by Jon Sharpe
But Fargo had a secret weapon on his side. Over the kidnapper’s shoulder, he saw Echo snatch up a piece of firewood from a stack next to the cabin wall and step up behind the man, swinging the wood for all she was worth. With her lips drawn back from her teeth in a savage grimace and her breasts heaving where they hung exposed in the torn shirt, she looked like some sort of female warrior, a vengeful Valkyrie bent on destruction. The length of firewood landed on the back of the kidnapper’s skull with a horrible crunching crash.
The man’s eyes rolled up in their sockets and his knees unhinged. As he pitched forward on his face, Fargo saw that the whole back of his head was caved in. He would never manhandle any more girls or young women.
Fargo grabbed Echo’s arm. ‘‘Are there any more inside the cabin?’’ he asked. He wanted to make sure she was all right, but he had more pressing problems right now.
She shook her head. ‘‘They all came running out after me,’’ she said. ‘‘Skye—’’
He interrupted her by shoving her toward the door. ‘‘Get in there,’’ he told her. ‘‘Close the door and bar it. I’ve got to go help Billy and Charley and your father.’’
McNally was still down. Fargo didn’t know how badly he was hurt. That left Billy and Charley to face four men, all of whom had found cover and were now pouring a blistering fire at the two Seminoles. Billy had ducked behind a tree with a trunk barely wide enough to protect his body, while Charley hunkered behind some rocks, unable to move without exposing himself to hostile bullets, every bit as pinned down as Billy was.
That left it up to Fargo.
Echo hesitated outside the cabin. ‘‘Skye, let me help—’’
‘‘Get inside,’’ he snapped. ‘‘That’s the best way you can help me now, Echo.’’
Reluctantly, she stepped into the cabin and swung the door closed. Fargo heard the bar go across it inside. He stepped over to the man Echo had killed and reached down to snag the man’s gun from its holster with his left hand. With his right, he drew his own Colt. He started down the canyon toward the rest of the gang. He was behind them, the only one with a real chance to make a dent in them.
One of the men spotted him coming and yelled a warning as he wheeled around. Fargo fired at the same instant as the kidnapper’s gun belched flame. The slug whipped past his ear, but his own bullet found its mark, shattering the outlaw’s shoulder. The man went down screaming in agony.
Another of the kidnappers turned to bring his gun to bear on Fargo, but as he did so he moved out from the rock that had sheltered him just enough for Billy to draw a bead on him. The former scout fired in the blink of an eye. The bullet punched through the kidnapper’s body from behind, throwing him forward as crimson sprayed the exit wound from his chest.
Fargo closed in on one of the other men, both guns bucking and roaring in his hands. The slugs pounded into the kidnapper and sent him jittering across the ground in a bizarre dance of death. As he collapsed in a bloody heap, the remaining kidnapper snapped a shot at Fargo and connected. The bullet barely creased Fargo’s left thigh, but it was enough to knock the Trailsman off balance. He slewed half around and fell to a knee. The man who had shot him drew a bead for a killing shot.
Before he could squeeze the trigger, though, Charley popped up from behind the rocks and fired. The youngster’s bullet only creased the man’s arm, but it was enough to make him cry out and stagger, throwing off his aim as he fired. The next second, Fargo swung his left-hand gun up and triggered a shot that caught the man in his open mouth, blowing a fist-sized hole in the back of the man’s skull as the bullet came out. He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
Silence descended on the canyon as the echoes of battle rolled away over the wooded slopes, bouncing back and forth as they gradually diminished. Fargo forced himself to his feet. His thigh throbbed where he had been creased, but his leg worked as he walked forward to check on the man he had shot in the shoulder. That was the only one of the kidnappers who might still be alive.
The glassy, staring eyes and the big puddle of blood in which the man lay told Fargo otherwise. He had bled to death in a matter of moments while the rest of the battle raged around him. The bullet that had broken his shoulder must have nicked an artery as well.
Billy limped toward Fargo while Charley hurried over to help McNally to his feet. ‘‘Skye!’’ Billy called. ‘‘Are you all right?’’
Fargo looked down at the bloodstained leg of his buckskin trousers and said, ‘‘Just a scratch. Reckon I’ll be a little gimpy for a while, too.’’
‘‘Yours will heal up,’’ Billy told him. ‘‘And I’m glad. Is Echo . . . ?’’
‘‘She seemed to be all right,’’ Fargo said with a nod toward the cabin. ‘‘She’s in there, probably with your sister and the rest of the gals who have been carried off recently.’’
Charley and McNally came up, the old-timer leaning heavily on the boy. McNally’s face was still gray with pain, but he seemed a little stronger now. ‘‘Where is my daughter?’’ he asked.
‘‘I’ll take you to her, Mr. McNally,’’ Billy said. He moved in on the old man’s other side, and together the three of them walked toward the cabin.
Someone flung the door open before they got there, and Echo rushed out, followed by four other young women, including a dark-haired beauty about eighteen who threw her arms around Billy’s neck and hugged him desperately. That would be his sister Wa-nee-sha, Fargo thought with a smile. The other women clustered around their rescuers, crying in relief and reaction to the ordeal they had been through.
Fargo watched the reunion from a short distance away. He tucked the extra gun behind his belt, then began reloading his Colt. When he was finished with that, he filled up the chambers of the second gun as well. The trouble seemed to be over, but it never hurt to be ready for more.
Echo broke away from the joyous group and came toward him. She had pulled the tatters of her torn shirt across the front of her torso and tied them together so that they covered her breasts again . . . sort of. A lot of smooth, rounded female flesh still showed through the rents in the shirt. As she came up to him, she said anxiously, ‘‘Skye, you’re hurt.’’
‘‘It’s nothing,’’ he told her. ‘‘Is there any whiskey in the cabin?’’
Echo grimaced. ‘‘Several bottles. Those men—those animals would be a better description—stayed half drunk most of the time.’’
‘‘Then I can use some of it to clean this bullet burn, and it’ll be fine.’’ Fargo paused. ‘‘Did they hurt you?’’ His face was bleak as he asked the question. ‘‘Or the other girls?’’
Echo shook her head. ‘‘Whitson—the big one who did this to me—’’ She gestured at the torn shirt. ‘‘He seemed to be the leader, and he said they could get more money for us in Texas if we were pure. That’s what they’ve been doing, you know. They take the girls they kidnap down across the Red River into Texas and sell them to a . . . a place in Gainesville.’’
‘‘Not anymore they won’t,’’ Fargo said as he looked at the bodies sprawled around the canyon.
‘‘I . . . I killed Whitson when I hit him with that firewood, didn’t I?’’
‘‘You did,’’ Fargo told her honestly. ‘‘Probably saved my life and your own, too, when you did it.’’
‘‘You would have beaten him.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Anyway . . .’’ Fargo smiled. ‘‘I think he had it coming.’’
After a moment, Echo smiled. ‘‘I think he did, too,’’ she said. She moved up next to him and slipped an arm around his waist. ‘‘Let me help you inside.’’
Fargo didn’t really need her help, but he let her do it anyway. Right now, it felt mighty good to lean on her.
After everything that had happened, it was decided that the group would spend the rest of the day and the night there at the hideout, rather than start back toward the Seminole Nation right away. The five young women who had been held prisoner here
had only terrifying memories of their captivity, but they were willing to put up with the place for a while longer to let Fargo and Joseph McNally rest before they set out on the journey home . . . especially once Billy and Charley had loaded the corpses of the kidnappers into the wagon and hauled them away, taking them back down the canyon.
When they got back, bringing the Ovaro and the other horses with them, no one asked what they had done with the bodies, but Billy told Fargo later that he and Charley had found a ravine in which to dump them.
‘‘The scavengers will pick their bones clean,’’ Billy said. ‘‘It’s nothing more than what they deserve.’’
Fargo couldn’t argue with that. The scheme that the kidnappers had come up with was a particularly horrible one.
‘‘What are we gonna do about the girls they already took down to Texas and sold?’’ Billy asked as he and Fargo stood beside the pool, which now had the giant boulder forming an island in the center of it. Echo had cleaned and bandaged Fargo’s wound, and he could get around now without too much trouble.
‘‘After we get these girls safely back to their families, I’ll take a pasear down there and see if I can get a line on the others.’’ Fargo shook his head. ‘‘I’ve got to warn you, though, they’ll have come in for some rough treatment by now.’’
‘‘It’s not their fault. I reckon their folks will still want them back.’’
Fargo nodded. ‘‘I’ll do what I can to make that happen,’’ he vowed.
He spent the rest of the afternoon taking it easy. He was a little worried about McNally, concerned that Whitson’s punch might have busted up the old man inside, but by late in the day the Seminole seemed to be getting back to normal except for a large bruise on his belly.
The kidnappers had laid in plenty of supplies. The former captives were able to whip up a good supper for everyone as night fell. After they had eaten, Fargo split up the night into guard shifts. He took the first shift himself.
With the Henry tucked under his arm, he went out into the darkness, taking a stool with him on which to sit so he could stretch out his wounded leg. He placed it near the wall of the cabin, sat down, and leaned back against the logs. The night was quiet except for the small sounds that were always there, and he found them reassuring. After all the violence and terror of the past few days, these moments of peace were even more meaningful.
A while later, the cabin door creaked slightly as it opened and then closed. Fargo turned his head to look in that direction and saw a figure coming toward him. Enough starlight filtered down into the canyon for him to recognize Echo.
‘‘Thought you’d be asleep by now,’’ Fargo commented quietly as she came up to him.
‘‘I can’t seem to doze off,’’ she said. ‘‘I feel . . . dirty somehow, Skye. Even though those men didn’t really do anything to me, they had their hands all over me, pawing me. Whitson and that redheaded one, Jernigan, were the worst.’’ She paused. ‘‘Jernigan talked about you. He said the next time he got you in his sights he would kill you, for sure.’’
‘‘He didn’t have much luck with that,’’ Fargo said with a grim smile. ‘‘Did he ever say anything about why he bushwhacked me in the first place, the day I rode into these parts and first met you?’’
Echo stood beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. ‘‘Actually, he did,’’ she said. ‘‘He was scouting for more women they could steal when he spotted you. He recognized you right away, he said, because you’d ruined the plans of a gang he used to ride with, up in Kansas. He had a grudge against you for that, but mainly he just didn’t want you anywhere around down here, for fear you’d get mixed up in all the kidnapping they’d been doing. He didn’t even know that Billy had sent for you, and yet he was scared of you.’’
Fargo chuckled. ‘‘I’ve said all along that having a reputation sometimes gets a man into more trouble than it’s worth.’’
‘‘Well, you can’t do anything about it now. You’re the Trailsman, and you always will be.’’
Fargo nodded. ‘‘I reckon so.’’ He looked up at her. ‘‘You’d better go back and try again to get some sleep.’’
‘‘Not just yet,’’ Echo said. ‘‘I was looking at that waterfall, and I wonder if washing off underneath it would make me feel less dirty.’’
‘‘It might,’’ Fargo allowed. ‘‘And I’m right here to keep an eye on you while you’re doing it.’’
‘‘I’d like that.’’ She had put on a different shirt, throwing the one Whitson had torn into the fire, and now her fingers lifted to the buttons and began deftly unfastening them. She shrugged out of the garment, revealing her high, proud breasts. Fargo’s eyes had adjusted well enough to the dim starlight so that he could see the dark nipples crowning the firm globes.
After taking off her boots, Echo unfastened her trousers as well and slid them down over her lush hips. When she stepped out of them she stood before Fargo totally nude. She lifted her hands and ran her fingers through her hair. The movement lifted her breasts and made them bob slightly. Fargo watched in profound appreciation.
Echo walked to the pool and waded into it. Fargo enjoyed the rear view almost as much as he did the one from the front. Echo circled around to the waterfall and stepped into the edge of the cascading stream. The water twisted down her naked body in rivulets, almost as if it were caressing her. She plunged her head into the waterfall and let it soak her hair, which hung in sleek, raven black wings over her shoulders. The starlight struck silvery highlights off her wet flesh. Fargo thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
After washing her hair, Echo began running her hands over her body. She cupped her breasts, squeezing and molding them together. Fargo felt his pulse pounding harder in his head, and his manhood began to harden as he watched. Echo continued washing under the waterfall, but those ablutions involved a lot of stroking and caressing, too. She bent over to run her hands down her thighs, then turned so that Fargo could see her cup the cheeks of her bottom and massage and separate them. She turned again as both hands trailed through the triangle of thick dark hair at the juncture of her thighs and then stole between her legs. She gasped and tipped her head back as her fingers worked their magic.
Fargo knew, of course, that she was putting on a show for him, as well as entertaining herself at the same time, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. Echo’s hips began to pump back and forth as her fingers flew faster. Fargo leaned forward, watching avidly as she lifted herself higher and higher and finally brought herself to a climax that had her breasts heaving. A low groan escaped from her lips as she shuddered. Then her head fell forward again as she stood there for a long moment trying to catch her breath and the waterfall showered around her.
At last she waded out of the pool and came toward Fargo, her steps slightly shaky as she did so. She bent over him, her hand going to his groin to caress the hard pole through his buckskins. ‘‘Let me take care of this for you,’’ she murmured.
Fargo stood up long enough for her to unfasten his trousers and lower them, then he sat down on the stool again and leaned back against the cabin wall as she knelt between his knees. His iron-hard shaft jutted up and seemed to lengthen and harden even more as she stroked it with both hands.
After a few minutes of that exquisite torture, Echo raised the stakes even more by leaning forward and pressing her lips to the head of Fargo’s manhood. She slid her lips all the way down the underside of the shaft to the base, then slowly traversed back up to the tip. As if that weren’t enough to send the blood boiling through Fargo’s veins, she then retraced the journey, only this time with her tongue. Pleasure throbbed all through Fargo’s being.
At last Echo opened her mouth and took Fargo inside, wrapping the warm, wet heat around him. Even though he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall behind him, a part of his brain remained alert. No matter how much he enjoyed what she was doing to him, he hadn’t forgotten that he was standing guard over the cabin. He trust
ed his senses, as well as those of the stallion. The Ovaro would let him know if anyone came around who shouldn’t be there.
Other than that, Fargo gave himself over completely to the experience and luxuriated in the sensations Echo sent rippling through him. He felt his climax building and didn’t try to hold it back. From the way Echo began sucking harder on his throbbing length, she didn’t want him to hold back his release. Fargo’s jaw tightened as he let go and allowed his culmination to sweep over him. She swallowed his juices eagerly.
Fargo slumped against the wall as his muscles inevitably relaxed following that peak. Echo’s tongue circled his shaft as it softened. When it slipped out of her mouth, she gave it an affectionate squeeze.
‘‘You’re a magnificent man, Skye Fargo,’’ she whispered. ‘‘I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.’’
Fargo frowned. ‘‘This wasn’t just out of gratitude, was it? Because if it was, that wasn’t necessary.’’
She laughed softly. ‘‘What happened tonight happened because I wanted so badly to experience it. Otherwise I just would have said thank you.’’
‘‘Well . . . that’s all right, then.’’ Fargo took hold of her arms and drew her up so that he cradled her on his lap. Echo was a good-sized girl, but Fargo held her easily in his muscular arms. They kissed and caressed each other, basking in the afterglow of their pleasure.
Finally Echo slipped out of his embrace, picked up her clothes, and began to get dressed. ‘‘I think I can sleep now,’’ she said.
‘‘Good,’’ Fargo told her as he stood up and fastened his trousers. ‘‘You need your rest. It’s a long ride back home. We’ll be doing good to make it tomorrow without having to spend a night on the trail.’’
‘‘If we do have to camp out, maybe you and I can find a moment or two alone. . . .’’