"Copper-Hair"
"Copper-Hair"
7/11-7/14/1882
I.
This part of Arizona seemed to be composed of little except dirt, rocks and dust, all baking under a merciless July sun. Late in the afternoon, with his shadow long and distorted behind him, Johnny Packard slowed his black stallion Terror to a halt at the foot of the hills where the bounty hunter and Tom Pinto were camped. He knew he had been spotted long minutes earlier since he had to approach without cover, so he kept both hands in plain sight and made no attempt to dismount.
Fifty feet above him, on a broad ledge surrounded by a cluster of round boulders big enough to conceal someone, a small fire of dried twigs heated a battered coffee pot suspended on sticks above it. Two horses, a chestnut roan and a golden Palomino, stood tethered in the shade of the largest boulder. Johnny was glad to see that Tom Pinto seemed unharmed. He was tied hand and foot, a complete prisoner leaning back against a boulder, but at least he hadn't been injured. Yet.
"Howdy. You mind if I get down offen my hoss?" he called up.
Not much could be seen of the bounty hunter. An oversized duster reached to the ground, its upturned collar and a wide-brimmed slouch hat pulled low concealed the hunter almost completely. In that brutal heat, being dressed like that had to be torture. The bounty hunter raised a gloved hand and gestured for Johnny to approach.
The Brimstone Kid knew he was not an intimidating sight. At twenty-three, he was a wiry youth not more than five feet four inches tall and weighing one hundred and fifty pounds if he had been eating town food. He hopped lightly down from the saddle and made sure to keep both hands well away from the butts of his matched 1873 Colt Peacemakers. Johnny tilted his black Stetson far back on his sweat-matted mop of dark red hair. He decided to speak first.
"I ain't fixin' to cause no trouble," he announced. "They is wanted posters of Tom Pinto all over the frontier and if you have claimed him, then the law is on your side. But I can't deny he's a friend of mine. We rode together. I aim to satisfy myself that he's bein' treated well even if yer haulin' him to stand before a judge who has the gallows already built."
"You live under a curse," the bounty hunter said. It was a woman's voice and Johnny gave a start at the surprise. "You carry a dark fragment of the Midnight War with you."
"Wal, I can't say yer wrong," he answered. "It 'pears you know a bit about me."
"Who has not heard tales of the Brimstone Kid?" she said. "Your American West is a savage land far older than your settlers dream. Even before the Red men came, elder civilizations rose and fell here, strange peoples and strange beasts roamed these plains. There is much that has been forgotten."
Johnny Packard took off his Stetson entirely and fanned himself with it. "You know, I once met some folks who talk the way you do. They was Melgar from Androval, wherever that might be."
The bounty hunter tossed aside her hat, shrugged out of the long duster coat and stood revealed as a tall rangy young woman in a blue Chambray work shirt, Levis and soft slippers instead of boots. Slung low on her right hip was a single-action .44 and a wide-bladed hunting knife was sheathed at her other side. The woman had bright auburn hair, glossy and much brighter in tone than Johnny's darker brick-red shade. In a strong-featured face with a wide jawline and full lips, her grey-green eyes caught the sunlight with a flash like a cat's. "Perhaps you have a glimmer of how I am called in your country?"
"I reckon so. Some Lakota I parleyed with told me of a woman warrior who roams alone and who fears no shootist or wild animal or force of Nature. Their name for her is Copper-Hair. Could that be you?"
"It is as good a name as any." The woman took effortless downward leaps and was standing on the ground within reached of Johnny. The agility and strength in her action was impressive enough. Immediately, she moved back another fifteen feet and stood with legs braced well apart. Her right hand hovered near her gun. "I believe you are tempted to free your friend, Mr Packard. That will not be allowed."
"I ain't never pulled iron on a woman," Johnny replied, shifting around to face her squarely. "That goes against all I was taught."
"Your females do not go about armed, nor do they need to," Copper-Hair snorted. "Men protect them. In my land, we do not rely upon others to fight for us. The daughters of Myrrwha are given a sword when they first learn to walk."
"You ain't home now, this is the Arizona Territory." Using his left hand, the Kid tilted his Stetson down to shadow his eyes. The fingers of his right hand hovered within inches of his own revolver. "I don't hanker a reputation as a lady-slayer, to be honest. Unless you give me no choice, I want to palaver, you savvy?"
Copper-Hair smiled thinly. "You have a right to self-defense." With that, her hand dropped down to hook the butt of her revolver and in a tiny fraction of a second, Johnny had drawn and fired in response. No real gunfighter ever tried to wound an opponent, such accuracy could not be counted upon when the stakes were life and death. He always aimed straight for the center of every's opponent's torso to give himself the best odds for survival.
To his complete shock, Copper-Hair left her gun untouched. Instead, her hand whirled up in a tight cirle and there was a whining ricohet as the bullet redirected to smack against a nearby rock. The strange redhaired woman grinned in wicked glee.
Despite his years of bitter experience, Johnny Packard did not shoot again. He was not aware his mouth hung open. It sure seemed to him that Copper-Hair had slapped his bullet aside like a thrown snowball.
II.
"Now that we have the confrontation out of the way, I feel we may speak more openly," she said. "Yes, I am from the realm of Myrrhwa and I am no common mortal. My true name is Karina. We have more in common than you might know... Even from here, I can sense the vile Darthan token you wear on your brow."
Under his beaded hatband, the red coin burned so hot that it stung his forehead. Sundown was near, there was a strong temptation to allow the ancient talisman to transform him. The change into the real Brimstone Kid only took place if he had the coin in close contact to his skin and so far he could avoid it by keeping a distance. But the call from that coin grew stronger all the time.
The Kid pushed his hat off so it hung by its cord down his back. He wiped his sweaty face with the back of one dark-tanned hand and exhaled as the stress of the showdown faded. "I declare I have taken leave of my senses. Too many hours in the sun, I reckon, my brains have boiled away."
"You are quite sane," Copper-Hair laughed. "Come. Speak with your friend. There is a rivulet of cold water down the side of these rocks. I will give some to your horse." She went up to the ledge where Tom Pinto had been watching the fight and Johnny followed uncertainly.
He had seen so many inexplicable phenomena in his career. The walking corpse of Silent River, the Valley of the Thunderbirds, the sword Hellspawn that drank life, even the Skinwalkers that chased riders in the night. He had thought he had grown jaded but this Copper-Hair still surprised him
Despite his confusion, Johnny knelt beside his old friend first. "Hola, amigo. You've seen happier days."
Sitting on the hard hot rocks with his hands tied behind him, Tom Pinto managed a crooked smile. He was in his middle fifties by now, grizzled and weathered beyond his years by long exposure to the elements. A inch or two over six feet tall, tough and muscular in a lean way, Tom had a thick mop of butter-yellow hair that hung down over his ears and touched his collar. His gunbelt had been removed but he still wore the open vest of black-and-white hide tanned from a legendary Pinto horse ridden by the war chief Osawayatotha. This had been the source of the handle he had been known by for years. Few had ever known his true name.
"Hello, sport," the infamous outlaw said. "You seem a mite gobsmacked by the lady's trick, eh?'
"I have never seen its like," Johnny admitted. "But I was admirin' how she got you trussed up like a dogie."
"Tain't that dramatic. I was blind stupid drunk in a town just over the Mexican border. Hadn't gotten myself besotted thataway in a long time." Tom Pinto grunted and shifted his weight on the uncomfortable ground. "Copper-Hair walked up to my table and tied me up with a rope, me bein' too stinking to fight her. She threw me over my own horse Mack over there and is hellbent on bringing me in for the reward."
"So I reckon," the Brimstone Kid said. He rose again and found Copper-Hair gazing at him thoughtfully.
"This man has a sizeable reward on his head. He is worth more alive than dead because Willets County wants to put him on trial." The Myrrwhan woman folded her arms and cocked her head. "I believe his mistake was not staying to face a jury when the crime took place."
"Ah. I was young then. Headstrong," Tom grumbled. "I thought, me get a fair trial in that two-horse town? For killin' their beloved Sheriff Brown and his deputy? I thought I had no more chance than a snowflake in a skillet."
"I never knew why John Brown despised you so much," Johnny said as he went over to the finger-wide trickle of icy water and wiped off his face and hands with relief. He would have given much for a bucket of that water to pour over his head. "He purely hated you, old son."
Tom Pinto took a deep breath and announced strongly, "I didn't shoot the deputy! I swear. Sheriff Brown did it. He framed me. He used a .44 like mine from across the street whilst I was arguin' with the deputy. I saw Brown do it and you know my fool temper, Kid. I had a lead pill going through his vitals afore his gunshot stopped echoing. So I ran before they stretched my neck fer me."
"Not much chance of gettin' a fair shake in Oswald Corners," Johnny said. "I been there. Half the folks is either one of the Brown clan or married to one. Best lawyer West of the Mississippi couldn't get you cleared." He swung around to give Copper-Hair a venomous glare. "You knew all this, din't ya?"
She shrugged. "Who am I to judge? Humans lie. Men, women, children, none are constituted to speak only truth. You believe your friend's tale because you want to but I have no obligation to accept his word."
"If'n you was a man, I calculate I might crack yuh over the head with my gun barrel and take Tom with me to Mexico," Johnny said. "I owe him that much."
The woman called Copper-Hair did not rise to the threat. "I have attended to your horse, sir. Fill your canteen and be on your way. I am but following the laws of your own country." She deliberately turned her back to present a perfect target and squatted down next to the steaming coffee pot where her tin mug waited.
The Kid found himself watching her with grudging admiration. She had nerve. And she was a good judge of character, it seemed, because he could no more have shot her from behind than he could have lifted his own horse over his head. Johnny sagged a bit with sudden weariness.
"I plugged a right big ol' jackrabbit this morning," he said at last. "He's waiting to be skinned and cleaned and roasted over a fire."
From where she squatted by the coffee, Copper-Hair turned her head to smile at him. "I still have a handful of potatoes in my saddlebags. We might make a meal of it."
As they prepared the animal and stoked the fire, Johnny persuaded the female bounty hunter to untie Tom's hands so he could keep the circulation moving. "You don't want to deal with a prisoner who has that gangrene stuff."
She agreed with hardly any hesitation. "So be it. His guns are unloaded and the barrels tied down with rawhide. Even if he tried, it would take him too long to arm himself. And it is more dignified that he feed himself with his own hands."
As they ate and while the horses munched from oat-filled feedbags, Johnny Packard told Copper-Hair about the turning point in Tom Pinto's life. A few years earlier, the outlaw had sold out for blood money and was hauling Johnny as a prisoner to a hated enemy. Then some weird unexplainable event on a dark and wind day had changed Tom forever.
"I heard one of them hell-riders call my name," the gunfighter said with a visible shiver. "He warned me to change my ways or I'd be joining them."
"The Wild Hunt! Oh yes," said Copper-Hair as she munched on roasted hare leg. "Very old. Many have had taken that ghostly warning to heart, as well they should."
From where he was tethered in the shade, Terror made a low rumbling noise not at all like a normal whinny. Leaping to his feet, his right hand filling itself with a Colt, the Kid swung around to gaze off at the horizon. In a second, Copper-Hair had joined him.
"Riders comin' fast," Johnny grumbled. "A good number of them."
"My eyes are not as yours," she added quietly. "I count at least thirty. They are the people you call Comanche."
III.
Dousing the fire and gathering her gear, Copper-Hair urged Johnny to bring their horses up higher on the rock formation. Steep as it was, the front of the hill was the only climbable side. The rear of the rock pile was a sheer vertical surface. In a few minutes, the Kid had led Copper-Hair's roan and Tom Pinto's Palomino up behind a boulder where they would be sheltered from below.
The stallion Terror followed of his own volition. This close to sunset, the black horse stamped his front hooves and snorted angrily. Terror enjoyed the demonic changes he went through if Johnny was near him at night. "Damn fool critter," the Brimstone Kid grumbled to himself as he stroked his horse's neck. "I'd think a beast would have more sense than this."
Standing on top of an outcropping, Tom Pinto gazed out at the small dark figures drawing closer. He had picked up his own tan Stetson and tugged it down to shade his eyes. "I tangled with Comanche before. Round these parts, they're known for setting out in small skirmish parties of young bucks who ache to avenge their grievances. They may start out claimin' to want only to trade but they'll be looking for the best time to start killing."
Copper-Hair raised her main weapon, a sawed-off shotgun with a barrel only fifteen inches long and no stock at all. She was holding it like a pistol. "It seems good fortune that you have turned up at this time," she told Johnny with a wicked grin. "There are many stories of your skill at shooting."
The approaching hoofbeats could be heard on the hard dry soil by now. "Ma'am," said Tom Pinto, "You don't know what my word is worth, but I offer it now. Give me my irons and I'll help in our defense but I won't turn them on you."
"It'd be right smart to do that," Johnny chimed in. "I seen Tom in action and frankly, he's faster and more accurate with a hogleg than I'll ever be. All three of us standin' together got a good chance of comin' outta this with our skins intact.
This drew a derisive snort. "Hah. Arm a prisoner? Will you then meekly surrender to me after the danger is passed?"
"Whether you like it or not, I'll give him one of mine," Johnny snapped. "I'm telling yuh, having Tom on our side might mean life or death."
The strange Myrrwhan woman regarded both of them, obviously struggling with the decision before finally saying, "So be it. Go, Tom Pinto. Your pistols and gunbelt are tied behind my saddle. I pray to Cirkoth that I will not regret trusting you."
As the Comanche came within sight, they were revealed as a colorful lot. Most wore long-sleeved cotton shirts that were bright red or blue or yellow, and most had headbands or scarfs of clashing hues. The blankets they used instead of saddles added more vivid tints. And they were well-armed, nearly every one of them carried a Winchester or had a revolver tucked in a sash as well as a profusion of Bowie knives, long-handled Tomahawks and even a cavalry saber in a scabbard that clearly read US ARMY on its length.
Without discussing their placement, both Johnny Packard and Tom Pinto stood next to a chest-high boulder that they could instantly dive behind. Both men rested their hands on their gunbelts, within an inch of the Colts they wore. It was Copper-Hair who stood boldly in the open, feet braced well apart, the sawed-off shotgun pointed down at a spot in front of her feet.
"You know me, red brother," she announced quietly.
"Aye, it is true,"said the obvious leader, marked by a black poncho. "You are the woman with hair the color of fire. And beside you, the man who wears the memory of great chief Osawayatotha." He stared at Johnny and his stoic impassive expression slipped for the barest instant. "And you! The little devil who slays at night, with guns that fire lightning and with the horse that breathes steam. There is no mistaking you!"
Drawing his Stetson up onto his head, the Brimstone Kid touched its brim in a salute. "It's right pleasin' to be appreciated," he replied. "And I don't believe I caught your tag, hombre?"
"I am Unathagawa, known on white tongues as Mountain Cat. Come, what do you have to trade? Whiskey, maybe so? Flour, salt, blankets?"
Tom Pinto replied with a deceptive gentleness, "I'll give you some pellets fer free, hombre."
IV.
In less than half a second, Johnny found himself crouched behind a boulder as a thunderstorm of gunfire whined all around him. He had his own Peacemaker in his grip. He remembered glancing directly at Tom as the blond outlaw had snapped off a shot that dropped one Comanche off to the side. Tom Pinto lived up to his reputation, he drew and fired faster than any man Johnny had ever seen and his aim was deadly. As the volley of shots from the war party ebbed slightly, the famous outlaw swung around one side of the rocks he was kneeled behind and fired three times. Another of the Comanche sagged to the hot dust in death.
Looking over to one side, the Kid saw that Copper-Hair was prone behind a loose pile of rubble from the cliff above, a pile barely enough to conceal her. She had not used her saw-off shotgun yet. Raising her head slightly, she called down, "You men do not realize the peril you are in. Night is only moments away."
Fierce laughter from the natives was her only answer. The Comanche had formed a skirmish line and were firing more carefully, choosing their shots to keep the three on the hill pinned down. The leader gave ullulating whoop and yelled back, "Then you will die in the darkness, foolish woman."
A faint scraping noise from above them alerted her. The strange Myrrwhan adventurer whirled and loosed a blast from her shotgun that tore apart the chest of a Comanche who had somehow climbed the hill from behind. The dying man dropped his rifle and slid face down but he dislodged a dozen rocks as he fell. A landslide rolled to drop heavy rocks which pinned down Copper-Hair's leg where she was lying. The body sprawled within reach of her. Although she gave a gasp more of indignation than of pain, she did not cry out.
"Hey! How bad you hurt?" called Johny.
"I strengthened my legs barely in time," Copper-Hair replied in an even tone. "It needs worse than this to slay Karina. Have I not survived these long ages? But," she continued, "I must admit I cannot free myself."
"Save one bullet fer yourself," Tom Pinto said to her. "You don't want these savages takin' you alive, I speak from experience of what I seen. Come on, Johnny, we'll take as many of them with us as we can."
A few scattered shots buzzed past them as the Comanche settled in for a siege. Seeing the last sliver of the red sun vanish to the West, the Brimstone Kid unexpectedly chuckled. "Old son, yer in for a big surprise, I'll tell the world."
V.
When the last tinge of daylight winked out on the horizon, stars appeared instantly in the clear dry motionless overhead. Some of the Comanche had been tying their dead brethren to the horses and tending their wounded as best they might. Abruptly, they froze motionless as if paralyzed.
From high up on the hillside, a deep mocking laughter echoed. The Indians swung around and saw, piercing from the gloom, two glowing red dots. Eyes. A hollow voice called down to them, "I reckon the owl has called your names, boys." With an immense bound, a huge dark shape dove headlong down through the air to stand unhurt at the base of the hill. It was the black stallion Terror, but dreadfully altered. The horse's ribs stood out as if in starvation, hot steam snorted visibly from the nostrils and the beast's eyes glowered with the same lambent red glow as its master's. Despite their proven courage, the Comanche shrank back and cried out at seeing the supernatural touch their world.
In another instant, a small gaunt figure vaunted down to the ground and bounded up to sit in the saddle of the hellbeast. Even in the gloom, it could be seen that Johnny Packard had changed. His face was bony and distorted, his eyebrows spiky, his crimson irises glinting as if lit from within. When he spoke, his sepulchral tones cut through the night, "You roosters see this lucifer?" he demanded, holding up a wooden match. "Here's my solemn promise. When it goes out, I'm a-gonna murder ever last one of yuh."
The match lit by itself in a stink of sulphur, without Johnny striking it. That was the final touch too weird to bear. The Indians could not ride away fast enough, yelling and urging their horses frantically. Left behind, the black stallion pranced and stamped its hooves and growled as it had to be restrained from giving chase.
"Settle down, you darnfool critter," the Brimstone Kid commanded. "I'll be plugged if you haven't gotten to like all the killing. Stand still, I tell you, or I'll sell you fer glue and get me a sweet old mare to ride. Stand still!"
By now, Tom Pinto had clambered down the slope to join them, keeping well back. "Thunderation. I reckon the stories I heard tell were not half true. Are you still Johnny?"
There was a long unbearable silence before the demonic voice answered, "Enough of me still is, Tom. Don't fret none, you ain't in no danger." The Kid swung a leg over the saddle and dismounted lightly, keeping one rein wrapped around his hand. "You and me, we go back a spell."
"Mebbe later you can fill me in a mite on what's happened to you," Pinto said. "But as long as them redmen are gone, we better get Copper-Hair free. She's been pinned down for an hour by now."
As the outlaw turned and started climbing back up the rocky slope, the Brimstone Kid drew on all his will power and slid his hat off his head to hang by its cord down on his back. It was difficult to do this, he felt more resistance every time he had to cast off the curse once it had settled in. With a painful shudder, his body stepped down to normal mortal levels. The clarity with which he saw in the darkness faded and his vision became normal. Beside him, Terror shivered and whinnied as a normal horse might. The black stallion enjoyed the demonic transformation even more than Johnny did.
As the two men struggled to get the fallen rocks off Copper-Hair's legs, Tom Pinto gave a start as he noticed Johnny had reverted to normal. Before he could ask about it, the Kid offered the comment, "Reckon that fella's not needed at the moment." He always tried to misdirect people about the nature of his curse. As far as Johnny knew, there was no living person aware that it was the contact with the Darthan token after nightfall that brought out the real Brimstone Kid. Better for everyone that nobody ever learned, he thought.
As the woman grumbled and turned over onto her back, Tom quietly made sure her sawed-off shotgun and pistol were well out of reach. Copper-Hair tugged off her left boot and pulled up her trouser leg to inspect the damage. "I don't believe anything is broken," she concluded sourly. "But look at that swelling. That ankle is going to be useless for a few days."
"It's a bad bruise and no mistake," Tom Pinto agreed. "You ain't going to no square dance this week."
She gave a faint scoffing noise. "I have survived worse. Well, gentlemen, I thank you kindly for freeing me. And, while I couldn't see exactly what was going on just now, I must conclude from what I heard that the Brimstone Kid is not a mere campfire tale."
"Sadly enough, that's true," Johnny said. He found his canteen and took a sparing mouthful of water. "Appears to me everyone's plans are changed. Ma'am, I think you see you won't be haulin' poor old Tom here off to any hoosegow."
"I do not judge you to be men who would kill me from spite," she said with a faint smile. "Oww. Perhaps we will meet again under better circumstances."
"Aw hayll, it's not in me to just leave you here thisaway," grumbled Tom Pinto. "Not that I don't hold a grudge, but I reckon I can rise above it this one time. Copper-Hair, in the mornin', I'll get you up on your hoss and ride with you as far as Claytonville. Then I go my way."
"This does you great credit," the redhaired woman replied. "And you, Mr Packard?"
The Brimstone Kid raised his Stetson but did not lower it onto his head yet. Below him, Terror made an impatient snort and stamped a hoof. "The night's callin' me, and I gotta answer. You know, the rain must fall and the wind must blow and I gotta be what I am." He scrambled down to mount his black horse as nimbly as an acrobat.
As the Kid rode off into the darkness, Tom Pinto hollered after him, "What if you run across the Comanche?"
From the distance, the ghoulish voice called back, "That'd be their hard luck!"
7/11-7/14/1882
I.
This part of Arizona seemed to be composed of little except dirt, rocks and dust, all baking under a merciless July sun. Late in the afternoon, with his shadow long and distorted behind him, Johnny Packard slowed his black stallion Terror to a halt at the foot of the hills where the bounty hunter and Tom Pinto were camped. He knew he had been spotted long minutes earlier since he had to approach without cover, so he kept both hands in plain sight and made no attempt to dismount.
Fifty feet above him, on a broad ledge surrounded by a cluster of round boulders big enough to conceal someone, a small fire of dried twigs heated a battered coffee pot suspended on sticks above it. Two horses, a chestnut roan and a golden Palomino, stood tethered in the shade of the largest boulder. Johnny was glad to see that Tom Pinto seemed unharmed. He was tied hand and foot, a complete prisoner leaning back against a boulder, but at least he hadn't been injured. Yet.
"Howdy. You mind if I get down offen my hoss?" he called up.
Not much could be seen of the bounty hunter. An oversized duster reached to the ground, its upturned collar and a wide-brimmed slouch hat pulled low concealed the hunter almost completely. In that brutal heat, being dressed like that had to be torture. The bounty hunter raised a gloved hand and gestured for Johnny to approach.
The Brimstone Kid knew he was not an intimidating sight. At twenty-three, he was a wiry youth not more than five feet four inches tall and weighing one hundred and fifty pounds if he had been eating town food. He hopped lightly down from the saddle and made sure to keep both hands well away from the butts of his matched 1873 Colt Peacemakers. Johnny tilted his black Stetson far back on his sweat-matted mop of dark red hair. He decided to speak first.
"I ain't fixin' to cause no trouble," he announced. "They is wanted posters of Tom Pinto all over the frontier and if you have claimed him, then the law is on your side. But I can't deny he's a friend of mine. We rode together. I aim to satisfy myself that he's bein' treated well even if yer haulin' him to stand before a judge who has the gallows already built."
"You live under a curse," the bounty hunter said. It was a woman's voice and Johnny gave a start at the surprise. "You carry a dark fragment of the Midnight War with you."
"Wal, I can't say yer wrong," he answered. "It 'pears you know a bit about me."
"Who has not heard tales of the Brimstone Kid?" she said. "Your American West is a savage land far older than your settlers dream. Even before the Red men came, elder civilizations rose and fell here, strange peoples and strange beasts roamed these plains. There is much that has been forgotten."
Johnny Packard took off his Stetson entirely and fanned himself with it. "You know, I once met some folks who talk the way you do. They was Melgar from Androval, wherever that might be."
The bounty hunter tossed aside her hat, shrugged out of the long duster coat and stood revealed as a tall rangy young woman in a blue Chambray work shirt, Levis and soft slippers instead of boots. Slung low on her right hip was a single-action .44 and a wide-bladed hunting knife was sheathed at her other side. The woman had bright auburn hair, glossy and much brighter in tone than Johnny's darker brick-red shade. In a strong-featured face with a wide jawline and full lips, her grey-green eyes caught the sunlight with a flash like a cat's. "Perhaps you have a glimmer of how I am called in your country?"
"I reckon so. Some Lakota I parleyed with told me of a woman warrior who roams alone and who fears no shootist or wild animal or force of Nature. Their name for her is Copper-Hair. Could that be you?"
"It is as good a name as any." The woman took effortless downward leaps and was standing on the ground within reached of Johnny. The agility and strength in her action was impressive enough. Immediately, she moved back another fifteen feet and stood with legs braced well apart. Her right hand hovered near her gun. "I believe you are tempted to free your friend, Mr Packard. That will not be allowed."
"I ain't never pulled iron on a woman," Johnny replied, shifting around to face her squarely. "That goes against all I was taught."
"Your females do not go about armed, nor do they need to," Copper-Hair snorted. "Men protect them. In my land, we do not rely upon others to fight for us. The daughters of Myrrwha are given a sword when they first learn to walk."
"You ain't home now, this is the Arizona Territory." Using his left hand, the Kid tilted his Stetson down to shadow his eyes. The fingers of his right hand hovered within inches of his own revolver. "I don't hanker a reputation as a lady-slayer, to be honest. Unless you give me no choice, I want to palaver, you savvy?"
Copper-Hair smiled thinly. "You have a right to self-defense." With that, her hand dropped down to hook the butt of her revolver and in a tiny fraction of a second, Johnny had drawn and fired in response. No real gunfighter ever tried to wound an opponent, such accuracy could not be counted upon when the stakes were life and death. He always aimed straight for the center of every's opponent's torso to give himself the best odds for survival.
To his complete shock, Copper-Hair left her gun untouched. Instead, her hand whirled up in a tight cirle and there was a whining ricohet as the bullet redirected to smack against a nearby rock. The strange redhaired woman grinned in wicked glee.
Despite his years of bitter experience, Johnny Packard did not shoot again. He was not aware his mouth hung open. It sure seemed to him that Copper-Hair had slapped his bullet aside like a thrown snowball.
II.
"Now that we have the confrontation out of the way, I feel we may speak more openly," she said. "Yes, I am from the realm of Myrrhwa and I am no common mortal. My true name is Karina. We have more in common than you might know... Even from here, I can sense the vile Darthan token you wear on your brow."
Under his beaded hatband, the red coin burned so hot that it stung his forehead. Sundown was near, there was a strong temptation to allow the ancient talisman to transform him. The change into the real Brimstone Kid only took place if he had the coin in close contact to his skin and so far he could avoid it by keeping a distance. But the call from that coin grew stronger all the time.
The Kid pushed his hat off so it hung by its cord down his back. He wiped his sweaty face with the back of one dark-tanned hand and exhaled as the stress of the showdown faded. "I declare I have taken leave of my senses. Too many hours in the sun, I reckon, my brains have boiled away."
"You are quite sane," Copper-Hair laughed. "Come. Speak with your friend. There is a rivulet of cold water down the side of these rocks. I will give some to your horse." She went up to the ledge where Tom Pinto had been watching the fight and Johnny followed uncertainly.
He had seen so many inexplicable phenomena in his career. The walking corpse of Silent River, the Valley of the Thunderbirds, the sword Hellspawn that drank life, even the Skinwalkers that chased riders in the night. He had thought he had grown jaded but this Copper-Hair still surprised him
Despite his confusion, Johnny knelt beside his old friend first. "Hola, amigo. You've seen happier days."
Sitting on the hard hot rocks with his hands tied behind him, Tom Pinto managed a crooked smile. He was in his middle fifties by now, grizzled and weathered beyond his years by long exposure to the elements. A inch or two over six feet tall, tough and muscular in a lean way, Tom had a thick mop of butter-yellow hair that hung down over his ears and touched his collar. His gunbelt had been removed but he still wore the open vest of black-and-white hide tanned from a legendary Pinto horse ridden by the war chief Osawayatotha. This had been the source of the handle he had been known by for years. Few had ever known his true name.
"Hello, sport," the infamous outlaw said. "You seem a mite gobsmacked by the lady's trick, eh?'
"I have never seen its like," Johnny admitted. "But I was admirin' how she got you trussed up like a dogie."
"Tain't that dramatic. I was blind stupid drunk in a town just over the Mexican border. Hadn't gotten myself besotted thataway in a long time." Tom Pinto grunted and shifted his weight on the uncomfortable ground. "Copper-Hair walked up to my table and tied me up with a rope, me bein' too stinking to fight her. She threw me over my own horse Mack over there and is hellbent on bringing me in for the reward."
"So I reckon," the Brimstone Kid said. He rose again and found Copper-Hair gazing at him thoughtfully.
"This man has a sizeable reward on his head. He is worth more alive than dead because Willets County wants to put him on trial." The Myrrwhan woman folded her arms and cocked her head. "I believe his mistake was not staying to face a jury when the crime took place."
"Ah. I was young then. Headstrong," Tom grumbled. "I thought, me get a fair trial in that two-horse town? For killin' their beloved Sheriff Brown and his deputy? I thought I had no more chance than a snowflake in a skillet."
"I never knew why John Brown despised you so much," Johnny said as he went over to the finger-wide trickle of icy water and wiped off his face and hands with relief. He would have given much for a bucket of that water to pour over his head. "He purely hated you, old son."
Tom Pinto took a deep breath and announced strongly, "I didn't shoot the deputy! I swear. Sheriff Brown did it. He framed me. He used a .44 like mine from across the street whilst I was arguin' with the deputy. I saw Brown do it and you know my fool temper, Kid. I had a lead pill going through his vitals afore his gunshot stopped echoing. So I ran before they stretched my neck fer me."
"Not much chance of gettin' a fair shake in Oswald Corners," Johnny said. "I been there. Half the folks is either one of the Brown clan or married to one. Best lawyer West of the Mississippi couldn't get you cleared." He swung around to give Copper-Hair a venomous glare. "You knew all this, din't ya?"
She shrugged. "Who am I to judge? Humans lie. Men, women, children, none are constituted to speak only truth. You believe your friend's tale because you want to but I have no obligation to accept his word."
"If'n you was a man, I calculate I might crack yuh over the head with my gun barrel and take Tom with me to Mexico," Johnny said. "I owe him that much."
The woman called Copper-Hair did not rise to the threat. "I have attended to your horse, sir. Fill your canteen and be on your way. I am but following the laws of your own country." She deliberately turned her back to present a perfect target and squatted down next to the steaming coffee pot where her tin mug waited.
The Kid found himself watching her with grudging admiration. She had nerve. And she was a good judge of character, it seemed, because he could no more have shot her from behind than he could have lifted his own horse over his head. Johnny sagged a bit with sudden weariness.
"I plugged a right big ol' jackrabbit this morning," he said at last. "He's waiting to be skinned and cleaned and roasted over a fire."
From where she squatted by the coffee, Copper-Hair turned her head to smile at him. "I still have a handful of potatoes in my saddlebags. We might make a meal of it."
As they prepared the animal and stoked the fire, Johnny persuaded the female bounty hunter to untie Tom's hands so he could keep the circulation moving. "You don't want to deal with a prisoner who has that gangrene stuff."
She agreed with hardly any hesitation. "So be it. His guns are unloaded and the barrels tied down with rawhide. Even if he tried, it would take him too long to arm himself. And it is more dignified that he feed himself with his own hands."
As they ate and while the horses munched from oat-filled feedbags, Johnny Packard told Copper-Hair about the turning point in Tom Pinto's life. A few years earlier, the outlaw had sold out for blood money and was hauling Johnny as a prisoner to a hated enemy. Then some weird unexplainable event on a dark and wind day had changed Tom forever.
"I heard one of them hell-riders call my name," the gunfighter said with a visible shiver. "He warned me to change my ways or I'd be joining them."
"The Wild Hunt! Oh yes," said Copper-Hair as she munched on roasted hare leg. "Very old. Many have had taken that ghostly warning to heart, as well they should."
From where he was tethered in the shade, Terror made a low rumbling noise not at all like a normal whinny. Leaping to his feet, his right hand filling itself with a Colt, the Kid swung around to gaze off at the horizon. In a second, Copper-Hair had joined him.
"Riders comin' fast," Johnny grumbled. "A good number of them."
"My eyes are not as yours," she added quietly. "I count at least thirty. They are the people you call Comanche."
III.
Dousing the fire and gathering her gear, Copper-Hair urged Johnny to bring their horses up higher on the rock formation. Steep as it was, the front of the hill was the only climbable side. The rear of the rock pile was a sheer vertical surface. In a few minutes, the Kid had led Copper-Hair's roan and Tom Pinto's Palomino up behind a boulder where they would be sheltered from below.
The stallion Terror followed of his own volition. This close to sunset, the black horse stamped his front hooves and snorted angrily. Terror enjoyed the demonic changes he went through if Johnny was near him at night. "Damn fool critter," the Brimstone Kid grumbled to himself as he stroked his horse's neck. "I'd think a beast would have more sense than this."
Standing on top of an outcropping, Tom Pinto gazed out at the small dark figures drawing closer. He had picked up his own tan Stetson and tugged it down to shade his eyes. "I tangled with Comanche before. Round these parts, they're known for setting out in small skirmish parties of young bucks who ache to avenge their grievances. They may start out claimin' to want only to trade but they'll be looking for the best time to start killing."
Copper-Hair raised her main weapon, a sawed-off shotgun with a barrel only fifteen inches long and no stock at all. She was holding it like a pistol. "It seems good fortune that you have turned up at this time," she told Johnny with a wicked grin. "There are many stories of your skill at shooting."
The approaching hoofbeats could be heard on the hard dry soil by now. "Ma'am," said Tom Pinto, "You don't know what my word is worth, but I offer it now. Give me my irons and I'll help in our defense but I won't turn them on you."
"It'd be right smart to do that," Johnny chimed in. "I seen Tom in action and frankly, he's faster and more accurate with a hogleg than I'll ever be. All three of us standin' together got a good chance of comin' outta this with our skins intact.
This drew a derisive snort. "Hah. Arm a prisoner? Will you then meekly surrender to me after the danger is passed?"
"Whether you like it or not, I'll give him one of mine," Johnny snapped. "I'm telling yuh, having Tom on our side might mean life or death."
The strange Myrrwhan woman regarded both of them, obviously struggling with the decision before finally saying, "So be it. Go, Tom Pinto. Your pistols and gunbelt are tied behind my saddle. I pray to Cirkoth that I will not regret trusting you."
As the Comanche came within sight, they were revealed as a colorful lot. Most wore long-sleeved cotton shirts that were bright red or blue or yellow, and most had headbands or scarfs of clashing hues. The blankets they used instead of saddles added more vivid tints. And they were well-armed, nearly every one of them carried a Winchester or had a revolver tucked in a sash as well as a profusion of Bowie knives, long-handled Tomahawks and even a cavalry saber in a scabbard that clearly read US ARMY on its length.
Without discussing their placement, both Johnny Packard and Tom Pinto stood next to a chest-high boulder that they could instantly dive behind. Both men rested their hands on their gunbelts, within an inch of the Colts they wore. It was Copper-Hair who stood boldly in the open, feet braced well apart, the sawed-off shotgun pointed down at a spot in front of her feet.
"You know me, red brother," she announced quietly.
"Aye, it is true,"said the obvious leader, marked by a black poncho. "You are the woman with hair the color of fire. And beside you, the man who wears the memory of great chief Osawayatotha." He stared at Johnny and his stoic impassive expression slipped for the barest instant. "And you! The little devil who slays at night, with guns that fire lightning and with the horse that breathes steam. There is no mistaking you!"
Drawing his Stetson up onto his head, the Brimstone Kid touched its brim in a salute. "It's right pleasin' to be appreciated," he replied. "And I don't believe I caught your tag, hombre?"
"I am Unathagawa, known on white tongues as Mountain Cat. Come, what do you have to trade? Whiskey, maybe so? Flour, salt, blankets?"
Tom Pinto replied with a deceptive gentleness, "I'll give you some pellets fer free, hombre."
IV.
In less than half a second, Johnny found himself crouched behind a boulder as a thunderstorm of gunfire whined all around him. He had his own Peacemaker in his grip. He remembered glancing directly at Tom as the blond outlaw had snapped off a shot that dropped one Comanche off to the side. Tom Pinto lived up to his reputation, he drew and fired faster than any man Johnny had ever seen and his aim was deadly. As the volley of shots from the war party ebbed slightly, the famous outlaw swung around one side of the rocks he was kneeled behind and fired three times. Another of the Comanche sagged to the hot dust in death.
Looking over to one side, the Kid saw that Copper-Hair was prone behind a loose pile of rubble from the cliff above, a pile barely enough to conceal her. She had not used her saw-off shotgun yet. Raising her head slightly, she called down, "You men do not realize the peril you are in. Night is only moments away."
Fierce laughter from the natives was her only answer. The Comanche had formed a skirmish line and were firing more carefully, choosing their shots to keep the three on the hill pinned down. The leader gave ullulating whoop and yelled back, "Then you will die in the darkness, foolish woman."
A faint scraping noise from above them alerted her. The strange Myrrwhan adventurer whirled and loosed a blast from her shotgun that tore apart the chest of a Comanche who had somehow climbed the hill from behind. The dying man dropped his rifle and slid face down but he dislodged a dozen rocks as he fell. A landslide rolled to drop heavy rocks which pinned down Copper-Hair's leg where she was lying. The body sprawled within reach of her. Although she gave a gasp more of indignation than of pain, she did not cry out.
"Hey! How bad you hurt?" called Johny.
"I strengthened my legs barely in time," Copper-Hair replied in an even tone. "It needs worse than this to slay Karina. Have I not survived these long ages? But," she continued, "I must admit I cannot free myself."
"Save one bullet fer yourself," Tom Pinto said to her. "You don't want these savages takin' you alive, I speak from experience of what I seen. Come on, Johnny, we'll take as many of them with us as we can."
A few scattered shots buzzed past them as the Comanche settled in for a siege. Seeing the last sliver of the red sun vanish to the West, the Brimstone Kid unexpectedly chuckled. "Old son, yer in for a big surprise, I'll tell the world."
V.
When the last tinge of daylight winked out on the horizon, stars appeared instantly in the clear dry motionless overhead. Some of the Comanche had been tying their dead brethren to the horses and tending their wounded as best they might. Abruptly, they froze motionless as if paralyzed.
From high up on the hillside, a deep mocking laughter echoed. The Indians swung around and saw, piercing from the gloom, two glowing red dots. Eyes. A hollow voice called down to them, "I reckon the owl has called your names, boys." With an immense bound, a huge dark shape dove headlong down through the air to stand unhurt at the base of the hill. It was the black stallion Terror, but dreadfully altered. The horse's ribs stood out as if in starvation, hot steam snorted visibly from the nostrils and the beast's eyes glowered with the same lambent red glow as its master's. Despite their proven courage, the Comanche shrank back and cried out at seeing the supernatural touch their world.
In another instant, a small gaunt figure vaunted down to the ground and bounded up to sit in the saddle of the hellbeast. Even in the gloom, it could be seen that Johnny Packard had changed. His face was bony and distorted, his eyebrows spiky, his crimson irises glinting as if lit from within. When he spoke, his sepulchral tones cut through the night, "You roosters see this lucifer?" he demanded, holding up a wooden match. "Here's my solemn promise. When it goes out, I'm a-gonna murder ever last one of yuh."
The match lit by itself in a stink of sulphur, without Johnny striking it. That was the final touch too weird to bear. The Indians could not ride away fast enough, yelling and urging their horses frantically. Left behind, the black stallion pranced and stamped its hooves and growled as it had to be restrained from giving chase.
"Settle down, you darnfool critter," the Brimstone Kid commanded. "I'll be plugged if you haven't gotten to like all the killing. Stand still, I tell you, or I'll sell you fer glue and get me a sweet old mare to ride. Stand still!"
By now, Tom Pinto had clambered down the slope to join them, keeping well back. "Thunderation. I reckon the stories I heard tell were not half true. Are you still Johnny?"
There was a long unbearable silence before the demonic voice answered, "Enough of me still is, Tom. Don't fret none, you ain't in no danger." The Kid swung a leg over the saddle and dismounted lightly, keeping one rein wrapped around his hand. "You and me, we go back a spell."
"Mebbe later you can fill me in a mite on what's happened to you," Pinto said. "But as long as them redmen are gone, we better get Copper-Hair free. She's been pinned down for an hour by now."
As the outlaw turned and started climbing back up the rocky slope, the Brimstone Kid drew on all his will power and slid his hat off his head to hang by its cord down on his back. It was difficult to do this, he felt more resistance every time he had to cast off the curse once it had settled in. With a painful shudder, his body stepped down to normal mortal levels. The clarity with which he saw in the darkness faded and his vision became normal. Beside him, Terror shivered and whinnied as a normal horse might. The black stallion enjoyed the demonic transformation even more than Johnny did.
As the two men struggled to get the fallen rocks off Copper-Hair's legs, Tom Pinto gave a start as he noticed Johnny had reverted to normal. Before he could ask about it, the Kid offered the comment, "Reckon that fella's not needed at the moment." He always tried to misdirect people about the nature of his curse. As far as Johnny knew, there was no living person aware that it was the contact with the Darthan token after nightfall that brought out the real Brimstone Kid. Better for everyone that nobody ever learned, he thought.
As the woman grumbled and turned over onto her back, Tom quietly made sure her sawed-off shotgun and pistol were well out of reach. Copper-Hair tugged off her left boot and pulled up her trouser leg to inspect the damage. "I don't believe anything is broken," she concluded sourly. "But look at that swelling. That ankle is going to be useless for a few days."
"It's a bad bruise and no mistake," Tom Pinto agreed. "You ain't going to no square dance this week."
She gave a faint scoffing noise. "I have survived worse. Well, gentlemen, I thank you kindly for freeing me. And, while I couldn't see exactly what was going on just now, I must conclude from what I heard that the Brimstone Kid is not a mere campfire tale."
"Sadly enough, that's true," Johnny said. He found his canteen and took a sparing mouthful of water. "Appears to me everyone's plans are changed. Ma'am, I think you see you won't be haulin' poor old Tom here off to any hoosegow."
"I do not judge you to be men who would kill me from spite," she said with a faint smile. "Oww. Perhaps we will meet again under better circumstances."
"Aw hayll, it's not in me to just leave you here thisaway," grumbled Tom Pinto. "Not that I don't hold a grudge, but I reckon I can rise above it this one time. Copper-Hair, in the mornin', I'll get you up on your hoss and ride with you as far as Claytonville. Then I go my way."
"This does you great credit," the redhaired woman replied. "And you, Mr Packard?"
The Brimstone Kid raised his Stetson but did not lower it onto his head yet. Below him, Terror made an impatient snort and stamped a hoof. "The night's callin' me, and I gotta answer. You know, the rain must fall and the wind must blow and I gotta be what I am." He scrambled down to mount his black horse as nimbly as an acrobat.
As the Kid rode off into the darkness, Tom Pinto hollered after him, "What if you run across the Comanche?"
From the distance, the ghoulish voice called back, "That'd be their hard luck!"