California Crackdown

by Jon Sharpe

  “He still loves you, you know.”

  Anne looked directly into his eyes. “And I’m still in love with you.”

  Someday down the road, if he ever got too old for moving around, Anne might be the one he would come back to. But he wasn’t that old yet, and she knew that.

  “So,” Anne said, sipping her wine and sitting back, “what’s this long story that brought you to Placerville?”

  He told her everything, including what had happened on the Placerville road yesterday.

  She nodded, even though there was worry in her eyes. “Cain is a good man. Very well respected around here. He treats his men well and plays fair. It makes sense he would be your friend. But some of these other mine owners you want to stay clear of.”

  “I’d be grateful for any local knowledge I can get,” Fargo said.

  Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice just to make sure no one could hear, even though the dining area seemed clear and their table candles were the only ones still burning in the room. “What do you know of Henry Brant?”

  Anne looked disgusted at the very mention of the name. “The worst of the worst. And his daughter is as bad as they come as well. I won’t even allow his men to drink or eat in here. He’s known to play poker over at the Benson Saloon. I hear Cain’s son is mixed up with the daughter. Doesn’t seem right to me.”

  “I heard that too,” Fargo said.

  “So why the hushed tone and the question?” Anne asked.

  Fargo told her about his brief meeting with Sarah Brant, and then about the horses and gear that the robbers had been using. “It doesn’t add up completely, but it sure points a finger.”

  “And I wouldn’t put it past the Brants to be behind the robbery attempts on Cain’s shipments,” Anne said. Then she too lowered her voice to a whisper. “There are rumors that the Brants’ mine has mostly played out and they’re working underground toward Cain’s tunnels that are still hitting vein. But they’re only rumors and there’s no way of proving it until something happens underground and Brant breaks through into one of Cain’s tunnels.”

  Fargo nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time there’s been a war between mines underground.”

  After another half hour of talking business, Anne stood and stretched. “It’s getting late and a lady like me needs her beauty sleep.”

  Fargo could feel the disappointment hit his stomach as he stood. He had hoped for another ending to this evening.

  Anne smiled at Fargo and pulled him closer to her. He was a good foot taller than she was and she pressed in close and looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. She smelled great and he could feel her ample breasts pressing into him as a reminder of good times in the past.

  “To really get my beauty sleep, I could use a good man to tuck me in.”

  “I’ll be as good as I can be,” he said.

  She eased up on tiptoe to kiss him. “I’m counting on that.”

  She took him by the hand and led him through the kitchen to the back staircase. Only a dishwasher was still at work and he didn’t look up as they passed. Her room was an unmarked door at the end of the hallway, about five doors down from his room. She let him in.

  A large dresser and mirror filled one wall beside an oversized white bathtub. A huge bed with an ornate headboard was against another wall, and a large closet led off to one side of the dresser. There was also a comfortable-looking reading chair between two corner windows and a stand with a number of books on it beside the chair. Drapes had been pulled across the two windows and the only light in the room came from a lantern turned low on the nightstand.

  She had gone from a large sprawling ranch house in Colorado to this room, and yet this room felt as comfortable to him as her house had been. It seemed that anywhere Anne lived, he felt at home.

  She locked and bolted the door, then with a rush was in his arms.

  “Skye, I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought of you,” she said breathlessly between passionate kisses.

  Fargo didn’t lie when he said he had thought about her a lot as well. And right now his body was responding to her as she pressed against him, rubbing up and down with every kiss.

  Finally, during one long kiss, he swept her off her feet and carried her to her large feather bed, easing her down onto the beautiful pink satin quilt that covered the sheets. Then he slowly undressed her, kissing every new inch of exposed soft skin until she finally lay there naked and panting.

  He stood and began peeling off his clothes, never taking his gaze from her.

  Her beauty took his breath away. Her large nipples heaved up and down with every breath, just begging to be kissed again and again. Her stomach was flat and firm, almost like a much younger woman’s would be, but her wider hips showed her longer years. He loved every detail of her, from her soft hair to her tiny feet.

  She spread her legs, exposing herself slightly. “You are sure taking your time getting undressed,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. She had a look in her eyes of hunger and lust. He remembered that look, that unbridled passion she always expressed toward him. That look alone had kept him thinking about her over the years.

  When he shoved his pants down and his hard, thick member sprang free, she couldn’t wait any longer. Before he could kick one leg out of his pants, she sat up on the edge of the bed and grabbed his manhood, licking it and playing with him.

  The sensation of her kisses and her warm lips almost knocked him over before he could finally get a leg loose from his britches and get his balance.

  Then, suddenly, she stopped and pulled him down on top of her.

  With a quick, experienced hand, she directed him inside her moist tunnel.

  He filled her up completely and she gasped.

  All he wanted to do was lay there for a moment, memorizing the feeling of being inside her. But she would have none of that.

  She moved under him, forcing him to move.

  He raised himself up on his arms so he wasn’t crushing her and so that he could see her beautiful face in the dim light from the bedside lamp. She had her eyes closed and a pink flush filled every inch of her face and soft skin.

  She moved slowly at first as he held himself there, grinding her hips up and down into his, taking him completely one moment, then almost losing him the next.

  Finally, he let himself join her movements, and together they slowly picked up speed. The expression on her face gained intensity and her movements became more demanding.

  He leaned down and buried his face in her soft brown hair and the smooth skin on her neck as he pushed back against her.

  Like a locomotive building up steam, they went faster and faster, never seeming to miss a beat, always in unison, holding each other in all ways.

  It felt so perfect, so intense, that there was no holding either of them back and they both reached their peaks in hard, fast, flesh-slapping unison.

  Fargo couldn’t remember being so out of breath before. Somehow, he managed to ease up on one elbow to watch Anne gasp for breath as well, her chest heaving up and down, her body still clamped tight around his manhood.

  There had been a number of special women in his life, but none like this woman under him now. Everything about her filled him with the desire to stay with her, even though he knew he wouldn’t. But maybe this job with Cain and the miners might last a while, give them some real time together.

  Anne opened one eye and squinted up at him. “It’s been a long time. That was better than I remembered it.”

  He kissed her and smiled. “Yeah, and a great dessert after a great meal.”

  She opened the other eye and stared at him. “Who said anything about dessert there, mister? That was just the appetizer.”

  With that, she pushed him over sideways and without losing him inside her, she rode up on top of him, settling down on his manhood like a rider settling into a saddle.

  He could feel himself responding, filling her up as he again grew into the task at hand.

 
; “You got yourself a really hungry woman here,” she said, smiling down at him as her long hair framed her face like a beautiful picture. “Let’s work on the main course before we talk about dessert.”

  “Just don’t expect a seven-course meal,” he said, smiling at her.

  She laughed, then slowly moved on him, up and down, easing herself along his shaft, letting the juices between them flow as she ground down, then lifted up again. “We’ll see about that,” she said, smiling that hungry, loving look he had come to like so much.

  Then she picked up speed and all thought of a witty response left his head.

  Fargo had just walked out of the hotel when the bullet sang past him, digging its way into the wood of a slender pillar. Behind him a woman in the lobby screamed as a second bullet smashed through the glass of the front door. By this time Fargo was in a crouch with his gun drawn. Even in a town as rough as this one, gunfire on Main Street alarmed everybody.

  He got a glimpse of the gunman just before the man disappeared behind the false front of the general store across the street. Fargo should have been easy pickings. But given all the street traffic—wagons, buggies, as well as people—it was probably difficult to kill Fargo without risking killing somebody else.

  A small crowd started to form immediately. The hotel lobby was filled with shouting, cursing people who made it sound as though the earth was coming to an end. You’d expect more control from people who lived in a mining town.

  But Fargo’s only concern now was getting the gunman. He pushed his way through the people who’d stopped in the middle of the street to see what was going on. He knew he had only a minute or two to find his man. The shooter would have a horse waiting for him. He’d be in the saddle as soon as he worked his way down off the flat roof of the general store.

  Fargo was almost across the street and ready to run to the alley that divided the general store from the druggist’s when somebody shouted, “Look out, mister!”

  Fargo heard the horse before he saw him. And when he saw him he realized that the gunman wasn’t his only problem. Something had spooked the big animal. No surprise after gunfire and all the calamity in the street. Horses weren’t any different from humans in that respect. When they got scared, their natural instinct was to flee. And that’s what this bucking, whinnying animal was trying to do.

  The girl riding the paint was now as spooked as the horse, trying to bring it under control. Fargo moved away from the hooves of the animal so that he was in no danger, but he couldn’t just let the young girl get thrown off and hurt.

  Fargo knew a trick a wise Virginian stable owner had once taught him. When you’re dealing with a spooked horse, the fastest and surest way to get it unspooked is to grab the reins and force it to point its head down. Most spooked horses have their heads raised to the sky. Lowering the head calms the animal and takes its attention away from whatever spooked him.

  Fargo ran to the girl. She was screaming for help. All her confidence in handling her horse was gone. All that was left was fear. Every time the animal bucked she screamed louder. Fargo’s first instinct had been to shout his instructions to the girl. But he could see she was too panicked to hear him.

  He reached up and grabbed the reins himself. He pulled on them firmly and said, “Calm down, boy; calm down.” The girl kept on screaming, which didn’t help a whole hell of a lot.

  But after keeping his hand on the reins and repeating, “Calm down, boy,” several times, the paint began to respond enough that Fargo could grab the girl and lower her to the ground while keeping control of the animal.

  Fargo patted the horse’s neck and continued speaking to him in a soothing voice. Head lowered, breathing starting to sound normal again, the paint became the trustworthy family horse it usually was.

  The onlookers were impressed. He felt many pats on his back and shoulders. The young girl was crying but thanking him over and over. Two or three men offered to buy him a drink.

  Fargo’s attention was fixed on the general store across from him. The gunman would be long gone. But he might have left some clues about his identity.

  Fargo walked into the general store. The various smells were intoxicating. New denim, leather, licorice, tobacco, flour—no wonder the old ones liked to sit in general stores and play checkers all day.

  The small Swede in the rimless glasses behind the counter said, “I seen it all, mister. Them shots somebody took at you, I mean. And I want you to know I didn’t have nothing to do with it. We was workin’ on the roof the last couple days and left a ladder in back. That’s what the sonofabitch used and I want you to know I’m sorry.”

  “Good enough.” The Swede had answered Fargo’s first question. No complicity. The gunman had used the roof because of its location directly across from the hotel. And he’d even had a little help, a ladder left innocently against the back of the store. “I guess I’ll check out the roof myself.”

  “I sure hope you catch him, friend. This town’s got enough troubles without people shootin’ at people right here on Main Street.”

  The roof wasn’t any help in figuring out who the shooter had been. He’d been smart enough to take his shells and whether on purpose or not his boot prints were lost in the boot prints of many other men. Fargo stood in the position the gunman had taken. He had to change his mind about the prowess of the man. Even given all the street traffic, killing Fargo should have been an easy task. Fargo had paused on the top of four steps. Easy to see day or night. One shot should have killed him. Two should have made sure the job was done properly. But the man had missed both times.

  Fargo walked to the back edge of the roof. Escape had been easy. A prairielike stretch of grass behind the store led to a stretch of deep timber. No problem losing yourself in there.

  Fargo wondered who’d hired the man. He had a pretty good guess. Fargo grinned. He’d probably paid a fair amount of money for the shooter. But he sure hadn’t gotten his money’s worth.

  3

  For the next few days, Fargo alternated between Cain’s mine, the poker tables in the Wallace saloon, and Anne’s soft feather bed and loving touch. He saw his own room only once a day to shave and clean up, but since Cain was paying for it, he didn’t much care.

  One morning Fargo crawled out of Anne’s warm bed and into the cool, early-morning air.

  “Where are you heading, mister?” she asked, rolling over and exposing one naked breast. Her nipple hardened like a greeting to him.

  Somehow he managed to keep dressing. “Got some scouting to do around Sharon’s Dream.”

  She pulled the sheet up and covered herself just a little as she sat up more. “You expecting a fight?”

  “Never know,” Fargo said. “I hope not.”

  She nodded. “As long as you’re safe. Now I’m going back to sleep for a while.” She slid down and covered herself completely. “Take care.”

  He finished dressing and leaned over and kissed her, but she was already asleep.

  On a map out at the mine, Cain showed him the claim line between Sharon’s Dream and the Brant mine. It ran right up the ridgeline farther than Fargo had wanted to hike.

  The sunlight was slowly working its way down the high peaks when he started up the ridgeline above the Sharon’s Dream mine entrance. He had a hunch how the robbers were pinpointing Cain’s shipments. He just had to confirm that hunch.

  It was still an hour before Cain would normally start packing an ore wagon, so if anyone was watching, they would be up there now.

  Fargo moved silently, working his way around the hill slightly and onto Brant’s property so that he wouldn’t be seen by anyone watching the Sharon’s Dream side.

  He heard the two men before he found their camp. They were muttering to each other about the cold and one of them was wishing he could start a fire.

  “And bring a dozen of Cain’s men up here?” the other man said.

  “I know, I know,” the one who had been complaining said.

  “Bring a blanke
t tomorrow,” the other man said. “I’m tired of you complaining every day.”

  Fargo eased up on them, moving silently, his Colt in his hand.

  They were sitting on the ground under a large stone outcropping high on the ridge. From where they sat, it was only a few steps to a ledge that looked over Cain’s mine and the area where the gold was loaded. More than likely every morning before sunrise these two men climbed up here and waited for any sign of the gold being loaded. They weren’t miners—Fargo was sure of that. They both looked trail experienced and had guns in leather on their hips.

  As Fargo watched, one of them moved forward and then, on his hands and knees, eased up to the edge and looked over. “Nothing yet.”

  “Still too early,” the other man said. “Give it another hour and if there’s nothing, we’ll head back down.”

  Since shipments into Sacramento were always done during the day, and the gold loaded in the morning, the two on watch didn’t have to wait much past ten on any given day.

  Fargo needed to know exactly who these men were and who they were working for, even though he would bet anything at this point on Brant being behind the operation.

  Fargo waited until the man was back sitting beside his friend before he stepped into the clearing, his Colt pointed at the two.

  Both of them jumped and started to reach for their guns, but Fargo said, “Too early and too cold to die.”

  Both men froze, half up, half reaching for their guns.

  “Sit back down now real slow and put your hands where I can see them.”

  Both men did as they were told. Now the trick would be getting information out of them.

  “You men look to have a pretty easy job. Just sit up here and watch things down below.”

  “We earn our keep,” the first man said. He stroked a red beard and watched Fargo skeptically.

  “That’s what I want to know about. Your ‘keep.’ Who’s paying you to sit up here?”