Blaze! Bad Medicine

by Michael Newton

  The whole place stank.

  J.D. stepped cautiously inside, hoping there wasn't a basement beneath the charred floor. No more than five or six steps in, he found the woman, crispy stick legs poking out beneath the ashen remains of an ankle-length skirt, her feet turned pigeon-toed inside burnt shoes. It didn't take a doctor to decide that she'd been dead before the place was torched, her seared skull shattered by what might have been an axe or hatchet wielded by a taller enemy. Even with that, her arms had curled into the pugilistic pose J.D. found common in gross burning cases.

  The woman had died on her own, no man to defend her. But what about children?

  J.D. was heading farther back into the ruined house when Kate's voice reached him from the yard. Grateful, he doubled back to find her standing at a distance from the porch.

  "No livestock in the barn, as far as I could tell. There was a man, though, hacked to death before the place burned down."

  "I've got a woman in here, probably his wife," J.D. replied.

  "And kids?"

  He shrugged. "You want to help me look?"

  She glared and said, "I was afraid you'd ask me that."

  * * *

  The body count topped out at five, three young ones and the two adults. Kate had been fuming when they found the kids, but she'd composed herself before they cleared the porch and stepped back into something like clean air.

  "The missing stock says they were robbed."

  J.D. nodded. Said, "The Grayson Boys aren't rustlers, last I heard."

  "No," Kate agreed. "They run toward banks and stagecoaches, the odd train now and then."

  "So, someone else."

  "Who has a need for horses and whatever else they carried off. Maybe a cow. I found a burned-up milking stool beside one of the stalls."

  "There's transportation, and a few meals if they're living off the land," J.D. surmised.

  "Sounds more like Indians."

  "It does," he granted. "And around here, that would mean Apaches, more than likely."

  "Damn."

  They'd fought hostile Apaches in the past and managed to survive, barely. It wasn't something either one of them was anxious to reprise, if they could manage to avoid it.

  "Was the man armed?" J.D. asked his wife.

  "No sign of any weapons." Kate said. "If he had a gun, they took it with them."

  "Damn."

  "I hear you."

  Figure on a long gun. Someone could be peering down the barrel at them now, ready to try a long shot in the yard before they rode away to spread word of the massacre. J.D. had seen no trace of any firearms in the house, and the idea of a small family living there unarmed was so preposterous he ranked it as impossible. If they were Quakers, maybe, but the odds against that would be equally as long.

  "If hostiles did this," Kate observed, unnecessarily, "so much for peace."

  "So much for making it to Tucson without fighting our way through."

  "But it might just be a local raiding party. Half a dozen braves, whatever, slipping off the nearest reservation."

  J.D. had no idea who had started calling native warriors "braves," or when. He'd fought hostiles in stand-up battles who'd deserved the title, granted, but some others—those who crept around at night, butchering women, children—didn't qualify in J.D.'s view. He'd sooner hunt them down like rats, given a chance, but not when he was traveling with Kate through lonely territory, on their own.

  "They'll want to hear about this in Inferno," he suggested. "We should move along while we still can."

  * * *

  "So, should we bury them before we go?" Kate asked, still standing in the yard beside her mare.

  "I'd vote against it," J.D. answered.

  "Reasons?"

  "First, we didn't know them. Second, lawmen from Inferno might not like it if we go stomping around somewhere a crime took place. Third, we don't know if the killers are still hanging out around here, somewhere. Fourth, it's too damned hot to dig five graves."

  Instead of arguing, Kate nodded, placed her left foot in its stirrup, and swung up into her saddle. J.D., visibly relieved, mounted his stallion, bunched the reins in his left hand, and said, "With any luck, we could be safe in town by twelve or one o'clock, depending on whatever lies ahead."

  "You don't just mean the landscape."

  "I mean anything or anyone that tries to slow us down."

  They were a quarter mile east of the burned-out homestead when Kate spoke again. "You know, I'd like to get an idea what the law in town is like before we tell them anything."

  "Makes sense," J.D. agreed. There had been times, not long ago, when cops and sheriffs, straight or crooked, had tried blaming Kate and J.D. for one kind of trouble or another when they hadn't started it, or only happened by after the deed was done. The last thing that they needed, here in small-town Arizona territory, was to be held responsible for a rural massacre.

  Of course, they could call witnesses to vouch for their good character—including one who occupied the White House, if they cared to drop his name. But local lawmen might not bother checking, or they might not care what answer came back down the wire from Washington, from San Francisco, Denver, or wherever.

  Hell, Inferno might not even have a telegraph to reach the outside world.

  "We'll do just like you say," J.D. told Kate. "If anything seems off, the least bit dangerous, we'll keep it to ourselves and let the neighbors stumble over them, whenever."

  "Neighbors?" Kate's tone was distinctly skeptical.

  "There must be someone else out here, somewhere," he said.

  "You'd think so. But..."

  "Just wait and see. Tucson's the goal. Bear that in mind."

  "I'm not forgetting anything."

  "I hope Inferno has some kind of a hotel."

  "And restaurant. I'm getting tired of beans and jerky."

  "A saloon!"

  "With poker tables." Kate was almost smiling now.

  She was slick with cards, among the best J.D. had ever seen, and rarely failed to turn a decent profit at the table. That was good, unless some hick suspected she was cheating and he made a fuss about it. Even that could be all right—Kate could defend herself just fine—but people in small towns often sided together, blaming new arrivals for unwelcome changes in their humdrum lives.

  "Try not to win too much," he said.

  "I always win just right," Kate answered, with a saucy grin.

  J.D. restrained himself from answering. She knew what he was getting at, and likely wouldn't push her luck too far.

  First, though, they had to reach Inferno and decide what they should do, if anything, about the homestead massacre. And if the killings led to war, J.D. would keep his fingers crossed that they were gone and relatively safe in Tucson when the fireworks started going off.

  Chapter 3

  As far as Kate could see, Inferno lived up to its name. The town was small, not merely baked by the relentless Arizona sun, but withered by it, leeched of color where its paint had peeled and faded, while unpainted wood was blanched to an albino white. Signs posted in Inferno's shop-front windows looked like they had been in place for years on end—and maybe that was true, considering the dearth of traffic on the town's main street. Entering from the west, she and J.D. saw half a dozen citizens on foot, all wan and wilted looking, with no animals in evidence.

  "Puts me in mind of Yonder," J.D. said, evoking Kate's unwelcome memories of yet another stop in Arizona Territory, where investigation of a miner's death had pushed the married shootists into one of their most horrifying escapades.

  "I figure these folks are alive, at least," she said.

  "But not exactly loving it."

  "At least there's a hotel."

  And thankfully, the owners had avoided getting cute by calling it The Furnace, Devil's Roost, or something similar to link it with Inferno's name. In fact, they'd opted for simplicity itself: the faded sign outside the hostelry identified it simply as Hotel.

  Acros
s the street, what seemed to be the only bar in town was called Saloon.

  "Somebody lacks imagination," J.D. said.

  "Or energy enough to come up with a decent name," Kate countered.

  "Either way, I'm guessing the hotel's not full."

  "I'd bet you're right. But don't expect to find an ice-cold beer on tap."

  "You see the marshal's office?"

  "Hard to miss it," Kate replied. The way some genius took the time to paint MARSHAL across the bleak façade.

  "Still want to wait and let somebody else report the killings, like we talked about?"

  "I'm having second thoughts on that," Kate said. "But first, I want to find the livery, if they've got one, then get a room at the hotel."

  "Suits me. If John Law takes it in his head to lock us up, at least the horses will be covered."

  "If he tries arresting us for what was done out there," Kate said, "he'd better bring a posse that can get the job done."

  J.D. smiled and answered, "That's my girl."

  "And better be your only one."

  "Amen to that. I don't think much of dying young."

  They found the livery—which, of course, was known simply as Livery—located on the eastern side of town, which put it four blocks from the western edge. With that nailed down, they rode back to Hotel, tied their mounts up to its hitching rail, and went inside.

  The hotel clerk was middle aged and looked as if he'd been left in the sun too long. In short, he fit Inferno to a "t." He seemed surprised to find a pair of strangers in the lobby, as if wondering what he should say or do. At last, he managed, "Can I help you?"

  "Need a room," J.D. advised him. "If you've got one open."

  "Got twelve rooms," the clerk replied. "Eleven of 'em's open. Take your pick."

  "Something on the second floor, around in back," Kate said. "Avoiding racket from the street."

  The clerk half-smiled at that. "Yes, ma'am. Racket. I tell you, that's a hot one."

  * * *

  The hostler at the livery could easily have passed for the hotel man's brother—not a twin, but close enough, with that same baked-flat look, to make J.D. imagine they were kin. He shared the other man's surprise at having customers and quoted them a daily rate lower than most they'd paid while traveling. J.D. paid for one night, the hostler telling him that an extension of their stay would be no problem, no sir, none at all.

  From there, they walked back to the marshal's office, taking full advantage of what little shade the sidewalk awnings offered. At the marshal's door, half glass, they peered inside and saw a husky fellow working at a desk, star pinned onto his vest. The tiny bell that jangled overhead, as they entered the office, seemed superfluous.

  The marshal glanced up from his paperwork, frowning, and asked, "Help you?"

  Kate took the lead. "We've come in to report a crime, Marshal...?"

  "Olin Dill." The lawman rose to his full height, five ten or so, his belly challenging the gunbelt he kept buckled low. "What kind of crime?"

  "We came upon a burned-out homestead west of town, about five miles," Kate said.

  "The Dressler place, that has to be," said Marshal Dill.

  J.D. chipped in, "Sorry to tell you that we found five people dead. A man and woman, plus three children. Killed before the place burned down."

  "Goddamn. That's bitter news all right." The marshal sat back down, chair creaking under him. "But I'm afraid there's nothin' I can do about it."

  "Come again?" Kate challenged him.

  "I'm paid to keep the peace inside Inferno. As you've seen, there ain't much to it, but it's still the limit of my legal jurisdiction. I might stretch to chasin' bandits if they robbed someplace in town and took off runnin', but I couldn't chase 'em far. Not legally, at least. And if I caught 'em...well, the circuit-ridin' judge would likely turn 'em loose."

  J.D. could hear Kate winding up as she replied. "I don't know about robbers, Marshal, but you've got five people dead, their property destroyed, by raiders who, for all you know, are heading for Inferno next."

  Dill nodded. Said, "And when they get here, if they get here, I can tackle 'em. Inside town limits, like it says on my contract."

  Before Kate could unleash another salvo, J.D. asked, "Marshal, who has the proper jurisdiction for a crime five miles from town?"

  "Well, now, lemme think. We haven't got a county, so there ain't no sheriff. I suppose you'd have to tell the army. East of town a quarter mile or so, at Fort Royster."

  "And they'll take action?"

  "Couldn't promise that," Dill said. "Their colonel picks and chooses what concerns him, if you get my drift."

  * * *

  Kate muttered all the way back to the livery, giving the marshal seven kinds of hell, and J.D. left her to it. At the stable, they reclaimed their horses, saddled up, and got directions to Fort Royster, which the hostler said was named after a sergeant slain in the Apache wars. When they had cleared the eastern edge of town, Kate asked, "Can you believe that so-called marshal?"

  "I believe his jurisdiction has its limits," J.D. said. "We've both seen that before."

  "And seen the rule thrown out, when lives were lost."

  "I hear you. But it didn't seem like much use, arguing with him."

  "And now the army."

  "With a man in charge who likes to pick and choose his duties," J.D. said, reminding her.

  "Damn fools!"

  "I hear you, Kate, but let's just try to get the story out, without putting a burr under his saddle first."

  The fort was small, just a handful of buildings around an open parade ground, befitting its assignment to protect Inferno and the wasteland that surrounded it. A single sentry was on duty where the road entered army property, looking miserable in the hot sun. When he saw them riding up, the lookout came to something like attention, holding his Sharps carbine at port arms.

  He called out, "Halt! Who goes there?"

  "Travelers," J.D. replied for both of them. "Need to speak with your commanding officer."

  "That's Colonel Hungate," said the sentry.

  "Okay," J.D. said. "How can we have a word with him?"

  Still watching them, the soldier half-turned toward a nearby building and bawled out, "Sergeant of the guard!"

  A minute might have passed before a shorter, stocky soldier wearing chevrons on his sleeves appeared in the open doorway. "What's this about?" he asked the private standing guard.

  "Two strangers wanna see the colonel, Sarge."

  Turning to face the Blazes then, the sergeant said again, "So, what's this all about?"

  "Five people murdered at a homestead west of town," Kate answered. "We already told the marshal, but he likes his chair too much to leave it."

  "That's old Dill. You'd better step down from your mounts and come with me." Already turning from them, he continued, "I'll see if the colonel has a minute he can spare you."

  Kate and J.D. did as they were told, dismounting and leading their animals into Fort Royster while the guard on duty resumed his casual slouch. They trailed the sergeant around the edge of the parade ground, past a blacksmith's shed and other buildings plainly meant to shelter the encampment's stores. Their destination, just as plainly, was a clapboard building with a U.S. flag atop the pole outside.

  Again, they tied their horses to a hitching post and trailed the sergeant as he crossed a sagging porch, knocked on a door, and waited for a mellow baritone to call out, "Enter!"

  "You wait here," he told them both, and disappeared inside, returning moments later with a bland expression on his weathered face. "Colonel will see you now," the sergeant said, and left the door wide-open as he moved away.

  * * *

  The word that came to J.D.'s mind at first sight of the fort's commanding officer was "stately." Soon, it shifted to "stuffed shirt."

  The man in dress blues, six feet tall, with wavy auburn hair above a smooth, tanned face, rounded a desk to greet them, offering his hand at first to Kate. "I'm Colonel Mitc
hell Hungate. And you are...?"

  "Blaze," she replied. "I'm Kate. J.D.'s my husband."

  "Blaze. I know that name somehow, but I can't say off-hand from where."

  "We're in the papers now and then, Colonel," J.D. replied.

  "Of course! My Lord! That business with the president!"

  "Guilty as charged," Kate said.

  "True heroes, then. What brings you to our humble post today?"

  "The marshal from Inferno sent us," J.D. said. "We went in to report a crime—a massacre, I guess you'd say—out west of town. According to the marshal, it's outside his jurisdiction, and the only one he could suggest to deal with it is you."

  The colonel blinked at that. "Oh, yes? I can't imagine why he'd send you here."

  Kate's voice was steady as she said, "Five settlers murdered, Colonel. That includes three children, with their home burned down around them. Livestock taken from the spread, as far as we could tell."

  "Revolting," Hungate said, shaking his head. "Are hostiles thought to be behind this tragedy?"

  "We couldn't say," J.D. replied. "I mean, we saw no sign of any proof. No arrows or the like."

  "So, it could just as easily have been some drifting border trash," said Hungate. "Mexicans or gutter whites."

  Kate shot a quick glance toward J.D. "In any case—"

  "You see, ma'am, that's the rub. While I'm empowered to pursue hostiles, if I have evidence that they're prowling abroad, I am not granted the authority to hunt down common outlaws."

  "Well, sir," J.D. chimed in, "if that's the case, who should we tell?"

  "That is a quandary," Hungate said. "While somewhat lazy at the best of times, in my opinion, Marshal Dill is right about his jurisdiction ending at Inferno's demarcation line."

  "And there's no county sheriff," Kate reminded him.

  "Indeed, nor any territorial police, at present. What they had, the short-lived Arizona Rangers were disbanded back in 1862 and have not been replaced by any other agency thus far. Which means..."

  "Unless somebody's killed inside a town, or by an Indian, nobody gives a damn," Kate said.

  "There is a difference, of course," Hungate stiffly replied, "between not caring and not having the authority to act. The structure of our laws in Arizona Territory is determined by Congress, in Washington. I have no more influence on that august body than I do upon the moon."