The Trailsman

by Jon Sharpe

  ‘‘But they were together,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘I trust the woman who told me about it.’’

  A quizzical smile. ‘‘A woman? Anybody you’d care to mention?’’

  ‘‘Names don’t matter.’’

  ‘‘Maybe to me they do.’’

  Lund laughed. ‘‘Been a long time since she had a man in her life. You’d better be careful, Skye.’’ Then: ‘‘It felt good to laugh.’’ Blunt fingers touched his head. ‘‘Every ten minutes I realize that this isn’t a nightmare. It’s real.’’

  ‘‘I want to find out what they were doing together.’’

  ‘‘That’s for sure.’’ Serena walked over to her father and began adjusting his blankets so that they covered him better. The room was lined with glass cabinets filled with medicines. The aroma was sharp but not unpleasant.

  A shout; two shouts. The words muffled but the tone angry. Outside, in front of the doctor’s office. Within moments something heavy smashed through one of the front windows.

  Colt filling his hand, Fargo rushed out of the room and headed to the front. Even the formidable Mae seemed intimidated, as did the three women waiting with their children for the doctor. They’d huddled them all together for safety’s sake.

  Fargo didn’t bother to look outside. He just strode to the front door, threw it open, and faced a group of about eight or nine men who were glaring at him. The one with two large rocks in his hands didn’t bother to hide them.

  ‘‘There’s the gunny Lund hired,’’ one of them said.

  They didn’t look like workingmen. Most likely they were drifting through town and decided to have themselves some fun. And most likely they’d been paid to have the fun. Somebody wanted trouble.

  ‘‘You,’’ Fargo said, ‘‘with the rocks.’’

  ‘‘Yeah? What about them?’’

  ‘‘Throw ’em on the ground. The doc’ll never get any money out of you for breaking his window. So I’m gonna take it out of your hide.’’

  The thick, bald man in the sheepskin glanced at one of his companions and winked. ‘‘I’ll drop the rocks if you’ll holster that gun, Fargo.’’

  Fargo jammed the Colt back into its leather home. Then he moved toward the man. The bald one rushed him, and peripherally he saw another coming around the side of him. The bald one lashed out with a boot aimed at Fargo’s groin. But he was too slow and too drunk to be any good at a move like that. Fargo grabbed his ankle and twisted his entire leg so that the man slammed facefirst into the street. Then Fargo brought an elbow up and over, colliding with the second man who was just preparing to jump him. He heard the satisfying sound of teeth breaking. The man’s mouth bubbled with blood. Fargo grabbed him by the hair and brought his knee up and the man’s face down. Now his smashed nose was bleeding as much as his mouth.

  ‘‘Who paid you to come here?’’ Fargo said, shouting at the men who were too stunned to even run. It had all happened so damned fast.

  He lunged at the bearded man closest to him. The man jumped back as if he’d been stabbed. Fargo pulled the Colt and put it in the man’s face. ‘‘Who paid you to do this?’’

  The bearded one knew better than to lie. His eyes flicked around, meeting those of his friends. They gave him silent approval. ‘‘Sheriff Tyndale. We don’t have nothin’ agin the doc here or that Lund fella. We was just travelin’ through.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, well you keep on travelin’ before you have some real bad luck like these two.’’

  The injured ones were tending to their pain. In the case of the man with the broken teeth and nose, the pain must have been considerable.

  Fargo might have felt sorry for him but anybody who’d hire out to smash up a doc’s office didn’t deserve his pity.

  He flung the door to the sheriff’s office inward with such force that the glass rattled in its frame. Tyndale didn’t even have time to defend himself. Fargo lurched inside, grabbed Tyndale by his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. There was a part-time deputy in the office but Fargo didn’t notice him. He didn’t matter.

  ‘‘You paid some men to start trouble at the doc’s office.’’

  ‘‘Fargo—I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I honestly don’t.’’

  ‘‘I know what you’re up to, Tyndale. You want a lynching. Lund’s got enough enemies that that won’t be any trouble at all. Especially after sundown when you’ve got a good percentage of the population all liquored up. And you keeping them stirred up.’’

  He let go of the lawman in disgust. He could see that Tyndale was embarrassed to be treated this way in front of his deputy. Deputies loved to tell tales and this news would be all over town within half an hour.

  Tyndale did his best to look in charge again. He straightened shirt, vest, badge. He ran a hand through his thinning hair and pulled his trousers up. ‘‘And furthermore, you’re damned lucky I don’t arrest you right here on the spot, the way you busted in here. Karl over there could’ve coldcocked you any time I gave him the signal.’’

  Karl, who looked to be all of twenty, nodded to Fargo. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to him to cold-cock Fargo, to sneak up behind him and lay his gun across the back of the Trailsman’s skull. He’d been too dazzled by the sheer audacity of Fargo to do anything but stare in awe at what was happening. Imagine—somebody throwing the sheriff around the way this Fargo just had.

  ‘‘I’m just an auxiliary deputy, Sheriff—remember that. My dad’s the real deputy.’’ Tyndale was going to raise hell with Karl for saying that after Fargo left. Here he was trying to portray Karl as this tough lawman who was up to taking on Fargo. Instead, Karl identified himself as green, timid, and pretty much useless. A kid who only got an auxiliary job because of his old man. Under other circumstances it would have been funny.

  ‘‘You’re trying to get an innocent man hanged, Tyndale. You don’t have guts enough to do the job yourself so you’re going to push it off on the townspeople. But it won’t work. Because by nightfall I’m going to have your killer for you. And then I’m going to rip that badge off your chest and run you out of town.’’

  Tyndale had to look strong in front of Karl. He tried but his voice was still shaky from getting pitched against the wall. ‘‘By nightfall, huh? Well, I guess we’ll see about that, Fargo.’’

  For the moment, anyway, Fargo had broken the man’s spirit. Tyndale didn’t even try to arrest him. But breaking a man’s spirit could make him even more dangerous once he was able to get his bearings again.

  There was nothing more to say. Fargo went back through the front door, slamming it so hard that the glass jiggled once again. He was glad for the cool air. He’d worked up an angry sweat.

  Only after he’d walked for a time, his mind starting to relax, did he realize that it was three o’clock. He had approximately three hours to find the killer before Tyndale’s lynch mob started forming.

  15

  There were two customers in the bank. The man was flirting with a girl at a desk. The woman was reminding the teller that he was incompetent and insubordinate. He managed to smile through it. He was good at fake smiles. Fargo wondered how he’d be facing a firing squad. He could probably paste that smile on even then.

  He spotted James Holmes talking to his stern secretary. They both saw him at the same time. Holmes made a sour face and took off at a half trot back to his office. Fargo tried to follow him but his secretary stood up and rushed over to block his way.

  ‘‘You don’t have an appointment.’’

  ‘‘I have a feeling he’ll see me.’’

  ‘‘He can’t see you. He’s busy.’’

  ‘‘Look at it this way. I know he doesn’t want to see me, but he’ll have to see me. Otherwise I’ll tell everybody in the bank here that he killed Alexis Lund.’’

  Her lips parted in shock. ‘‘That’s ridiculous.’’

  ‘‘No, it isn’t. And you probably know it isn’t.’’

  Just then he caught sight of James Holmes furtively
hurrying out the back door.

  ‘‘Thanks for your time,’’ Fargo said.

  She started to speak but by the time she got a word out, Fargo was at the front door. He needed to hurry down the alley. Fargo didn’t want Holmes to get away.

  But as he reached the street and headed for the alley, he started to think of a way that Holmes would be more useful to him. If he just grabbed Holmes, he might not learn where the other two were. But if he followed him . . .

  He slowed his walk, kept close to the storefronts, and moved behind a knot of people. Holmes appeared, looking a little frantic for one of the town’s most important citizens. Fargo ducked his head. Holmes saw only the top of Fargo’s hat and didn’t recognize even that. And then desperately went on his way.

  In a town the size of Reliance, shadowing Holmes didn’t take all that long. After two blocks on the sidewalk, Holmes turned into a one-story, clapboard building with a discreet sign to the left of the door, NORTON ENTERPRISES. Fargo remembered being told that Brett Norton came into the office mainly to yell at people and impress himself with how important he was. Holmes glanced in both directions before entering. Fargo was still far enough back, still hiding in the midst of a crowd, that Holmes didn’t even sense he was being followed at this point. Though that didn’t seem to help his agitation or his nervousness any.

  Fargo waited a few minutes before entering the Norton offices. He wanted to make sure that the men would be in a room they couldn’t sneak out of. He walked around back. There was a rear entrance. He dragged a half dozen empty crates in front of the back door. This wouldn’t stop anybody but it would certainly surprise them and slow them down.

  He walked back to the front door and went inside. A young woman with dark hair and a pleasant, knowing smile assessed Fargo and obviously liked what she saw. ‘‘Good afternoon. May I help you?’’

  Fargo took off his hat and nodded to her. He wanted a quick survey of how the place was laid out. A narrow hallway led to the back where the offices would be. ‘‘I just got into town and I thought I’d surprise my old friend James Holmes. Somebody told me he might be here.’’

  There were two risks here. She might already know who Fargo was. And she might also question why he couldn’t just wait till later to surprise his old friend.

  ‘‘I was over at the bank and they said he came here.’’

  She was as smart as she was attractive. She knew something was wrong. ‘‘Why don’t you give me your name and I’ll go tell him you’re here?’’ She’d go warn them. She’d obviously figured out that Fargo was no friend.

  He strode around her desk, moving well down the hall before she could even get up from her chair and chase him. The building was larger inside than he had expected. In the rear were three offices. Two of the doors were open. One was closed. The hushed male voices told him that this was where he needed to go.

  ‘‘Stop! You can’t go in there! Stop!’’ Her voice was urgent, strident in the silence.

  By now she’d alerted the men. He yanked his Colt from its holster and hit the closed door hard with his shoulder. Then he was inside facing Holmes, Carstairs, and Norton. Norton looked to be scrambling for a desk drawer. Probably a gun in there. Fargo said: ‘‘Not worth dying for, Norton. Put your hands on the desk. Flat.’’

  Norton scowled but did as he was told.

  The secretary peeked in. ‘‘I’m so sorry, Brett.’’ The familiar way she said ‘‘Brett’’ told Fargo that the girl had uses other than simply taking dictation. When Norton hired somebody he made sure to get his money’s worth.

  ‘‘Close the door, Nancy. I can handle this.’’

  She didn’t look sure that he could handle this at all. But she nodded and said, ‘‘All right, Brett. If you say so.’’

  After the door was closed, Norton said, ‘‘Well, drifter, you wanted to talk to us. So start talking.’’

  Carstairs and Holmes sat in front of the desk, Norton in an executive chair behind it.

  ‘‘You’re wrong about why I’m here, Norton. I didn’t come to talk. I came to listen.’’

  ‘‘What if we don’t have much to say?’’

  ‘‘Well, I guess we’ll all just sit here until you do. And when you talk, it’d better be the truth.’’

  Norton sighed. He was an impressive sigher. The sound contained frustration, anger, contempt. ‘‘I suppose you want to talk about Alexis.’’

  ‘‘You don’t have to tell him a damn thing,’’ Carstairs snapped.

  Holmes said nothing. He kept his gaze on his folded hands in his lap.

  ‘‘I’m not afraid to talk to him, Carstairs. There wasn’t a damned thing wrong with what we did.’’

  Carstairs muttered, ‘‘It still isn’t any of his business.’’

  Norton said, ‘‘You’re seeing everything from Lund’s point of view, Fargo. That puts you at a disadvantage. Lund’s a little more complicated than you might think.’’

  ‘‘I’m listening.’’

  ‘‘Well, for one thing, he makes you bend to his will. And he puts you in your place—and he decides what that place is. He has more money than the three of us put together. And the same goes for his power. He’s got important friends all over the Territory. We don’t. So anytime he wants us to do something that’s against our better interests—we do it anyway because he forces us to.’’

  ‘‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with Alexis.’’

  ‘‘It’s got everything to do with Alexis,’’ Carstairs said. ‘‘He finally met somebody he couldn’t bully. She was as independent as he is and she wasn’t afraid of him. I don’t know if he knew about the three of us but after Alexis came he got worse and worse with us. He made us strike deals that hurt us in the long run—and made him even richer. If we didn’t sign, he’d ruin us. And he made that very clear.’’

  ‘‘You sure looked very friendly the night of his birthday.’’

  Norton laughed angrily. ‘‘That was Alexis. Always putting on the grand show. The grand front. She liked to have big parties. Any excuse would do. So we’d have to show up and pretend that we were happy to be there. While Andrew was bleeding us dry, making us sign on to business deals that didn’t do much for us but did a hell of a lot for him.’’

  ‘‘But you were all in love with Alexis.’’

  ‘‘Love and hate,’’ Carstairs said.

  Norton said, ‘‘He’s the philosopher. Or thinks he is.’’

  ‘‘Well, how would you describe it then, Norton?’’

  Norton shrugged. ‘‘I guess you’re right. Sometimes it was hard to tell if I hated her more than I loved her. In the long run I think she just used us to keep herself from being bored.’’

  Fargo looked at each of them carefully. ‘‘And one of you killed her.’’

  ‘‘Oh, hell,’’ Carstairs said. ‘‘Why waste time?’’ He looked directly at Fargo. ‘‘We decided to force Alexis to come to a decision. Which one of us she really wanted.’’

  Norton smirked. ‘‘She didn’t want Holmes but since he was always hanging on her, we decided to include him.’’

  ‘‘Include him in what?’’

  Carstairs said, ‘‘When we heard she was in a hotel room in town, we got together and decided to have it out with her. So we went over to the hotel together.’’

  ‘‘And we each took turns going up to her room,’’ Norton said. ‘‘And asking her to run away with us. We wanted to see if she’d actually do it. She’d led us on so long it was time to force a showdown. If nothing else, we’d have the pleasure of telling her what we thought of her. Which each of us did.’’

  Holmes finally spoke. ‘‘Two of us sat in the lobby while one went up. None of us was up there very long. I guess Alexis thought it would be the same old thing. We’d be good little boys and not bother her with making any kind of commitment.’’

  ‘‘She always got mad when you asked her for a commitment,’’ Carstairs said. ‘‘She always said that it ruined the night.’’
>
  Holmes flashed a bitter smile. ‘‘We really ruined that night. Three of us asking for a commitment.’’

  ‘‘So which one of you murdered her?’’

  Norton sat back in his chair. ‘‘None of us. Andrew murdered her. None of us were up there longer than ten minutes each.’’

  ‘‘Ten minutes is long enough to kill somebody.’’

  ‘‘I suppose you’re right. But we can each testify that we got the same treatment—Alexis mad at us, demanding that we leave. And we can vouch that none of us gave any sign that we’d killed anybody.’’

  ‘‘We’re not killers, Fargo,’’ Holmes said. ‘‘If one of us had murdered her, we wouldn’t have been able to hide it that well. We were each in the room about ten minutes and we came right back down to the lobby.’’

  ‘‘You made a lot of noise while you were in the room.’’

  Norton laughed. ‘‘That wasn’t us. Alexis liked to throw things at you. Plus she was pretty good at shoving you into things. A very bad temper on her.’’

  ‘‘But you loved her.’’

  ‘‘I guess that’s what it’s called,’’ Holmes said. ‘‘But I’m not sure. Even though I couldn’t get her out of my mind—’’ He paused. ‘‘Even though she thought I was ridiculous—a part of me knew that I was addicted. Like opium or something. But the worst of it was I didn’t like her. I saw her for what she was. I’m sure these other two gentlemen did, too.’’

  Fargo could see Holmes as a pitiable figure. Extending pity to Norton and Carstairs was impossible.

  ‘‘I knew I belonged at home with my wife,’’ Holmes went on. ‘‘But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried to break away, I always went back to Alexis. Or tried to.’’

  Carstairs said, ‘‘We didn’t kill her, Fargo. Though God knows I thought about it from time to time. And I’m sure Norton here did, too.’’

  ‘‘Ten times a day,’’ Norton said.

  This wasn’t the time to make any final judgments but Fargo believed them. He’d come in here certain that one—or all three of them—had killed Alexis, but their story was just odd enough to be true. And in a strange sort of way, it made sense. The final confrontation of the spurned lovers against the evil-hearted enchantress.