Blaze! Western Series: Six Adult Western Novels Page 3

  The bartender said, "You saved her life, hoss, but you put yourself in one big pot of shit."

  Blaze turned to find himself gazing down the length of a double-barreled shotgun that the bartender must have kept hidden behind the bar.

  Blaze said, "What’s the idea?"

  The barkeep said, "I told you. That boy you just killed—"

  Kate said, "He wasn’t no boy. He was man enough to try and kill me."

  "Don’t matter. He was a kid to everyone in these parts. His daddy not only runs this town. He owns this saloon. Mister," he told Blaze along the length of the shotgun, "I’m holding you for the law."

  Kate said, "Wait one damn minute. You saw what happened. Everyone here is a witness. It was self defense. Dent said he was going to kill both of us. He went for his gun."

  "Don’t matter. He’s Old Man McClain’s boy. This hombre killed him. Yeah, we seen it. You got caught cheatin’ at cards and one of the boys is dead."

  Blaze said, "I was defending this lady’s life."

  "Don’t matter. That dead boy’s a McClain. You stand where you are, mister. Loosen that gun belt and let it drop to the floor."

  Kate nudged Blaze with an elbow.

  "Thanks for calling me a lady, bub. But he’s right. You’re in deep because of me. I tried to stop Cal from causing trouble but he’s alive. They’ll put my derriere on a stage out of town. You, on the other hand... well, I’m sorry. Who are you, mister?"

  "Name’s Blaze. J.D. Blaze."

  "I like your style, J.D. Nice to make your acquaintance."

  "Likewise."

  The bartender said, "Knock off the palaverin,’ you two. I’ve sent a boy for the law and they’ll be here on the run. Stranger, you’re going to jail."

  Blaze said, "Like hell."

  With a movement so fast it became a single continuous blur of motion, he shoved Kate behind him. He heard her gasp of surprise, then lost track of her when he dodged to the side, simultaneously bringing around a chair he’d been casually resting a hand on.

  The barkeep was caught completely by surprise. The chair sent the shotgun flying from his hands.

  Blaze bolted for the door. He’d lost sight of Kate in the crowd.

  The bartender shouted at the top of his voice, "Free drinks for everyone if we stop the killer from getting away!"

  Men swarmed in on Blaze. They engulfed him and brought him down.

  Chapter 6

  He awoke in pain.

  He awoke in jail.

  Awareness of the pain came with a sudden jolt that booted him into consciousness. He felt his pulse hammering in his ears. His abdomen and ribs throbbed with hurt. Awareness of being in a jail cell came when he tried to sit up.

  He managed to sit up on his third attempt, causing him to hurt even more over what felt like every inch of his body. He glanced out the barred window. Night. Not much time had passed since he had been beaten unconscious in the saloon. Right now folks there would be enjoying their drinks on the house.

  A coarse chuckle drew Blaze into full awareness of his surroundings.

  He planted his feet on the floor. He summoned from within the strength to repress and ignore his pain.

  The source of the chuckle was a graying, barrel-chested man in his fifties who wore a star on his vest. He stood far enough outside the cell so as not to get too close to the Blaze.

  "’Bout time you woke up, sleeping beauty. Looked like you was fixing to sleep through your own hanging."

  This statement vanquished Blaze’s pain. He rose from the bunk and stepped forward to grasp the bars of the cell.

  "Hanging? What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t do anything but save a woman’s life."

  The sheriff took another step back just to be safe.

  "Mebbe so, but you killed—"

  "I know, I know. I killed Old Man McClain’s fair-haired boy."

  "Well, stranger, you did and that’s a fact."

  "Where’s Kate Aragon?"

  The sheriff frowned. "Haven’t seen her since she ducked out of that ruckus in the saloon. But she’ll be run out of town, that’s for dang sure."

  From behind the sheriff, Kate spoke.

  "Run out, hell. I’ll leave under my own steam."

  Her presence startled the sheriff. He, like Blaze, had no idea that she had let herself in through the front office.

  Blaze grinned. "Howdy, Kate."

  She returned the grin.

  "Howdy, J.D. Sheriff Trumbull, I thought I’d stop by to see if you and I could have ourselves a little negation."

  Trumbull regained his authority with a throaty harrumph.

  "Young lady, you’d best be on your way. Hell is riding into town tonight and its name is Colonel McClain." He waved a thumb at Blaze. "This hombre is going to pay with his life for what he done."

  Kate nodded. "So I’ve heard. That’s why I’m here, Sheriff. I’ve come to negotiate the prisoner’s release."

  Blaze said, "Will someone kindly tell me what’s going on besides me being railroaded?"

  Trumbull said, "You’re getting rope law, stranger. McClain Law they call it when they catch a rustler on the Colonel’s range."

  Kate told Blaze, "The old man’s rounded up his riders. They’re hard cases to a man. Right now they’re riding hell for leather for town. They’re coming for you, J.D." She nodded at Trumbull. "And this old toad is doing nothing but keeping you on ice until they get here."

  Trumbull glowered. "Watch your language."

  Kate said, "You can make yourself a pretty penny if you’ll hear me out, Sheriff."

  "Is that so?"

  "That’s right. I’ve been doing all right dealing cards in El Paso. I’ve saved my money. I’ve got money to spend, and I’d like to spend it on you."

  "On me? Ha. You mean on this here prisoner. You’re trying to bribe me."

  "That’s exactly what I’m doing," said Kate. "What’s your price? How much will it cost me for you to let my friend out of your damn jail before the Colonel and his men show up?"

  From his cell, Blaze said, "This is mighty generous of you, ma’am."

  Kate said, "Ma’am? I thought I was Kate."

  The sheriff snickered. "Save your easy money and scram, woman. I’m not for sale."

  Kate snickered right back. "That’s because you’re already bought. Lock, stock and barrel by Colonel McClain."

  "You’ve got that right," said Trumbull. "So turn yourself around and mosey on back to the cribs where your kind belong. Trying to bribe me like I need your chump change. I do my job and I lack for nothing. The Colonel’s got money to burn."

  Kate thought about that for a moment.

  She said, "Money to burn..."

  "You heard me. It’s damn well sitting in that bank across the street. Now git before I throw you into the cell next to this bum."

  Kate said, "Sorry again, J.D."

  Blaze said, "Thanks for the thought. You’re good people, Kate."

  "Takes one to know one. And I’m not done yet."

  She sashayed out of the jailhouse.

  Blaze watched her go. So did the sheriff. The circumstances notwithstanding, this was a woman worth watching, coming or going.

  Blaze thought, I’d not only ride the river with her. Hell, I’d like to ride her! Then he thought, Damn, J.D. Thinking like that at a time like this! But she sure is fine...

  The sheriff left the cell block and stepped into the front office. Blaze watched him pour a cup of coffee, then settle into his chair with his boots on his desk, taking sips from his coffee cup and watching the door, waiting for something to happen.

  At first Blaze felt relief at being left alone. He sat down on the bunk. As soon as he did, the aches and pains forgotten during the visit by Kate returned with a vengeance now that he had nothing to occupy his mind. He decided to do something about that. He did not know how he was going to get out of this jam but he had been in tight jams before.

  The trick was to never give up.

  H
e would engage the sheriff in conversation. He would find a way. Try something, anything. He would not sit tamely and wait to die. Blaze thought, Get him riled. Get him to make a try for me. Get him close enough.

  "Sheriff, you’re wearing a badge. You say I murdered Dent McClain. But you’d sit by and let McClain’s men murder me?"

  "Nothing I can do about it, son. You ran into bad luck. And I don’t care. I don’t like the way that card shark hussy makes a spectacle of herself when you’re around."

  "She just knows a good man when she sees one."

  "Yeah well, that ain’t going to help you on this night. Cal McClain told everyone what he was going to tell his pa before he rode out. If he rode hard to the ranch and the Colonel reacts the way everyone knows he will, given the time it will take to round up his men..." Trumbull glanced at a clock on the office wall. Four minutes to midnight. He said, "I reckon the Colonel and his boys should be riding in to fetch your hide any time now. They’ll take you to the old cottonwood outside this end of town, most likely." Again the coarse chuckle. "And they’ll leave you hanging for the buzzards to do their work. No more smart mouth."

  The street door flew open.

  The bartender from the saloon poked his head inside.

  "Sheriff, the bank’s on fire!"

  Blaze understood immediately. He smiled to himself.

  The sheriff was too busy hurrying out the door to notice.

  "Well jumpin’ Jesus, let’s go! This is one fire we’ve got to put out and pronto!"

  Blaze was left alone in the jailhouse for about twenty seconds. Then Kate quickly eased in through the office.

  Blaze laughed outright. "You sure work fast."

  Kate hurried to a wall peg and grabbed the key ring. She opened his cell.

  She smiled. "The Colonel’s got money to burn, all right. It should make for quite a bonfire. Care to stick around and watch?"

  He retrieved his gun belt from another wall peg. He strapped it on. Checked the six-guns. Fully loaded.

  "It’s a nice diversion, but now what?"

  "I paid the liveryman. I’ve got your horse tethered in the shadows. Next to mine."

  Blaze slid an arm around her waist and drew her to him with a suddenness that elicited a cry of surprise and then her arms returned his embrace. Their lips locked. Her hot moist tongue was a stabbing little dagger, dueling with his. His palm lowered to the base of her spine, pressing her even closer. Her pelvis ground against his. Her breasts mashed his chest salaciously. They broke the kiss by mutual consent but continued the clinch a moment longer.

  She was out of breath as if she'd just run up two flights of stairs. Her eyes danced.

  "I love you, J.D."

  "I love you right back, woman. Now let’s get the hell out of here and do something about it."

  They left the jailhouse. They mounted their horses.

  A dozen riders came thundering into the street from the opposite direction. Cal McClain rode at the head of the pack and there could be no doubt that the leathery, white-haired man riding next to him was the Colonel. They drew up before the bank where the sheriff was shouting orders, trying to organize a fire brigade. The flames were growing higher, licking the night sky.

  Trumbull gestured toward the jailhouse where the Colonel and his bunch would supposedly find the prisoner ready for lynching.

  That’s when they saw Blaze and Kate.

  Gunfire.

  Blaze heard, felt, bullets whistling past them.

  They moved out swiftly with the Colonel’s posse in hot pursuit.

  Chapter 7

  Thinking back on their first meeting, standing in the background on this lazy afternoon in another saloon, this one in the small town of Whiskey Bend, a smile touched the corners of J.D.’s lips. He sipped his warm beer.

  Happily, the saloon girl who had tried to corner him earlier had given up on him and moved on to greener pastures in the form of a prosperous looking rancher whom she now entertained at a secluded table.

  At Kate’s table, another player had joined in. The game continued, amiable, each player winning and losing in turn as decreed by Lady Luck.

  Or was it Lady Kate’s doing?

  In their years together, J.D. had never been able to ascertain whether Kate was a remarkably good player of cards or if the woman he’d married was, in fact, a cardsharp. A cheat, despite her denials. They said the most honest card game in the west was when card sharks got together for a game. Everyone knew the tricks and no one got away with anything. He had seen Kate more than hold her own in such games. It was one of the mysteries of her that intrigued him because he knew he would likely never know the answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth. The only truth about her that mattered was that a woman of Kate’s caliber was willing to ride the trail with him.

  They had eluded the long arm of Colonel McClain’s rope law that night, those years ago. Naturally enough, they henceforth shied away from El Paso and environs, making it just about the only country west of St. Louis where they had not plied their trade.

  They made love that first crazy night.

  When they were certain that they had lost their pursuers, they made a cold camp in a grove of cottonwoods. Kate Aragon proved to be an enthusiastic, passionate, skilled lover. After such a trying day and night, she nearly wore J.D. out, there under the desert stars. The day’s adventure had sexually excited this woman and what J.D. packed in his trousers seemed to vent the pressure built up within her. He held out until she was satisfied. His release when they quaked together had almost been enough to knock him back into unconsciousness.

  They found a Justice of the Peace and made it legal two days later.

  Kate was some woman. Independent. Strong-willed. J.D. never doubted for a second that she was faithful to him. And he had been faithful, too. Something he honestly never thought would happen because he did like the ladies. But Kate was worth it.

  A patron seated near the saloon’s window idly commented, "Here comes the stage."

  J.D., standing near the batwings, glanced down the street. The stage was coming into town, all right. Coming damn fast! He set his beer down. His eyes narrowed.

  The stagecoach rattled and swerved through Whiskey Bend in a cloud of dust, frantically drawn by four lathered horses. A dead man lolled in the driver’s seat. No one held the reins. A woman could be seen inside the coach.

  The same man commented, "Dang. There goes the stage."

  Blaze said, "Runaway!"

  He bolted from the saloon. He mounted his big stallion at a run. The horse had been idling with its reins loosely draped over the hitching rail. Kicking the horse to a gallop, they moved out swiftly.

  The stage was already a quarter of a mile away, growing smaller ahead of the dust cloud billowing in its wake.

  J.D. rode fast. The stallion had a long stride, a one-man horse as much a part of him as the weapons he used. The horse ate up the distance without urging of any kind, sensing the urgency of catching up with the crazily rocking and reeling stage. J.D. rode low in the saddle. Before long, they were gaining.

  Gaining.

  Gaining...

  Then horse and rider raced alongside the runaway stage. The stallion got close enough for J.D. to heave himself up in the saddle, grabbing the baggage rail on the roof of coach with both hands. He hoisted himself upward and the stallion broke away. J.D.’s boots caught on the side of the stagecoach for leverage. He glanced into the coach and registered a quick impression of a middle-aged woman, her complexion chalky with terror. Then he was drawing himself up onto the driver's seat, next to the dead man. The driver had been drilled through the head. J.D. set the brakes and started working the reins.

  "Whoa. Whoa, there. Whoa!"

  Gradually, the riled-up team slowed before drawing to a complete stop.

  J.D. leapt down. He flung open the stage door. He expected to find a grateful woman.

  Instead, the woman crouched against the far side of the coach’s interior, recoiling
from him as if he were a monster with three heads. The interior of the coach was splattered with fresh, glistening blood. The woman’s expression remained chalky. Wide, insane eyes as if they had looked into the pits of hell.

  "No, please... don’t let her touch me like that again... no, please!" Her voice was the pitiful plea of an abused child. "Make her stop, somebody please!" The woman was wailing now, crying out a revulsion from the soul that made J.D.’s blood run cold. "My God, she’s killed them all! My God! Rosa Diablo! Don’t let her touch me! Rosa Diablo! Nooooo..."

  Chapter 8

  Whiskey Bend was lucky to have a sawbones among its three hundred some residents even if he was a stooped, gray-haired gent who reeked of alcohol fumes. But Doc Cornish had known enough to sedate a person with the symptoms of dementia exhibited by the woman from the stagecoach. The doc’s "office" was in the rear of the town’s barbershop, which was on the first floor of ramshackle hotel.

  J.D. and Kate stood in that office, studying the unconscious woman who lay face-down on a cot. The doctor, aware of who they were, had bid them enter his humble chamber because he wanted to show them something.

  A fresh marking, that would scar the woman’s back, had been carved with a knife into her flesh: the initials, R.D.

  A third man stood with them. A lean fellow with the air of an Easterner about him, Hiram Belton represented the company that ran the stage line. He’d been sent "to get to the bottom of this dastardly business," as he phrased it when J.D. had driven the stagecoach back into town an hour earlier with the big stallion keeping pace.

  Belton now said, "R.D. Rosa Diablo. It’s her work, all right. They’ll find the bodies of the male passengers along the trail like they did twice before. The payroll shipment due in tomorrow, and now this."

  The doctor, having shown them what he’d intended, went about making the sedated woman comfortable.

  J.D., Kate and Belton nodded their thanks. They exited through the one-chair barber shop where the portly barber stood lathering up a customer. They stepped out onto the sun-splashed boardwalk.

  Kate said, "Tell me about this Rosa Diablo. Why would a woman, why would anyone, brand another human being like that? I’ve seen sick doings in my life but what was done to that poor lady has got me riled up good inside."