by Jon Sharpe
“If only I had known that night at the lake,” Bobbie Joe was saying. “But you were so handsome, and I was flattered you wanted me.”
“You should be flattered,” Mad Dog said.
“I was always so particular about men, too,” Bobbie Joe went on as if she had not heard him. “That is the sad part. Out of all the males in the world, I picked you to be the one to take me.”
“You enjoyed it. I know you enjoyed it.”
“It was all right,” Bobbie Joe said softly. “I didn’t hear bells or a heavenly choir or any of that. But you were not as tender as I always reckoned a man would be, and after you were done you rolled off and turned your back to me instead of cuddlin’ some like I wanted you to.”
“You expected all that?” Mad Dog chuckled. “Hell, girl. You were a roll in the hay. Nothing more.”
Bobbie Joe winced. “Yes. I see that now, too late to do me any good. But I tell you this. If I had it to do over again, I would cut off your oysters before I would let you touch me. I swear to God.”
Mad Dog stood. “If that is how you feel, I will be damned if I will touch you now. Get up. I am taking you back out.”
“But you agreed!” Bobbie Joe exclaimed.
“You have not lived up to your end. Instead you are talking me to death.” Mad Dog’s hand moved, and just like that his Colt was out and pointed at her. “On your feet.”
Fargo was impressed. He has seen some slick draws. Many people considered him to be fast, but so was Terrell.
Bobbie Joe had blanched. “Do it, then. Get it over with.”
Waiting for Terrell to turn was no longer an option. Fargo was poised on the balls of his feet when he heard a sound behind him, no more than a slight scrape. He started to turn but before he could he was seized by the shoulders and propelled under the stone arch with so much force, he slammed against the wall.
“What the hell?” Mad Dog blurted.
Fargo spun.
Mattox filled the opening. For someone so huge, he could be as silent as a stalking cat when he wanted to be. “I caught him listening. What do you want me to do with him?”
Mad Dog had his Colt trained on Fargo. Smirking, he answered, “Break both his arms for me so when we tie him he won’t get loose again.”
“Whatever you want.” Tucking at the waist, Mattox entered the chamber. He had to stoop or he would hit his head. Extending his enormous arms, he flexed his fingers. “You can make this easy or you can make it hard.”
“We will do hard,” Fargo said. Suddenly springing, he darted aside as Mattox sought to seize him, and kicked the giant in the knee. It elicited a howl. Mattox swung a fist, but for all his strength he was ponderous and slow. Fargo ducked, bounded to one side, and kicked Mattox in the other knee.
“Damn you!” the giant roared. “Quit hopping around like a jackrabbit!”
Taking a gamble, Fargo turned his back to Mad Dog Terrell and moved so he was between them. Predictably, Mattox spread his arms wide and came at him like a runaway wagon.
A flick of Fargo’s foot and a swift sidestep were all it took. He hooked Mattox’s leg and the giant squawked and lost his balance and slammed into Mad Dog. Both went down. In a long bound Fargo reached Bobbie Joe. Grabbing her wrist, he flew toward the tunnel.
“Get off me, you oaf!” Mad Dog was bellowing. “I can’t shoot them with you on top of me!”
Fargo let go of Bobbie Joe and ran. She did not say anything. There was no need. As fleet as deer, they wound along the tunnel until they came to where it opened into the cave mouth. The fire still crackled but no one was there. Yoas and DePue were still off up the gorge.
Fargo’s luck was holding. He dashed to the horses and was reaching for a bridle when a revolver boomed and lead buzzed over his head. A glance showed Mad Dog rushing from the tunnel.
“This way!” Fargo shouted, and skirting the horses, he sprinted for all he was worth.
Bobbie Joe was breathing heavily but she kept up. “Thank you for saving me!”
“We aren’t safe yet,” Fargo responded.
Shouts erupted, both to their rear and up the gorge, as they raced out of the cave. A shot cracked and lead whined off the stone wall inches from Fargo’s head.
Fargo had hoped that once they were around the bend the gorge would widen, or else they would find ready cover in the form of boulders. But no, the gorge narrowed, and suddenly they were running along a ledge barely wider than their feet. To the left reared the stone rampart; to their right was a hundred-foot drop.
A single misstep would send them over the edge. Fargo stared at the ledge, not at the water below or the heights above. The ledge, and only the ledge.
Another shot thundered.
“Skye!” Bobbie Joe wailed.
Fargo risked a glance back. She had not been shot. She was pointing behind her, at Mad Dog and Mattox. “Keep running!” he urged.
Another turn brought them a temporary reprieve. The ledge widened, which was encouraging. Even better, a cleft appeared in the stone wall. Wide enough for a horse, it led toward the top. Fargo did not hesitate. He hurtled up it.
“They are still after us!” Bobbie Joe shouted.
Fargo didn’t doubt it. Mad Dog would not rest until he caught them. But that would take some doing provided they could reach cover. Forest, preferably, heavy with undergrowth.
The incline grew steeper. The cleft was so narrow that in places Fargo had to squeeze through. Another thirty feet and they would reach the top.
The bright sunlight, after the gloom of the gorge, nearly blinded him. Fargo blinked and saw level ground, and beyond, welcome woodland. He started toward it.
The next moment a shot spanged below them, and Bobbie Joe Jentry cried out, “Skye! I’m hit!”
16
Fargo turned just in time to catch her. She stumbled into his arms, her face contorted in pain. Glancing down the cleft, Fargo saw Mad Dog Terrell with a smoking rifle to his shoulder. Quickly, Fargo pulled her toward the trees, shifting so he could examine her back as they ran. The slug had taken her high in the left shoulder, digging a furrow that was slowly welling up with blood. As near as he could tell, it had missed the bone and had not severed a major vein, or there would be a lot more blood. “It looks like you will live,” he informed her. “I can’t doctor you yet, though.”
“I understand,” Bobbie Joe gasped.
The forest closed around them. Fargo supported her until she could run on her own, and then run they did. She could not go as fast as before but she did well enough that they were deep into the thick timber when angry shouts warned them the outlaws had reached the top of the gorge and were giving chase.
“Go on without me,” Bobbie Joe urged. “I am slowin’ you down.”
“We stay together,” Fargo said.
“Save yourself,” Bobbie Joe insisted. “They are bound to catch us if you stick with me.”
“Save your breath for running.” Fargo would be damned if he would leave her. He wished he had a weapon, any weapon, but that could wait. The important thing was to elude the outlaws.
For the next five minutes they grimly sped for their lives. Now and then a shout behind them reminded them that Mad Dog and company were still after them. The shouts also gave Fargo some idea of how far back they were.
All the while, Fargo cast about for a hiding place or a means of throwing the killers off their scent. He had no doubt one or two of them could track. Yoas, most probably, maybe Mad Dog, too. But they could not track as well as he could. It was not bragging to say that few men could.
Bobbie Joe’s shirt was stained dark but the bleeding had about stopped. She was pale, ungodly pale, and beads of sweat sprinkled her forehead. But she did not give up. She had grit, this one. Grit to spare.
“How are you holding up?”
“I could dance a jig.”
Fargo smiled encouragement and forged on. The forest seemed to go on forever. He noted with satisfaction that the sun was almost to the western hor
izon. Soon night would fall, and with it, a reprieve. He had not heard any shouting in a while, which suggested the outlaws had fallen a considerable distance behind. “We will stop soon so you can rest.”
“Like hell. You are not gettin’ caught on my account.”
“You are some woman, Bobbie Joe Jentry.”
“If you are flirtin’ with me, you picked a poor time. You might want to wait until I am stitched up and in the mood.”
Fargo grinned.
Along about sunset the woods gave way to broken country. A draw looked promising. The sides were high enough to hide them and it was wide enough that they could lie down if they wanted. Fargo went about a hundred yards into it, then halted.
“Why did you stop?” Bobbie Joe asked. “There is plenty of light yet. We can go another mile or two.”
“This will do for now.” Fargo motioned for her to sit and she did so without arguing. “Take off your shirt.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Don’t worry. I am not in the mood at the moment, either.”
Bobbie Joe hesitated, then gingerly undid the shirt and peeled it from her shoulder. She kept one arm over her bosom, which was too bad. From what Fargo could see, her breasts were as full and firm as twin melons. He gave his head a toss to shed the notion he was entertaining, and bent down.
The furrow was a quarter of an inch deep and caked with dried blood.
“You need to take your shirt all the way off so I can rip a strip from the bottom,” Fargo suggested.
“Like hell,” Bobbie Joe responded. “I bought this shirt with my own money. I will get by without a bandage.”
“You are being pigheaded.”
“It is my shoulder.” Bobbie Joe ended the debate by pulling her shirt up and buttoning it. Grimacing, she sank back and closed her eyes. “I could sleep for a month.”
“How about if you stay here while I go look for water and rustle us up something to eat?”
“The water would be nice but I don’t think I can eat right now,” Bobbie Joe said wearily.
Fargo climbed to the top of the draw and surveyed the countryside, which was shrouded in the gathering twilight. There was no sign of a stream or a lake anywhere. He roved in a circle that brought him back to the draw at the point where he had climbed out just as full night fell. Disappointed, he descended to the bottom.
“No water, I take it?” Bobbie Joe said, and licked her lips.
“None nearby. I will try again, farther this time. I might be gone an hour or two, so don’t fret.”
“You are not leavin’ me alone. I can hold out until mornin’.”
“I am a grown man. I am not scared of the dark.”
“It is not you I am thinkin’ of,” Bobbie Joe said. “I am in no shape to fight if they find me. Besides, you could search all night and not find anything. We will look together at first light.”
“Are you sure?” Fargo could imagine how thirsty she was.
Bobbie Joe nodded and patted the ground. “Please. Have a seat. Let’s just rest.”
Fargo reluctantly obliged her. It did feel good to get off his feet. He was bone tired and sore all over and had a few bruises from his clash with Mattox. “I need to get my hands on a gun.”
“And I need wings so I can fly on home.” Bobbie Joe sighed and turned so she faced him. “I sure made a mess of things, didn’t I?”
Fargo shrugged. “You thought you were in love.”
“I was in love,” she amended. “And I took it for granted he loved me. When that man the deputy sent showed up at our cabin, my pa didn’t want me to go. But I had to come so I could warn Mad Dog.”
“You did what you thought was right.”
Bobbie Joe smiled. “Why do you keep makin’ excuses for me? I was a blamed fool. For the first time in my life my heart ruled my head, and look at where it got me.”
“How do you feel about Terrell now?” Fargo asked to gauge how fully he could trust her.
“The son of a bitch,” Bobbie Joe snapped. “Give me a six-shooter and I will show you. I will shoot him to ribbons. But before he dies, I want to take a knife to the part of him that was inside of me that night by the lake.”
“You can be vicious,” Fargo said, smiling.
“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. He did me wrong and I will do him the same. When I am done, he will never do another woman wrong again.”
Fargo had a thought that made him sit up in surprise. “Your family. Your clan.”
“What about them?”
“They are a lot closer than Springfield. Would they help if we went to them and explained?”
Bobbie Joe started to shake and for a moment Fargo thought she was in pain but then he heard her low laughter.
“What?”
“You want me to tell my folks that I let Mad Dog Terrell make love to me? If my pa found out, he would take a switch to my backside and blister me raw. Ma would skin me and make me eat the skin.” Bobbie Joe smiled. “I can do without that, thank you very much.”
“You are a grown woman. They can’t stop you from doing what you want.”
“Spoken like someone who has never had kids. No matter how old I get, my folks will always be my folks, and they will always expect me to behave like a lady.” Bobbie Joe closed her eyes and settled back. “I am so tired, I could sleep for a month of Sundays.”
Fargo waited until her bosom was rising and falling in deep slumber, then he rose and moved to the top of the draw. Stars dotted the firmament, along with a crescent of moon. To the south a coyote yipped. Soon the dark would be alive with the shrieks of predator and prey.
A glance in the direction of the gorge revealed an orange finger of flame. The outlaws had made camp for the night.
Fargo was relieved. It meant Bobbie Joe could rest. He could use some sleep, too, but he knew if he laid down he would only toss and turn so he decided to stay up until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
A brisk breeze fanned his face. A few clouds floated overhead, pale against the ink of sky. It would be nice if it rained, obliterating their tracks, Fargo mused, but there was no chance of that.
A twig snapped off in the brush. Instantly alert, Fargo flattened. A low grunt established it was an animal. The crackle of its passage suggested a bear, but it was moving away from them, not toward them. He sat up and listened until the sounds faded.
Fargo did not like being unarmed. The only times he ever went without his Colt and the toothpick were when he took a bath or made love, and even then he always kept them close. He touched his hip where his Colt should be, and swore. Missouri was not as tame as some states back East. Bears and cougars abounded, and beasts of the human variety were all too plentiful. Mad Dog Terrell and his gang were proof of that.
Fargo missed the far-off prairie and even farther Rockies. As dangerous as they were, they were home to him. He had roamed them for so long, he could not conceive of living differently than he did. Part of it had to do with his wanderlust. There was a lot he had not seen yet.
A sound put an end to Fargo’s musing, a sound he took to be a stealthy footfall. He flattened again. For the longest while he lay there, waiting for whatever made the sound to reveal itself. Nothing did. Nerves, he decided, and sat up again.
“Skye? Where are you?”
The whisper brought Fargo in a hurry to the bottom of the draw. Bobbie Joe had a hand to her shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
“I can’t sleep. I have tried but I keep wakin’ up. It’s this damn wound. It hurts and it itches.”
“You should have let me go for water.” Fargo sank down beside her. “In the morning it will be the first thing we do.”
“Any sign of them?”
Fargo told her about the campfire. “We are safe until daylight. Once the sun is up they will come on hard and fast. We must be ready.”
“There are four of them and two of us. They have guns and we don’t. I would not give two bits for our chances.”
“Where is your spunk? Your sand?” Fargo placed his hand on hers. “I didn’t take you for the sort to give up.”
“And I’m not. But you have to admit that we are in a fix,” Bobbie Joe said. “We could be dead by mornin’.”
A howl nipped Fargo’s reply. It was so loud, and so close, that Bobbie Joe gave a start, her nails digging into his palm.
“That sounded like a wolf but they are scarce in these parts.”
Fargo groped the ground for a rock he could use. Not that he thought the wolf, if indeed it was one, would prove to be a danger. Wolves rarely attacked people. The only time he ever heard of it happening was a few years back, and then the wolf had been old and partly lame and starving to death.
When, after a while, the howl was not repeated, Bobbie Joe whispered, “I reckon it has gone away.” She turned to him, her face as pale as ever. “I am sorry for slowin’ you down, and for bein’ such a bother.”
“You were shot, remember? I would call that a good excuse. Not that you need one.”
“That is not what I meant by a bother, and you know it.”
“You are starting to sound like Deputy Gavin, and look where his guilt got him.” Fargo was about to suggest she rest her head on his shoulder when he thought he heard the same stealthy footfall as before, this time from the top of the draw. He twisted to scan the rim but did not see anything.
“What is it?” Bobbie Joe whispered.
“Maybe nothing,” Fargo said. But he had to be sure. “Wait here. If something happens to me, get to the woods and climb a tree.” She would be safer from meat eaters than in the draw.
“I will not leave you.”
“Damn contrary females,” Fargo groused.
Bobbie Joe mustered a wan smile. “We learn it from you men. You be careful.”
The slope had too much loose earth and too many small stones. Fargo tried not to make noise but felt dirt and stones slide from under him. The clatter was unnaturally loud, and he froze.
From out of the night came a faint bestial growl. The wolf, or whatever it was, was well off in the woods.
Fargo inched higher. His eyes cleared the rim and he glanced to the right and the left. Once again, nothing. Feeling slightly foolish, he climbed out of the draw, and crouched. Absolutely nothing. He did not let it bother him. It was better to err on the side of caution than to push up daisies.