“We’ll stop here tonight,” Fargo said. “Then in the morning we’ll go back out through this canyon.”
As they were making camp, Julia said, “Skye, do you really think we’ll ever find my father?”
“If I didn’t think there was a good chance of it, I never would have come out here,” Fargo said.
“Death Valley is a big place, but not so big that we can’t cover all of it.”
“Chuckwalla said he’d been here for ten years.”
“Prospecting is a lot different than looking for a person. It takes a lot more time. Don’t give up hope, Julia. We’ve barely gotten started.”
She sighed. “I just thought . . . I hoped . . . we would run into someone by now who knew him and could tell us where to look for him. And now we have to worry about those outlaws, too. Why do you think they’re trying to kill all the prospectors?”
“I reckon they must want Death Valley as their own private hiding place, where they can come back between jobs and not have to worry about anybody coming after them.”
“They don’t have to kill everyone in order to do that,” Julia said. “The prospectors wouldn’t bother them.”
“Prospectors might tell the law where to look for them, though, if a posse came up here. With nobody to pay attention to their comings and goings, they have to worry less about someone tracking them down.”
She nodded. “I guess you’re right. Killing everyone just seems like an awfully drastic solution.”
“Owlhoots aren’t usually known for their kindness,” Fargo said.
They built a small fire that gave off little smoke and cooked their supper before nightfall. By the time darkness settled down over the rugged landscape, Fargo had already extinguished the flames. Now that he knew about Puma Jack’s quest to wipe out everyone else in Death Valley, it was more important than ever that he and Julia not draw attention to themselves.
They sat on the lowered tailgate of the wagon and watched the stars come out, kindling into existence against the darkening sky.
“It’s beautiful,” Julia said. She rested her head against Fargo’s shoulder, and he just naturally slipped an arm around her.
“Lonesome, though,” he said as a coyote began to howl in the distance.
“And scary. Just knowing that those bloodthirsty outlaws are out there somewhere . . .” He felt a little shudder go through her.
His arm tightened around her. “Don’t worry about them. We’ll stay out of their way and maybe they’ll stay out of ours.”
What Fargo had learned from Chuckwalla Smith bothered him more than he was letting on. If not for having Julia with him, he might have been tempted to go after the murderous Puma Jack and his gang. Fargo never had cottoned much to cold-blooded killers.
Right now, though, he had to look after Julia, try to find her father, and then see that she got back safely to civilization. That was a tall enough order for one man, even the Trailsman.
As they sat there together, she rested her hand on his thigh. After a few minutes her fingers began to slide toward his groin. Fargo didn’t try to stop her as she started caressing his manhood through the buckskin trousers. He grew hard under her skillful touch.
“I want to do something for you,” she whispered as she began unfastening the buttons on the trousers. “You just sit there and enjoy yourself.”
She freed his shaft from the buckskins and stroked up and down the thick pole. The soft touch of her hands made him swell even more until the shaft was jutting up tall and proud from his groin.
Then she bent over and pressed her lips to the head. Fargo bit back the groan of pleasure that tried to well up his throat.
Julia’s tongue came out, and the tip of it darted and flickered around the crown of his manhood. She slid a hand down into his trousers to cup the heavy sacks at the base of the shaft. As she caressed them, she began to lick the head of it, hotly gliding her tongue around and around.
Fargo suppressed the urge to thrust his member deep into her mouth and down her very throat. He let her set the pace. She continued licking up and down until she had laved the entire shaft. It was exquisite torment for Fargo to hold back.
Finally, after long, tantalizing minutes, Julia raised her head slightly, opened her mouth, and took him inside it. Her lips closed around the tip of his manhood and she sucked gently as she stroked lower down. Gradually, she swallowed more and more of him until he filled her entire mouth. He rested a hand on the back of her bobbing head as she continued to drive him mad with pleasure.
Skye Fargo was nothing if not human, and there was only so much of that he could stand. He felt his juices rising and knew that it wouldn’t be much longer until culmination washed over him.
“Be careful,” he whispered to Julia.
With a toss of her hair, she lifted her head from him just long enough to gasp, “Go ahead, Skye! Give it to me!” Then her hungry mouth closed around his shaft again and she sucked even harder.
Fargo couldn’t hold back now. His hands dug into her shoulders as his hips rose from the tailgate. His climax thundered through the both of them, the muscles in her throat working to take everything he had to give her.
When the spasms were finally over, Julia milked the last of his essence from him. Breathing heavily from her own excitement, she lay sprawled across his lap, resting her head on his thigh. Fargo stroked the dark hair that fanned out around her head.
Both of them caught their breath, and then Fargo lifted her until she was sitting beside him again. She snuggled against him.
“Did you enjoy that?” she asked.
“You know I did. Just like you’re going to enjoy what I’m about to do for you.”
“Why, Mr. Fargo!” she said with a little laugh. “Whatever do you mean?”
Fargo pulled her over backward into the wagon and showed her.
More than once, in fact.
6
Fargo woke up to the crackling of flames. His instincts telling him that something was wrong, he was instantly alert and reached for his Colt as he surged up off the bunk inside the wagon.
He and Julia had spent a very pleasant night making love to each other and then sleeping snuggled together in the narrow bunk.
Julia was gone now, though, and Fargo was afraid something had happened to her. The Ovaro should have awakened him if any strangers came around, but maybe something had happened to the big stallion.
That thought, and his concern about Julia, made him leap to the tailgate and vault out of the wagon, gun in hand.
Julia looked up in surprise from where she knelt beside the big campfire she had built. “Skye!” she exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”
Fargo’s gaze flicked around the camp, making certain there was no imminent threat. The fire’s glare spread out in a large circle but revealed no enemies. A glance at the sky with its line of gray to the east told Fargo the time was about an hour before dawn.
With a curse, he jammed his Colt back in its holster and reached for a nearby water bucket. Julia cried out in surprise and a little anger as Fargo dashed the water onto the fire, extinguishing the flames.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded. “I was about to put the coffee on and start breakfast!”
“A fire that size can be seen for twenty miles out here,” Fargo snapped. “You’ve just told anybody who cares to look where we are.”
Julia turned her head toward the smoking, smoldering embers. “But . . . but I didn’t think . . . I didn’t mean to . . . Oh, my God, Skye!”
She stood up and came toward him. He put his arms around her and patted her on the back. He wasn’t going to tell her that everything was all right, because it might not be. But he wasn’t going to scold her any more, either.
“I just . . . I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I thought it would be smart if I got breakfast ready. I thought we could get an earlier start on the day that way.”
“That would be fine if not for the fact that we’ve got those outla
ws to worry about,” Fargo told her. “We’ll get everything else ready to go, then wait until the sun’s up to build another fire and fix breakfast.”
She nodded. “I’m really sorry. I just didn’t think.”
Fargo didn’t say anything. He reached back into the wagon to get his shirt and then pulled it over his head.
When he had his boots and hat on, he tended to the animals, making sure the stallion and the mules had some grain from the supplies in the wagon. There wasn’t enough graze in Death Valley to keep them alive, although the mountain goats managed somehow.
By the time he had the team hitched up and the Ovaro saddled, the eastern sky was a bright reddish-orange. A few minutes later, the sun peeked over the Black Mountains on the other side of the valley and cast its glow across the landscape.
“Now we can build a fire,” Fargo said.
Julia was still apologetic. Fargo told her to forget it. What was done was done, and there was no point in dwelling on it.
After they had eaten and refilled their canteens and water barrel, they started down the canyon toward the band of rocky, brush-dotted ground between the hills and the salt flats. This canyon ran straight for a couple of miles. It was late morning when they emerged from it.
They hadn’t seen any signs of other human beings, either prospectors or outlaws.
Fargo led the way south again. It was quite a distance to the next main canyon they would need to explore, and by late in the day they still hadn’t reached it. They had passed some smaller canyons and washes, and as he had done before, Fargo rode up them quickly, had a look around, and didn’t see anyone.
In one wash, though, he found what was left of a campsite, and nearby was a mound of dirt and rocks marking a grave. That had to be the resting place of one of the murdered prospectors Chuckwalla had told them about, he thought.
He didn’t say anything about that discovery to Julia. She was already worried enough about her father.
While the sun was still a short distance above the Panamints, Fargo called a halt. They stopped in front of an open, covelike space that looked almost like something had taken a bite out of the hillside that sloped down toward them.
“That’ll make a good place to camp,” Fargo said. “We won’t have to worry so much about a fire being seen in there.”
“Skye, I’m still sorry about that,” Julia said.
Fargo waved it off. “Don’t worry about it now.” They had seen no one during the day, and it was possible nobody had noticed the fire Julia had built early that morning.
They would know more about that after tonight, Fargo thought.
He didn’t know if the outlaws were aware of their presence in Death Valley or not. He had pitched in to help Frank Jordan and Gypsum Dailey when they were under attack by some of Puma Jack’s men, but the owlhoots had never gotten a good look at him before they fled. It was possible the gang still didn’t know that he and Julia were here.
If the outlaws had come to regard Death Valley as their own private hideout, though, sooner or later they would notice a pair of newcomers. Fargo figured it was only a matter of time. His hope was that they could find Arthur Slauson and get out of there before Puma Jack came after them.
He built a fire and kept it small even though it was fairly well-concealed by the gravelly walls that rose around them. The coffee was brewing and the bacon was frying by the time the sun went down.
They ate and drank and then put out the fire. The nighttime chill drove them into the wagon. As soon as they were inside, Julia was in his arms, kissing and caressing him. He thought she made love with a little extra passion on this night. He didn’t know if she did that because she still felt guilty about starting the blaze that morning and was trying to make it up to him, or if her natural passion was just that strong.
Either way, he enjoyed himself immensely and then drifted off to sleep with her in his arms.
For the second night in a row, Fargo came awake with a premonition of disaster. This time, though, Julia was still lying next to him, sound asleep.
The Ovaro was picketed close to the wagon. Fargo heard the big black-and-white stallion blow loudly through his nose and shift around. The horse sensed trouble, and Fargo knew the Ovaro’s reaction was what had roused him from sleep.
He sat up and reached for his gun. Beside him, Julia stirred and started to mutter a sleepy question. Fargo’s free hand covered her mouth.
That startled her fully awake. Before she could start to struggle, he leaned close to her and hissed into her ear, “It’s me! Don’t move, and don’t say anything. Something’s wrong.”
For a second she just lay there, her sleep-drugged brain evidently struggling to comprehend what he had said, but then she nodded in understanding. He took his hand away from her mouth.
“Stay here,” he whispered. “Something’s spooked my horse. I’m going to take a look around.”
One of her hands found his arm in the darkness and clutched it. “Skye, no!” she whispered as quietly as he had. “Don’t go out there!”
“You’ll be all right,” Fargo assured her. “Keep your pistol in your hand, and if anybody but me tries to climb in here, shoot them.”
She held on to him for a second, then let go. “Let me know it’s you when you come back. I’d hate to shoot you.”
“I wouldn’t care for it myself,” Fargo told her dryly. He moved to the rear of the wagon, silently swung a leg over the tailgate, and let himself down to the ground.
In the moonlight, he saw the Ovaro standing about ten feet away, head up, ears pricked, muscles tensed for action. The stallion was looking out toward the salt flats.
Fargo looked in the same direction and didn’t see anything moving, but he trusted the Ovaro’s senses at least as much as he trusted his own. If the horse thought there was danger out there, Fargo believed it, too. Dropping into a crouch, he moved toward the front of the little cul-de-sac where they had made camp.
The Ovaro’s head swung suddenly to the side, and if that wasn’t enough of a warning, Fargo heard gravel rattle behind him, too. He twisted around and brought up the Colt, but before he could fire, a dark, looming shape came hurtling out of the darkness and crashed into him.
The collision knocked Fargo backward. As he fell, the thought flashed through his mind that someone had jumped on him from up above on the hillside. The heavy weight bore him down and smashed him to the ground, stunning him and knocking the breath out of his lungs.
He managed to hang on to the revolver, though, and instinct sent it slashing at his attacker. The barrel thudded against something hard, and Fargo heard a grunt in the darkness. He hoped he had bashed in the son of a bitch’s skull.
No such luck. The man stayed on top of him, grappling with him and trying to get his hands around Fargo’s throat. Fargo arched his back, throwing his opponent off-balance, and struck again with the gun. This time the man sagged and fell to the side.
Fargo rolled over and came up onto his knees. Feet rushed at him. The man who had jumped him hadn’t been alone.
Fargo still had the gun in his hand, but he hesitated to fire. Chances were, these assailants were some of Puma Jack’s gang, but it was possible they were prospectors who thought he was an outlaw, just like Chuckwalla Smith had at first. Fargo didn’t want to ventilate an innocent man.
Instead he launched himself forward in a tackle, guided by the sound of charging footsteps. He crashed into someone in the dark, and both men went down.
Fargo was on top this time, however, and his left fist smashed into the man’s face. The man’s head bounced hard on the stony ground. He went limp.
That made two of them, Fargo thought. How many more were there?
He found out a second later as someone grabbed him from behind. A gun barrel smashed across his wrist, forcing him to drop the Colt.
“We’ll hang on to this wild bronc,” a harsh voice grated in his ear. “You boys see if you can tame him.”
Fargo’s eyes were well-ad
justed to the darkness. He saw two men coming at him from the front. Two more men held him, one on each arm. Fargo figured the two in front would take turns slugging him into unconsciousness, maybe even death. Fighting back wasn’t going to make anything worse than it already was.
He threw his weight against the men holding him and jerked both feet off the ground as the other two closed in. With the superb athleticism that an active life had given him, he drew his legs back and snapped them forward again in a powerful kick. His heels smashed into the chests of the men in front of him and sent them flying backward. The impact made the two men holding him stagger back the other direction.
One of them fell, and that dragged Fargo and the other man down, too. Fargo jerked his right arm free and brought the elbow up and back as hard and fast as he could. The blow connected solidly with a man’s jaw. That left just one man holding Fargo.
The Trailsman rolled over, taking that startled individual with him. The man wound up with Fargo on top of him. With his free hand, Fargo slashed a side-handed blow across the man’s throat. The clutching fingers fell away.
Taking on half a dozen men in a hand-to-hand brawl made for almost impossible odds, but that was exactly what Fargo had done, and so far he had come out ahead. That luck couldn’t last, though, and he knew it. He scrambled to one side, feeling around for the gun he had dropped.
Before he could find it, the thunder of hoofbeats filled the air. A number of riders swarmed up to the campsite, and Fargo knew now he wasn’t dealing with innocent prospectors.
“Get that bastard!” a man ordered, and more dark shapes charged Fargo. He straightened and met them head-on, slugging right and left as hard and fast as he could. That was all he could do.
It wasn’t enough. His attackers piled on him, knocking him to the ground. Hard fists pounded him. Booted feet drove into him in vicious kicks. Pain filled Fargo’s body and blurred his mind. He tried to cover up, but it was no use. They were giving him the thrashing of his life.
Death Valley Vengeance Page 8