Ozarks Onslaught

by David Robbins

  As they neared the stand of trees at the valley’s midpoint, the sandy-haired sentry stood up and waved.

  “Wave back,” Fargo told Prudence, “and smile.”

  The sentry let them go on by.

  “It worked!” Clover whispered, and giggled.

  But she was being premature. Fargo had seen the sentry coming toward them, the squirrel rifle in the crook of her elbow.

  “Hold up there, Sister Prudence!” the sandy-haired woman hollered. “Where’s Sister Bernice?”

  Prudence was equal to the occasion. “Guarding the trail, Sister Lilith. We figured one of us should stay. It wouldn’t do to leave it unprotected.”

  “Do you need help escortin’ them in?”

  “No. I can manage. But I thank you.”

  That satisfied Lilith, who nodded and smiled and went back into the trees.

  Ahead was the farmhouse. Women were moving about. A number of children were playing tag.

  On his last visit Fargo had bent over backward to show Argent Meriwether and her followers that he meant them no harm. In return, they had taken his guns and run him off. This time would be different.

  Fargo was through being nice.

  15

  As they approached the farmhouse Fargo wedged the Colt under his belt and slid his right hand from under his shirt. Once again the women and children converged to meet them, and once again Argent Meriwether came barreling out of the house like a bull from a holding pen.

  “Clover! You’re back safe and sound! We were worried.” Argent beamed and spread her arms wide.

  Clover dismounted, her rifle in hand, and stood still as the other woman enfolded her in a bear hug. “Have you heard about Harriet?”

  None of the women, Fargo was glad to note, were pointing weapons at him. They mistakenly believed Prudence had him covered. He slowly dismounted and slid his hand back up under his shirt to the Colt.

  “We found her body,” Argent said saying. “The men will pay for these atrocities, I promise you.” She glanced at Prudence. “That will be all. You can head back to your post.”

  Prudence hesitated.

  Since Fargo could not trust her to keep quiet, he had to act. Whirling, he sprang behind Meriwether and clamped one arm around her throat while jamming the Colt against her temple. Momentarily too shocked to resist, she recovered her wits and grabbed at his arm but by then he had her at his mercy. “Don’t even think it,” he warned.

  Some of the women started forward but stopped. Several raised rifles but did not dare shoot.

  “Ladies,” Fargo said amiably, “we’ve been through this once before so you know how it goes. Drop your weapons or I splatter her brains.” He wouldn’t shoot her but they didn’t know that.

  No one complied. They looked at one another, each waiting for the other to do something. Most were nonplussed when Clover suddenly stepped to Fargo’s side and pointed her rifle at them.

  “You heard him, sisters! Do as he says and we’ll live through the day.”

  Evangeline found her voice. “What in the world is going on here, Clover? You’re sidin’ with him against us?”

  “There’s more to it,” Clover said. “All we want is to talk to Argent in private. I give you my word as your kinsman she won’t be harmed.”

  Argent started to struggle but desisted when Fargo gouged the barrel into her skin. “Don’t listen to her, sisters! Don’t listen to either of them! Shoot them down like the dogs they are.”

  Whispers spread, and Evangeline stepped forward. “No, Sister Argent, we won’t risk losing you. So long as they don’t lift a finger against you, we won’t lift ours against them.”

  “I thought I taught you better!” Argent spat in disgust. “We must never show weakness to this man or any other!”

  Fargo began backing toward the farmhouse. It would not be wise to let her incite them. “That’s enough out of you.”

  Evidently Clover had the same thought. “Everyone keep their heads,” she advised. “All of you know me. All of you know I only have our best interests at heart. So stay calm.”

  Fargo thought some of them would resort to their guns anyway but he made it to the porch without a shot being fired. Reaching behind him, he opened the screen door. The inner door was already open. Several quick steps and he was inside, pushing Meriwether toward a settee. “Have a seat.”

  Clover closed both doors. “I’ll check the house to be sure we’re alone.”

  “Traitor,” Argent hissed. “I’ll see that you are cast from the sisterhood for your treachery.”

  “Sisterhood?” Fargo repeated.

  “Any woman who joins the fight for suffrage is my sister in arms,” Argent said. “We are soldiers for right, and we will not be denied.”

  “Is that what your war with the men is about?”

  “Of course not,” Argent said scornfully. “Much more is involved, as you must know by now.” She tilted her chin in proud defiance. “But if, along the way, I can enlighten these ignorant crackers, so much the better.”

  “I’ve heard you were a suffragist,” Fargo mentioned.

  “One of the foremost in Philadelphia,” Argent asserted. “My speeches always drew over a hundred women. Another ten years, and I’d have ten times that number turning out.”

  “Yet you gave all that up to come here. To live among a bunch of ignorant crackers, as you just called them.”

  “They are backward. They are uneducated and uncouth. There is no denying that. Had I not come, these women would still be wallowing in ignorance and sloth. I have done them a great service. I am educating them, broadening their horizons, bringing them out of the Dark Ages into the light of a new and modern era.”

  Fargo had met a lot of people who were naturally full of themselves but Argent Meriwether was in a class by herself.

  “It would not be remiss to regard me as their savior,” Argent went on. “As a beacon of hope and truth, to them and to the world.”

  “You put your pants on one leg at a time, the same as everyone else,” Fargo remarked.

  Argent stabbed a finger at him. “I wouldn’t expect a bumpkin like you to grasp the importance of my life’s mission. But I know whereof I speak. I was born into poverty, just like these women. I was forced to endure a childhood of shame and want, just like these women. I had men lording it over me from dawn until dusk, just like these women. But no more.”

  “The men aren’t as bad as you make them out to be,” Fargo said as he stepped to a window and peered out. The women were huddled in a large group, talking and gesturing.

  “The men are worse!” Argent huffed. “Women must always bow and scrape to them, must always do what they want. We are not permitted to think for ourselves.”

  In addition to the settee there was a table with four chairs, a cabinet, and a clock on the wall. It was half-past ten. “A lot of men treat women with kindness,” Fargo said.

  “Oh, sure, the kindness of a lord to his slave. But that’s neither here nor there. What matters is that the men of this clan murdered Elly for defying their wishes, and we took up arms in our own self-defense.”

  At that moment Clover came down the hall. “I’m not so sure about that anymore, Sister Argent. It could be that someone is playin’ both sides for fools.” She glanced at Fargo. “There’s no one here but us. The back door is bolted and all the windows are shut.”

  “Good.” Outside, two women were running toward the barn. Fargo wondered what that was about, and was glad to see the Ovaro had drifted to a patch of grass northwest of the house and was grazing.

  Argent slid to the edge of the settee. “What are you talking about, Sister Clover? We all know Porter had Elly and Billy killed, and he’s been killing ever since.”

  “Has he been killin’ the men too? Because a lot of them have been murdered,” Clover revealed. “I was there when Harriet was shot. We were bushwhacked by someone who also shot Bramwell and killed Jesse. Would Porter shoot his own son and his own nephew? I think not.�
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  “Maybe it was an accident,” Argent said. “In the dark people make mistakes.”

  “There was a fire burnin’,” Clover set her straight. “And I saw the man who did it. He rides a big bay and goes around dressed all in black.”

  “You saw the killer with your own eyes? There can be no mistake?”

  “None whatsoever,” Clover assured her. “Skye saw him, too. They traded shots but the polecat got away.”

  “Twice,” Fargo said in disgust.

  “Well, this certainly puts everything in a whole new light,” Argent said. “I’ll have to give it serious thought.”

  “What is there to think about?” Clover asked. “Send someone to Porter under a white flag. Arrange a meetin’ and share what we’ve learned. It could end the killin’ and return things to how they were.”

  “Do you think Porter will listen?” Argent asked. “He’s made no secret that he hates my guts and wants every rebel dead.”

  The two women who ran off had reappeared leading a saddled horse. One climbed on and galloped hell-bent for leather toward the trail out of the valley. Fargo felt it did not bode well.

  “Maybe Porter will, maybe he won’t,” Clover said, “but we have to try. Lives are at stake.”

  “I don’t know,” Argent said. “Porter doesn’t strike me as being in his right mind. It seems to me the best thing for us to do is stay the course until either he comes to his senses or this mysterious man in black is caught.”

  Clover moved closer. “And how many more people will die before then? Five? Ten? Twenty? We must do something and we must do it now.”

  “You’re being hasty. You’re thinking with your heart instead of your head. For all we know, this man in black is doing Porter’s bidding.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” Argent rested her hands on her knees. “Our minds work in devious ways, and no one is more devious than the head of your clan. Didn’t you tell me that back in North Carolina he outwitted the leader of the Harker clan and nearly wiped the Harkers out?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “No buts about it,” Argent said. “Porter has proven many times over that he has a murderous disposition. It’s no great stretch to imagine he is the mastermind behind these latest atrocities.”

  Fargo hated to say it but Meriwether had a point. It could well be that Porter was somehow involved.

  “So I don’t see where taking me prisoner has changed anything,” Argent stated. “I should resent it but I’m prepared to be lenient. You always have been one of my favorites.” She reached out and placed a hand on Clover’s. “One of my very special favorites.”

  “I’m plumb flattered,” Clover said, “but it doesn’t change things for me, either. I still aim to end the bloodshed no matter what it takes, with or without your help.”

  Frosty resentment twisted Argent’s face. “What are you saying? That you won’t do as I ask?”

  “If you won’t listen then I’ll go have a talk with Porter,” Clover proposed. “He shut his ears last time but maybe I can make him open them.”

  “You are deluding yourself, my dear.”

  “If it was your clan, you would understand,” Clover said.

  Argent’s eyes glittered like those of a wolverine about to pounce. “I resent the insinuation. Would I have endured all I have on behalf of you and the other women if I did not have your clan’s welfare at heart?”

  Things were happening outside. The children were being whisked away. A redhead Fargo had not seen before was issuing instructions to women who were fanning out around the farmhouse. “Who’s that?” he asked.

  Clover came to the window. “Patrice. Elly was her daughter, remember? This is her farm and she knows it inside out.”

  Which told Fargo she might know a way in they had not thought of. “Is there a root cellar? Or a basement?”

  “I know what you’re thinkin’, and no. To get in they’ll have to break down a door or bust out a window.”

  The soft scrape of a shoe caused Fargo to whirl. Argent was almost to the hallway. She instantly bolted toward the rear of the house.

  “After her!” Clover cried.

  Not that Fargo needed any prompting. They were safe only so long as they had Argent. Should she escape, the other women would be on them like a swarm of riled hornets. For a teacher she was remarkably swift. She reached the kitchen, and the back door, well ahead of him. She threw the bolt and had her hand on the latch when Fargo gripped her by the shoulder and spun her around. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  If Fargo expected her to meekly submit, he had another think coming. Venting a howl of fury, Meriwether hurled herself at him with the savagery of a riled grizzly. But where Bernice had used her fingernails to good effect, Argent relied on her fists. The notion might seem comical to some but her first blow disabused Fargo of the idea she would be easy to take down. It staggered him.

  Argent grabbed the Henry and tried to rip it from his hands but couldn’t.

  “That’s enough!” Clover yelled, aiming her rifle.

  “You won’t shoot me!” the teacher replied, and whipped her right fist in a backhand that caught Fargo in the cheek. Again she attempted to tear the Henry from his grasp. “Give it to me, damn you!”

  “Like hell,” Fargo said, and belted her. He held back but the blow still lifted her onto her heels. She made another feeble try to take the Henry, then her legs melted from under her and she wound up in an ungainly heap.

  “We should tie her,” Clover said.

  Fargo was bending to drag Meriwether back to the sitting room when the crash of glass at the front of the house sent him running down the hall. A rock had been hurled through a window. Wary not to show himself, he peered out.

  Patrice Jackson and Prudence and five others were only a few yards from the porch. “What in God’s name is going on in there?” Patrice demanded. “We heard yellin’!”

  “Everything is fine,” Clover responded.

  “Prove it!” Patrice challenged her. “Bring Argent to the window or the door so we can see with our own eyes she’s all right.”

  Clover dropped her voice to a whisper. “What do we do? If we don’t produce her, they might storm the house.”

  “We’ll trick them,” Fargo said, and hastened to the kitchen. Kneeling, he eased Argent over his shoulder and hurriedly retraced his steps. Holding her about the waist so her back was against his chest, he nodded at Clover and moved near enough to the window for the women outside to see her. But only for a few seconds. He did not want them to get too good a look.

  “Satisfied?” Clover yelled.

  “I don’t know what you’re tryin’ to pull,” was Patrice’s reply, “but you’re about to regret it.”

  16

  Fargo did not expect the women to open fire. Not so long as Argent Meriwether was inside. But the next moment Patrice threw back her head and yelled, “Now, sisters, now!” and from all four sides of the house came a ragged volley. A withering storm of lead pelted the walls and windows.

  Pulling the schoolmarm down beside him, Fargo flattened as glass shards rained down. The other window in the room shattered, pelting Clover. Slugs struck the inner walls and a few struck the ceiling and floor with the staccato cadence of hail.

  Clover was on her hands and knees, her forearms over her head to ward off a shower of slivers and chips. “Stop firing! Please!” she shouted, but either no one heard, or no one cared.

  The shooting stopped. In the heavy silence that followed, Fargo heard Patrice command the women to reload. Dragging Meriwether to the middle of the room, he left her and crawled back to the window.

  As brazen as life, Patrice was right out in the open. “Are you still alive in there, outsider?”

  “No thanks to you,” Fargo replied. “You almost killed Clover and the teacher. Or doesn’t that matter?”

  “Clover is a traitor to her gender and deserves whatever she gets,” Patrice said. “As for Sister A
rgent, she has often mentioned how she would gladly give her life to see justice done.”

  “You call this justice?” Fargo demanded. “Gunning people down in cold blood?” So long as he kept her talking, the women wouldn’t resume firing.

  “We’re only doing as has been done to us,” Patrice justified her side of the dispute. “Porter started this when he killed my Elly. The sweetest bundle of life you ever saw, stabbed to death in her prime.”

  “I had nothing to do with your daughter’s death,” Fargo said, but she did not seem to hear.

  “My only child. My wonderful pride and joy,” Patrice said softly, overcome by sorrow. “Every time I think of it, I get so twisted inside, I can’t hardly think.”

  “Were you the one who found the bodies?”

  Patrice nodded. “Billy was at the front of the barn, she was at the back. I think she tried to hide in some bales of hay. Both of them, so cut and hacked, you couldn’t recognize their faces. Billy was the worse. His nose and ears were cut off, and the killer did unspeakable things to his body.”

  Fargo did not think highly of Porter Jackson but he did not see him as a butcher. He commented to that effect to Patrice.

  “You’re forgettin’ something, mister,” she said. “His knife was found near their bodies, caked with their blood.”

  “How can you be sure the knife was Porter’s?”

  “Because it was one he carried since he was a boy. His pa made it for him. It had a bone handle with Porter’s initials carved into it. No one else owns one anything like it.”

  Which left two possibilities, to Fargo’s way of thinking. One was that Porter really did the killings. The other he phrased in a question. “Couldn’t someone have stolen his knife to place the blame on him?”

  Patrice gestured. “That’s what he claimed. But I didn’t believe it then and I don’t believe it now.”

  “Why not?”

  She took another couple of steps, spitting her next words. “Because Porter never let that knife out of his sight. He always wore it in a sheath right here.” She smacked the front of her right thigh. “His wife constantly complained that he even slept with the damn thing, and went on and on about how it would poke her all the time.”