[DL] Valentine's Labors Part 4

[Michael Cone <Michael.Cone@phoenix.edu>]

It was after almost four years of wanderin' with Blackfeather and a lot of
his friends here and there, killin' nasties, helpin' folk and tryin' to make
things right when he and I parted company in Nevada. He was goin' down to
Arizona to see about makin' things right with the Apache side of his life. I
was off to Shan Fan to see Chen again and this time I was goin' to be the
one tellin' the stories.

	The sun was just slowly heading for the place where the sky meets
the sea when I ambled back towards the Temple of the Ghost Wind. The place
had weathered some and looked much older than I would have thought. The
gates were starting ta splinter and the walls needed a new coat a plaster
somethin' fierce.  I pushed them open and smiled for the first time for more
months than I could recall. The gardens were still there, in all the lovely
glory that I had come to dream about. Around the little banzai trees,
hobbled a much older and wrinkled Chen. He shambled to me and bowed deep and
long and I tried to remember everything he taught me to bow with honor back.
From the mission house behind the gardens, Duck and ol' Blue Mountain had
come to the door to see where he had run off ta. They smiled and called
inside for the others to come and greet me. Hoppin' Duck, Blue Mountain, and
Autumn Dawn had just entered the garden when Smoke Dragon appeared in the
doorway to the kitchen with frown creasing those serene features of his.
When I saw that, I knew that something was wrong. He had just opened his
mouth to shout when I heard it. A pair o' clicks from the far side o' the
gate. Just as quiet and as deadly as a rattlesnake's glare. Then everything
just kinda folded together inta a mess o' fire and thunder.

	Yeah, I'm cryin' so what! Oh, that. I suppose they do look a little
dark fer tears. Mister, their blood And you gonna find out why.

	My eyes uncrossed to watching lumber an' chunks o' plaster rip
through that garden that they had spent so many years workin' on. Just
ripped it ta shreds. Broke my heart right then and there. I beat out the
patches of fire that were spottin' my duster and rolled over to see Him
takin' long, slow strides into what was left o' the garden. Mister, that
man, that thing, I kin barely get the words for him, it, out. If there ever
was something that was the Conductor on the Express train to Hell, it's him.
Grey sallow features, under an old beat-up brown wide brim. A long, worn
duster the color of graveyard dirt, and a smokin' hogleg of a pistol in each
pale, skeletal hand. I didn't know who he was but I knew fer damn sure he
was in trouble of the biggest kind. Or so I thought.

	The only thing that piece of Death on two legs ever said was to call
out to Nine-fingered Chen in a voice I'da sworn was straight from the Pit
itself. And for the first time in too many years to count I was too scared
ta grab for my Colts. I froze as still as a wolf's dinner as those burning
eyes looked right at Chen. No one was more surprised than me when Hoppin'
Duck took to th' air.

	He just bowed that one good leg o' his and jumped. I mean Jumped. As
graceful as a bird he just leapt across the others, bounced off of the rocks
in the garden and kicked the intruder square in the left ear. He was soaring
back towards the rock again when the fiend's left arm snapped out and that
pistol went off like a cannonade. Duck's leg landed in the middle of the
sand garden. The rest o' him hit the far wall of the mission yard with a
sound like a side o' beef hittin' a butcher's table. That set everybody else
off like a fire-bell.

	Blue Mountain simply drew back his left fist and thrust it into the
air and I heard the sound of ribs shatterin' like sticks under a wagon
wheel. Bright Diamond stepped back to the rock garden and started tossing
stones the size of your head faster than I could watch. The stranger's
duster snapped and ripped but he just stood there like it was no more than a
warm breeze. All those rocks just bounced and pattered all over the yard
like chubby hailstones. I was still trying to get my hands ta quit shakin'
and slap leather.  Autumn Dawn stepped in front of Chen, and let fly with
one of the shovel's he'd been doing the garden with. I swear on a stack of
bibles that it was about to take the head off'n that damn murderer when the
pistol in his right hand went off and blew it to matchsticks. Quiet Thunder,
the little wrinkled man who led everyone in prayer, busted loose with a
scream like a Banshee put on the Rack, and launched himself at the gunman in
a flying kick. Old Tree ran right behind him with a woodcutter's hatchet in
each hand. 

	I felt my blood run cold as I watched that ghastly thing step into
Thunder's kick and smash the pistol grip into his skull. Quiet Thunder
dropped to the ground and I saw his head looked like crushed squash. Old
Tree started swingin' as soon as Thunder hit the dirt and his target just
kinda swayed between his strikes, like a willow drifting in a lazy breeze.
He put his barrel under the monk's chin and Tree's brains parted company
with his skull in a great, greasy red burst.

	When the gore hit the sand and the gunsmoke cleared, he was gone.
Just plumb vanished. I finally got my hand to quit twichin' and started to
spin my piece to make the biggest trick I could. The very first one that
Blackfeather had taught me. Bright Diamond's choking scream messed up my
concentration some, though. We all turned to see the gunman just risin' up
outta the ground like some demonic weed. His right hand was wrapped around
Diamond's neck and the he just kinda fell to dust, right outta his bony
grip. I put everything I could into this trick. The others all formed a
phalanx 'round Chen. That demon just looked at all of us and his face split
into a grin that reminded me of an open wound. He shook out the last bit o'
dust from his fist and then his hand dropped to his waist. And I let him
have it. My Navy Colt went off like a keg o' powder and I nailed that cuss
square in the gut. 

	There that bastard stood, with a hole in his shirt and his belly
that I could see a boot's length of spine in, his duster billowin' with the
charge and he just up and gives a wider smile. The monks decided that he was
getting' off too easy.  Blue Mountain, Autumn Dawn, and Plum Blossom all
sprung forward like cats after mice. And they started hittin'. 

	I don't know how to really to describe a sight like that, Mister.
Three men all whalin' on one, fists and feet just flyin' like rocks inna
avalanche. And that damn stranger just standin' there takin' it all in
stride. I pulled the other iron and started up another trick but he just
went through them like a scythe through wheat at harvest time.
	
	He pulled both hoglegs in the middle of that furious storm but
Mountain got one and Plum Blossom kicked the other outta reach and I thought
for sure that he was about to be put down. He just reached out; put a bony
hand on Autumn Dawn's either shoulder, opened his slit mouth and took a deep
breath. 
	
	I am ashamed to say that I dropped my left shooter. Yeah, I know. It
sounds really dumb but it happens. I watched Autumn Dawn let out one little
squeak and then he just turned to smoke in that gunslinger's grip. And got
himself inhaled. I got no other words to tell you how it happened, but it
was just like that. And he was gone. Plum Blossom froze when Dawn up and
vanished and the gunman just snapped his wrist like he was drawin' and damn
if he didn't have one of those pistols back in his hand. His finger twitched
and Blossom kinda blew inta two messy parts. Blue Mountain reared back and
let loose a kick I'da thought that would have put the gunman's head inta the
next state. I heard his neck crack under that damn hat that had stayed on
his head the entire slaughter but he just looked right back down at Mountain
and that other pistol was back in his other hand. 
	
	I finally got my guts together, and fanned that hammer on the one
that was still in my hand. Five shots, as straight across as books on the
shelf, from his right shoulder to his left. Five holes in that ratty shirt
right over the one big one I had put in him not moments before. His eyes
started to smolder like old wood that don't want ta burn. Guess I'd done
gone and made him mad.

	While I was fillin' him with lead, Smoke Dragon had closed th' gap
and had him right in arms reach. The gunman buried a boot in Mountain's gut
and kicked him into Dragon, so the other monk's blow missed. His shots found
their mark. Two triggers are pulled. Two hammers fall, and two bullets leave
the barrels. Blue Mountain falls to the ground with a third eye where his
nose was, and most of the back of his head all over the banzai trees.