by Sharpe, Jon
Constance said, “I wish things could be like they were before he left. I miss him.”
“I’d rather we talked about something else,” Glenda told them.
“You’re just mad because he walked out,” Jennifer said.
“Of course I’m mad. Any grown woman would be.”
“If you took him back,” Constance said, “we could be a family again.”
“Will the two of you stop it?” Glenda said. “Wishful thinking never does anyone any good. My marriage ended the day he abandoned us.”
Fargo wasn’t about to stand there and listen to them bicker. “Ladies,” he said, moving past the table. “I need more sleep. I’ll be leaving right after breakfast.”
“To where?” Glenda asked. “You have no idea where Cord is.”
True, but Fargo had an idea how he might find out. After the bushwhacking at the pass, he wasn’t entirely sure he could trust the three of them. Which reminded him. He stopped and looked back. “Who did you three tell?”
“I beg your pardon?” Glenda said.
“Who knew you sent for me?”
“No one. We’ve kept it a secret. Just as no one knows I’m Cord’s wife.”
“Not even the marshal?”
“Cripdin?” Glenda said, and laughed. “That oaf. He couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. He’s the last person I’d tell.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”
Fargo shrugged. It was better they not know he suspected one of them. With a bob of his head to Jennifer and Constance, he returned to his room. He closed the door, plopped onto the bed, and pondered until he drifted into a fitful sleep.
As was his habit, he was up before sunrise. He washed in the basin, dressed, and went out to saddle the Ovaro.
A pink blush heralded the new day. Already the birds were in song, and somewhere a cat mewed.
Clatter in the kitchen greeted him. Glenda was getting out pots and pans. “Morning,” she said. “I figured you’d want to leave early. I’ve already kindled the stove and put coffee on.” She opened a cupboard. “How many eggs would you like? And how do you like them?”
When on the trail Fargo seldom ate breakfast; he treated himself. “Six should do me. Scrambled.”
Glenda laid out slices of bacon in a frying pan, then broke eggs into another. She made toast, too, and set out jam.
Jennifer joined them as her mother was setting out plates. She wore a bright blue dress and had tied her hair back with a matching ribbon and looked fresh-scrubbed and happy. “Morning, everyone.”
“My, aren’t you in a good mood,” Glenda said. “Normally you’re a grump this early in the day. I take it you slept well after our little disturbance?”
“Nothing little about it,” Jennifer said with a secret wink at Fargo. “But yes, I slept better than I have in ages.”
Constance shuffled in, still in a robe. “The smells woke me up,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“Go back upstairs and get dressed,” Glenda said. “We have company.”
“It’s only him,” Constance said, with a nod at Fargo. “He saw me like this last night.”
“That’s not the point.”
“If you insist,” Constance grumbled, making it sound as if it were the greatest inconvenience ever inflicted on a human being.
Fargo took his time eating. He’d be in the saddle most of the day, and who knew how many days after. Little was said. Constance was sullen. Glenda seemed to be thinking hard about something. As for Jennifer, she’d give him sly smiles when she thought her mother and sister weren’t looking.
By eight Fargo was in the saddle.
“I still don’t see what you hope to accomplish,” Glenda remarked. “Not when you don’t have a clue where he is.”
“He knows where I am,” Fargo said.
“Don’t let anything happen to you if you can help it. I’m counting on you for my half of the bounty.”
“Nice to know you care,” Fargo said.
A jab of his spurs, and he rode down the main street to the north end of Meridian. Beyond, he passed isolated cabins. At one a dog barked. At another children waved.
He never once looked back. If he was right, it wouldn’t do to let on that he suspected.
The road ended at the edge of forest that stretched on forever. He went a dozen yards in and drew rein. It wasn’t long before a rider appeared. To say he was surprised was putting it mildly. It wasn’t an outlaw.
Dismounting, he walked the Ovaro behind a blue spruce, shucked the Henry from the saddle scabbard, and waited to show himself until hooves clomped on the carpet of pine needles.
Leveling the Henry as he stepped into the open, Fargo said, “Well, look who it is.”
Marshal Theodore Cripdin jerked on his reins. “You!” he blurted. He blinked, then asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
Cripdin switched his reins from one hand to the other. “How can that be? I decided to go for a ride on the spur of the moment.”
“Bullshit,” Fargo said. “You’re following me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“For Blasingame.”
“You’re loco.” Cripdin tapped his badge. “I’m not part of his gang.”
“You were watching Glenda’s house last night.”
“I did no such thing,” Cripdin said. “I was home in bed.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” Fargo asked. “You wouldn’t be the first tin star I’ve come across who isn’t worthy to wear a badge.”
“Now see here,” Cripdin blustered. “You might not think much of me but I’m honest.”
“Yet here you are.”
“I’m out for a ride, I tell you.”
Fargo raised the Henry to his shoulder. “Here’s how it will be. You’ll turn around and go back to town. If Blasingame asks, tell him I was on to you and didn’t leave you any choice.”
“You think you know everything but you don’t.”
“If I catch you following me again,” Fargo warned, “I won’t be this nice.”
“I’m the one friend you have, mister.”
“In that case,” Fargo said, “I don’t want any. Light a shuck unless you want to be shot.”
“You wouldn’t kill a law officer,” Cripdin said. “I have half a mind to call your bluff.”
“Who’s bluffing?” Fargo said, and thumbed back the hammer.
Cripdin puffed out his cheeks and glowered. “I resent this. Here I thought I was doing you a favor and you pull this stunt.”
“Favor?” Fargo scoffed.
“Keeping an eye on you in case Blasingame’s gang tried to bury you.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe,” Cripdin said. “I’m washing my hands of you. I’ve tried to help and you won’t let me.” He started to rein around to ride off, or pretended to—his other hand dropped to his six-shooter.
10
Fargo trained the Henry on him and said, “How stupid are you?”
Cripdin froze. “I should put you behind bars is what I should do.”
“Take your goddamn hand off that smoke wagon,” Fargo said.
The lawman jerked it off and splayed his fingers. “There. Happy?”
“You’re the dumbest son of a bitch I’ve met in a coon’s age.”
“I’m the law. And I’m tired of you treating me with disrespect.”
“Go back to town. You get this one warning and this one warning only. The next time you try to pull one on me, it will end different.”
“You have no respect for the law.”
“No,” Fargo said. “I have no respect for you.”
Cripdin’s face twitched, and
for a few moments Fargo thought he would go for his six-gun. But Cripdin only growled, “From here on out you’re on your own.”
“I always was.”
Reining around, Cripdin took out his anger on his horse by jabbing his spurs. The animal broke into a gallop and soon all that was left of them was the dust the horse had raised.
Fargo moved to a pine and sat with his back to the trunk. Crossing his legs, he placed the Henry across them, and waited.
Apparently he’d been mistaken. He’d thought for sure that another outlaw was watching and waiting a turn to try to kill him. But maybe, just maybe, the lawman was telling the truth. It could have been Cripdin last night who made the Ovaro whinny, and now had followed him to make sure he wasn’t bushwhacked.
The more he thought about it, though, the more convinced he was that his initial hunch was right. Someone else was out there, stalking him. He’d learned a long time ago to trust his instincts; they’d saved his hide more than once.
He let about half an hour go by. Just when he was convinced he had been wrong and no one was coming, a horse and rider appeared in the distance. One second they weren’t there; the next they were. The instant he set eyes on them, the rider drew rein.
Fargo didn’t move, didn’t so much as twitch. Whoever it was, the rider sat dappled in shadow, studying the woods.
The minutes crawled, and still the rider didn’t move. Finally he came on at a slow walk and crossed a patch of sunlight.
It was a half-breed, as folks would say, a mix of white and Indian. In his case his features showed more of the latter than the former.
Fargo couldn’t tell exactly which tribe. He remembered Tassy at the saloon saying that one of the outlaws who rode with Blasingame was a breed.
Stockily built, the man wore a bandanna tied round his long black hair, a brown shirt and pants. A bandoleer was slanted across his chest, half filled with cartridges for the Spencer he held. He favored Apache-style knee-high moccasins. Several times he bent down, apparently reading the sign.
Fargo continued to stay perfectly still. The breed wouldn’t be like most men; any movement, he’d spot it right away.
The breed stopped again and intently scanned the trees. It was obvious he suspected something wasn’t right.
Fargo admired the man’s instincts. They were a lot like his own.
The breed’s dark eyes roved every which way. Suddenly he stiffened. He wasn’t looking at Fargo. He was staring at the tree Fargo had hidden the Ovaro behind.
Fargo brought the Henry up but already the breed was hauling on his reins. He fixed a quick bead and fired and knew he’d missed.
The breed’s bay was quick. In moments they were out of sight.
Leaping erect, Fargo ran to the Ovaro. He vaulted into the saddle and gave chase. He came to the road and spied tendrils of dust and raced to the first bend and around.
The breed wasn’t in sight. Nor was there any dust.
Fargo brought the stallion to a stop and rose in the stirrups. He listened but heard nothing so he bent to read the tracks.
In the forest on the right side of the road a rifle spanged and lead sizzled a whisker’s-width above Fargo’s hat.
Fargo charged into the undergrowth. He went a short way and stopped. He listened but heard only the breeze.
Sooner or later the man would move and Fargo would pinpoint his position. He stayed still five, ten, fifteen minutes. No sounds broke the stillness. He figured the breed must be doing the same thing. Then he happened to lift his gaze to the slopes above, and there, in a clearing out of rifle range, stood the bay.
The breed raised a hand as if in salute, reined around, and rode off up the mountain.
“I’ll be damned,” Fargo said. It was rare for anyone to get the better of him. The breed was slick, an equal if not a better.
He went after him. He climbed to the clearing and found the bay’s tracks and followed them to the crest of the mountain, where they vanished.
Fargo searched in ever widening circles and couldn’t find so much as a partial hoofprint. It was as if the breed and the bay had melted into thin air. “I’ll be damned,” he said, and smiled.
With one eye always on his back trail, Fargo descended the mountain and made for Meridian. The breed didn’t reappear.
It was the middle of the afternoon when he reached town. He didn’t go to Glenda’s; he tied the Ovaro off at the hitch rail in front of the Ace’s High.
A couple of townsmen were playing poker and an old man was at the end of the bar deep in his cups.
Fargo paid for a bottle and claimed the same corner table as before. He’d barely filled his glass when who should come sashaying out of a hall at the back but Tassy. Today she had on a red dress that had to be two sizes too small. She came to his table and without being asked pulled out a chair.
“Mind some company?”
“Thought you were mad at me.”
“For a little bit I was. But you’re too handsome to stay mad at for long.”
“Me and all the other handsome fellas.”
“Don’t start.” Tassy nodded at the bottle. “How about buying a girl breakfast?”
Fargo pushed the glass across and was considerably impressed when she chugged it in a single gulp. “Damn, woman.”
“I bet you could do the same.” Tassy pushed the glass back. “A refill, if you please.”
Fargo obliged her. This time she sipped it and studied him. “Something on your mind?” he asked.
“No,” Tassy said, and uttered a light laugh. “Just admiring your good looks.”
Fargo swirled the liquor in the bottle and took a long drink. “You’re right,” he said. “Nothing like whiskey to perk a body up.”
Tassy winked. “You don’t look like you need too much perking.”
“I ran into a friend of yours earlier,” Fargo remarked, setting the bottle down.
“Oh?”
“That breed you were telling me about.”
“You met Niyan?”
“Is that his name?”
“Part of it,” Tassy said. “The part whites can pronounce.” She rimmed the top of her glass with a fingertip. “You must be good, mister, if you ran into him and you’re still breathing.”
“We played hide and seek. He won.”
“Listen, handsome,” Tassy said, “if he’s out to get you, sooner or later he will. You want my advice? You’ll make yourself scarce while you can.”
“Tuck tail and run?” Fargo grinned. “What do you take me for?”
“Smart,” Tassy said. “Tangling with Niyan is dumb. He’s killed more men than you have fingers and toes.”
“How would you know that?”
“Ask around. Everyone says he has.”
“Ah, well, if everyone says it, it must be true.”
Tassy shook her head. “God Almighty, you’re—what’s the word? Cynical. That’s the one. You’re cynical as hell.”
“I have my cynical moments,” Fargo agreed. He took another swig. “I have my randy moments, too.”
“Do you, now?” Tassy replied with a smirk.
“I’m having one at the moment,” Fargo said. He didn’t tell her he wanted to question her about Cord Blasingame and his gang, and he figured she’d be more open about it after she’d gushed a few times.
“This early?” Tassy said.
“When a man has to fuck,” Fargo said, “a man has to fuck.”
Tassy laughed and sipped and coughed. “I know I said I’d never let you poke me but I was angry at the time. I felt as if you were picking on me. Truth is, I wouldn’t fight you off.”
“I wouldn’t fight you off, either.”
Tassy laughed.
“My place or yours?” Fargo said, and snapped hi
s fingers. “Wait. I don’t have a place.”
“Mine it is. Although I hear you’ve taken a room with the Hemmingses.”
“I have,” Fargo admitted since it would be pointless to lie. “And one of her rules is no getting sweat on her sheets.”
“That sounds like her. But you can get all the sweat you want on my sheets.”
“Lead on, madam.”
“You sure are playful. I hope you’re the same once our clothes are off.”
“There’s one way to find out.”
Her boardinghouse was a block from the saloon. A sign said that all the rooms were taken.
“Mine’s on the top floor,” Tassy informed him. “And hide that bottle. If the landlady sees it, she’ll have a fit.”
Fargo held it against his side until they’d climbed to her room and she’d opened her door and motioned for him to go in. “Care for some?”
“No, thanks.” Tassy closed the door and stood with her back to him, her head bowed.
“Something the matter?”
“Yes.” Tassy turned.
In her right hand was a knife.
11
“What the hell?”
Fargo barely got the words out of his mouth when Tassy hissed like a kicked rattler and came at him swinging. Her first swing struck the whiskey bottle and sent it flying; the bottle struck a wall and shattered.
Her second swing nearly took his fingers off.
Retreating, Fargo sidestepped a stab at his ribs. He took another step back and collided with a small table. The next he knew, he was flat on his back.
“I won’t let you!” Tassy shrieked, and threw herself on top of him.
Fargo grabbed her wrist as the knife sheared at his neck. Cursing, she clawed at his face with her other hand, trying to rake his eyes. She missed and ripped open his cheek instead.
Her attack had caught him flat-footed but now Fargo was mad. He flung her off and she came down on her knees. As she whipped her arm overhead to stab him in the chest, he kicked her in the gut. She cried out and doubled over, giving him time to scramble to his feet.
“I won’t let you!” she wailed again, and swung at his legs.