by Jon Sharpe
Fargo’s hunger for her mounted. Pressing her onto her back, he kissed her face, her neck, her cleavage. For her part, Wendelin couldn’t get enough of his pole. She rubbed and stroked and turned his blood to fire in his veins.
“I think the pump is primed,” she said with a grin.
Fargo couldn’t even grunt for the knot in his throat.
“Ready when you are, big man. And I do mean ‘big.’”
33
Fargo was more than ready. His hands caressing her thighs, he knelt between them.
Gasps of pleasure fluttered from Wendelin’s lips. Raising her hips, she rubbed against him, making him wet from tip to stem. Pushing her breasts into his chest, she bit his shoulder and dug her fingernails into his back.
Fargo squeezed one, hard.
“Yes, oh yes,” Wendelin gasped. With a deft movement, she impaled herself on his pole, enveloping him in her velvet sheath. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she kissed him, panting into his mouth even as she pumped her hips.
Fargo matched her stroke for stroke. He could feel her triangle brush his skin, feel her contract inside, feel the wild beat of her heart under his fingers. Wendelin was one of those women who gave as passionately as she got. One of those women who genuinely liked to make love.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Fargo was on the verge. Gritting his teeth, he held off.
His partner, on the other hand, was in the grip of carnal abandon. She moved ever faster, ever harder. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip, evidently to keep from crying out. And then she was there. She exploded violently, bucking and thrashing. It was a wonder her bed held together.
As for Fargo, he let himself go, savoring the violent throbs of pleasure she gave him. After a while they coasted to a stop, and he rolled off her onto his side, completely spent.
“You magnificent stallion, you,” Wendelin breathed. “It’s too bad we can’t do that a few more times.”
“Who says we can’t?” Fargo said. A short rest, and he would take her again.
Wendelin didn’t answer. Snuggling against him, she kissed his shoulder and his arm. “Damn,” she said.
“What?”
Again she didn’t reply.
Fargo didn’t think much of it. He closed his eyes, resting. He felt her move and cracked them open again to see what she was doing. She had slid a hand under her pillow and was pulling the pillow toward her.
“I’ve had to do it before, you know,” Wendelin said. “That time a drunk tried to beat me. And that fella who wanted a patch of my skin as a keepsake. But this is different. This is for my nest egg.”
Wondering what she was talking about, Fargo saw her glance at his face.
“When you saw her, she wasn’t looking for you. She was coming back to talk to me. I knew her in Tucson.”
Fargo realized she meant Ruby.
“I knew Big Bertha, too.”
Her hand swept from under her pillow and clutched a pearl-hilted dagger. Fargo barely threw himself back in time. The double-edged blade ripped into the bed, missing him by a hair. Seizing her wrists, he rolled and kicked and sent her tumbling to the floor. He was on his feet in a twinkling but so was she.
Naked, the dagger glittering, Wendelin stalked toward him. “I’m sorry. I truly am. But it’s more money than I’d earn in a month of Sundays.”
Backing away, Fargo desperately pulled at his pants. He couldn’t do much with them down around his ankles. He got them to his thighs just as she lunged. Sidestepping, he retreated farther.
“Damn, you’re quick.”
Fargo’s hands were free but his Colt was on the other side of the bed, and if he bent to get his toothpick, she’d plant that blade. Stalling, he said, “You’re working with Ruby?”
“She and that other gal showed up about the middle of the morning,” Wendelin said while moving her dagger back and forth. “First thing they did was stop at the saloon. You’re not the only one who likes a drink. That’s when I saw her and went over to get reacquainted.”
“And she offered you money to kill me.”
Wendelin nodded. “Said you were after them but didn’t say why. Said you’d murdered Big Bertha. Said she’d pay me if I kept my eyes peeled and if you showed up, did her a favor.”
“And here we are,” Fargo said. He had been circling toward the chair and it was almost in reach.
“I thought I wore you out. I thought you’d be easy.”
Fargo stopped. “Drop the blade and step back, and I’ll leave, no hard feelings.”
“Can’t.”
“Then this is on you.”
Wendelin came at him fast and low. Whirling, Fargo gripped the chair and swung it with all his force, full at her knife arm and head. There was the crack of a bone breaking, and the chair itself shattered.
Crying out, Wendelin pitched to the ground, her dagger skittering under the bed. She tried to rise, and collapsed.
Fargo threw down what was left of the chair. Hunkering, he felt for a pulse. Her nose was broken, her ear was pulped, and she’d have to wear a sling for a month or more, but she’d live. He smothered an impulse to tend to her. She’d tried to kill him. She could go to hell and take Ruby and Theresa with her.
Mulling what she’d told him, Fargo dressed and strapped on his Colt. He had gone from being the hunter to the hunted. First Leferty, the gunhand, and now Wendelin. Who knew how many others Ruby and Theresa had sicced on him?
Reclaiming his bottle, Fargo jammed his hat on and loosened the tent ties. The Ovaro was dozing. No one was in sight so he slipped out, slid the Monongahela into his saddlebags, and mounted.
Gigging the stallion, Fargo went around another tent. Several men were coming toward him. He tensed but they walked on by, talking and joking and paying no attention to him.
By now, Fargo reasoned, Ruby and Theresa had heard about Leferty. Would they run? Theresa might, but not Ruby. Ruby would want to finish it.
With the advent of night, most of the tents glowed with lamp and lantern light. Tinny piano music filled the night, along with boisterous voices and merry laughs. Now and then an angry curse was heard. Once, a shot.
Fargo saw no sign of Ruby and her friend. They didn’t have a tent of their own, so they might be camped at the outskirts of Gold Gulch. Unless they’d bought a tent, or paid someone else to use theirs.
Fargo was so deep in thought that when a man was silhouetted against a backdrop of glowing canvas, raising a rifle, he was a shade slow to react. The rifle boomed but the man rushed his aim. Drawing, Fargo fanned three swift shots of his own and had the satisfaction of seeing the figure crash against the tent and fall.
Reining away, Fargo got out of there before he was badgered with questions. Shouts broke out. When they faded, he stopped and reloaded. “So that’s how it’s going to be,” he said grimly. Cat and mouse, with him the mouse.
From then on he stuck to the shadows, riding in ever wider loops until he reached the edge of the camp.
Here and there campfires dotted the plain. Dozens lit the gulch, itself. Not everyone had a tent, or wanted one. To check each fire would take the entire night, and he still might not find them.
Fargo had seldom been so frustrated. He turned back into Gold Gulch and headed for the saloon. Maybe, just maybe, Ruby would come back there.
By avoiding bright areas, Fargo reached the saloon without incident. The place was busier than ever. He stopped in a patch of shadow and sat watching for more than half an hour. He had about decided he was wasting his time when two women appeared from around the side.
It was Wendelin and Theresa, the latter with her arm around the former, helping her. Wendelin’s arm was in a crude sling. Her nose was swollen to twice its normal size, and one of her eyes was discolored. They drew stares as they entered and made their way to a table where five men were play
ing cards.
One of the men got to his feet. Taller than most, he wore a buckskin shirt and store-bought pants. His hat had a high crown and the front rim was curled down. On his right hip was a revolver, on his left a bowie.
Wendelin apparently knew him. She put her arm on his shoulder, and he bent his face to hers, probably so he could hear over all the noise. Several times she motioned with her good arm at Theresa.
The tall man straightened, and nodded. He said something to two of the other card players and they rose and joined him. Both had the air of two-legged wolves.
With Theresa helping Wendelin, the five of them emerged from the saloon. The three men climbed on horses and followed the women around the side.
Careful to stay well back, Fargo followed. They weren’t in any hurry, which made it easier. He thought they were making for Wendelin’s tent but they presently stopped at another. The men dismounted and all five went in.
Swinging down, Fargo shucked his Colt. On cat’s feet he glided around to the rear of the tent and put his ear to the green canvas.
Wendelin was speaking. “. . . of the toughest hombres I know. Him and his pards can get the job done.”
“That’s what you said about Leferty.”
Fargo tingled with elation. That was Ruby.
“Leferty made the mistake of bracing Fargo,” Wendelin said. “Cullen, here, won’t be that stupid.”
“I sure as hell won’t,” Cullen said.
“You understand it has to be done quickly?” Ruby said. “For reasons I can’t explain, we have to leave as soon as we can. But we don’t want to show ourselves with him out there hunting through the entire camp.”
“How much?” Cullen asked.
“A thousand dollars.”
One of the hard cases gave a snort of surprise. “You must really want this scout dead, lady.”
“You have no idea,” Ruby said.
“Half now,” Cullen said, “and half when he’s dead.”
“No,” Ruby said.
An edge came into Cullen’s voice. “What are you tryin’ to pull? We’re not killin’ him for free.”
“I paid Leferty and another man half in advance and look at how that turned out. They’re both dead and I’m out that money.” Ruby paused. “You want the thousand? You earn it. You kill him and I’ll give you the full amount.”
“How do we know we can trust you?” Cullen said.
“Wendelin will vouch for me,” Ruby told him. “We’ve been friends a good many years.”
“That we have,” Wendelin said. “Take my word for it, Cullen. If she says she’ll pay you, she will.”
“She’d better,” Cullen said. “She tries runnin’ out on us, she’ll regret it.”
“No need for threats,” Ruby said. “Besides, I don’t have the money with me. It’s with our horses, and they’re well hid.”
Fargo frowned.
“So will you or won’t you?” Ruby was saying. “Because if you won’t, I’m sure we can find others who will.”
“We’ll do it,” Cullen said. “All you have to do is tell us where to find him.”
“How would I know?” Ruby retorted. “I’ve been here all night.”
“Don’t look at me,” Wendelin said. “I have no idea where he got to after he hit me with my chair.”
“We can’t search the whole damn camp,” Cullen said. “That would take days.”
“Find him,” Ruby said. “There has to be a way.”
“Hell,” one of the other men said.
“Let’s go,” Cullen said. “We’ll ask around. Could be someone has seen him.”
“His horse is like a pinto,” Ruby said. “If that helps.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Cullen said. “Either it is or it ain’t.”
“I don’t know how else to describe it,” Ruby said. As an afterthought she added, “Oh. And it’s a stallion. A big one.”
“Come on,” Cullen said, apparently to his pards.
“I’m going back to the saloon,” Wendelin announced. “I need to let my boss know I won’t be much use for a while.”
Fargo heard the tent flap rustle. Their footsteps faded, and he started around the other side, thinking to catch Ruby and Theresa off guard. A sudden yell from a short distance away brought him to a stop. There was a commotion, and the tent opened again.
“Look at what we found!” Wendelin hollered.
Fargo crept to the front corner. One look, and he cursed himself for a fool.
The man called Cullen had hold of the Ovaro’s reins and was leading it back, his pards on either side.
Wendelin, walking ahead of them, giggled and motioned. “It was over yonder, just standing there.”
Framed in the opening, Ruby and Theresa looked at each other and Ruby put her hand on her six-shooter. “The hell you say.”
“What’s the matter?” Wendelin said. “You wanted him found, didn’t you? His horse is a start.”
“You damn simpleton,” Ruby snapped. “Don’t you get it? If his horse is here, he must be, too. Instead of us finding him, he’s found us.”
“Oh, hell,” Wendelin said.
“He’s probably watching us right this second,” Ruby said.
“In that case,” Cullen said, “there’s only one thing to do.” Drawing his revolver, he pointed it at the Ovaro’s head. “Show yourself, mister!” he yelled. “Or they’ll be feeding your horse to the dogs.”
34
Fargo never hesitated. Lowering the Colt behind his leg, he stepped out where they could see him. “Looking for me?”
Even though they were expecting it, the suddenness of his appearance seemed to surprise them. Ruby and Theresa spun, and Theresa exclaimed, “It’s him.” Wendelin folded her good arm over her broken arm as if afraid he’d hit her again. The man called Cullen moved his revolver closer to the Ovaro while his two friends swooped their hands to their hardware.
“I wouldn’t,” Fargo said.
“You don’t have a say,” Cullen said. “Not if you want your horse to live.”
Ruby, beaming, put her hands on her hips. “At last I have you where I want you. I can pay you back for Bertha, Claire and Alvena.” She tilted her head. “Alvena is dead, isn’t she? You wouldn’t be here if she weren’t.”
“Dead as hell,” Fargo said.
“I can’t tell you how much I hate you,” Ruby said. “Everything was going as we’d planned until you came along and spoiled it.”
“You’re a thorn in our sides, mister, and that’s no lie,” Theresa said.
Ruby looked at Cullen. “What are you waiting for? He’s right there.”
The tall man’s pards looked at him, too.
“Do we or don’t we?” one asked.
Cullen happened to notice Fargo’s empty holster, and stiffened. “Where’s his six-gun?”
“Right here,” Fargo said, and quick as thought, he shot the tall man in the head. Pivoting, he put lead into the second gunman, and then had to throw himself aside as the third man—and Ruby—tried to blast him into oblivion. He fired at the third man at the same instant that Ruby fired at him.
Her slug dug a furrow but he ignored it and hurtled at the Ovaro. Knocking Wendelin out of his way, he swung onto the saddle, hauled on the reins, and raked his spur.
The stallion raced into the darkness. A few shots were thrown after them but missed.
Cutting behind a tent, Fargo stopped. More shouts were breaking out. He sat there all of half a minute, then reined back toward Ruby’s tent, hoping they wouldn’t expect it.
Cullen and the other pair lay in spreading pools.
Awash in lantern light from inside, Wendelin had her hand to her throat and appeared to be in a daze. She looked up, thrust her arm out, and cried, “No! Please! I’m unarmed.”
&
nbsp; Fargo vaulted down and burst into the tent, only to find it empty. Barreling back out, he grabbed Wendelin by the front of her dress and shook her. “Where are they? Where did they go?”
“They ran off,” Wendelin stammered. “Theresa was scared to death. She said there’s no stopping you.”
“Which way?”
A crafty gleam came into Wendelin’s eyes. “That way,” she said, and pointed to the north.
Forking leather, Fargo rode south.
“Wait!” Wendelin cried. “What are you doing?”
Fargo brought the stallion to a trot. He had one chance, and he would be damned if he’d let them get away again.
Up ahead, two figures flitted like moths, running as if their very lives depended on it.
Against every instinct he had, Fargo slowed. Keeping them in sight was a challenge but he stuck at it for what seemed an eternity. The last of the tents fell behind them but the pair didn’t stop.
The next moment, they vanished.
Reining up, Fargo alighted. A bubble of pale light suggested where they had gone. Stalking forward, he came on a dry wash. The light came from around the next bend. He flattened when he got there. From the way the light flickered and danced, it had to be a campfire.
It was.
A boy of twelve or so sat poking a stick at the flames. Behind him were Ruby’s and Theresa’s mounts and their pack animals. The women were just walking up to him. Jumping to his feet, the boy greeted them with a smile. “You’re back later than you said you’d be.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Ruby said. Taking out a poke, she flipped a coin at him, which he deftly caught. “There’s your double eagle. Now get the hell gone and don’t look back.”
“What’s wrong, lady?” the boy asked. “Why are you so mad?”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Ruby gripped him by the arm and practically threw him toward Gold Gulch. “Go. And thank your ma for me for letting you stand watch.”
The boy hugged the coin to his chest and dashed up out of the wash.
“Why were you so mean to him?” Theresa said. “He was only doing what we asked him to.”