Blaze! Copper Mountain Kill Read online

  The team of horses took off at full gallop, hoofs hamming the ground. The shotgunner took the reins as two more shooters leaned out from the cabin, pistols spitting lead. Wade and Nillis fired again, their shots ineffective as they dropped back, crawling over rocks and tree roots to the creek. Rounds zipped over them.

  And then the hoof beats faded in the distance.

  Wade and Nillis rose and brushed the dirt off their clothes, checking their rifles for damage.

  “Well, shit,” Wade said. “I hope Dirk and Bullet have better luck.”

  “I hate that word,” Nillis said.

  * * *

  The stage shook and jolted so much that Mace almost fell off the seat. He held tight, shouting, “Whoa!” over and over after pulling the brake. The horses knew his voice from when he spelled poor Billy. What a shame. Fellow had never had a chance.

  The horses finally calmed down and returned to a steady trot. Mace released the brake and kept his eyes forward. Almost there. They were still moving fast and when they finally entered the town, he shouted for everyone to get out of the way. Pedestrians scattered for the boardwalks; riders jerked their horses to one side. Mace steered around a slow buckboard. The dust cloud behind him lingered.

  Mace stayed on Harrison, the stage office at the end of the long street. He slowed the horses some more when the sign for the stage office finally came into sight. He pounded on the side of the cabin. The gunmen inside pounded back—the signal that they were ready.

  “Whoa!” Mace shouted, the horses coming to a stop, their nostrils flaring as they let out loud whinnies, hoofs shuffling. Mace set the brake. As he started off the box, he locked eyes with a man in a long black duster under the overhang of the roof. He leaned against a support post, chewing on a toothpick.

  The man flipped back his duster and raised a shotgun. Mace clawed for his pistol.

  Too late.

  * * *

  Bullet Ellis fired the side-by-side left barrel first.

  The buckshot ripped into the shotgun messenger’s stomach, turning his guts inside out. Bullet shouldered the weapon, the first target forgotten as the shotgun rider tumbled between the horses. As the coach doors opened and the first of the other two gunners emerged, Bullet fired the right barrel. Scratch another. Bloody pieces of the first man blew back into the second, some of the buckshot tearing at the second man’s neck and shoulder. Bullet dropped the scattergun and jerked his .45. He eased back the hammer. Two steps forward, one shot into the second man’s face. The man’s head split, a spray of red coating the inside of the cabin, and he collapsed onto his partner.

  Bullet Ellis was only vaguely aware of the level of noise in the street, screaming, calls for the marshal. He picked up his shotgun as Dirk Lion, in two swift steps, leapt to the strongbox and grabbed the handle.

  Bullet’s eyes flashed to sudden movement. A woman on a balcony across the street. Long blonde hair, a pistol and a steely gaze. Bullet blinked once, twice. She was still there. And he stopped gaping.

  “Get down, Dirk!”

  Bullet raised his .45 and fired once. He took cover beside the stage, stowed the revolver, and shoved two fresh shells into the shotgun. The coach rocked as two bullets chewed through the wood. Dirk fell to the ground.

  Chapter Four

  IT WAS a nice morning for coffee on the balcony before the shooting started.

  After feasting on a breakfast of bacon and eggs with biscuits and gravy on the side, J.D. and Kate took their coffee mugs onto the balcony and sat down to enjoy the view.

  The line of shops within sight were full of customers. A man exited the general store carrying a sack of grain, which he loaded into a buckboard. He went back for more again and again, and they placed a bet on how many sacks of grain he’d ultimately carry out. J.D. bet seven, Kate twelve. The man loaded eight before taking the reins and urging his two horses forward. J.D. grinned slyly. Kate ignored him with a sip of coffee.

  “Who is that down there?” J.D. said.

  Kate looked over the railing at a man pulling up in another buckboard who set the brake and lit a smoke. His clothes were perfectly pressed. The brim of his hat obscured his face but Kate had no doubt as to the man’s identity.

  “J.D.—”

  She stopped as commotion sounded from the opposite end of the street.

  The stagecoach tore through the street, a trail of dust behind, people and horses scattering. The driver slowed the team and finally came to a halt outside the stage office where the man in the duster blew him away with a blast from the side-by-side and the man in the buckboard made a grab for the strongbox.

  J.D. and Kate rolled from their chairs onto the deck as the shooting continued.

  “Get behind the bed!” J.D. said.

  “Nuts, I’m getting my gun!”

  “Damn it, Kate!”

  Kate jumped up and ran into the room with J.D. close behind. She grabbed her Colt pistol while J.D. snatched up his Winchester, quickly shoving cartridges from a bandoleer into the tube, pinching his thumb on the loading gate.

  Kate’s revolver roared as she fired from the balcony, standing. J.D. joined her, staying low and aiming the Winchester carbine through the gaps between the balcony bars.

  Dirk Lion jumped from stage to ground holding the strongbox. As the man in the duster fired their way, J.D. shouted for Kate to get down. The shot smacked the wall above them, bits of wood raining down. Kate dropped flat next to J.D. He fired but Kate couldn’t see where his shot landed. She fired twice at Lion as he broke cover for the buckboard, the man in the duster swinging the shotgun their way.

  J.D. didn’t need to shout. Kate moved on her own, scrambling away from the bars. J.D. fired once, missed, and rolled right. The twin shotgun blasts turned part of the balcony into a mess of shredded wood and flying splinters. Kate crawled back out to see J.D. covering his eyes and face. She winged a shot at the buckboard as it pulled away carrying the two men and the strongbox. J.D. rose, aimed, but held his fire when Kate said, “Here comes the marshal!”

  The marshal and two deputies swung onto Harrison at full gallop and followed after the buckboard.

  J.D. rose and brushed off his shirt and pants.

  “This damn soot,” he said.

  Kate tossed her pistol on the bed. J.D. worked the Winchester’s level to eject the unspent cartridges.

  “I guess we’ll need a new room,” he said.

  “So much for that miracle.”

  “I told you to take cover.”

  “Now, honey.” She grinned. “You know me.”

  J.D. put his rifle back in the corner. “I reckon I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Hey.”

  He turned and she tossed her pistol across to him. He placed it back in her rig.

  “Sure was fun, though.”

  “This is supposed to be a vacation.” He approached her. “Do I need to make you settle down the hard way?”

  “I dare you.”

  She yelped as he shoved her onto the bed.

  Chapter Five

  John Pyle swallowed a mouthful of hot coffee and watched the lone rider coming toward his home in the distance.

  Seventy-two hours had passed since the stage robbery and the deaths of the crew on board. Seventy-two hours in which the posse assembled by the marshal had gone after the bandits and returned empty-handed and now he awaited the marshal’s report. Pyle’s blood boiled. He wanted action. Sitting around waiting to be picked off wasn’t in his nature; hadn’t been his father’s way, either. It had been a long time since he’d fired a gun in anger. A long time since he’d even carried one, now that he was a business man.

  Pyle stood on the covered porch of his home about two miles outside of Butte. It wasn’t a ranch with cattle, but he had plenty of property and could have raised several hundred head had he the inclination, but the mine kept him busy enough. The house was large, two stories, the porch wrapping around front to side.

  The best feature of the property was the Ro
cky Mountain backdrop behind the house. He rested in the shadows of those formidable peaks, and that made him humble. There were things in the world bigger than he. Pyle was simply a caretaker of his environment which would someday pass to somebody else. Those mountains would remain forever.

  The rider steered his horse for the front gate where Pyle had stationed two armed men brought from the mine. Each carried a carbine and wore a brace of pistols. He had others all over the property, and at the mine, with the same orders. Shoot to kill anybody who attacks. Pyle watched the rider confer briefly with the men at the gate before one pulled the latch, swung the gate open, and let the rider onto the property.

  Pyle called into the house for his wife to bring out another mug of coffee, which she did. Steam rose from the mug. She smiled at him but he remained stoic. The front door closed quietly. The rider reached the house, climbed down from his mount and tossed the reins over a hitching rail. Pulling off his riding gloves, the rider, silver marshal’s star gleaming in the bright sun, stepped onto the porch. He shook Pyle’s hand and accepted the offered coffee.

  “I don’t like the look on your face, Marshal Earp.”

  Morgan Earp looked at Pyle with tired eyes. His bushy mustache obscured part of his mouth.

  Morgan Earp had been a police officer in Butte for a couple of years and had only recently been appointed to the marshal post, but not without controversy. His challenger, a man from Dodge named Billy Brooks, had gone a little loco after Earp received the appointment and showed Earp his nickeled revolver. Earp fired first. Billy Brooks dropped dead, but not before letting off a round that punched through Earp’s shoulder.

  Pyle said, “So what happened?”

  “We tracked those men for two days but we lost them.”

  “Marshal—”

  Earp held up a hand. “They had some help. Two other gunmen bushwhacked us. While we dealt with them, the other two got away with your money.”

  Pyle took a deep breath. “So you didn’t get the money or a prisoner.”

  “We did not.”

  “I’m not happy, Marshal Earp.” Pyle set his coffee on a railing and paced the porch. “My men expect to be paid, and I have to make up the amount out of my personal account. We need a prisoner who can tell us who’s behind all this.”

  “I want one as much as you do.”

  “Of course if you’d listen to me, we could have ended this weeks ago.”

  “I can’t charge a man without proof.”

  “Maybe I need to find an alternate solution,” Pyle said. He locked eyes with Earp.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, John.”

  “Stupid? Did you see what happened to Besco?”

  “He couldn’t pin the attacks on Nix any more than you can.”

  Pyle turned away with his hands on his hips. He looked across the open land to the town in the distance.

  “You want me to stand here and take it?”

  “No,” Earp said. “But hear me out. If you’re going to seek outside help, we have to be smart. Does the name Blaze mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “Gunfighters. Man and his wife. They have a good reputation. I’d trust them before anybody else.”

  “They in town?”

  “For the parade. Let me talk with them. If they say no, we’ll try something else.”

  “I’m done talking about this, Marshal.”

  “If you do anything you shouldn’t, everything your family worked for will be destroyed and Nix will pick up the pieces.” Earp swallowed some coffee. “Much obliged for the coffee.”

  Earp mounted his horse and started off. Pyle watched him go with his lips tightly pressed together.

  He had no idea whom Earp had referred to, but if the Marshal said the Blaze couple was the best choice, he’d give them a chance to prove it.

  His family had worked too hard to build their business, and too many relatives had thought John Pyle would fail. He refused to take Nix’s intimidation, harassment and now killing, without a fight.

  George Pyle, John’s father, had first discovered copper in the territory ten years ago, quietly working his claim and building the Pyle Mining Company. John, his only son, had been expected to take over long before he actually did, but he’d been too busy enjoying the rowdy lifestyle his father’s money afforded to bother being productive. His old man ran the outfit while Matthew Besco and Fenton Nix staked other claims. And then the old man died. That’s when John finally sobered up and returned to the homestead, to the doubts and jeers of the rest of his family, who felt they were better qualified.

  Pyle wanted to prove them all wrong.

  The trouble Besco had with bandits seemed like an isolated incident at first, until the pressure from the Nix camp started. Nothing threatening, just suggestions that Besco should sell and let somebody else deal with the problems. Of course the problems stopped once Besco cleared out. That’s when Pyle started getting ideas. And when the bandits started attacking his company, he knew those ideas weren’t far from wrong.

  And the law, so far, has been useless.

  You don’t need proof when you know who’s guilty.

  Pyle picked up his coffee but it was now cold. He went back inside the house.

  Chapter Six

  J.D. and Kate strolled up Main Street, unarmed, hand-in-hand. The soot was ever present on the boardwalk, but there were only a few wooden and brick buildings suffering under the onslaught.

  Canvas tents mostly lined the street, women making an effort to beat the soot off the canvas but others had already given up. The street smelled of cooking as some of those same women manned makeshift cooking stations before the tents. Some children scurried about. No men in sight. They were all underground and the sight of J.D. and Kate drew many curious glances.

  There had been a lot of commotion after the stage theft, and one of the local deputies visited their hotel to ask about what they witnessed. Kate did not hold back when she identified the buckboard driver as Dirk Lion, but the deputy had only grinned at her. Didn’t even make a note. That got Kate plenty riled and she turned her frustration on J.D. after the deputy departed.

  “There’s a cover-up going on.”

  “Why?”

  “How should I know why? He looked at me like I’m stupid.”

  “You know who the marshal is in this town?”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” J.D. said. “Man named Earp. Ring a bell?”

  “The guy in Dodge City?”

  “His brother. The deputies are straight, don’t worry. You didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.”

  “Nuts,” Kate said. “Earp’s got rats in his nest.”

  And now two days after that visit, with the Earp-led posse back with no prisoners, Kate had given her husband an “I told you so” look but J.D. insisted they continue their vacation. If the law needed to see them again, they weren’t hard to find.

  Main Street began to incline and at the very end of the street sat a small hill that was the center of activity for the town. Already people had begun to gather in anticipation of the noon break. J.D. and Kate reached the hill and saw a young girl with a box strapped around her shoulders. She was selling what she called “pasties”, meat, chopped potatoes, and vegetables baked in a pie crust, to those who hadn’t brought a lunch. J.D. already knew it was a staple of the miners, and he bought one for him and Kate. They found a clear patch of grass and sat down.

  The town spread out before them and the people surrounding buzzed with conversation. The stage theft was still a hot topic but, as J.D. and Kate listened, they heard a whole lot more.

  Takeover. . .

  Murder. . .

  Just like Besco . . .

  The couple exchanged looks. She leaned close and said, “Still think I’m wrong?”

  * * *

  Morgan Earp rode at a moderate pace, his mind preoccupied with the Pyle/Nix problem.

  Pyle did not know, or did not think it important, th
at Nix had joined the Anaconda Conglomerate, the other “copper kings” in the neighboring town of Anaconda. If Nix could bring the whole of Butte’s mining effort into the Anaconda group, he’d be one of the richest men in the territory.

  He was also a murderer.

  Maybe he hadn’t pulled a trigger himself, but to Morgan Earp, ordering other men to do the killing made him just as guilty.

  He couldn’t prove any of what he knew. Knowing wasn’t enough for a judge.

  Earp urged his horse ahead a little faster. His mind turned to J.D. and Kate Blaze.

  The couple might just be exactly what he needed to break Nix open. He hoped they’d be willing to help.

  Presently Earp stood on the steps of the Hotel de Mineral and spotted the Blazes as they came around the corner. They couldn’t be missed, really. J.D. was bigger than most men, almost as tall as Morgan’s brother, Wyatt. Kate’s pony-tailed hair and curvy body made her just as striking as her husband. Morgan left the steps to greet them.

  “Mr. Blaze, Mrs. Blaze.” Earp held out a hand. They shook as the marshal continued. “I’m Morgan Earp, the marshal here.”

  “We know who you are,” J.D. said. “Bumped into your bother in Dodge.”

  “I’d like to buy you both a drink and talk about some things.”

  J.D. started to reply. Kate squeezed his hand. Hard. J.D. grunted.

  Kate said, “We will be happy to talk with you, Marshal Earp.”

  Morgan suggested the bar inside the hotel. They found a table in a corner, two windows close by providing plenty of light. Morgan and J.D. ordered beer while Kate asked for whiskey.

  The trio made small talk until the drinks arrived and then the marshal brought up business.

  “I appreciate you trying to end the unpleasantness we had two days ago. How much have you heard about our troubles?”

  “Bits and pieces,” J.D. said. “There was a lot of talk on the hill today, but we aren’t quite clear who the players are.”