Blaze! Night Riders

by Michael Newton

  "Right. Leave it to them," Kate said, though J.D. thought she didn't sound convinced.

  The restaurant they'd picked was called The Palace, which was overstating matters, but the place looked clean enough and smelled good as they entered. Something like a dozen couples and two larger families were seated at their tables, digging into food that looked delicious to J.D., reminding him that they'd missed lunch.

  A waitress seated them and gave them menus, left to fetch them coffee, and returned to take their orders. J.D. asked her for a T-bone steak and baked potato, with a side of collard greens, while Kate ordered pork chops with mashed potatoes, gravy, and an ear of roasted corn. While waiting to be served, they looked around the restaurant and talked in generalities.

  At length, just as their meals arrived, Kate circled back to say, "I don't like anybody telling us we shouldn't stay around a given place. What did that jackass mean, saying it's a free country more or less?"

  "We've covered that," J.D. replied, cutting a slice of steak. "But if I had to pin it down, I'd figure that he's just like every other lawman who we've ever met, concerned about the moneyed men he answers to, to keep his job."

  "That isn't how the law's supposed to work," Kate said, spearing a bite of breaded pork.

  "Agreed. But have you ever seen it working any other way?"

  "All right," she said. "How's this: we stay tonight, and maybe one more, just to make the sheriff antsy. Nothing pops by day after tomorrow, then we move on to another job."

  J.D. smiled in relief. "Darlin'," he said, "that suits me fine."

  * * *

  Deputy Rice lingered outside The Palace restaurant just long enough to see the strangers served and gobbling down their food. He wished he could have eavesdropped on them, but that would have been too obvious, and on his wages, dining at The Palace was a luxury he saved for once or twice a year, if he had someone to impress.

  Of course, the bounty hunters had their pockets full. Four thousand bucks for killing Bad Eye Voightlander, but what about the slug they'd put in Arnie Sallinger? Rice knew that Sheriff Kersey couldn't hold them for the killing, since they'd caught Arnie breaking the law and he'd drawn down on them, along with every other member of the mob. A lot of good that did, since not a one of them had guts enough to stand and fight, or skill enough to make it stick.

  Incompetents and cowards—but he wasn't saying that to Ellis Fields. Voicing the way he felt would only get his steady stream of extra pay cut off, and Rice wasn't about to risk that for a stupid cowboy's sake. But on the other hand...

  If he could find a way to deal with Kate and J.D. Blaze himself, he reckoned Mr. Fields would be relieved—delighted, even—and might add a little something extra to his pay next month. If Sandy played his cards right, he might even wind up with a promotion from his present job to something better and more profitable on the rancher's staff.

  On second thought, scratch that. Rice wasn't keen on giving up his badge or his authority to throw his weight around in Yankton County. But if he could really please the boss man of the Circle F, why couldn't he be sheriff soon, with Jordan Kersey pushed out of his way?

  No reason, he decided. No reason at all.

  What he planned was to back off for now and see what the strangers did next. If they rode out of town in the morning, so be it. He could track which way they went, tell Mr. Fields, and let the rancher handle it from there. No reason Sheriff Kersey ever had to know the tip had come from Rice—and would he give a damn what happened to a pair of bounty hunters dead or missing somewhere on the plains?

  Unlikely.

  If they stuck around in Yankton, though, it could become a problem. Rice might try to solve that for his second boss and see what happened afterward, but how, exactly, would he go about it?

  Kate and J.D. Blaze had gunned down Bad Eye Voightlander and they had taken on a lynch mob that outnumbered them by four to one, approximately, killing Arnie Sallinger and wounding Gus McOwen, running off the rest and riding clear without a scratch on either one of them. That told Rice they were fast and accurate, not people he should tangle with in any kind of daylight stand-up fight.

  But there were other ways, hell yeah. And if he couldn't think of one to try himself, the very least that he could do was set them up somehow for Mr. Fields and Brent Bodine.

  Smiling and whistling to himself, the deputy began the short walk down to a café he could afford on what the county paid.

  Chapter 6

  "I'm glad you all could make it," Amos Hilliard told the others gathered in his living room, perched on the chairs and other furniture he'd made by hand.

  "Weren't like we could afford to miss it," Moses Dyer said. "We got ourselves a genuine emergency."

  The other couples, all ex-slaves, were the Edgefields, Custus and Abigail, and the Joneses, Isaac and Venus. Between them, they had five children scattered around their feet, all wise enough to know they shouldn't interrupt their elders so soon after two of them had come within a whisker's breadth of being hanged.

  "What is it we's supposed to do?" asked Isaac Jones.

  "That's what we need to talk about," Moses replied. He'd been the one who'd called the meeting in the first place, counting on the Hilliards to play host because his own small cabin wouldn't hold the crowd, and since, as recent victims, they commanded more respect than others in their small freedmen's community.

  "They really come to kill you, then?" asked Custis Edgefield.

  "Hang us," Amos hastened to correct him. "Just like in the old days, way down south."

  "Sendin' a message," Moses added. "With the hoods and all."

  Masks had been standard with the prewar slave patrols, and they were widely used by members of the Ku Klux Klan, the White Camellias, and associated groups throughout the late Confederacy. Some whites claimed that was because most Africans were superstitious and afraid of ghosts. In fact, it was a good, cheap way to keep from being singled out by witnesses to heinous crimes.

  Moses went on, saying, "There's only two ways I can see to handle this. One is to run. We've all done that at one time or another, leavin' Dixie, on the way to here. It means leavin' your homesteads with whatever you can carry and not lookin' back. We'd never get a decent price from any white men hereabouts."

  "I'm payin' for my land with sweat and toil," said Isaac Jones. "And I don't feel like lettin' crackers run me off."

  That set the other black adults to muttering. Venus and Abigail looked frightened, shooting little glances toward Calliope as if they hoped she'd tell them what to say or think. Their husbands seemed more resolute, but still worried—which only proved that they were of sound mind.

  Moses continued while they thought about it, saying, "Number two, you know before I say it, is to stay and fight for what we got under the law from Washington. If this here was a perfect world, the sheriff or the U.S. Army would protect us, but you all know we can't count on that. And if it comes to spillin' blood, I want what's spilled to come from rednecks, not from us."

  "You're talkin' war," said Abigail.

  "I'm talkin' self-defense, which is the right of every man and woman in this here United States," Moses replied.

  "The sheriff might not see it that way," Isaac Jones opined.

  "And do you care what that man thinks?" Amos Hilliard inquired.

  Nobody answered that. They were exchanging nervous looks and frowning when Moses spoke up and said, "All right. Let's take a vote."

  * * *

  J.D. felt nicely full and just a trifle sluggish as they left The Palace. Dusk was slowly settling over Yankton, but the best part of an hour still remained before full night set in. Most of the shops were closed or in the process, owners pulling in whatever wares they had displayed along the sidewalks for potential shoppers, sweeping up before they had to rise again and start the whole thing over in the morning. Yankton's nightlife had a jump on darkness, music tinkling from a couple of saloons while individuals with drinking on their minds were choosing which establ
ishment deserved their hard-earned cash.

  "Feel like a drink?" J.D. asked Kate.

  "I'll skip it, if you don't mind."

  "Not at all. Prefer an early night?"

  Out of synch with him, she said, "I can't stop thinking of the Hilliards."

  "Who?"

  Her elbow dug him in the ribs. "Be serious, J.D."

  "All right. We've been all over this. We helped them out and that should be the end of it. They didn't ask us to start meddling in their fight, and they damn sure didn't hire us."

  "But—"

  "We're only passing through, remember? I don't want to start a war we can't win, in the capital of the Dakota Territory."

  "It's already going on," she said. "The war."

  "And if we ride for fifty miles, any direction, there'll most likely be another one: whites fighting Indians, cattlemen fighting squatters or sheepherders, towns fighting about their borderlines. You name it."

  "But these folks were slaves, J.D. They've faced enough already."

  "I agree with you. But fighting human nature is a war you'll never win, Sweetheart. Remember San Francisco and the tongs against the so-called native sons?"

  "Would I be likely to forget it?"

  "All I'm saying is, wherever I've seen races mix, some idiot on one side or the other can't resist a showdown. Look at Dixie. They're about to fight the Civil War again, with martial law and all, because the men in charge—I mean the local whites—can only see their former slaves one way. And that's bowing to them forevermore."

  "You don't think that can change?"

  "Given enough time, probably. I don't think we can change it, just by showing up in town and waving guns."

  "I only thought...well, hell, I don't know what I thought. I never got beyond the urge to help, but as to how, I haven't got a clue."

  "And that's your brain, telling you we should just move on. Tomorrow suits me fine. How about you?"

  Before Kate had a chance to answer him, a man they hadn't seen before, sporting a badge, stepped from an alley's mouth in front of them, all smiles.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Blaze, is it?" he asked. "I hoped we'd have a chance to talk."

  * * *

  Deputy Rice had timed his move as best he could, hoping for a surprise that wouldn't spook the bounty hunters into pulling down on him. He wanted to please Mr. Fields, not bring the rancher to his funeral.

  So he stood waiting in the alley, hat in hand, peeking around the corner every now and then to see if the strangers were heading back to their hotel. His hasty dinner sat like fishing sinkers in his stomach, and a sour flavor unrelated to the beef with beans and fried potatoes lingered on his tongue.

  He was shit-scared but working through it now, telling himself a man did what he had to do.

  And he was smiling when he stepped out of the alley, hat square on his head, saying, "Mr. and Mrs. Blaze, is it? I hoped we'd have a chance to talk."

  The woman eyed his badge and asked, "About what, Deputy?"

  The script he'd written in his mind started evaporating on him. Rice replied, "The trouble that you had this morning, Ma'am."

  "And what about it?" asked the husband. "We already settled with your boss, back at his office."

  "Sheriff Kersey doesn't like to stir the pot," Rice said. "He likely didn't mention what it is that's really going on in Yankton."

  "And you want to fill us in?" the woman asked.

  "I wouldn't mind. Call it a public service, keeping you away from any further trouble."

  "Go ahead, then," urged the man, who stood nearly a head taller than Sandy Rice.

  "Okay. Some people hereabouts, land owners banking on a future here, don't like the element that's coming into Yankton County from down south. People of substance put down roots before the war, and they don't mean to see it torn up by intruders, just because Abe Lincoln signed a silly law in Washington."

  "So these forward-looking people, with the roots and all, they favor breaking laws?" the woman asked. "Sounds like it ought to be your job, reminding them what's legal and what's not."

  Rice felt his eyelids blinking and it took a conscious effort of his will to stop them. Christ, he hoped the woman didn't think that he was flirting with her—or, worse yet, a total idiot.

  "You might think that," he answered her. "But hereabouts we interpret the law, 'stead of shoving square pegs into round holes to satisfy Congress. You see?"

  "I'm beginning to."

  "Good. Now this morning, you did us a favor, the sheriff and me. Stopped that trouble you happened upon, with nobody hurt but a man fool enough to draw on you."

  "Two men," the husband corrected him. "Has the other turned up yet?"

  "Don't know and couldn't say," Rice answered. "If you hurt him bad, he's bound to stand out, one way or another."

  "And will you arrest him?" asked the woman. "Or the others from the lynching mob? The ones who ran away?"

  "I'm studying on that with Sheriff Kersey, Ma'am."

  "Studying," said the man, his tone just short of mocking. "Well, I think we've heard enough. Thanks for the warning, Deputy."

  "My pleasure. If you plan on coming back to Yankton, maybe wait until it's simmered down a bit."

  "We haven't left yet," said the woman, as they turned and walked away. Rice tracked them with his eyes, wondering if he'd helped or only made things worse.

  * * *

  "That oaf was telling us to leave," Kate said.

  "I picked up on that part," J.D. replied.

  "The gall! The nerve on him!"

  "Hey, settle down, Sugar. It's nothing much besides what we already heard from Sheriff Kersey."

  "Wasn't it? That toad was telling us the Yankton law falls into line with land and money, even if it makes them criminals. I wouldn't be surprised if he was one of them hiding behind a flour sack this morning."

  "Whoa! You don't know that."

  "Well, if he wasn't with them, he supports what they were doing. And you know damn well he won't arrest them."

  "Kate—"

  "I know, I know. It's not our problem, not our business. Now we have our money, we should just ride on and put it out of mind."

  "Now you're talking."

  "No, that's you talking. And deep down, I believe you know better."

  "Deep down," he said, "I know we can't do anything about a problem that was started long before our granddaddies were born."

  "But we're alive right now, J.D. Didn't the war decide that everyone is free?"

  "On paper, anyway."

  "And in the real world, where we live?"

  "Too many times, white still hates black, yellow and red. Too many times, red, black and yellow hate right back. It's—"

  "Human nature. You already said that."

  "Glad to hear that you were listening."

  "Which doesn't mean that I agree," Kate answered.

  "Oh, no. God forbid."

  "Another day," she said, as she stepped closer to J.D. "That's all I'm asking."

  "To do what?"

  "See where things stand the morning after. Take some time getting our gear together for the road, and see what happens."

  "Happens to the Hilliards?"

  Kate's shrug was a wonder to behold. "We could go back and see them once more, I suppose."

  "And hope another mob rides by, so we can shoot some more of them?"

  "I'm not looking for trouble," she assured him.

  "No? Sounds like you want to flip over the biggest rock in Yankton, just to see what's wriggling underneath."

  "Sometimes a little daylight's good for ugly things."

  "You're hoping they'll evaporate?"

  "I'm hoping we won't argue any more tonight."

  J.D. felt himself weakening. Those eyes.

  "All right," he told her. "One more day, then we move on."

  "I love you, Mr. Blaze."

  "I'm counting on it, Mrs. Blaze. And now, about that early night..."

  Chapter 7

  "Mmm.
I needed that," Kate said, stretching her naked body on the hotel's rumpled sheets. First light was breaking through the filmy curtains on their single window, giving her an aura from where J.D. lay at her left side.

  "I need a little more," he answered.

  Kate half turned and smiled at him. "What about breakfast, Lover?"

  "Too early. No one's in the restaurant until six, according to their sign. We've got the best part of an hour to ourselves."

  She stretched again, running a hand over her golden curves, provoking him that way she knew he liked. "Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

  "I've got a few ideas," he said, and rolled closer to kiss the soft back of her left hand, covering her breast. She let it slip, giving him access to her nipple, which was already erect, and J.D. suckled like a starving infant while she cooed and shivered next to him.

  Meanwhile, his left hand slid across Kate's flat stomach to cup her sex, its hairs still bristly from the last time she had shaved to let him have an extra-special treat. The noises that she made turned into humming of a sort as J.D.'s fingers stroked her nether lips, then gently parted them and slipped inside, delighted that her heat and moisture had not waned since their first coupling of the day.

  "I never get enough of you," he said, then bent back to her nipple, tongue flicking.

  "You'd damn well better not," she cautioned him. She sounded near to breathless.

  J.D. didn't answer back, but kept up with his ministrations until Kate was writing from the double stimulation of his mouth and hand. At last, she caught his wrist and gasped, "All right. Enough!"

  "Enough?" he echoed her.

  "Enough of that. I want you up inside me. Now!"

  "We aim to please," he answered, smiling.

  "Then get to it, Cowboy."

  Kate lifted her leg, obligingly, as J.D. moved still closer, left hand guiding his erection to the portal that awaited him. He found it, took his time, until her gasps turned into whimpers, then he arched his back, impaling her, and held that pose until she clutched his hair and ordered, "Don't just lie there teasing. Move, damn it!"

  He moved, first slowly, then letting his free hand roam at will from Kate's proud breasts, across her heaving stomach, to the point where they were joined, his trigger finger stroking her clitoris while he pistoned in and out of her. She cried out then, arching her back, and let herself tip over into bucking ecstasy, while J.D. raced to catch her at the finish line.