Death Devil (9781101559666)

by Sharpe, Jon

  “That they don’t,” Harold agreed.

  “Are you sure you don’t have a bottle?” Fargo asked again.

  Hooves drummed on the lane and two riders came out of the orchard at a trot. One was huge and wore overalls and a floppy hat. The other was rail thin.

  “Why, look who it is,” Dogood said. “Providence has intervened in your behalf, Harold.”

  The farmer’s face mirrored delight. “Now we’ll see who tells who what, by God.”

  Fargo didn’t like the sound of that. He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and shifted to one side so he could watch the approaching riders and keep an eye on McWhertle and Dogood.

  “If I were you, mister,” Harold said, “I’d climb on that pinto and light a shuck.”

  “And quickly,” Dogood encouraged him.

  “I’ll leave when the doc does.”

  The riders were almost there. The huge one had a moon face, a sloping forehead, and beetling brows. The thin rail had a nose that hooked like a bird’s beak and a chin that curled up at the end. They came to a stop in puffs of dust and the huge man leaned on his saddle horn.

  “Howdy, cousin Harold. I came to borrow those shears we talked about last Sunday at church.”

  “Cousin Orville,” Harold replied. “Cousin Artemis,” he said to the skinny one. “Am I glad to see you two.” He gestured at Fargo. “This gent, here, pulled his gun on me.”

  Orville sat up. “He did what, now, cousin?”

  “My Abigail is sick and my wife sent for that female sawbones. I forbade her to step foot in my house but this feller skinned his smoke wagon and made me step aside.”

  “Did he, now?” Orville dismounted and strode up to Fargo, towering a good foot and a half over him. “Mister, you just bought yourself a heap of trouble.”

  4

  Artemis had alighted, too. He sidled to the left with a hand behind his back.

  “I’d be obliged if you’d make him scat,” Harold said to Orville.

  “What is kin for?” Orville rumbled, and poked Fargo in the chest with a finger as thick as a railroad spike. “You heard him, mister. You got two choices. Skedaddle, or be pounded to a pulp.”

  “You call that a choice?” Fargo said, and hit him. He slammed a solid uppercut to the jaw that would have toppled most men or at least set them back on their heels but all Orville did was sway and grin.

  “Not bad. I ain’t been hit that hard in a coon’s age. But I have a jaw like an anvil.”

  “Hell,” Fargo said.

  “My turn,” Orville said, and swung.

  Fargo ducked, slammed a fist into the farmer’s ribs, and winced. It was like hitting metal bars. Sidestepping, he dodged a jab, slipped in close, and let fly with three quick punches to Orville’s gut. All Orville did was grunt.

  “Pound on him fierce, cousin!” Harold hollered. “He has it comin’!”

  Orville raised both fists and waded in.

  Fargo retreated. He couldn’t match the man, brute strength against brute strength, but he was quicker with his hands and on his feet. He hoped to avoid the other’s blows long enough to tire him.

  “Fight, consarn you,” Orville said.

  Fargo skipped away to gain space to move.

  “You are commencin’ to annoy me.”

  “Want me to help?” Artemis offered. “I’ll hold him while you beat on him.”

  “It’s mine to do,” Orville said without taking his eyes off Fargo.

  Fargo thought about resorting to the Colt but as near as he could tell the farmer wasn’t armed. Iron-hard knuckles clipped his shoulder and spun him half around. Once more he backpedaled.

  “You’ve got him on the run, cousin!” Harold whooped. “Give him what for.”

  Lumbering in, Orville did something Fargo didn’t expect—he kicked him. The boot caught Fargo in the thigh and he stumbled and tripped and fell on his back.

  “Finish him!” Harold squealed.

  Orville grinned and spread his hands. “I’m about to bust you good, mister.”

  Not if Fargo had anything to do with it. He lashed out with his right foot. He was going for Orville’s knee but kicked Orville’s shin, instead. Orville grimaced and halted and glanced down.

  “That hurt.”

  “Careful cousin,” Artemis cried.

  The porch was at Fargo’s back. Suddenly whirling, he jumped, caught hold of the rail, and swung up and over.

  “Look out, Dogood!” Harold shouted, and rose from the steps and backed away, apparently in the belief that Fargo might attack them.

  “Never let it be said that Charles T. Dogood was cowed by an uncouth ruffian,” the patent medicine man declared. “Be my witnesses, friends, that I laugh in the face of danger.” And he uttered a bark of mirth.

  Fargo would have liked to shoot the whole damn bunch.

  Orville lumbered up the steps. He had to duck his head under the overhang. Then, standing so Fargo couldn’t get past him, he said, “Are you a man or a chipmunk?”

  “Chipmunk?” Harold said. “Ain’t it supposed to be a mouse?”

  “In my esteemed opinion he’s more like a jackrabbit,” Dogood interjected. “It’s a wonder he doesn’t possess long ears and a bobbed tail.”

  Orville said, “Well, whatever he is, I’ve got him now.” He advanced with his arms spread wide.

  Fargo couldn’t get around him without being grabbed. He didn’t bother to try. Instead, he whirled, placed both hands on the rail, and vaulted over it. He landed in the exact spot he had been standing a minute ago.

  “Damn it to hell,” Orville exclaimed. “I can’t thrash him if I can’t get my hands on him.”

  “Leave it to me, cousin,” Artemis said, and his hand came from behind his back holding a knife. Grinning, he moved it in small circles. “Stand right where you are, mister, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Fargo glanced past him and feigned shock. “Will you look at that. There’s a cow trying to climb an apple tree.”

  “No foolin’?” the skinny farmer said, and looked over his shoulder.

  Fargo kicked him in the groin.

  Artemis dropped the knife and clutched himself and doubled over, his face turning cherry red. “No fair,” he gurgled, and tottered.

  “What do you call two on one?” Fargo rejoined, and laid him out with a right and a left cross. He stood over him, ready to swing again, but Artemis was out to the world. Before he could congratulate himself, a vise clamped on to his left arm and he was spun roughly around.

  “I’ve got you now, you blamed frog,” Orville said.

  Fargo punched and kicked and sought to wrench free. Orville absorbed the punishment without flinching and gripped him by the other hand, and smiled.

  “This is goin’ to hurt, mister.”

  Fargo rammed his knee at Orville’s privates. It had worked for Artemis but didn’t work now. Orville moved and took the brunt on his tree trunk of a leg, and then he grinned and in an incredible display of raw might, he swung Fargo over his head and held him there, saying, “This is how I bust those who rile me.”

  Fargo kicked and pushed but he was helpless. He attempted to twist so his back took the impact but he wasn’t half around when he smashed into the ground so hard, he’d swear that every rib in his chest shattered. Flooded with agony, he nonetheless tried to rise.

  “You’re a tough one,” Orville complimented him. “I’ll have to bust you twice.” He reached down to lay hold and do it again.

  Fargo had one chance. He marshaled all his strength, and rolled. Orville missed. Scrambling backward, Fargo dug his left hand into the ground. When Orville scowled and lunged, he threw a handful of dirt into the farmer’s eyes.

  “Damn it all,” Orville cried, and stopped and swiped at his face. “He’s trickier than a fox.”

  “I’ll help you,” Harold said, and started to move around behind Fargo.

  By then Fargo had the Colt out and the hammer back. “Like hell you will.”

  Harold
froze.

  Dogood took a step and Fargo swung the Colt to cover him. “I’ll shoot the next son of a bitch who moves.”

  “He shows his true colors, my friends,” the patent medicine man declared.

  Orville was blinking his eyes. Both were watering and his cheeks were stained brown. “You’d shoot me even though I ain’t armed, mister?”

  “Try me,” Fargo said. With difficulty he pushed to his knees and from there to his feet. His body hurt all over.

  “I should of known,” Orville said.

  “All of you sit on the porch,” Fargo directed.

  “And if we don’t?” Harold challenged.

  “You’ll spend the rest of your days walking around without a knee,” Fargo said.

  “We could rush him, all of us at once,” Harold said. “He can’t get all of us.”

  “I’m not much of a fighter, I’m afraid,” Dogood said. “The most I can offer is moral support.” He was the first to sit. Draping his arms over his legs, he said, “It won’t hurt to rest here a spell and hear what the doctor has to say about sweet little Abigail.”

  Harold reluctantly sank down. Artemis was still unconscious on the ground.

  That left the big man. Orville squinted at Fargo and at the Colt and said, “This ain’t over. Me and you have a score to settle.”

  Fargo pointed the Colt at Orville’s left leg.

  “But it won’t be right this minute,” Orville said. “You have the upper hand. We’ll meet again, though. Count on it. And next time things will be different.”

  “Sit,” Fargo said.

  “I don’t think I like you,” Orville said, but he finally sat.

  Fargo breathed an inward sigh of relief. His left side was throbbing and it was all he could do to stand up straight.

  “What I want to know,” Harold said, “is what the lady doc is doin’ up there?”

  “Probably taking Abigail’s pulse and using her stethoscope,” Dogood said. “And after a while she’ll prescribe a medicine that is no more effective than any of mine, and likely less so.”

  “Damn doctors, anyhow,” Harold said.

  “Why are you so against them?” Fargo asked.

  “Mainly I’m against the female ones. Women ain’t got no business doin’ man’s work.”

  “Who says only men can be doctors?”

  “Why, most everybody hereabouts,” Harold said. “It’s like bein’ a lawman or an undertaker. Some jobs ain’t fit for females.”

  “Amen to that,” Orville said. “I was over to the county seat last month and there was a woman clerk at the bank.”

  “You’ve got to be joshin’,” Harold said.

  “As God is my witness,” Orville said.

  “Women ain’t got a head for numbers. What were they thinkin’, hirin’ her?”

  “She was a right pretty filly,” Orville said. “I reckon that had somethin’ to do with it.” He wiped at his running eyes and then stabbed a finger at Fargo. “How about you, mister? I take it you reckon female sawbones are fine.”

  “Female anything is fine by me,” Fargo said.

  “God Almighty,” Harold said. “Next thing you know, this jasper will say it’s all right to give women the right to vote.”

  Dogood laughed.

  “I don’t know about that one,” Orville said. “My wife would like to and I can’t say as I blame her.”

  “Cousin Orville!” Harold said in dismay.

  “Well, it don’t take much brains to savvy politics,” Orville said. “You just naturally figure all of them are liars and vote for the one who lies the least.”

  “Them there are wise words,” Harold said.

  The door opened and out came Belinda, appearing downcast. Behind her was Edna.

  “How did it go?” Fargo asked.

  “Abigail has a fever of a hundred and one,” Belinda informed him. “I can’t account for it just yet, but she shows some symptoms that worry me. I haven’t ever seen them before. I need to consult my medical books.”

  “You see?” Dogood said to the men. “Incompetence is the natural result of allowing a woman to do a man’s work.”

  “For two bits I would shoot you,” Belinda told him.

  “Hell,” Fargo said. “For two bits I’ll shoot all four of them.”

  No one was amused.

  5

  They were almost to the end of the lane when Belinda mentioned, “You said you would take me to visit Old Man Sawyer, remember?”

  Fargo mentally vowed to never again chase a runaway buggy. He didn’t care how good-looking the driver was. “How far is it?”

  “Only a couple of miles farther,” she answered. “He lives at the end of the road.”

  “It figures.”

  “I’m sorry to impose.”

  “You almost sound like you mean it,” Fargo said as he reined to the right.

  “I do.”

  She had softened some toward him, and Fargo liked that. He found himself dwelling on her physical charms and daydreaming about how nice it would be to see her without clothes on.

  Around them the countryside teemed with life. In the apple trees sparrows flitted. A robin was having a tug of war with a worm. Several deer were grazing. A monarch butterfly flew past, its wings fluttering.

  Fargo breathed deep of the many scents, and winced.

  Belinda was craning her head past his shoulder and noticed. “Are you all right? When I came out I saw that you appear to have been in a scuffle.”

  “You could call it that.”

  “Where does it hurt?”

  Fargo told her about his left side.

  “I’d best have a look at you,” Belinda said, and pointed at a shaded nook under several maples. “Pull up there and I’ll examine you.”

  About to say she didn’t need to bother, Fargo imagined her fingers on his body, and grinned. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

  “I wish all men had your attitude.”

  Fargo drew rein, gave her a hand down, and dismounted. He pried at his buckskin shirt and got it high on his chest. “Will this do?”

  She set her black bag down. “That will do fine.” With experienced care she ran her hands over his ribs, pressing here and there and asking, “Does this hurt?” or “Does that hurt?”

  One bruise, in particular, caused Fargo to grit his teeth and hiss like a kicked snake.

  “I suspect your rib is fractured,” Belinda said. “I can wrap you when we get to my office although it will heal on its own provided you don’t get into any more scuffles.”

  “Around here there’s no telling,” Fargo said.

  Belinda did more poking. She didn’t find anywhere that hurt as much but she pointed out a few bruises. “You took quite a beating, didn’t you? What caused it, anyhow?”

  Fargo told her.

  “Ah. Then it’s my fault. I know how they feel about women doctors.”

  “Or females in any line of work.”

  “Yes,” Belinda said. She grinned. “I sometimes marvel that they stoop to having sex.”

  Fargo chuckled and paid for it with more pain. Grimacing, he said, “I wouldn’t mind stooping with you.”

  “Need I remind you I’m a doctor?”

  “Last I heard, only nuns take vows of chastity.” Fargo had met one not long ago so he should know.

  Belinda laughed but caught herself. “That’s not the point. I must be professional. I can’t let my personal feelings influence me.”

  “You’re saying you have feelings for me?”

  “I most certainly do not.” Belinda picked up her bag. “Let’s be on our way, shall we? I’d like to make it back to Ketchum Falls by nightfall.”

  They passed several more farms and homesteads. At one place a dog came to the edge of the road and barked furiously. At another, several small children waved and smiled.

  “I do so love it here,” Belinda said, her breath warm on his ear.

  “It has its charms,” Fargo said, thinking of her breasts aga
inst his back.

  The road narrowed. The tracks and ruts became fewer. Eventually it petered out at the border of dense woodland. A trail led deeper in.

  “That will take us to Old Man Sawyer’s,” Belinda said. “It’s not much farther.”

  Fargo kneed the stallion. Shadows dappled them as the trees formed a canopy overhead. He listened for the usual sounds but didn’t hear so much as a bird. “That’s peculiar.”

  “What is?”

  “It’s too quiet.”

  “Oh. You’re right. I hadn’t noticed.”

  Fargo grew uneasy. It was unnatural, the silence. He placed his hand on his Colt.

  They went around a bend.

  Ahead, the trail ended at a clearing. In the center stood a small cabin.

  “Good God,” Belinda blurted.

  Fargo drew rein and palmed the Colt, his skin prickling. He’d seen worse sights but nothing like this.

  Dead animals were scattered everywhere. Most were chickens, either with their necks twisted or their heads wrenched off. At a corner of the cabin lay a hog. Its belly had been sliced from end to end and its intestines had oozed out in coils. Farther back was a mule. Its throat had been cut and it lay in a scarlet pool, long since dry.

  “Why, that’s every last animal Old Man Sawyer owns,” Belinda said breathlessly. “Who could have done this?”

  Fargo was wondering the same thing. “Stay on the Ovaro,” he said, and swung down. He hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when her elbow brushed his. “Damn it. Why didn’t you listen?”

  “I have to see if Old Man Sawyer is alive.”

  “I can do that for you.”

  “I’m not climbing back on. Let’s proceed, shall we?”

  “Stay behind me.” Fargo came to the first chicken. Around it in the dust were the tracks of the culprit. “What kind of footwear does Old Man Sawyer wear?”

  “Boots, as I recall,” Belinda said. “An old pair, all scuffed and cracked. Why?”

  Fargo didn’t answer.

  The cabin door was open. It was dark as pitch inside, and in the darkness, something moved.

  Fargo stopped and cocked the Colt. “Come out with your hands where I can see them!” he shouted.