Blaze! Spanish Gold

by Ben Boulden

  The crowd grumbled and whispered disappointment at the missed violence.

  “He killed Deputy Haskins.” The voice from a lean man in fancy black duds, red vest beneath his dark waistcoat. A riverboat gambler’s hat at an angle on his head. “We can’t let that sit.”

  Sheriff Gentry adjusted the belt at his waist, where, Kate noticed, he carried no firearm. “He’ll be dealt with, but not here. Not on the street. He’ll be taken to the jail and when the judge arrives there’ll be a trial. And only then, after he’s found guilty will he hang.”

  The gambler scowled. His hand on the fancy silver-plated Colt worn low on his hip, tied-down like a gunfighter.

  “That goes for you, too, Timmons!” The lawman pointed the scattergun at the outspoken dude. “You best mind your manners and go back to the Wanderlust.”

  A vein thundered in the gambler’s temple. He studied Gentry for several seconds. Then visibly settled himself. He removed his hand from his fancy gun. “A better idea I’ve not heard all night, Sheriff. I’m sure you’ll satisfactorily take care of this”—his eyes darted to the dead man—“shameful criminal act.”

  Gentry turned back to J.D. He dismissed Timmons and the crowd as if everyone had faded away. “Can you stand? Or does Randy need to help you?”

  “I can stand.” It was awkward, and took J.D. a few seconds, but he gained his feet. His arms twisted behind his back. Wrists manacled like a criminal.

  The Sheriff took J.D.’s elbow with his left hand, the shotgun firmly in the right, and led him from the alley.

  As the small procession passed Kate, J.D. smiled briefly, whispered, “Get me out.”

  Kate nodded. She watched as the crowd dispersed back to the saloons, gambling and cat houses. Smiles on their faces. The stories beginning in earnest. They all wondered when the hanging would be. They felt alive at the violence. Everyone in motion, moving towards something. Away from a mob and back to their individual vices.

  As Kate turned toward the hotel, she noticed Guggenheim’s solitary, motionless figure. Alabaster. As he leaned against a hitching post, a cold, humorless smile on his lips. Her hand instinctively moved back to her Colt. Her palms uncharacteristically damp.

  “Mrs. Blaze?”

  Kate jumped at the voice. She turned to see a boy. Maybe fifteen. His skin dark, black hair cut short. A red bandanna tied across his brow.

  “Kate Blaze?”

  Kate looked back to where Alabaster stood moments before, but the street and boardwalk were empty. Night abandoned buildings. Men’s backs as they walked slowly in the other direction, none were Guggenheim. His disappearance unnerved Kate more than his presence had.

  Kate turned back to the boy. She worked up a smile. “Yes?”

  “You’re Kate Blaze?”

  “That’s me. Who are you?”

  “I knew it was you and J.D. when I saw you ride into town.” His smile burst large. “I’m Joshua.” The boy stepped forward and offered his hand in greeting.

  Kate cocked her head, her smile widened with sincerity. She wiped her hand on her trouser leg and grasped the boy’s. “You don’t look like a Joshua to me.”

  The boy found an interest in the scuffed moccasins on his feet. His embarrassment’s warm haze palpable to Kate.

  “I guess you’d know your name better than anybody else.”

  Joshua’s smile brightened. The excitement clear in his voice. “I’ve read all about you, Mrs. Blaze. And J.D., too.”

  “Oh yeah?” Kate knew what J.D. would say at that moment, his voice clear in her head—“Don’t believe anything you read, kid.”—but she had a higher opinion of the written word. “A few of those stories are a bit exaggerated, I’m afraid.”

  Joshua nodded. His smile a permanent fixture. “I know what happened, Mrs. Blaze. I saw everything.”

  “Please call me Kate, Joshua. You mean you saw what happened to that man?” Kate pointed to the dead man. The portly banker looked uncomfortable standing over the body.

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean, Mrs. Kate. I saw what happened.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The smell of gun oil, sweat and shit permeated J.D.’s cell. He wrinkled his nose and looked around the small rectangular room. An iron bed along one wall, a distressed straw-mattress across its top and a half-full piss bucket were the cell’s only furnishings. J.D. sat on the bed, the mattress ineffectively padding its hard iron skeleton. He rubbed his forehead with a dirty hand.

  “Well,” J.D. said to no one. “I guess this is home for now.”

  “Not too long is my bet.”

  A man J.D. hadn’t seen when he entered the jail stood on the locked door’s other side. He was big with a heavy gut. A smile on his weathered face and a badge pinned to a worn leather vest.

  “The judge’s regular route puts him in town on Friday.” The man’s smile spread to his eyes. “I reckon it’ll make for a Saturday hanging. Picnics, parties. An affair for the whole family.”

  J.D. grunted.

  “What’s that?” The man leaned in, his big mouth between two bars. “You say something?”

  J.D. looked at the man, saw the cruel set of his eyes. His red and blue veined nose. “I didn’t say anything. Must be my dinner settling. You ever eat at Petey’s? I can’t say much for the atmosphere. The place is a dump, but they serve a good steak.”

  “A real wise guy, huh?” The man reached for a large key ring on his belt. He thumbed through the keys before finding the right one. He shoved it in the lock, turned it until the latch clacked open.

  J.D. sat causally on the bed, watching. “You have a name?”

  The big man paused. The key still in the lock. “My name?”

  “Now that I think about it, I never introduced myself, either.” J.D. stood up from the bed. His head nearly touched the cell’s ceiling. “My name’s Blaze. J.D. Blaze.”

  The man fumbled with the key in the lock, his gaze never left J.D. “What did you say your name is?”

  J.D. gave a harmless, aw-shucks smile. “J.D. Blaze.”

  The man smiled like a dummy. An incisor on his lower jaw looked rotten. A dull gleam in his eyes. “I’ll be. J.D. Blaze. You’re famous, ain’t you?”

  J.D. grinned. “Yeah, a little.”

  “I heard about that gunfight you had down in Small Basin.”

  “Which one?”

  A mean look crossed the man’s face. “I heard you killed that old sumbitch Skousen.”

  “That was my wife.”

  “She with you?”

  J.D. looked around the cell. “Not that I can see.”

  “A real smart ass. I’ve heard that about you.”

  “I like to think I’m less smart ass and more misunderstood.”

  “Come Saturday, we’ll see how smart you are.”

  “You the jailer here?”

  The man nodded. He scratched his belly and frowned. The expression made him look like a colicky baby after a long night.

  “They give you a badge for that?” J.D. moved his feet wider, preparing. “Or is that tin on your chest borrowed from your daughter’s play things?”

  It took a moment. J.D. counted to six, in fact, but the words finally burrowed their way into the man’s skull. He tilted his head. A red flame rose in his eyes.

  “You son of—”

  He didn’t finish the thought, instead the man swung the door open. He ducked his head through the doorway and lumbered into the cell. His hands outstretched and aiming for J.D.’s neck. J.D. ducked to his left and caught the man with a sharp right to the belly. The jailer gasped, spittle flew from his gaping mouth. His hands clutched at his belly as he fell backwards. J.D. kicked him in the shoulder. The jailer slammed against the wall where he slid to the floor. His eyes still open. His rage replaced with bright pain.

  J.D. moved past the jailer and into the outer room. A kerosene lamp licked light across the plank floor. J.D. turned left. The doorway into the office straight ahead.

  “Frank?”

  J.D. stopped.


  His hand instinctively went to where the Colt would normally be strapped on his left side. He found only empty belt. He glanced back at the fallen jailer. No gun in sight. He looked around the room for a weapon and settled on a broom leaning against the back wall. When it was in his hands, the handle broke with a crack across his right knee.

  J.D. held the broomstick like a bat and moved cautiously toward the brightly lit doorway.

  He paused, listened. The place quiet as a grave. No voices, no creaking floor boards. Nothing except the jailer’s soft mewling. J.D. stared at the doorway. Its inviting glow urged him forward. He knew it was a trap. One man, maybe more, waited for him on the other side, but it was his only way out.

  J.D. took a hesitant step. He flinched as a board cracked under his foot, but kept walking. He stayed on his toes until he stood a few feet from the door.

  Stopped, listened.

  Silence. Brooding and false in J.D.’s ears.

  He took a deep breath and ducked low towards the doorway’s left side and crossed the threshold.

  CHAPTER 5

  Kate said, “Tell me what you saw.”

  Joshua squirmed with pleasure under Kate’s gaze. A smile plastered on his face.

  “Please tell me Joshua.” Kate grasped the boy’s shoulder in her hand. She lowered her voice to a whisper, forced a calmness into it she didn’t feel. “J.D.’s life may depend on it.”

  The boy told Kate everything he’d seen. J.D.’s discovery of the man and woman in the alleyway. The shooting and the woman’s flight.

  “You know the rest.” The boy gained confidence with each word he spoke.

  Kate ruffled his hair. “Have you ever seen the woman before tonight?”

  Joshua nodded.

  Kate stopped herself from chuckling at the boy’s reticence and seeming desire to have her pry every piece of information from him. “Who is she?”

  “She’s new in town.” His voice high, excited.

  “Is she alone, Joshua? Or is she here with someone?”

  Joshua shook his head. “She has a husband, but he’s out there.”

  Kate waited for more, but when it became apparent the boy was finished she said, “Joshua, where’s ‘out there’?”

  “Oh.” Joshua nodded his head so hard Kate thought his nose was going to come loose. “The white fathers sold him land near the reservation. He is there now. He wants to be a farmer, I think.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Joshua shook his head.

  Kate said, “Do you know where she lives?”

  He looked at his moccasins, kicked at the dirt. “I’m sorry.”

  Kate smiled. She squeezed his shoulder again and lifted his face up until his eyes met hers. “Don’t be sorry. You’ve been a great help.”

  Kate glanced at the man called Randy standing over the corpse in the alley, then back to the boy. “I need some help. Do you think you can help me?”

  His smile returned, white teeth shimmered in the moonlight. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Wait for me while I go talk to the that man.” Kate motioned toward Randy with her thumb.

  Joshua said, “Mr. Christensen?”

  “The Sheriff called him Randy. Is that his name?”

  The boy nodded, Kate smiled.

  “Wait here.” With a relaxed gait Kate started towards the pacing man. An approachable, innocent cast to her eyes. A softness around her mouth. It has her virginal look, and Kate knew men enjoyed it nearly as much as her raffish, man-eating persona.

  Randy Christensen watched Kate approach. A startled glint in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it without words. The night’s silence so deep Kate heard the wet sound his tongue made as it settled in his mouth. He looked from Kate’s eyes to the Colt strapped on her hip and back. Tension obvious in his darting, unsteady gaze.

  “Mr. Christensen?”

  “Ah—” His voice sour with fear.

  “Randy?”

  Finally, he said, “Yes, ma’am. That’s me. Randy.”

  Kate stopped a few feet short. She dropped her most seductive smile and twirled her blonde ponytail with her left hand. “I bet you are.”

  Randy gulped, wheezed. His eyes nearly boggled from his head. “Pardon?”

  “What happened here tonight?” Kate pointed at the prostrate corpse. “To him, I mean?”

  “Well. You see. He was…umm. Shot, I mean.”

  “By you?” Kate tilted her head as if she was reevaluating the man’s potential. His potency.

  He stood a little straighter, Kate noticed, and spoke a little clearer. “No, ma’am. Another fellow shot him. I’m just watching him for the Sheriff.”

  “What could happen? He’s already dead, isn’t he?” Kate stepped closer to the portly man. “My name’s Kate.”

  Randy’s eyes went wide with something between fear and pleasure. “Kate?”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes?” Confusion in Randy’s eyes now.

  “I thought you were asking a question.” Kate reached across. She placed her fingertips on his round cheek.

  Randy stammered. He stepped back half a pace and brought his hand up to where Kate’s fingers had been. He rubbed at it a few times.

  “No— No questions.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Well, you see. There was a shooting.”

  “Do you know who this man is?” Kate’s voice lowering in volume with each word.

  Randy leaned in closer to hear better. “Yes, ma’am. Kate. This is. Was, Deputy Billy Haskins.”

  Kate’s eyebrows raised, an “o” formed on her lips. “You must be trustworthy for the Sheriff to leave a deputy in your care?”

  A sliver of smile crossed Randy’s face. “Nothing special. Just helping out where I can.”

  “Are you a deputy, too?”

  Randy tugged at his trousers. He hitched them up a few inches. “Not me. Nothing more than a bank clerk.”

  “I’m sure.” Kate put a hand on his arm.

  Randy noticed, looking at Kate’s hand with both fear and delight.

  “I heard there was a woman here, too. When the shooting happened, I mean. Is that true?”

  Randy, his eyes never leaving Kate’s hand on his arm, said, “Well, there was someone running down the alley when me and Sheriff Gentry come around the corner.”

  Kate removed her hand from Randy’s arm. She wanted him looking at her eyes, and he did. “You know who it was?”

  “No, ma’am.” An odd look clouded Randy’s face. His forehead scrunched up as if he were thinking. “Why are you asking?”

  “I’m a terrible gossip.” Kate giggled. A mischievous smile touched her red lips. “I’m sorry. My mother taught me better, but her lessons never took, I guess.”

  Randy’s eyes twinkled. He laughed nervously and belched. His face turned tomato red. “Sorry, I guess my dinner and all the excitement got the better of me.”

  Kate laughed. She liked this odd, shy little man. “Nothing to be sorry about. I need your help.”

  Randy looked at the dead deputy at his feet. “I can’t really leave until...”

  “It’s nothing that will require you to abandon your duty.”

  Randy nodded enthusiastically.

  Kate continued, “You see, I’m new in town. Arrived just today. I came to see a friend, but somewhere between Denver and here I misplaced her address. Do you think you could help?”

  Randy nodded. His gaze on Kate’s mouth. “I can sure try.”

  “Oh, thank you, Randy. I’m so relieved I found such a charming fellow.”

  Randy smiled, a smitten cast at its upturned edges.

  “My friend came with her husband a few months ago. He—I suppose I should say ‘they’ in this enlightened age—purchased farm land out near the reservation.”

  Randy’s smile grew so large, Kate could see his tonsils bounce. “Why, I surely do know your friends. Stephen Wiley. He opened an account at the bank so I know him.
You’re friends with his Emma?”

  “That’s them!” Kate looked at the ground, then back at Randy with tentative shyness. “I’m such a forgetful person I swear I’d lose my own head if it wasn’t attached. If I don’t find their place before long I won’t have anywhere to stay the night.”

  Randy beamed. Joy in his voice as he regained position in the conversation. “Between you and me, I’m the same way. Emma’s living in Mrs. Teller’s house. It’s technically a house for single women, but since Stephen left for the Basin—that’s where his, err…their land is located—Emma may as well be single.”

  Kate thanked the portly banker for his kindness and turned back into the street where Joshua waited in the shadows on the other side. Her eyes scanned the street’s silver-lighted horizon for any threats, for the alabaster man. There was nothing except Joshua’s white teeth reflecting moonlight. An obvious smile on his shadow-darkened face, and Kate could only smile back even as her thoughts turned hard at what needed to be done to get J.D. out of the noose sliding around his neck.

  CHAPTER 6

  J.D. crashed through the doorway. He skidded a few feet on his bootheels and smashed into a wooden chair and knocked it over with a clatter. The broom handle firmly in his right hand, perpendicular with the floor. The small rectangular room empty except for two battle worn desks and four uncomfortable looking wooden chairs blackened with age. The outside door straight ahead. Its glass front beckoned him into the open night.

  J.D. forced himself to slow down. Often a dire situation could be avoided with a little thought. He looked around the room and noticed his Colt. It was wrapped in its gun belt and sat atop the nearest pock-marked desk. A smile found J.D.’s mouth; he whispered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No jokes. It’s yours if you can get to it.”

  J.D. jerked with surprise. He looked at the Colt a few feet away and then over his shoulder to where the voice had come from. Sheriff Gentry stepped from a narrow crevice between the wall and a cabinet. The same two-shot gun from the alley in his hands. Its large black barrels stared at J.D. like angry eyes.