by Jon Sharpe
As Fargo came up to the base camp that Hank had set up on the Sharon’s Dream side of the ridge, he was met with applauding miners.
Hank came out of the shadows, smiling. “Wait until you see what you did down there.”
He motioned for Fargo to follow him on a path up to the ridge.
In the faint light, Fargo could see some of the miners scattered along the ridgeline with carbines, keeping behind the shelter of large rocks. Fargo lay down beside Hank on a flat rock and eased forward. Even though there was almost no chance of a stray shot from below hitting anyone, it was better to not take chances.
Only three lamps still burned down there, but the compound was clear. The sight that greeted Fargo shocked him, and he wasn’t a person who was easily shocked.
The entire stable was gone, with dark shapes that must be dead horses scattered everywhere. Fargo felt bad about the loss of good livestock, but in this case it couldn’t be helped.
The bunkhouse was mostly gone. Except for a front wall, only a large pile of twisted and torn timber remained.
The big house had no windows left in the front at all. They had all been blown inward by the blast.
“Anyone come out of any of those buildings?” Fargo asked.
“Nope,” Hank said. “They pulled one from the bunkhouse, but he’s still lying down there in the open and I’m bettin’ he’s dead. No one has come out of the big house.”
“So you haven’t seen Kip or either of the Brants?”
“Kip came out of the big house just before the blast you set off, then went back inside. No one has seen him since.”
Fargo nodded. “They’re still waiting for their help to arrive. How many gunhands do you think are left down there?”
“Maybe ten at most,” Hank said, “not counting Kip or the Brants. But we’ve only seen the six guards on duty. No one has relieved them so far.”
“Okay,” Fargo said, pushing himself back from the edge and standing. “Keep your men switching off and fresh. Keep pounding them, and take no chances. Check in with Jim on the main road once in a while.”
Hank nodded. “Where are you going?”
“I have an errand to run in town,” he said, heading down the hill toward the stable. “I’ll be back in the morning to clean up the mess down there. Just make sure no one goes out of or into that compound until I get back.”
He headed down the hill toward the stable and his big Ovaro. Thirty minutes later, after checking in with Jim and the men at the entrance to the Brant mine, he was stabling his horse in town.
He walked into the Wallace saloon and up to the bar to be greeted by the smiling face of Reg. “Was that you that rattled my bottles a while back?”
Fargo returned the smile. “Just Henry Brant having a little mine accident. Is our fair boss around at this late hour?”
Reg tipped his head toward her office. “I doubt she was going to sleep much tonight.”
Fargo tapped the bar as a thank-you. “That problem is going around.”
He knocked lightly on Anne’s door, then pushed it slowly open when she said, “Come in.”
She was sitting at her desk, a pair of reading glasses on her nose. She pushed them down and said, “Yes?” without turning.
He closed the door behind him and said, “I hope all the explosions aren’t keeping you up.”
She spun around, beaming. “Skye!”
A moment later she was in his arms, kissing him hard and fast. Just about the time he was hoping that her kissing him would never end, it did. She held him at arm’s length and said, “Now what have you been up to? That explosion knocked plaster off of some of my ceilings.”
“It seems that Henry Brant had a little more dynamite in his shed than we thought he did,” Fargo said, grinning.
“How did you—? Never mind, don’t tell me. You can fill me in on everything when all this is over. I’m assuming it’s not over yet.”
“It’s not,” he said. “I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were all right, and get a little rest. The men of Sharon’s Dream are doing a great job defending their mine. And Brant and his people don’t know yet that help isn’t coming, so they’re not going anywhere. At least not until tomorrow morning after I tell them.”
She kissed him hard, then said, “Good. Follow me. Are you hungry?”
“Nope. Just tired.”
She led him quickly down the back hallway and up the back staircase to her room.
“Lock and bolt the door,” she said as she went to draw the drapes and turn the lamp down even lower than it was.
As he finished with the locks, she turned him around and started undressing him, first undoing every button on his shirt, then pulling his undershirt over his head. Then she had him sit down and she worked on pulling off his boots, then his britches.
Before he knew it, he was sitting on the edge of her bed completely naked, his manhood thrusting up into the air.
She took hold of him, rubbing gently, and said, “I thought you were tired.”
“For a beautiful woman who just undressed me, not that tired.”
She laughed and stepped back, working quickly to undress herself right in front of him. This time she made no tease of anything, just went about the business of shedding her dress and undergarments, laying them on the chair by the window to hang up later.
There was something hypnotic about watching a beautiful woman undress, especially if there was the promise of a roll in the hay to follow.
When she turned from laying out her dress and started toward him, he felt his entire body tense. He took her all in, from the smooth skin on her neck to the large brown nipples to the thick patch of fine brown hair between her legs. Everything about her just fit together.
She came into his arms and kissed him hard. “Let me do the work,” she whispered. “Just sit there.”
She turned around and settled on his lap like he was a chair. He reached up and put his arms around her, holding her breasts gently in both hands.
“I’m supposed to do the work, remember?”
“A fella’s got to have something to hang on to, doesn’t he?”
She laughed and then her hand expertly guided him inside her.
She settled there for a moment; then with a loud sigh, she lifted up slightly and then settled back down again.
The sensation of her body holding him, sitting on him, was almost more than Fargo could bear. He slowly rubbed her breasts as she went up and down again.
And then again, letting him slide easily in and out of her while her juices flowed down his manhood, coating him.
He helped lift her on the next motion and then let go, letting her drop down on him a little harder.
The movement made her gasp and after that she increased the pace and he joined her, helping to lift her gently with her breasts while rubbing them, then dropping her again onto his ramrod-hard shaft.
He could tell that they were both getting closer and closer as they pounded again and again, slamming their private parts together.
He let his hands drop to her hips and slip under her buttocks as she lifted up again. He took over after that, lifting her, letting her go, lifting her, letting her go, faster and faster and faster.
And then she said, very intently, “Yes!”
She squeezed him tight as she reached her peak and a moment later he filled her, seeming to turn himself inside out into her womanhood.
They sat there together for a long moment, both of them trying to catch their breath.
Then slowly he softened and slipped out of her.
She stood and pushed him back on the bed.
He fell flat on his back, totally drained, looking up at her flushed face and beautiful body.
“Get under those covers and get some sleep, mister,” she said. “I’ll wake you at sunrise.”
He did as she ordered, because he had learned over the years that when a naked woman tells you to do something, it’s best to just do it.
The
next thing he knew, she was nudging him gently. “Skye, it’s almost dawn.”
He opened one eye and looked at her. Her hair was mussed and she had a pillow mark on one side of her face, but she still looked radiant and beautiful.
“Thanks.”
With a gentle peck on her cheek, he rolled out of the soft, warm bed and into the cold air of the room. He glanced out through the drapes. She was right— the sun was just starting to color the sky and he could hear a couple of roosters crowing.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll be back when this is finally over.”
She nodded but didn’t close her eyes.
He used the pitcher and basin to wash his face and neck, then slipped on his britches and his pants before putting on his undershirt and shirt.
By the time he had his boots on, she was sitting up in bed, the sheet pulled up under her chin.
He stood and made sure his Colt was loaded completely. He turned to her. Even with the sheet covering most of her front, she was still alluring enough to make him want to take his clothes off and crawl back into that bed with her. But of course he couldn’t.
“Lock the door behind me, and if you would do me a favor, stay inside the building until I give the all clear.”
“That’s not a problem,” she said, smiling. “I have more than enough work to do. Thanks for worrying.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Just come back to me, mister.”
“I’m like a bad penny,” he said.
With that, he turned and went out into the hallway.
He stood there for a moment until he heard her lock and bolt the door. Then from the other side she said, “Good luck, Skye.”
He smiled and turned for the stairs. Always nice when a woman understood what a man did and didn’t try to stop him. He had run into very few women like that in his travels.
Cain’s wife, Sharon, had been one of those special women. Fargo had been in their home over the years more times than he could count. She had always made him feel welcome and he had liked her a great deal.
Cain knew he had been lucky to find her, and he never once talked bad about her. When she died, it tore Cain apart. It was only the fact that he had a son to finish raising that kept him going. And the fact that Sharon would have been mad at him if he had given up and gone down into a bottle.
Now it was up to Fargo to avenge his friend, to make sure that Sharon’s Dream would remain in good hands as Cain and Sharon would have wanted.
14
The sun was still only faintly coloring the sky as Fargo checked in with Jim at the Brant mine road.
“Keep your eyes open and your men on guard,” Fargo reminded him.
“Understood,” Jim said.
Fargo moved on, leading his big Ovaro down and into the stable at Sharon’s Dream, making sure his horse was fed and taken care of.
Then, with his heavy carbine in his hand, he headed up toward the ridge between the two mines.
The sky had turned a faint blue, but the sun had yet to color the tops of the mountains. It wouldn’t be long until full daylight was on them. Again, the coming day promised to be clear and hot. He hoped to have this over with before it got too hot.
At the top of the ridge, he met Hank and Walt.
“Better send a dozen more men to Jim on the road,” Fargo said as he stepped up near the top of the ridge to their base camp.
Hank nodded and told another man to take twelve from along the ridge and get going.
“So, what’s happened?” Fargo asked.
“We threw all but our last six sticks of dynamite at them,” Walt said. “We figured we had better save those for an emergency.”
“Good idea,” Fargo said. “When did you throw the last ones?”
“Thirty minutes ago,” Hank said. “We varied the length between throwing them, so they wouldn’t get used to a pattern.”
“Again, good thinking,” Fargo said. “Any movement down there?”
“Nothing,” Hank said. “Guards are all still at their posts. They haven’t been switched out, which tells me there’s no one left to replace them.”
“Do you have the spyglass?” Fargo asked.
Walt went back to a pack and pulled it out. “Not enough light for it to work at night.”
Fargo slung his carbine over his shoulder, took the heavy metal spyglass, and moved to a position on a rock where he could see the compound below. In the morning light, the destruction seemed even worse than before. Except for the big ranch house, which had all of its windows blown out, there was almost nothing left down there.
He had Walt tell him where the six guards were stationed, and he checked out each one. Two of them were asleep; the other four were nodding.
Six guards at posts. No bunkhouse left to hold any others, so those that were still alive were in the big house with Brant and Sarah and Kip.
That meant there were nine survivors total, maybe a few more, but not many.
Fargo spent a few minutes with the spyglass scouting the hillside below him for a way down and a place that had good enough cover and was close enough for the Henry to do its work. All the dynamite had really changed the hill above the mine, but finally Fargo found what he was looking for.
He slipped back off the rock and handed the spyglass to Walt. “I’m going down there. If I get pinned down, I’ll shout for help. But unless I do, you stay here and keep your people at their posts.”
“Nothing at all we can do?” Hank asked. “This is our mine. Cain was our boss.”
“I understand that,” Fargo said, “but he was my friend.”
He went on before the two good men could argue. “You’ve done everything you can. This is my fight now and I like to go it alone. If I need help, I’ll shout out.”
Fargo turned to start over the ridge, then thought better of it and turned back to the two men. “If something happens to me, I want you to carry on. You know what Brant did to Cain. Take care of the bastards for me.”
Both men nodded and said nothing.
Fargo turned and headed up over the ridge, not spending too much effort to hide as he went, but moving fast and staying in what cover he could.
He made it all the way to the rock he had picked out for cover without a shot coming his way. The guards were either asleep or had lost the will to fight. It didn’t much matter to him.
Fargo slid up on the rock and pulled down on the guard slightly below him, the one closest to the mine tunnel. That was the guard that had the best angle on him and the one Fargo needed to take care of sooner rather than later.
The shot seemed very loud as it echoed over the silent compound. The guard he had targeted snapped around and slumped over a rock, a moment later sliding to the ground, leaving a bloody trail on the rock.
Fargo slammed another shell into the chamber and quickly took out the guard in the rocks above the destroyed bunkhouse.
That man fired into the air as Fargo’s lead ripped through him.
The other four guards opened up on Fargo as he slipped back slightly into more cover. He could take his time with those four. He had the angle and the advantage on them.
With a fresh cartridge in the chamber, he waited until they had all fired, then eased up and took out the guard closest to the road.
He hit the second guard beside the road next.
Fargo slid back as the last two guards fired on him. From around the edge of the rock, he could see the big house. No movement from there at all.
“Fargo,” one of the two guards yelled. “How about we just call this a draw and get out of here? We have no fight with you.”
“Your boss won’t like it.”
“Haven’t seen him all night,” the other guard shouted. “More than likely he’s dead in the house from the dynamite blast.”
Fargo yelled, “Get out of here.”
“Thanks,” the first guard shouted back.
As Fargo watched, the two men stood and climbed out of their guard posts, heading for t
he road.
Fargo then eased up on the rock so he could check the compound completely. There was nothing left moving at all.
Nothing. Not even a slight wind to blow around some of the dust from the night of explosions.
“Those still in the big house,” Fargo shouted into the silence. “I have some bad news. The men you hired aren’t coming. The entire gang of them, including Mick Rule, is lying in the morgue in Sacramento. If you don’t believe me, just ask Marshal Davis.”
No movement, no sound, nothing came from the big house.
Fargo checked the compound one more time for any sign that any man was still alive, then eased out of hiding and headed down the hill toward the big building, keeping his attention focused on the black openings of the blown-out windows.
He took his time, moving from cover to cover, until he finally reached the side of the building with no windows. He stopped there, again staring at the compound, at the mine entrance, at the ruins of the buildings, waiting and watching for any movement.
On the ridge back toward Sharon’s Dream, he could see a few of the miners standing on rocks, watching him. They had lost all fear of a stray shot hitting them now. They figured there was no one left to shoot at them.
Fargo put his carbine over his shoulder and took the heavy Colt from its holster. Then he eased onto the front porch, moving slowly in the splinters of wood and small stones. There was no glass, since it had all been blown inside.
From the looks of the destruction, he was starting to wonder if he had killed the Brants with the explosion.
He stepped through what had been a large window with a low sill and into the dark insides of the ranch house, freezing in place with his Colt ready to send lead.
This had been a living room, but much of the furniture was smashed against the wall or out behind the large building. He could see through the back windows that even the two-seater outhouse had been knocked over, and a couch that had been in this room lay tipped on top of it.
Two bodies were thrown against the back wall between two windows. One was impaled by a long spike of wood that had nailed him to the wall like a wild animal.