Flathead Fury

by Jon Sharpe

  “Enough of those and my head will be spinning.”

  “We have the rest of the morning and all afternoon to ourselves,” Fargo said with a wink.

  Sally frowned. “Would that we did. I would have to close the shop, which might make Durn suspicious.”

  “You have to eat. Can’t you lock up for a while at midday?” Fargo hopefully proposed.

  “I do now and then,” Sally mentioned. “But usually only for an hour or so.”

  “That is more than enough time,” Fargo said, and kissed her again as added incentive. He liked how she pressed her bosom to his chest and how her fingers strayed to his shoulders and kneaded his muscles.

  “My goodness. You are made of iron.”

  Fargo pulled back so his growing bulge was obvious. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Sally glanced down, and gasped. “Mercy! You have a knack for flustering me.”

  “The flustering has just begun.” Fargo went to enfold her in his arms but she pushed against his chest.

  “No. Please. As much as I want to, I expect a few customers in this morning.” Sheepishly backing away, Sally smoothed her dress. “I will be back in my living quarters about noon. Wait for me in my bed if you want.”

  Reluctantly, Fargo repaired to the kitchen. He was famished. After firing up the stove, he checked her well-stocked pantry and helped himself to several thick strips of bacon and half a dozen eggs. He also had a hankering for a couple of thick slices of buttered toast.

  The aroma set his mouth to watering.

  As Fargo cooked, he pondered. There had to be a way for him to put an end to Durn’s mad scheme. He considered a number of ideas, everything from sneaking back into the saloon to confront Durn to dropping Durn from afar with a rifle. That last was the safest but he had never much liked shooting from ambush.

  A burp from the coffeepot let Fargo know the coffee was percolating. He had timed it so that the coffee and the food were done about the same time, and now he filled a cup to the brim and ladled heaping helpings of eggs and bacon onto a plate. Taking a seat, he rubbed his hands in anticipation and reached for his fork—and thought he glimpsed a face at the back window.

  Fargo could not say for sure. The face had been there for only an instant. Pushing his chair from the table, he ran to the back door, threw it open, and almost blundered into the sunlight. Catching himself, he leaned out far enough to look in both directions. No one was in sight.

  Nerves, Fargo reckoned. Returning to the table, he forked eggs into his mouth and hungrily chewed. The sizzling bacon was delicious; the toast had just the right crunch.

  The hot food made Fargo drowsy. Four cups of coffee did little to help, so Fargo bent his steps to the bedroom. Not bothering to pull back the quilt, he tossed his hat on the dresser and sprawled out belly-down on the bed. It was wonderfully soft and warm.

  The next thing Fargo knew, fingers were on his cheek. With a start he jerked his head up.

  “Relax, silly,” Sally Brook said. “It is only me.”

  Fargo’s mind felt mired in mud and his veins were filled with turtle blood. “What time is it?” he asked, his tongue feeling as thick as a deck of cards.

  “Eleven thirty. I couldn’t wait. I have been thinking of you all morning.” Sally’s eyes gleamed with a special kind of hunger.

  Fargo had slept the morning away. He shook his head to try to clear lingering mental cobwebs. “Any sign of Durn and his bunch?”

  “They searched the whole town,” Sally related. “When they couldn’t find you, they retired to the saloon. I haven’t seen any sign of them since.”

  Fargo noticed she had brushed her hair and undid the top two buttons on her dress. Her notion of being brazen, he reckoned, and smothered a grin.

  “Would you like me to fix you some food?”

  “For some things food can wait,” Fargo said. She brightened with excitement as he pulled her to him, and when he kissed her, her passion surpassed his. Her fingers roved everywhere, exploring, caressing, while her silken tongue danced a sensual waltz with his.

  After a while Fargo eased her onto her side so they were face to face. He kissed and licked her neck and sucked on her ear while prying at her buttons and stays. Some dresses had a lot and hers was one. He squandered time undoing them he would rather devote to her body.

  “We only have an hour as I recall,” Fargo said.

  “A little longer won’t hurt,” Sally huskily answered. “I told you I close at noon every now and then. Durn will not think it unusual.”

  Fargo glued his mouth to hers and silenced her for the duration. His free hand slid up over her leg and over the flat of her belly to her mounds. She was nicely endowed. He cupped and massaged each breast through her dress and felt her nipples become tacks. When he pinched one, she groaned and squirmed.

  His pole was a redwood, bulging at his pants for release.

  Since it was taking so long to undo her dress, Fargo hiked at the hem until he had the garment up around her thighs. He ran his palm in small circles from her knee almost to her nether mound and she grew as hot as a griddle. Her skin was creamy soft.

  Inserting two fingers into her undergarments, Fargo wormed under them to her slit. Sally trembled at the contact. When he ran a finger along it to her knob, her mouth parted but no sounds came out. He stoked her furnace for a good long while but he did not enter her, not until her breasts burst free. Swooping his mouth to a hard nipple, he plunged a finger up into her.

  Sally nearly came off the bed. Her mouth lavished hot kisses on his face and neck while her fingers dug at his shoulders and arms as if seeking to tear the flesh from his bones.

  Fargo inserted a second finger. For a few seconds she lay perfectly still. Then she erupted into a paroxysm of release, grinding against him in abandon. Her breathing rivaled a blacksmith’s bellows.

  Fargo knelt between her legs. No sooner did he expose his lance than her hands were on him, fondling, cupping, doing things that brought a constriction to his throat and threatened to send him over the brink before he was ready.

  Fargo aligned the tip of his sword with her sheath. Their eyes met, and he thrust in to the hilt. The bed creaked under them as they settled into a rhythm, her cherry lips forming an O of pure pleasure.

  Fargo paced himself. She gushed twice, each time in a wild upheaval that added to the bite and scratch marks she was inflicting.

  On they went, in and almost out. Fargo felt her inner walls contract, felt Sally spurt, and his own dam broke. Holding her hips, he pounded into her. She rose to meet each lance of his pole, willingly impaling herself in the interest of mutual release.

  Coasting down from the summit was pleasant. Fargo lay in a contented haze, listening to her breathe, the damp cool of his sweat a relief from the heat of their union.

  When she could, Sally whispered, “That was wonderful.”

  “I aim to please, ma’am.”

  Smiling, Sally closed her eyes, stretched, and nuzzled his shoulder. “I am so tired I can’t stay awake.”

  “You have time for a nap,” Fargo said, in the grip of lassitude he could not deny.

  They drifted off.

  When Fargo opened his eyes he did not know what to make of the fact the room was dark. Sitting up, he blinked in sleep-induced confusion. A glance at the window revealed night had fallen.

  That couldn’t be, Fargo told himself. He wondered why Sally had not woken him up, then realized she was next to him, deep in dreamland. A sense of unease gripped him as he placed a hand on her shoulder and gently shook.

  “Ummmmmm?”

  “It’s dark,” Fargo said.

  Sally shifted and smiled but did not open her eyes. “What did you say?” she asked dreamily.

  “It is dark out. We slept all day.”

  Sitting bolt upright, Sally raised her hands to her disheveled hair and gazed about the bedroom in disbelief. “Dear God! No!”

  “Maybe Durn was too busy to notice,” Fargo said.

>   “I hope you are right,” Sally said, sliding her legs over the edge of the bed. “Lord, how I hope so. But he keeps such a close eye on me—” She let the thought dangle.

  Fargo slid to the end of the bed and hitched at his pants. “Are all the doors locked?”

  Sally nodded while pulling herself together, her worry lines obvious even in the gloom.

  “If he sent someone, or he came himself, we would have heard them knock,” Fargo said to ease her anxiety.

  “That’s right!” Sally said. “I just don’t want him to find out, is all. There is no predicting what he will do.” She finished dressing and lit the lamp on the end table. Holding it in front of her, she went to the door. “You can wait here if you want.”

  “Nothing doing.”

  The house was quiet. They went down the hall to the millinery, Fargo with his hand on the Remington, Sally gnawing on her bottom lip.

  The store was undisturbed. Sally went to the door and tried it and smiled when she confirmed it was bolted. “I guess you are right. I am surprised, though. Mrs. Garbundy was due to come by and she is quite the busybody. She was bound to tell everyone she met that I was closed when I shouldn’t be.”

  “I bet she ran right to Durn and told him,” Fargo joked.

  “I see your point,” Sally said, chuckling. “I am worried for no reason.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” said a deep voice, and from out of the shadows along the walls and from behind the counter and the mannequin came Big Mike Durn and six of his underlings, Kutler foremost among them. “I would say you have plenty to be worried about.”

  The rest all leveled their guns.

  18

  “How?” Sally Brook blurted.

  “A window, my dear,” Mike Durn answered. “You locked the doors but neglected to latch all the windows.” He held out a hand to Fargo. “I will take that pistol, if you don’t mind, and even if you do.”

  The ring of gun muzzles were a powerful persuader. Using two fingers, Fargo gripped the butt and slowly slid the Remington from his holster.

  “Now then,” Durn said, tossing the revolver to Kutler, “we can get to the matter at hand.”

  Sally Brook could not shake her shock. She had a hand to her throat and her eyes were saucers. “How did you find out he was here? From Mrs. Garbundy?”

  “That worthless old hag?” Durn laughed. “Don’t blame her. It was your own fault.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You closed your shop. One of my men saw you hang out the closed sign. I thought nothing of it at the time. But about an hour ago I came outside for some air and saw that it was still closed.”

  “Oh, no,” Sally groaned.

  “Oh, yes,” Mike Durn said, enjoying her distress. “I sent someone to snoop around. Someone who can be as quiet as a cat.” He grinned at Fargo. “Someone who has a lot in common with you.” Shifting toward a far corner, he beckoned. “You may come out now.”

  A shadow moved and assumed the form and substance of a small man carrying a big rifle. “Did you miss me?” Tork sarcastically asked.

  “Took you long enough to get back here,” Fargo said.

  The small man came into the light and a dark stain on his shirt was visible. “Do you see this?” he hissed. “This is your doing. One of your shots glanced off a rib.”

  “I tried to do better.”

  Tork could not contain his hatred. Lunging, he drove the heavy stock of his Sharps into Fargo’s ribs.

  Pain exploded up Fargo’s chest and he doubled over. He tensed for another blow but Big Mike Durn had caught hold of Tork’s wrist.

  “No more of that!”

  “He has it coming!” Tork raged, trying to break free.

  “And he will get his due,” Durn assured him. “But in the pit, against Caesar. Think of it. You will see them torn limb from limb! Would you deprive us of the spectacle?”

  It was Sally who spoke. “Them?” she repeated.

  Durn let go of Tork, who stepped back but kept glaring his spite at Fargo. “Ah, yes, my dear. I am afraid you have done the one thing that would change how I feel about you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Big Mike chuckled. “I sent Tork to look around, remember? He snuck in through the open window and saw you and your new friend asleep in your bed in a state of undress.”

  “Oh, God.”

  Fargo marveled at his own lapse. For once his keen senses had let him down, and he had not woken up.

  “After all these months of courting you,” Durn went on, “you go and make love to another man. I must admit I am disappointed.” But more than disappointment was mirrored on Durn’s face; his blazing eyes and the quirk of his jaw muscles betrayed rising fury. “You slept with another man,” he said again, snarling each syllable.

  “Please, Mike—” Sally began.

  “Enough!” Durn roared, motioning for her to be silent. “I have put up with all the lies I am going to. You have deceived me for the last time.” He seized her by the arm and nodded at Fargo. “Since you think so highly of him, it is only fitting that you share his fate.”

  “But the pit,” Sally said, and shuddered. “He told me about it, told me what you do down there.”

  “He has spoiled the surprise,” Durn said in mock disappointment, and shrugged. “Oh, well. It will still be glorious entertainment. Now all I need to decide is whether to throw you in together or one at a time.”

  At Durn’s command, Fargo was seized by two men. Kutler and Tork covered him as they marched back to the saloon. They went the back way, and Durn was careful not to be seen.

  Fargo could guess why. Throwing Indian maidens to a wild beast was one thing; a lot of whites did not care one whit about Indians. But feeding a white woman to the thing, a well-liked white woman, at that, was bound to arouse Polson’s populace as nothing else could.

  Sally did not say a word the whole time. She hung her head in despair, as if she had given up all hope. Fargo said her name to get her attention, and was jabbed hard in the back by Tork, who snapped at him to shut up.

  The stink of the beast filled the stairwell. In the tunnel the reek was worse. As they went past the iron door with the grille, fierce snarling came through the grille.

  Big Mike Durn chuckled. “Hear that? Caesar is hungry. He will feed well tonight.”

  Sally stirred and gazed aghast at the metal door. “What sort of beast do you keep in there?”

  “Ah. So Fargo hasn’t told you everything,” Durn said. “What say we let you find out for yourself?”

  Sudden scratching on the metal caused Sally to cringe. “This can’t be happening.”

  Several of the men laughed.

  “It’s a wolverine,” Fargo said.

  Mike Durn stopped in midstep, and turned. “How in hell did you know that? Who told you?”

  Fargo sniffed loudly several times. “The wolverine did.”

  “So you have encountered one before?” Durn said. “Good. Then you know what the two of you are in for. Caesar is not as big as a bear or as quick as a cougar but he is formidable in his own right.”

  Fargo did not doubt it. Wolverines were widely feared for two traits: their ferocity and their toughness. Legend had it wolverines even drove grizzlies from their kills, although Fargo had never witnessed it with his own eyes.

  Sally was horror-struck. “Surely you wouldn’t!” she appealed to Durn.

  “On the contrary, my dear. You will not be the first. Well, not the first woman, at any rate.” Durn indicated Tork. “You can thank him for how you will shortly meet your Maker. He caught the thing and brought it to me alive.”

  “Took some doing, too,” Tork said proudly.

  “He thought I might want to have it skinned and keep the hide as a rug,” Mike Durn said. “But right away I saw that the monster could be put to a much better use.” He beamed. “Just think. It is a foolproof way to dispose of my enemies. I have the remains hauled off into the woods, and when, as happens on occasio
n, those remains are found, wild animals are blamed. Usually that old bear, One Ear.”

  “God help us,” Sally breathed.

  Big Mike chortled. “I am afraid the Almighty can’t hear you. He hasn’t heard the others I have fed to my pet, and some of them screamed for divine help at the top of their lungs.”

  “Word will get out!” Sally grasped at a straw. “People will hear. They will report you to the law or the army.”

  “Without proof, what can the law or the army do?” Durn responded. “Besides, I only let those who work for me and a few others I know I can trust watch the feeding. They have a grand time.”

  They came to the oval earthen chamber at the end of the tunnel. It was empty save for the pit.

  Fargo leaned over the edge for a look. Ten feet deep, with sheer sides, the bottom was stained dark in spots, the dirt furrowed with claw marks. That was not all. A fresh kill lay where the person had fallen. The face had been eaten away and not much was left of the stomach and the thighs, but Fargo knew it was the Blackfoot girl he had seen the other day.

  Sally looked and turned as pale as an albino. “You can’t do this to me,” she pleaded.

  “I take it you have not been paying attention,” Big Mike mocked her.

  “But I am white!”

  Big Mike took a step back in feigned astonishment. “Did you hear her, Fargo? Did you hear her bare her soul?”

  “I heard,” Fargo said.

  “What are you on about?” Sally said. “I was just pointing out that what you intend to do is foul and indecent.”

  “Because you are white,” Durn taunted.

  “Were I red or black it would be the same,” Sally persisted. “It is not the skin color. It is the contemptible deed.”

  “Make up excuses all you want. The truth is, my dear, that when we strip away all your talk about how unfair the white man has been to the red man and how we should bend over backward for them and give them all the land they want and feed them and clothe them, you see yourself as different from them. As better.”

  “That is absurd.”

  “Is it?” Durn countered. “You want to save the squaws I have working for me but you are too good to share their fate.”