Blade 1

by Matt Chisholm

  He knew he had found the gun he had been forced to drop. He seized it gratefully and at once eagerly inspected it with his fingertips and found, contrary to his claim to Duke, that it was loaded in all chambers.

  Maybe, he thought, this is where the Blade luck starts to change. It was high time.

  He raised himself to one knee and rested his gunhand on top of a rock for a steady shot. He knew that he was shaking and there wasn’t much he could do about it. He now turned his eyes all around the cave, making doubly sure that there was nobody there except for himself, the guard and McMasters—or at least the man he thought to be McMasters. That was a gamble he would have to take. If he was mistaken, his best speed would be called for. He hoped he could come up with it, shaking as he was.

  He thought he heard the voices again, louder this time.

  Then he realized the truth —the first time he heard them, they were in the canyon. Now they were at the far end of the tunnel.

  He lifted the hammer of the gun and said: ‘H’ist ’em.’

  There was not a man in the West who carried a gun that would not react automatically to such a bidding. The man dropped his gun as though it were red hot. His hands were raised quickly above his head.

  Blade’s eyes were on the guard, his attention was on the man he hoped was McMasters. He almost laughed out loud with relief when he heard the familiar voice.

  ‘My God, Joe, what the hell kept you? I’ve been waiting ever since first dark for you to make a move.’

  Stiffly and slowly, McMasters rose to his feet.

  ‘I was resting,’ Blade said.

  McMasters approached the guard and said: ‘Nobody ever deserved this more.’

  The guard tried to scramble backward and cried out: ‘No.’ But McMasters hit him with the rock just the same.

  ‘Joe,’ the half-breed said, ‘tie this bastard up at your leisure.’

  Blade was on his feet, hurrying forward —‘There’s no leisure about it, George. The whole damn bunch of ’em are on their way.’

  McMasters looked startled. He scooped up the fallen man’s gun and thrust it away under his coat.

  As he turned toward the tunnel, Blade could see McMasters’ dark face was wet with sweat in the firelight. Yet when he spoke, his words were calm enough.

  ‘Got any ideas on how we play this, Joe?’

  ‘Are both the girls with them?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘We have to stay right here, George, and play any good card that comes our way.’

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ McMasters said, ‘I knew you’d say that.’

  ‘What else could I say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Their eyes met.

  Blade said: ‘We look out for a girl each.’

  ‘Keno. And may I say at this point in the game I wish to God you never found me in camp with the Indian girl that night?’ McMasters’ face would have suited a good poker player.

  Blade smiled angelically—‘If I thought you meant that, George—’

  McMasters said: ‘When you start throwing lead, just you be sure where you’re aiming. I been hit enough for one trip, hear?’

  They returned to their places, McMasters near the entrance to the cave, Blade nearer to the fire, stretching himself out on the ground again. Now that the moment of truth was near, he was interested to find that his shaking had stopped. As he heard the voices coming nearer, he wondered if he could get the four of them out of this alive and get Duke Dukar back to civilization and a judge without killing him.

  As the voices grew louder, he knew they had the gold. He could hear the heady excitement in their tones. He listened for the sound of the girls’ voices, but they did not come.

  Weyland was the first into the cave. He strolled past Blade and kicked him idly as he went. Blade watched from under his eyelashes and knew an enormous relief as he saw the two girls enter the cave. They were carrying a heavy gunny-sack between them. They laid it down near the fire and the outlaws tossed loose pokes they had carried down beside it. The Indian girl moved over to McMasters. That was good, Blade thought. Now what about the unconscious guard?

  ‘All’s well that ends well,’ Duke Dukar said. ‘Let’s get us some sleep. My God, I’m bushed.’

  One of the men said humorously: ‘I’ll sleep real good if I have a poke of dust in my hand, Duke.’

  Duke laughed and said: ‘Just dream about the stuff, boy.’

  Bill Weyland said: ‘What about this bunch?’

  They all stopped talking.

  Duke said: ‘All in good time, Bill.’

  Another said: ‘Knock off Blade an’ the ’breed. We don’t need ’em no more. But the women … hell, a hot woman on a cold night …’

  Duke chuckled good-naturedly and said: ‘It ain’t a bad idea at that.’

  It was Bill Weyland who thought of the guard. ‘Hell, where’s Lon at?’

  They all looked around. The man was not in sight. ‘Maybe he went out for a pee,’ said Duke. ‘It’s mighty cold.’

  Bill Weyland crossed the cave and stopped with a curse.

  ‘Jesus, the bastard’s been at the whiskey again.’ He kicked the man on the ground. ‘He’s dead to the goddam world. Check Blade and the ’breed.’

  Somebody turned and kicked Blade viciously in the thigh. Luckily, he saw the kick coming and suppressed his cry of pain. A man who inspected McMasters said: ‘This one still looks like death warmed up. Don’t waste a bullet on him. You could knock him off with a wet smoke.’

  That got a laugh.

  Pilar was between the fire and the tunnel. Blade prayed that, if the action came, she would head for it.

  Bill Weyland said: ‘We can’t rub ’em out in here. I hate my sleepin’ place stinked up. Tote ’em outside, boys, the varmints’ll clean ’em by first light.’

  A couple of men started kicking Blade, telling him to get on his feet. The temptation to pull the gun out from under his coat was almost impossible to resist. He knew it would have been wisest to continue to feign unconsciousness, but he decided to compromise before they kicked him to death. He allowed himself a loud groan and opened his eyes.

  Bill Weyland thought that was funny.

  ‘You come alive, you son-of-a-bitch, in time to get your head kicked off.’

  Pilar rushed to him and threw her arms around him. This was his chance. He slumped against her and clutched at her so that Weyland who was pulling at her violently could not part them. Desperately in her ear he whispered: ‘Get in the tunnel.’

  He knew she heard from the way she squeezed his arm. Weyland now succeeded in hurling her away from him. She fell to the floor of the cave and she was three paces nearer to the tunnel. Something like hope was born in Blade. He staggered to his feet and lurched around like a drunkard. Two of the outlaws gripped him by the arms and forced him toward the entrance. He saw that McMasters had been jerked to his feet. The Indian girl was screaming. One of the outlaws hit her with the back of his hand and knocked her down. She stayed down.

  Blade glanced toward the unconscious man and prayed he stayed unconscious long enough for him and McMasters to do what they had to do. He allowed himself to slump in the grips of the two men holding him. They cursed him and heaved him forward.

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ he heard himself yelling, ‘I don’t want to die.’

  Fiercely, McMasters shouted at him: ‘Where’s your pride, man? Don’t let the bastards see you’re scared of ’em.’

  The cold wind off the bench hit him in the face and its chill freshened his brain. A light rain was falling and it hit his face like fingers of ice. He staggered forward, holding his belly with his right hand so he could have it near the butt of his gun.

  McMasters and two men were ahead of him at a distance of about twelve feet. Blade stumbled and went down. Where was Duke Dukar? Had he stayed in the cave with the girls? That was a risk they had to take and he hated to take it.

  He heard Duke’s voice—‘All right, let’s get it over with quic
k. It’s goddam cold out here.’

  Weyland said: ‘Blade’s mine. Anybody puts a bullet in him before I get the chance, I’ll drop him, so help me.’

  Duke said impatiently: ‘Go ahead, go ahead, just so long as he’s dead who the hell cares?’

  Weyland drew his gun. He was grinning widely.

  ‘I’m goin’ to get a real kick out of this,’ he said.

  Blade was on his knees, one hand trying to clutch at the outlaw’s knees. ‘Don’t kill me, please.’

  Nothing could have given Weyland more pure delight.

  ‘Say it again,’ he told Blade, ‘I like it.’

  There was a shrill cry from behind them.

  They all turned and saw the figure of a man silhouetted against the flames of the fire.

  ‘Lon,’ somebody shouted above the sound of the wind and rain.

  Lon Southey was screaming: ‘They got guns, they’re armed.’

  For a short moment, the truth failed to sink in. The men stood stock still, most of them now with guns in their hands. It was in that short moment that Blade and McMasters both drew.

  Blade fired upward at almost point-blank range.

  The heavy slug must have taken Weyland under the rib-cage. It lifted him off his feet and dropped him untidily into the wet grass.

  Vaguely, Blade was aware that McMasters was yelling at the top of his voice in a strange tongue. In the violent movement of the moment, he thought it was a Cheyenne battle-cry.

  A gun went off almost in Blade’s face. He fired at the dark figure of a man looking over him, a shot came back at him and something burned along his cheekbone. He fell backward and grabbed a handful of wet dirt. A man trampled on him. He got to his hands and knees and heaved himself to his feet only to have a man cannon into him in the semi-darkness and for him to lose his footing on the wet grass. Muzzle-flame almost blinded him.

  Get to the girl, said the voice inside his head.

  He fought his way to his feet and found that he had lost his gun. There was a man close to him firing at McMasters. Or he thought it was McMasters. Men were cursing in fright and rage. He seized the man’s gun-arm and twisted with all his strength. The man resisted powerfully, but Blade’s fury was complete now. He took the gun from the man’s hand and swung the barrel at his head. The man fell face down into the grass.

  Blade staggered around drunkenly, looking for a target and crashed into McMasters.

  Then he saw the painted face.

  How he prevented himself from firing at it, he never knew.

  There was another and another.

  He saw the stone axe rise and fall, heard the crunch of human bone. A knife blade showed dully and a man shrieked.

  ‘Indians,’ he shouted foolishly to McMasters.

  George panted back: ‘I been waitin’ for ’em for the past week. Christ knows what kept ’em.’ He laid a hand on Blade’s arm and added sensibly: ‘You’d best stay close, boy, or one of ’em’ll maybe lift that fine head of grey hair of yours.’

  ‘The girls,’ Blade said.

  McMasters looked startled.

  ‘My God,’ he said, ‘Duke.’ He started toward the cave mouth, stepping aside as two young Indians, the upper part of their bodies bared for action in spite of the cold, were exercising themselves in beating down the defenses of an outlaw. Blade surprised himself by instinctively wanting to stop the fight. The impulse died when he thought of the dead Indians in that camp when he had found only the girl left alive. He hurried on into the cave.

  He and McMasters were no sooner in than a shot was fired from the far side. They both dropped to the ground.

  ‘Did Pilar reach the tunnel?’ Blade asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ McMasters said. He then spoke in Cheyenne to somebody to his left out of Blade’s sight. When they answered, he knew the Indian girl was crouched there. McMasters said: ‘Pilar went into the tunnel as soon as we left the cave. If it was Duke took that shot at us that don’t mean he has Pilar.’

  Blade called: ‘Duke, throw the gun down and we’ll call the Indians off.’

  McMasters muttered: ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ Duke’s voice came back, echoing through the cave—‘I have the Mex girl, Joe. You stay right back there and I’ll leave her for you. You come after me an’ she’s dead. You’d best believe me.’

  Blade thought about that. Dukar was going out through the tunnel. It was the only way he could go. He must know of an emergency escape route out of the canyon.

  ‘George,’ he asked softly, ‘did the outlaws bring their horses in?’

  ‘Through here into the canyon?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You know damn well they didn’t.’

  ‘I was unconscious. Any idea where they left ’em?’

  ‘There was a whole lot of argument whether they should bring ’em in or not,’ McMasters told him. ‘Duke argued they might need them away from here. Like he does now. They were in a sheltered spot.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Over the shoulder south-east of the bench someplace. That’s all I know.’

  Blade said urgently: ‘I have to find those horses fast.’ McMasters said quickly: ‘All right, tell Dukar to go ahead.’

  Blade lifted his voice: ‘All right, Duke, go ahead. Just you get this into your head -you harm that girl and I’ll come after you even if you run to Bolivia.’

  Duke shouted back: ‘My word on it, Joe. My sacred word. You keep your part of the bargain and the girl’s safe.’

  All noise had died down outside the cave except for the soft chanting of some triumphant Cheyenne fighting man out there. They heard Dukar scramble off down the tunnel. They stood up and the Indians began to come into the cave. They all seemed unhurt except for one, little more than a boy, who had suffered a chest wound from which blood streamed. The Indian girl saw it at once and started to give forth a stream of Cheyenne. The warriors all exclaimed at the sight of her. An old man came forward and put his arms around her, smiling with delight. Plainly she did not know him and started back from him. McMasters hastened to explain.

  Blade was beside himself with impatience.

  ‘Cut it out, George,’ he said. ‘I have to get ahead of Dukar. I want one of these boys to find those horses pronto.’

  McMasters cut short his flow of words, directing a new rush of explanations to the old man. The smile left the Indian’s face. He held up a hand to silence McMasters who stopped instantly.

  The half-breed turned to Blade and said: ‘The old bastard is my uncle. Salt of the earth. Name’s Many Horses.’

  That came as a shock to Blade. He had heard of the chief. What white man had not? It was like being in the presence of Napoleon.

  A young man stepped forward and grunted a few words to Blade. He stood as tall as Blade and wore nothing but a breech-clout and a couple of feathers. His body was greased. Its paint of carmine, ochre and white was running.

  McMasters said: ‘He says “what’re you waiting for?” You be polite with him, Joe. He’s my half-brother and he’s as techy as all get-out. He’ll find the horses in no time at all and he’ll kill that son-of-a-bitch Dukar for you into the bargain.’

  The young Indian turned away and Blade followed him out of the cave. Outside, the Cheyenne turned sharply left and almost at once started the smooth climb on to the shoulder of the hill, taking almost the same path that Blade had taken on the way to shooting Annie’s great gun down into the outlaws’ camp. The man did not break into a run, but his walk was so fast that within minutes Blade was out of breath. The light rain still persisted and it was icy cold.

  The Indian stopped on the brow of the hill, still and listening in the teeth of the wind. Blade shivered and breathed heavily. Not only was he winded by the rapid walk and climb, but the cold wind seemed to snatch his breath from him.

  The Indian was making signs. Blade could read them without difficulty. Where was his gun? Blade signed back that he did have a gun. This white man was to be taken alive.
<
br />   Blade thought: I never brought in a dead man in my life and I don’t mean to start now.

  The Indian signed that he did not think that was a good idea. Blade did what he could with his own hands to show that it might not be a good idea, but that was the way it was going to be. The Indian shook his head vigorously. Blade insisted. Let the Indian find the horses, Blade would do the rest. The Indian looked very doubtful.

  He knew where the horses were already. He had heard them clearly when they reached the brow of the hill. He seemed amazed that the white man had not done the same.

  He pointed south-east with his chin, Indian-fashion. They pushed forward into the wind going downhill now. Blade signed for him to go with great caution. There was no knowing how quickly the white man would come.

  They found the horses secure in a rocky dell with some cut brush blocking the entrance. Blade signed for the Indian to take cover and stood looking down at the horses in the dim light, trying to work out his next move. When he looked around for the Indian, he had disappeared. Blade climbed down to the entrance and found that the outlaws had reinforced the brush with a rawhide reata. He untied the rope and built a noose. He then took up a position just outside the entrance and crouched down among the rocks. Within seconds, he was shaking with cold.

  The horses, which had become restless when the two men came near, started to settle down again. Dukar seemed so long coming that Blade began to think that he had made a terrible mistake and that the man would never come. He hugged himself to keep warm.

  He must have dozed, but he came awake with startling suddenness when a horse near him gave a sharp nicker of alarm. Blade was at once fully alert, his fingers finding the knot in the rope. Raising himself slightly, he tried to see if there was any movement in the gloom. The horses at the far end of the dell suddenly bunched and came toward him. He heard a man curse. He could picture Dukar in the darkness trying to catch a horse maybe without a rope and then having to mount it without a saddle and lines.