by Jon Sharpe
‘‘But Europe—’’
For the first time, Lund laughed. ‘‘You don’t really think your old man would fit in with all those European dandies, do you? And you working in a dress shop? The first time somebody gave you an order you didn’t like, you’d tell her off and storm out.’’
The anger remained on Serena’s sweet face for only a moment. Then she not only smiled but laughed. ‘‘I guess it is pretty difficult to imagine you in a drawing room discussing art and music with a bunch of Frenchmen.’’ Then: ‘‘Or the spoiled princess lasting very long in a dress shop.’’ She touched Fargo’s arm. ‘‘We need to protect him, though, Skye. We need to make sure that Tyndale doesn’t hurt him.’’
‘‘I’ll make sure of that.’’
‘‘Your word of honor?’’
‘‘She’s been saying that since she was three years old, Fargo. You’d better give her your word of honor.’’
‘‘My word of honor.’’
‘‘There,’’ Lund said, ‘‘maybe she’ll stop pestering you for a while.’’
14
Not even Deputy Pierce’s violent temper could turn the remaining members of his posse back into the angry men who lusted after the life of Andrew Lund. What Pierce was dealing with now was a mutiny. The long night’s rain and cold had sobered the men up and they sat their saddles now in damp clothes and sullen refusals to obey any of his orders. As one of them said: ‘‘Why don’t you arrest me and take me back to town? I’d rather be in a cell than out here freezing my ass off.’’ As if to underscore his point, he sneezed.
They were headed back to town.
Pierce pretended that the terrible drenching night hadn’t affected him. He still rode point, sitting his saddle tall and formal, like a West Point man leading his first troop in Injun country.
The men mumbled and grumbled among themselves. These were town men given to big talk in saloons but without the necessary experience or mental stamina to persevere in rough country—at least not when they were sober.
They crossed a wide creek and headed up a steep slope to a plateau that was just beginning to bloom with buffalo grass. In the distance they could see a Conestoga wagon rattling across the prairie, headed for Reliance. It would be packed with everything the family owned. But there would still be plenty of room for the dreams the man had and the doubts his wife had brought along. The children would be excited even though they’d had to endure numerous hardships on their travels.
A few minutes later something nagged at the corner of Pierce’s right eye. He turned his head to see what it was. At first he refused to believe what he saw. Things didn’t happen this way. Just fall out of the sky and right into your lap. No, sir.
He reached back to grab his field glasses from his saddlebag. He brought them to his eyes. And damned if what he’d thought impossible was not only possible but real.
Big as you please, coming down a sloping Indian trail, were Fargo and Andrew and Serena Lund. Lund was slumped in his saddle. A terrible wound stretched across most of his forehead. Serena rode close beside her father, looking to grab him if he started to fall out of his saddle. They were obviously headed back to town.
As yet the posse behind him hadn’t noticed the three. They were too busy bitching about Pierce.
Despite his weariness, Pierce began to formulate his plan. There was still time to be the hero here, still time to secure his job with the new sheriff. Still time to be the man who captured the most prominent fugitive in the history of Reliance.
He turned his horse back to the men and ordered them to halt.
‘‘If you look to the east, you’ll see three people riding toward town.’’
Grizzled, tired, cranky, the men followed the line Pierce’s arm pointed out. ‘‘I used my field glasses. That’s Lund and his daughter and Fargo.’’
The reaction wasn’t jubilation but for the first time since sunup the men showed interest in something other than bitching and getting back to town. ‘‘Wish to hell we’d spotted them yesterday,’’ one of the men groused. Then: ‘‘But what the hell? We’ll have us some fun now, I guess.’’
‘‘It’s not too late. I’m the law here, not Fargo. And me and my posse, we’re the ones who should be bringing Lund in.’’
‘‘Damn right,’’ a man said. ‘‘We was sworn in all official and everything. Fargo wasn’t.’’
Deputy Pierce wanted to have some fun with them, work them up. ‘‘But I imagine you men want to head back to town, and I don’t blame you. So you go on and I’ll ride over there and take charge of Lund.’’
‘‘Hell, no,’’ two men said at the same time. One of them grinned. ‘‘There’s liable to be some shootin’, knowin’ Fargo and all. Why should you get to have all the fun?’’
Pierce smiled. ‘‘You mean you’d rather ride over there and maybe have to do a little gunplay than head back to town right away?’’
‘‘I always hated Lund. I just hope he tries to run again.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t mind takin’ that Serena in the woods and showin’ her that big surprise I got for all the ladies.’’
‘‘Time I slept with your wife, she told me my surprise was a lot bigger than yours.’’
The men laughed. Gone was the discomfort with wet clothes, sore throats, hungry bellies. Hell, none of that mattered, not with the prospect of some shooting, it didn’t.
‘‘Let’s go,’’ Pierce said.
‘‘Dad really needs to get to a doctor, Skye.’’
Even though Lund hadn’t said anything for a while, even though he looked as if he might drop right off his saddle, he summoned enough strength to make a joke: ‘‘Honey, I think Fargo’s going to get real sick of hearing you say that. I’m getting a little sick of it, too.’’
Serena was surprised. ‘‘Have I been saying that a lot?’’
‘‘No more than five or six times in the last ten minutes, ’’ Fargo said, laughing.
‘‘Oh, Lord, I’m sorry. I’m just so worried—’’
‘‘Relax as much as you can,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘We’ll be in town in another hour or so. We’ll go straight to the doctor’s. Then I’ll try to round up Tyndale and bring him to the doc’s.’’
‘‘He won’t like it that you don’t bring Dad to the jail first.’’
‘‘Well, right now I don’t care much what Tyndale likes or dislikes. Do you?’’
She shook her head, bitterness flashing in her eyes.
They were on the stage road. The sun was warming the morning and Fargo was feeling good that they’d found Lund before the posse had.
A few minutes later he had to qualify what he’d been thinking because coming at them, riding hard, was a group of men that could only be one part of the posse. Tyndale had likely split his men in two.
‘‘Who’s that, Skye?’’ Serena said, fear on her face and in her voice.
‘‘Looks like the posse. Or part of it.’’
‘‘But we’re taking Dad back. We don’t need them.’’
Fargo’s hand covered his Colt. ‘‘Looks like we’re going to get them whether we want them or not.’’
Well, if nothing else, Fargo thought as the posse rode up, they looked a lot more sober than most posses he’d seen. A night in cold rain has a restraining effect on a man. Especially if he’s run out of liquor.
Deputy Pierce rode up front. In town he put on an amiable face, playing the reasonable, humble lawman to Tyndale’s angry, implacable sheriff. But out here he got to live out his dime-novel daydreams. The way he rode this morning was military style, his men behind him, obeying the signals he gave with his arm.
‘‘Morning, Fargo.’’
Fargo nodded. ‘‘We’re taking Mr. Lund back to town.’’
‘‘Well, I appreciate your efforts, Fargo, but since I’m the one with the badge, I’ll have to ask you to turn him over to me right here and now.’’
‘‘No!’’ Serena cried.
‘‘I think we’ll just keep on
heading in the way we have been,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘We’re close to town and Lund here needs a doc. We’ll take him straight to Doc Standish’s office and then you can put him in custody. ’’
The men behind Pierce grumbled, making it clear what the plan was. Lund was to be turned over to them. They’d be men with grudges, of course. A rich man makes a lot of enemies and right now Fargo was looking at several of them.
‘‘Afraid it’s not going to work that way, Fargo. I want him turned over to me right now. I know you’re fast with a gun and all but you’re not fast enough to take on all of us.’’
‘‘Don’t let them take Dad, Skye.’’
‘‘You want the glory—is that it, Pierce?’’
‘‘Just doin’ my job is all, Fargo.’’ Pierce then dropped from his horse. He tugged up his leather gloves and started walking toward Lund.
Fargo slipped off his Ovaro, too, took four quick steps, and blocked Pierce’s path. ‘‘Serena and I found him, Pierce. Why don’t you make this easy for everybody and let us take him in?’’
‘‘ ’Fraid it’s not gonna work that way, Fargo. Now get out of my way.’’
Somehow Serena was there. She lunged in front of Fargo and pushed at Pierce’s chest. He was quicker and stronger than Fargo would have thought. He turned her completely around and shoved her back into Fargo. He started to reach for his gun. Fargo knew that any kind of crossfire was likely to wound if not kill Serena, who was staggering in front of him, trying to right herself.
Now it was Fargo’s turn to shove her. He pushed her with such force that she stumbled at least four feet away. Even though Pierce drew first, Fargo’s bullets tore into the deputy’s shoulder and arm.
He’d moved so quickly that Pierce’s first reaction was surprise more than pain. He’d never seen anybody who could be that fast and that accurate at the same time. His own bullets had gone wild.
As Pierce started to sink to the ground, one of the men in the posse took at Fargo with his rifle. Fargo’s bullets lifted the man’s greasy hair from his head with such bloody ease that the man looked as if he’d been scalped. He went over backward off his horse but one of his boots caught in a stirrup, and the horse, spooked, started dragging him across the prairie at high speed. The man was lucky he was dead.
Then another man, who apparently thought he was out of pistol range, raised his rifle and took a bullet in the chest for his trouble. He fell facedown on his horse, blood coming in puked-up torrents. Then he fell, slamming into the ground.
Fargo faced the other men, moving his Colt back and forth, ready to kill all of them if necessary. ‘‘I want all your weapons thrown on the ground now.’’
Only one of them, a man with a white beard and a smashed-in face, hesitated, obviously weighing his chances of surviving a gunfight with Fargo. Seeing this, the man sitting on the next horse said, ‘‘You got that new granddaughter, Owens. You’re always braggin’ on her. You draw down on Fargo here, you’ll never see her again.’’
Owens wanted to demonstrate that even though he wasn’t going to fight he was still a tough, scary bastard. He conjured up his meanest snarl, spat on the ground, and said, ‘‘You just shot a lawman. You’re in big trouble, Fargo.’’
‘‘You let me worry about that. Now two of you get over here and pick up the dead one and toss him on his horse. Then patch up Pierce as well as you can and take them all back to town.’’
Pierce was moaning. He was speaking nonsense. Sometimes he sobbed. Shock and blood loss were taking their toll. He’d wet himself and his right hand twitched violently. Serena stared at him and then swung her eyes away. Even if she hated him, seeing him like this was pretty ugly.
The men pitched their guns and rifles and then climbed down off their horses. One of them sobbed when they picked up the dead man. The other man, the one with the white beard, called Fargo several names, making sure that Fargo heard each of them. They tied the man to his horse and saddle.
Pierce was more of a problem. They had to put him up in his saddle and tie his hands to the horn. He seemed to go in and out of consciousness. They then decided to tie his ankles to the stirrups.
‘‘You’ll regret this, Fargo,’’ the white-bearded one said when they were mounted again and ready to go.
‘‘Pierce needs a doc pretty bad. You better head out.’’
A parting snarl, more curses and dirty names. Then the group of them swung their mounts toward town and set off. Pierce looked like a dead man somebody had strapped upright as a joke.
Serena sat next to her father, helping him to drink from the canteen. There wasn’t much water left. She wanted to make sure none of it spilled.
‘‘I see why so many men are afraid of you, Skye,’’ Andrew Lund said. As far as Fargo could figure, this was the first time Lund had ever used Fargo’s first name.
Fargo shrugged. ‘‘Looked a lot more impressive than it was. Pierce is no gunny and those men took way too long to try and kill me. They should’ve shot me about the time I was firing on Pierce. There was a lot of luck involved.’’
People stood on either side of the street watching as Fargo, Serena, and Lund made their way slowly to Doc Standish’s office. Some of them yelled for others to come and see, too; some just stood silent, like sentries; and some shook their fists at Lund and shouted names at him. Wasn’t often you got to scream insults at the most powerful man in the Territory and get away with it. This was a special day.
Every few feet somebody would lunge out of line at Fargo. He could push most of them back with just a scowl. Not even being part of a mob could make all men brave. A woman spit at him but her aim was off. Serena shouted at her. A few times Lund’s head lolled to the right as if he’d passed out. But then he’d jerk awake and gape around as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was or what was going on.
Serena rushed into the doc’s office while Fargo tied their horses to the hitching post and then helped ease Lund to the ground. Fargo carried Lund inside. Serena was talking anxiously to the doctor.
‘‘I’m just worried he’s not going to make it, Doctor.’’
‘‘Well, Serena, he’s not going to make it if we all stand around here and just worry ourselves to death. Now you take some deep breaths and force yourself to calm down. You’re not helping anybody acting the way you are.’’ His words were not unkind. He meant to help her and it was clear she realized this. She put a hand on his arm and nodded.
He led them into his examination room. The first thing he did was turn up two large lamps. The second thing he did was grab his black leather medical bag. The third thing he did was go over to the window and raise the shade. Sunbeams filled the room. The doctor required a lot of light.
‘‘Just lay him down real gentle,’’ the doctor said to Fargo. For all that he’d told Serena to relax, Fargo could see a brief bit of panic in the medical man’s eyes when he started looking closely at Lund.
Fargo and Serena eased Lund back on the examination table. Lund’s eyelids fluttered but Fargo wasn’t sure the man was truly conscious.
‘‘Now I need you to tell me what happened to him while I’m looking him over,’’ the doctor said. ‘‘And I need you to tell me real slow and real easy. And don’t get yourself excited while you’re doing it.’’
He was obviously talking to Serena. She told him everything in careful terms, as unemotionally as possible given the circumstances. As she spoke, the doctor began a careful examination of the big man on the table.
‘‘Fine,’’ he said when Serena was finished talking. ‘‘Now you two go wait in the other room. There’re some nice, comfortable chairs there for you to sit on.’’
Serena hesitated, didn’t want to leave her father’s side, but the doctor’s frown was persuasive.
Serena sat on the edge of a wooden chair. Fargo remained standing. ‘‘I need to go talk to Tyndale. If he’s back.’’
She clutched his wrist. ‘‘I don’t want to turn Dad over to Tyndale, Skye. I’m just afraid.’�
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Fargo patted her hand. ‘‘We don’t have any choice. Even if your dad wanted to fire him now, he couldn’t. The town council wouldn’t go along with him. They couldn’t afford to. Too many people think he’s guilty.’’
‘‘But to be in a jail cell . . .’’
Fargo shook his head. ‘‘Your dad’s too sick for a jail cell. He’ll have to stay here under guard.’’
‘‘You really think Tyndale will go along with that?’’
‘‘We brought your father in. That was our part of the bargain. Now he has to make his part. He can’t take care of your father in jail. Only the doc can do that. And that means your father stays here.’’
Serena’s worry creased her forehead. Amazing that after all they’d been through her vibrant good looks still managed to shine. ‘‘I’ll just wait here, then. I just hope Doc Standish doesn’t find anything else wrong with him.’’
‘‘Standish knows what he’s doing, Serena. Now I need to go.’’
He was a celebrity on the street. Eyes from windows, from sidewalks, from wagons, horseback, surreys, and even a stagecoach followed his block-long walk from the doc’s to the jail where a crowd of maybe twenty people stood in the street, talking among themselves. When one of them spotted Fargo, they all turned to glower at him. He was the enemy. The drifter who was protecting the rich killer. Whatever misgivings they’d had about Tyndale were gone now. He was the hero. Lund and his protector were the villains.
‘‘Where’s Lund?’’ one of the older women snapped at him. In her gingham bonnet and gingham gown, she should have looked female and motherly. But something happened to meek people when they became part of mobs, even just a tiny one like this. They became strong in a bad way, dangerous with the strength and rage of others to draw on.
‘‘I’m sure Tyndale will explain everything to you,’’ Fargo said.
A young man, big and already drunk, stepped from the group and said, ‘‘She asked you a question.’’ He was the crowd favorite, a brawler with wide shoulders, huge hands, and a scowl he must have practiced in front of a mirror since he was a little boy.