Blade 2 Page 4

  ‘Nephew,’ he said, ‘I find it unbecoming in a young man for him to summon an uncle. I find it profoundly irritating and unforgivably impertinent. If you wish to ask a favour of me and hope to solicit my assistance, I suggest that you have not gone about it in a wise or proper manner.’

  Blade looked into those old eyes to see what he could read there, but he read nothing. They were hooded like a falcon’s. The don never let another man know what he did not want him to know.

  Blade said: ‘Perhaps I was foolish to think that family meant anything any more. I—’

  The don interrupted him – ‘I would not think that it would assist your case by adding rudeness and disrespect to impertinence.’

  Blade said smoothly: ‘Perhaps you would consider, uncle, that the seriousness of the situation might explain my lack of good manners. My need was urgent. My life may well depend on my having the right kind of help.’

  Don Sebastian frowned. His slender fingers combed his short pointed beard.

  ‘You ask for the services of two of my men,’ he said. ‘If the world sees two of my people working for you, its natural conclusion will be that I am involved in whatever nefarious affair you are engaged in yourself. You need not conceal from yourself that I have had a full report of your recent activities. I must tell you frankly that I do not see it in my interest to be connected in the public mind with you at this time.’

  Blade said: ‘You drove all the way into town just to tell me this, uncle?’

  ‘You are my sister’s own son,’ said Don Sebastian. ‘I therefore considered it my duty to come in person to render you certain advice. In person because I wish that you should not take it lightly.’

  Blade decided there was no sense in fooling around and certainly nothing to be gained by it. He said: ‘Uncle, this is a case of if you’re not for me, you must be against me.’

  ‘Put what interpretation on my attitude you wish,’ said the older man. ‘I regard my intelligence service better than yours, hi jo. I am in possession of information which tells me that the wisest thing you can do is to depart from this territory like an eagle – in as straight a line and as fast as possible. I have also heard that you will be exposed to grave risk if you stay. Only a fool would stay under these circumstances and I do not think you are a fool.’

  As the old don watched Blade’s face, he could not help realising that the boy was truly one of the family. He watched the determination in the clear direct eyes. Sebastian was reminded of his sister’s courage, the mother of this prematurely grey-haired young man. For her sake, he knew that he should help José, but he too had to survive and he and his estates were at risk. Let the boy show sense and clear out of Arizona. If he went now, he could stay alive.

  Blade said: ‘Who is getting at you, tío?’

  The old man’s temper burned at once – ‘Watch your tongue, young man. Getting at me? Me? Who is strong enough to get at me?’

  ‘The men who are trying to kill me. Listen ...’ Blade recounted the events in town since yesterday evening. The don sat, his face as still as stone, staring with unblinking eyes at the coachman’s back. Blade finished with: ‘So there is an innocent girl lying near to death because someone wants to assassinate me. These are the kind of men I shall be helping if I leave Arizona.’

  Don Sebastian turned and looked at him. The hardness had gone from his eyes. As he laid a hand on his nephew’s arm, real concern showed on his face.

  He said: ‘José, hear an old man. The first law of survival is to compromise. If you meet men of this kind head-on there is only one result possible. You will be killed. Go and go quickly, I beg of you.’

  The earnestness in the old man’s voice shook Blade. He thought: The old man is running scared. I never saw him this way in my life. I must be up against something bigger than I knew about.

  Blade smiled at his uncle – ‘You have my interest at heart, uncle. This I know. I’m grateful to you for coming on this long hot ride into town. I will consider your advice seriously.’

  Don Sebastian said without rancour: ‘You do not fool me, José. You have the same stubborn streak your mother had. Go with God. And do not trust a living soul.’

  They embraced each other and not another word passed between them. Blade stepped out of the carriage and the don told the driver to go ahead. The whip cracked and the vehicle whirled away down Main with the two guards showing off their horses’ paces on either side. Blade turned away down the street, regret weighing heavily on him. He found McMasters at the almost deserted bar of the Golden Nugget.

  McMasters said: T saw you with the don.’

  ‘I asked him for help – a couple of men,’ Blade told him. ‘He’s not playing. Somebody scared him off, George. I never knew him to be scared of anybody in his life.’

  ‘Maybe it was the same feller as bought the eastern half of the grant.’

  Blade turned and stared at McMasters.

  ‘What?’ Don Sebastian selling off half his land? It was impossible. The Espadas never parted with land.

  McMasters pulled a wry face and shrugged – ‘I had it from a good source. It’s true bill. Selling cheap too.’

  ‘Who’s buying?’

  ‘Feller named Milton Draper.’

  ‘I never heard of him till yesterday.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  Blade sighed wearily. ‘Crewsville is all yours, George. Time I reported to Tucson. I’ll likely be back in three-four days. If not, I’ll get word to you.’

  McMasters asked after Charity. Blade told him the truth about her and McMasters laughed – ‘By God, that girl’s the best man in the outfit.’ Blade agreed. They wished each other luck and Blade headed back to the hotel.

  Charlie Clayton and Hope were with the supine and motionless Charity. Hope was weeping and Charlie was saying: ‘I can’t see why Charity was in Blade’s room. Can you see why she was in here, Hope?’ He caught sight of Blade and asked ‘You worked out why she was in your room, Joe?’

  ‘No, Charlie, I never got around to it,’ Blade said. ‘Now, if you folks have chores to do, I’ll stay with Charity a while.’

  They said their thanks and left the room. Blade shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Charity opened her eyes and smiled up at him.

  ‘Honey,’ Blade said, ‘I’m heading for Tucson on the noon stage. Will you make out all right here?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Just remember George McMasters is here in town. This commission of mine isn’t so damned important you should get yourself hurt again. If you get scared, you yell for George, hear?’

  ‘How long will you be gone?’

  ‘Three-four days.’ He thought for a moment and added ‘I wouldn’t ordinarily tell you this, Charity, but I reckon I owe it to you. If anything happens to me and you want help, you go to the governor.’

  ‘The governor?’ She was startled. ‘How could I go to the governor, Joe?’

  ‘That’s who I’m working for,’ he told her. ‘General Dimsdale. He’s a pretty good man and honest. He owes me and he’ll look out for you.’

  ‘I thought you were just carrying out some itty-bitty detective job, Joe.’

  ‘I’m just beginning to see how big it is, Charity,’ he told her. ‘I guess I could maybe have bitten off more than I can chew. If I ain’t real smart I could maybe choke myself on it.’

  She caught hold of his arm and said with worry in her voice: ‘You look out for yourself, Joe.’

  ‘Bank on it,’ he promised her. He bent and kissed her, then he fetched his Winchester from the bureau, found a box of shells and his sacked saddle and was ready. He said: ‘See you soon.’

  She lifted a hand in farewell and he went out feeling bad at leaving her there. But he had an appointment to keep. He must report in person every last day of a month. He had to be in Tucson in two days and reach the governor without being seen. As he walked down the stairs he wondered how well his secret had been kept. Didn’t the attempts on his life ind
icate that his mission was a secret no more?

  He had timed his arrival at the stage-line office well, which pleased him for he did not want his trip on the stage advertised till the last moment. As he approached the office, one block down from the hotel, the stage arrived from the stable in a swirl of dust. Blade was pleased to see old Dusty Threetree was holding the ribbons. Wayne Shale was riding shotgun. They were a good pair and had a reputation for getting their stages through. They waved to him as the four mules halted and got themselves tangled in the traces. Dusty was cursing fit to bust as Blade went into the office and bought his ticket.

  Five minutes later, his saddle and roll were on top of the stage and Blade was inside. Dusty Threetree yelled for the benighted occupants to ‘Hold tight, folks’, his whip cracked and four wiry mules hit their collars as one. The passengers facing the driver were hurled against the back of their seats, those with their backs to the driver were hurled on to the laps of the passengers facing them.

  Blade found himself in close proximity to one Miss Davida Dunfield – about whom more later.

  The other occupants of the coach were Samuel Mickelholster, a drummer; Forrest T. Hacker, a southern gentleman who lived on the fact that he was a southern gentleman and a good hand at cards; and an unnamed man who did not open his mouth except to yawn. Davida Dunfield was a tall elegant girl of about twenty-five and was the daughter of the late Captain Carson Dunfield who had commanded the Arizona Rangers for upwards of a year before he had been gunned down on a street in Tucson by persons unknown. Blade passed the hours till sunset in the company of this delightful, golden-haired girl. The stage, not of the fine Concord variety, but of the common or garden mud-wagon kind, crashed and thundered its way along the rough road to Tucson, going through endless desert country where the human eye saw only such harsh vegetation as cactus, greasewood and rashes of mesquite in the washes. Sunset would see them at the way station which was known simply as Fifty Mile Wells.

  By this time, Blade had talked in detail to this girl about her father and his career and been given a vivid description of how he had died.

  Her description of the way her father had been killed coincided precisely with the way in which the first attempt on Blade had been made. The girl said one sentence which sent a thrill of surprise through Blade – ‘They said the murder was committed by person or persons unknown, but that isn’t true.’

  ‘You mean you recognized one of the men?’ Blade asked, glancing around nervously to see if any of the other passengers could hear the girl’s words above the noise of their travel.

  ‘Certainly I did. There was a Mexican who’d been in my father’s office earlier that day. I can remember his name – Miguel Ortega. I can also recollect that my father said that he was a bad one.’

  ‘Did you report this to anybody in authority?’

  ‘Sure. I told the marshal in Tucson and later I told it to the territorial marshal who was a friend of my father.’

  So Samson Rule, the territorial marshal, knew about this. Interesting. The stage ride to Tucson was not wasted after all.

  They heard the shrill cry of the shotgun messenger. Fifty Mile Wells was right up ahead. The worst part of the journey was nearly over. Apaches had been known to come within a few miles of Tucson, but that was rare. If they attacked stages it was usually between Crewsville and Fifty Mile. Everybody in the coach started to look relieved. The drummer mopped his large forehead with a colored handkerchief and said: ‘Thank Christ. Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.’

  The fellow who hadn’t spoken didn’t speak now. The southern gentleman, covered with a thick coating of dust, said how nice it would be to wash up and feel clean for a change. The mud-wagon swung off the trail and there were the sprawling adobes of the way-station. Dusty brought his mules to a halt in style and yelled for them all to ‘Git down, folks’.

  Blade pulled back the dust curtains, jumped down and helped the girl out. The girl smiled at him and he watched that smile freeze on her face. He glanced over his shoulder to see what had startled her. And what he saw startled him.

  Five men had walked out of the building and they held guns in their hands. They had pulled their bandannas up to cover the lower part of their faces.

  Blade heard Wayne Shale, the messenger, sing out: ‘This greener’s loaded, boys, back up.’

  The passenger who had not spoken during the journey had disembarked on the other side of the vehicle. He drew a gun from under his coat and shot the guard through the back. Wayne Shale dropped the shotgun and fell to the ground. Old Dusty Threetree got the message. He put his hands high above his head and bellowed: ‘I ain’t in this, boys. Deal me out.’

  One of the masked men said: ‘Stay still, everybody.’ He pointed first to Blade and then to Davida Dunfield. ‘Him an’ her.’ Then his eyes fell on the unfortunate drummer. ‘Tie this one and the driver up. They give you any trouble – kill ’em.’

  One of the men pulled Dusty down from his seat and climbed into his place. He drove the stage off behind the building and unhitched the four mules. Meanwhile a man appeared from the corrals to the south of the house leading saddled horses. Blade and the girl were standing on the same spot as when the stage had halted. The girl said softly to Blade ‘What do they intend to do to us?’

  He shrugged. The masked men had removed his gun, so he couldn’t argue much whatever they intended to do. While the men were busy with the horses, Blade said to the girl: ‘Take your lead from me. There always comes a chance to escape.’ And he wished he could believe that. He reckoned this was the place where he choked on what he had bitten off. He and the girl were told to get mounted. Once they were on the horses, their hands were tied to the horns of the saddles. They then rode east at a fast clip, leaving the dead body of the guard lying in the dust.

  Blade’s last thought was: I left a perfectly good saddle back there.

  Six

  When Mortimer Stavers reported to Milton Draper that both Blade and the girl had been taken at the same time, Draper laughed with relief. And well he might, because he had become seriously worried in the last few days with the appearance of Blade on the stage of his little drama.

  Mort Stavers gave him the news in the front parlor of what was without doubt the best house in Tucson. Which really was not saying much because any respectable easterner would have looked at the famous south-western city and condemned it as a mess. It was a typical Spanish frontier town of classic proportions and type. Once maybe its adobe had looked neat and had been washed cleanly with lime. But not now. The adobe had crumpled as it had a way of crumpling under the impact of the elements and few of the inhabitants had thought to white-wash their external walls in the last twenty or so years.

  The governor’s house, which was referred to grandiloquently by the locals as the ‘palace’, was a little better cared for than most. In fact, the present territorial governor – General Bogart Dimsdale – had insisted on a number of improvements as soon as he had taken up residence some six months before. Milton Draper could see it at an angle from his front window. He looked at it now when he had received the news about Blade and the girl and he thought: I’ve got you now, my fine feathered general. The game’s going to be too goddam rich for your blood from here on in.

  He turned to Stavers and said: ‘Tell Manning to prepare himself. We carry out the switch tonight.’ He chuckled. ‘Then Arizona is ours.’

  Mort Stavers, who looked tiny beside Draper’s massive bulk, said nervously: ‘This is the part of it I don’t like, Milt. My God, I don’t. The risk is terrible.’

  Draper said with monumental patience: ‘I’ve told you a hundred times, Mort, there’s only one person we can’t fool and that is Dimsdale’s wife. But she dare not open her mouth while her precious husband is in our hands. She don’t care too goddam much for him any road. The way I hear it, she was crazy for our man when she was a girl and would have married him if he’d had the money instead of his cousin Dimsdale. Don’t fuss now – we’ll pull it o
ff all right.’

  Stavers said in a trembling voice: ‘I only hope to God you’re right, Milt.’

  He hurried from the room.

  Milton Draper sighed and turned back to the window to continue staring in the direction of the governor’s residence.

  Everything was going to be all right now he had Blade and the girl. Wasn’t it?

  Seven

  They hit a hard pace after leaving Fifty Mile Wells. Until dusk they never drew rein. Before the light went completely, Blade turned in the saddle to look back at the girl to see how she was taking it. She managed to smile, but he could see that she was at the end of her strength.

  While he rode, Blade learned all he could.

  First, the men who guarded them were being careful. Never once had he heard a name. Never once had they made reference to anything outside the immediate situation.

  Second, for the last hour he had known every inch of the ground over which they rode and by dusk they were on the Espada grant. He was on his uncle Sebastian’s range. Which was worth a thought or two.

  Now they halted – and now the men showed Blade that they did not know the land as he knew it. They were trying to hit a spot in the hills to the east of the don’s headquarters. This spot was the old disused Grey Wolf Mine. He waited while they argued and he decided that if the men did not immediately kill him and the girl, they would put them in one of the mine buildings or down a shaft.

  Finally, one of the men seemed to come to a decision, he dismounted and walked back to Blade.

  ‘This land belonged to your family, Blade,’ he said, ‘so you must know it.’