest, little brother," that deep voice instructed. "Do it like you were a shy maid who'd suddenly lost her blouse."

  Mystified, Ki did as he was told. That gun was still drilling itself against his head. Then the bow was wiggled back down over his torso. This time the tough, tempered wooden part was in front, across his chest. The curve of wood pinned his arms and hands tightly in the position where he'd been ordered to place them. The string was now across his back. The man behind him gathered up the spare inch of slack and twisted it away by slipping a handful of arrows beneath the string and turning the shafts like handles. Ki felt the circulation in his arms being cut off. The man tucked the arrows through the string a final time, so that the pressure cinched them into place. Ki's upper limbs were now immobilized. The bow stretching horizontally across his chest, and extending for two feet on either side of him like wing bones, was nothing from which he couldn't break free, but doing so would take a little time…

  More than enough time for his capable adversary to shoot him dead.

  "You can turn around now, little brother."

  Ki turned to confront a giant of a man, at least six and a half feet tall. He was built like a grizzly, with long, massive, muscle-slabbed arms. His torso was barrellike, and seemed to make up most of his length. His legs were as squat and thick as two tree stumps. Even in this faint light, Ki could see that the man's skin was of dark hue. He had a large, strong, hawklike nose that protruded from a craggy face long ago pitted by smallpox. Two black, glossy braids framed that face. The braids reached down to the man's thick shoulders.

  Ki, curious, peered up at his assailant. His was not a cruel face, nor a particularly nervous one. It was a warrior's face.

  "This is a quite interesting use for a bow," Ki remarked quietly. "How did you come by this technique?"

  "Like I said, my daddy taught me. I'm a full-blooded Apache, little brother. That's how we used to take other tribes prisoner. "Course, all that was before my time."

  "Very effective," Ki remarked sadly. "What is your name?"

  "Hell, little brother, telling an Apache name takes a lot of time. And we — or maybe just you, little brother — ain't got that much time." The big Apache raised his revolver in salute and grinned. "Just call me Joe."

  "Joe, my name is Ki."

  "Short for something, I'd wager," Joe said shrewdly.

  "But we don't have the time," Ki smiled.

  Joe was scantily dressed in a sleeveless leather vest and a loin cloth that left his stubby legs bare. Around his belly hung a wide leather gunbelt from which dangled a holster. A sheathed bowie knife hung like a pendant from around his neck. He wore no hat and no boots. Studded metal bracelets extended up Joe's arms from wrist to elbow. Ki knew that those bracelets would act like armor, reinforcing Joe's forearm smashes during hand-to-hand combat.

  "I compliment you on the way you crept up behind me," Ki said politely. He purposely kept his voice meek. It was important that Joe feel confident enough to holster his pistol. Ki could not afford to let his adversary fire even a stray shot, for that would alert all the other sentries.

  "Hell, little brother," Joe smiled. "I go barefoot, just like you." He pointed to his feet with his revolver, and then, absently, slipped it back into its holster. "Apaches have feet tough enough to crush rocks, to flex cactus spines till they're as soft as an old man's prick. Apaches are born man-trackers. Little brother, I began my training as a little boy."

  "So did I, Joe," Ki murmured, fascinated despite his predicament. He knew that he would have to do his best to kill this man who would try to kill him. But for now, before the killing started, he was content to share a moment with his peer.

  "When I was just ten, I had to creep up and pull the tail feathers off a partridge. When I was twelve, I had to snatch a rattler and bring him home alive. When I was thirteen, I had to count coup on a grizzly bear, and live to tell about it." A look of amusement flashed across Joe's face. "No offense, little brother, but sneaking up on you was a mite tougher than the rattler, but a lot easier than the bear."

  Ki bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Why did you leave your people? Why do you serve villains?"

  Joe's face grew hard. "My people are no more. I was trained to be a warrior, but the Apache nation has left fighting behind. The men have become squaws, as the squaws have become whores. But I must fight. It is all I know. With no people to fight for, I fight for money. I don't care for what cause. There is no longer any cause that can interest me."

  Ki stood silent for a moment, contemplating what he had been told. "It is a pity we are on opposite sides. We are much alike."

  "Maybe you're right, and maybe you're not," the Apache grunted. "But you're on the button about that last fact. We're on opposite sides. Which brings this conversation to a close, I'm afraid, little brother." He drew his pistol. "Sorry about binding you up like that with your bow. I mean you no disrespect. I only did it 'cause I heard you were a real feisty fellow, real fast, and real clever with your hands. Now, Mr. Danzig said to bring you in alive if possible, or dead if we had to." The giant smiled. "I'd just as soon it was alive. It'd cause me some troubled sleep to have to kill you, little brother…" He shrugged. "Well, let's start on down." He gestured with his pistol in the direction he wanted Ki to go.

  Ki watched the gun turn from him, down toward the compound for one instant. He brought up his right knee to strike out with a snapping forward foot-strike. His rigid toes slammed into Joe's wrist, catapulting the revolver up over the Apache's shoulder.

  Both men stood quietly. They regarded one another as the handgun clattered against the rocks.

  "So be it, little brother," Joe whispered. He moved in fast, his arms held wide, attacking like the grizzly he so resembled. He was fast, but Ki was able to sidestep the attack. As Joe lunged past, Ki performed a yoko-geri-keage, a sideways snap-kick. He kept his back and head straight throughout the kick, raising his striking leg until his knee was in line with his waist. He brought his foot back, cocking his leg until it was next to his other knee. When his foot slashed out, its outside edge was angled like a knife blade toward the front of Joe's knee.

  The Apache was able to twist his body around at the last moment, so that he took the powerful kick on the back of his knee, instead of upon his kneecap, which would certainly have been shattered like a fragile china plate by the force of Ki's blow. In this way, Joe was able to escape real injury, although Ki's foot, driving into the back of his knee joint, forced him down into a kneeling position.

  Ki danced forward, sending a third foot-strike slamming into the side of the Apache's face. Joe shook it off and rose to his feet, forcing Ki to retreat.

  The big Indian spat a mouthful of blood. "Ain't that a kick in the head," he grinned. "You're right fast with your feet as well as your hands," he observed wryly. He scrutinized the bow across Ki's chest, trying to evaluate how securely his opponent's hands remained pinioned.

  He must not notice the bow's tips, Ki willed. He began to weave and dip in order to distract the man.

  "I could call out for help," Joe said with a ghastly red smile. The blood still flowing inside of his mouth had stained his teeth. "I could do that, you know, little brother."

  "But you will not," Ki said matter-of-factly. "This night was d
estined. Have we not both been trained as warriors from childhood?"

  "We have, little brother," Joe said, moving in. "Ki, I salute you." He brought up his bracelet-armored arms and attacked.

  "I salute you, Apache samurai," Ki whispered. He ducked beneath Joe's first clawlike swipe, but the bow extending on both sides spoiled his timing and balance.

  The Apache's second forearm swipe caught Ki across his back. He felt Joe's bracelet studs gouge deep furrows into the leather of his vest as the sledgehammer blow knocked him forward, clear off his feet. With his hands pinned across his chest, he was unable to break his fall. He landed hard, and slid several feet across the jagged stones.

  Ki felt his own blood — hot and wet — seeping down his lower spine. He'd purposely landed on his back, letting those arrowheads bite through his clothes and into his flesh, so as to avoid damaging the bow. He would need it later on. Assuming there was going to be a later on…

  The Apache came lumbering toward Ki. "I'm going to stomp you, little brother," he huffed.

  Ki scissored his legs wide, then locked them closed around Joe's massive legs. He swung his hips, letting his higher leg apply most of the pressure. The scissoring, levering action toppled the giant to the ground.

  Ki scrambled to his feet, but Joe was right behind him. Ki twirled, trying to get a spare instant to prepare another kick, but the Apache was so close behind him that the two men resembled one dog chasing its own tail.

  If only he could get far enough away to turn one of the protruding tips of the bow extending across his chest toward the Apache, Ki thought desperately. Then he could use what Joe had noticed about his strange bow. The bow's secret. The bow's tips were bound in leather to disguise…

  Joe locked Ki in a bear hug. With his arms tucked against his chest, there was no way Ki could alleviate the terrible pressure squeezing his rib cage, locking in his lungs, forcing him to exhale endlessly. Time was running out. He could not inhale enough to breathe!