by Jon Sharpe
“He’s my brother,” Angeline said, as if that were enough to justify taking Allen at his word.
“You’re taking the long way around the stable to put the horse in the corral,” Fargo told her.
“What? Oh. You’re suggesting I get to the point. Very well.” But Angeline didn’t. She wrung her hands and bit her lip and finally said, “Bear with me. This is hard. I don’t want to be involved but my brother has left me no choice.” She nervously smiled. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
McKern was growing impatient, too. “Like what?”
Angeline seemed not to hear him. “You see, I care for Allen. I’d never let anyone hurt him. I must do as any sister would do, and protect him any way I can.”
Fargo didn’t like the sound of that.
“So when he asked for my help, I agreed. He said that he needed to find a way to talk to you, to convince you that your suspicions of him is unjust. But he’s worried you’ll shoot him on sight.”
“I would,” McKern said.
“I gave it some thought and came up with an idea.”
“Get to the point some time this year,” Fargo said.
“Sorry. I’m afraid you won’t like it, though. It’s the only safe way for him to meet with you.” She pointed down the street. “My brother is waiting at the stable.”
“Why there?”
“You’re to go alone and to give your revolver to me.”
“Not likely.”
“If you don’t, if you show up armed or take McKern along, you’ll lose something you value. The only thing I know of that you hold dear.”
“What would that be?”
“Haven’t you guessed?” Angeline rejoined. “Let me spell it out for you, then. At this very moment my brother is holding a gun to your pinto’s head. If you don’t do exactly as Allen wants, he’ll blow its brains out.”
15
Fargo rarely hit women, unless they were trying to stab him or shoot him or kick his face in. He didn’t go around slapping women for the hell of it, or to get them to mind, or to punish them, as some men did. It wasn’t that he put women on pedestals. He simply didn’t treat women any different from the way he treated men, and few women had ever tried to hurt him.
But Fargo came close to hitting Angeline Havard. She was clever, this girl. She had deduced that his Achilles’ heel was the Ovaro, and she was right. He had been riding the stallion for years and was as attached to it as any horseman ever got to an exceptional mount. More than that, she had deduced that he would do whatever he had to in order to spare it from harm.
McKern looked ready to slug her, too. “You’d kill a man’s horse? What kind of female are you?”
“Not me,” Angeline answered. “My brother.”
“But you put him up to it,” McKern said. “It was your brainstorm.”
“All he wants to do is talk. And this way, Skye here won’t lift a finger against him.”
“You’re a damn fool, girl.”
Fargo palmed his Colt and held it out. “Hold on to this for me. If he comes out of the stable instead of me, you can keep it. My horse, too.”
“Fat chance of that puny pup getting the better of you, hoss.”
Angeline put her hands on her hips. “Why are you talking like that? No one is to be harmed. My brother gave his word. And to prove my intentions, and to show you that my brother can be trusted, I’m going to the stable with you.”
McKern shook his head. “It’s better if you don’t.”
“She can come,” Fargo disagreed. “And can see for herself how trustworthy her brother is.”
Angeline started down the street. She wouldn’t look at Fargo although they were practically rubbing elbows.
“What I don’t get,” he said to provoke her, “is why Allen wants me dead. What’s his reason?”
“That’s just it. He doesn’t. My brother isn’t bloodthirsty.”
“But he’s paid to have people hurt. You said so yourself.”
Angeline was angry and struggling not to show it. “Only a few times. And there were special circumstances.”
The stable stood by itself, the corral to the rear. Both wide double doors were open and a brilliant shaft of sunlight lit the center aisle. Horses were in every stall and more were tied to posts. Many dozed in the heat. Allen wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
“He has to be here somewhere,” Angeline said, and called his name. “That’s strange,” she remarked when there was no answer.
“Better let me go first.”
“Not on your life.” Angeline moved down the aisle, a hand cupped to her mouth. “Allen? Allen? Where are you?”
A horse whinnied but otherwise the stable was quiet.
“Where could he have gotten to?” Angeline wondered.
The back door was open. Through it, a splash of white and black was visible.
Fargo moved past her. Out of habit, he flashed his hand to his holster—forgetting it was empty. The sun was so bright, he raised his other hand to shield his eyes.
The white and black was indeed the Ovaro. And standing next to the stallion, holding a cocked revolver pointed at its head, was Allen Havard.
“Not another step, scout.”
“Go easy on that trigger.”
Angeline demanded, “What are you doing? You don’t have to point that at his horse.”
“It was your idea,” Allen said.
“To threaten to do it. Not to really shoot the poor animal.” Angeline motioned at Fargo. “Look. I brought him, as you wanted. Unarmed, as you insisted. Now talk instead of blustering. It only shows how scared you are.”
“Scared?” Allen repeated, and uttered a bark of amusement. “Sis, have you ever known me to be afraid of anything my whole life?”
“I’ve lost count,” Angeline said.
Allen took that as a joke and laughed. “Seriously, now. Why don’t you go shopping or something and leave Fargo and me to work this out between us?”
“This was my idea. I’m staying.”
“But I don’t want you to. It’s dangerous. What if he acts up? I’d rather you were somewhere safe.”
Fargo had listened to enough. He took a step, saying, “Point that revolver somewhere else.”
“Very well.” Allen chuckled and trained the Smith & Wesson on him. “I like this better, anyhow. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t squeeze the trigger?”
To Fargo’s considerable amazement, Angeline stepped between them.
“Here’s your reason. You’ll have to shoot me down first. Is that what you want?”
“Damn it, sis. Get out of the way.”
“No. I gave him my word you wouldn’t try anything, and you will by God stop these childish antics. Here’s your chance to convince him you aren’t out to kill him.”
“I doubt he’ll believe me.”
Angeline turned to Fargo. “How about it? Will you behave long enough for him to set things right between you?”
“It will take some doing.”
“You heard him, sis,” Allen said. “Why should I even bother? Please. Go find Father and Mother and leave the scout and me here to settle our differences like men.”
“That leaves you out,” Fargo said.
“I’m more of a man than my father will ever be,” Allen declared. “He’s a disgrace to the family name.”
“Oh, Allen,” Angeline said.
“Well, he is. If you weren’t so blind, you’d see it for yourself. Our father, dear sister, hasn’t been a man in years.”
“Just because he lets mother ride roughshod over him is no reason to talk like that,” Angeline scolded.
Allen looked at Fargo. “You know, don’t you, scout? Explain it to her. Maybe she’ll believe it coming from you.”
“What I want to know,” Fargo said, getting to the crux of the matter, “is what any of that has to do with me?”
“It has everything to do with you,” Allen assured him. “Or don’t you remember telling
us, before we left San Francisco, that you’ll do everything in your power to see to it that all of us make it back alive? Your exact words.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Angeline wanted to know.
Fargo had a sudden insight. “Your brother doesn’t want some of you to make it back. Or is it all of them?” he asked Allen.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Then what do you have against me doing what I was hired to do?” Fargo had him. No matter what Allen said, Angeline was bound to be suspicious.
“Yes, Allen. I would like to hear the answer, too.”
Allen hesitated. His arm shook from the intensity of his emotion. “God, it would be so easy.”
“Allen!”
His face twisted in anger, Allen lowered the revolver with a sharp jerk. “All I wanted to do was talk.”
“So talk,” Fargo prodded. “Tell me why you paid Strath and Santee to kill me.”
“That’s just it. I didn’t. I can’t prove I didn’t. But I swear to you I didn’t have a hand in either.”
“Somone put them up to it.”
“Why does it have to be me?”
That stopped Fargo in his mental tracks. He’d figured it to be Allen because of how Allen was, and because others had warned him to be on his guard. But what if he was mistaken?
Allen went on. “I admit I’m not fond of you. You treat me like I’m an idiot. But I don’t hate you. There’s one person who does, though. Hates you enough to do anything to destroy you.”
“Who?”
“I can’t say.”
Fargo was tempted to beat it out of him, but not with Angeline there. “I can make you tell me.”
“Skye!” she exclaimed. “Surely you’re not suggesting you would beat it out of him?”
“I don’t like it when people try to kill me.”
“I don’t blame you. But you heard my brother. It could be anyone.” Angeline smiled. “I want the two of you to shake hands and promise you’ll try to get along.”
Allen immediately held his hand out. “I’m willing if he is, sis.”
Fargo didn’t trust him. To show his displeasure, when they shook, he squeezed so that Allen winced and looked fearful Fargo would break his fingers.
“There. Don’t you feel better now?” Angeline patted her brother’s shoulder and then looped her arm through Fargo’s. “Now that that’s settled, how about if you treat me to coffee?”
Fargo was thinking. What if she was right? What if Allen wasn’t lying? Then who was responsible for the attempts on his life?
“I’m so excited,” Angeline prattled on. “In a few days we’ll be at Boston Bar. I hope Kenneth is there. I pray we find him alive and well. Maybe he’s been writing but the letters don’t reach us.”
“That could happen,” Fargo supposed. Frontier mail wasn’t the most reliable. Hostiles, the weather, coaches that broke down, and horses that came up lame—a host of problems afflicted the express companies. The wonder of it was that any mail got through.
The restaurant was small and quiet and relaxing after the hubbub of the street. They sat at a corner table.
“I can’t thank you enough for doing that. Don’t think I don’t realize it took some doing,” Angeline said.
“Your brother is lucky to have a sister like you.”
“Any sister would do the same. I grant you that Allen can be unbearable. He can be rude and childish and petty. But he’s still my brother.” Angeline gabbed on about what it was like growing up in the Havard household, and how close she was to Kenneth, and how sad she was when Kenneth and her father had had a falling-out over Cosmo.
“What was that?” Fargo hadn’t been paying a lot of attention.
“About Cosmo? Kenneth didn’t like the influence Cosmo has over our father. He told Father either Cosmo had to go or he would, and Cosmo didn’t, so he did.”
“That’s when he came north after gold?”
Angeline spooned sugar into her cup. “I don’t know if it was the gold so much as Kenneth just wanted to get away. He’d read about the strikes up here and probably decided it was as good a place as any.”
“What about you? How do you feel about Cosmo?”
“I don’t much care one way or the other. Father has always had manservants. Before Cosmo, there was Bruce. As quiet as a mouse, he was, and so devoted. I don’t think I ever saw them apart, not once in ten years. Then Bruce caught pneumonia and died, and father hired Cosmo to take his place.”
“Did Kenneth hate Bruce, too?”
“You know, now that you mention it, they never got along very well, either.” Angeline sat back. “But enough about me and my family. Let’s talk about you. What would you like most in the world?”
“To give you a poke.” Fargo didn’t know what had made him say it. Maybe it was her lips or how her body filled out her dress.
“My word. Here you go again. But not an hour ago you were poking that saloon girl. And before her you poked that Indian. Don’t you ever get tired of all your poking?”
Fargo laughed.
“I must say, you’re different from most men I’ve know. You’re much more”—Angeline searched for the right word—“earthy.”
“Is that yes or no?”
“You’re serious? You honestly think I would let you touch me after I know you’ve slept with other women?”
“It makes a difference?”
“Maybe not to some women but it does to me. I’m not as promiscuous as they are.”
A man entered and looked around. He had dark eyes and a bristly beard and was bundled in a bulky bearskin coat and a beaver hat. He spotted them and lumbered over. Without saying a word he leaned on their table and stared at Angeline. “Here you are. I had to look pretty near everywhere but I’ve found you.”
“I beg your pardon. Do you want something?”
“You.”
Fargo sat up. “The lady is with me.”
“Do I look like I care?” The man-bear reached a big paw across and gripped a startled Angeline by the wrist. “On your feet. I’m taking you and that’s all there is to it.”
“How dare you!” Angeline sought to twist free. “Who do you think you are?”
“Folks hereabouts call me Hermit on account of I live off by myself and don’t get into town much.”
“Let go of her,” Fargo warned.
Hermit looked at him. “You annoy me, mister. And those who annoy me, I stomp.”
16
Ever since Fargo had arrived in Yale, it had been one aggravation after another. And now this man called Hermit—who smelled worse than a wet dog sprayed by a skunk—marched in out of the blue and grabbed hold of Angeline Havard.
Fargo’s temper snapped. He came up out of his chair, his fist arcing, and connected with Hermit’s bearded chin. Ordinarily that was enough to drop a man where he stood. Hermit, though, merely staggered, then tossed his head like a mad bull.
“You shouldn’t ought to have done that, mister.”
“I said to leave the lady be.”
“I can’t do that. Someone wants to see her, and I’m to take her whether she wants to go or not.”
“Who wants to see me?” Angeline asked. “What’s this about?”
“You’ll find out when we get there, lady. Now come on. On your feet so I can get this done.”
Fargo started around the table. “Some people just can’t take a hint.”
“No, they can’t,” Hermit said, and reaching under the table, he flipped it over.
Fargo leaped back as the table came down with a crash, narrowly missing his legs. He pushed to get it out of his way.
Already, Hermit had pulled Angeline out of her chair and was tramping toward the door. She dug in her heels and beat on him with her small fist.
“Let go of me!”
Hermit was unfazed. He brushed aside a man in an apron who tried to stop him, and reached for the latch.
By then Fargo caught up. He slammed a punch low on Hermit’s
back, and Hermit grunted. Fargo drove another blow between Hermit’s shoulder blades, thinking it would bring Hermit to his knees.
A backhand caught Fargo across the face, splitting his lip. He felt blood trickling. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he waded in again. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”
Hermit turned. He growled like a riled bear and pushed Angeline to one side. “Stay where you are until I’m done with this pest.” He held up both huge fists.
Fargo thought the man was going to box, so he brought up his own. The moment he did, Hermit dived at his legs. Fargo sprang to the right but he wasn’t quite quick enough. Iron arms wrapped around his shins and he crashed onto the hardwood floor.
“I’ve got you now!” Hermit crowed.
Fargo hit him on the cheek and on the shoulders, without effect.
Hermit, undaunted, let go of his legs and lunged, clamping both arms around Fargo’s waist. “This will teach you.”
Placing his hands on Hermit’s arms, Fargo struggled for all he was worth. He might as well be trying to bend rock. Hermit levered onto his knees, pulling Fargo with him, and grinned in Fargo’s face.
“Ever hear of a bear hug?”
Excruciating pain spiked through Fargo, from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. He pushed and thrashed but he couldn’t break free. Slowly, inexorably, Hermit’s arms clamped tighter and tighter, until Fargo would swear his spine was ready to splinter.
“Finding it hard to breathe yet, pest?”
As a matter of fact, Fargo was. He sucked in a ragged breath. “You can’t take her.”
“No one can stop me.”
It occurred to Fargo that the man wasn’t trying to kill, just to keep him from interfering. He slammed a jab to Hermit’s chin and thought he broke every bone in his hand. Since all else had failed, Fargo resorted to a nasty tactic; he gouged his thumbs into Hermit’s eyes.
Hermit threw his head back and roared in pain. Spinning, he threw Fargo from him with such force that he sprawled onto his hands and knees. He scrabbled to his feet, or attempted to, when suddenly a hand locked onto his chin and another got hold of his hair.
“Ever hear a neck break?”