Trailsman #377 : Bounty Hunt (9781101604007)

by Sharpe, Jon

  “You’ve killed three men and one woman since you came to town,” the marshal replied. “What the hell do you expect?”

  “It was them or me,” Fargo said.

  “I know. Witnesses told me that Tassy tried to shoot you. Otherwise, I’d have you behind bars. No matter how tough an hombre you think you are.”

  Fargo let the insult go. He filled his cup and held it in both hands. “There’s something you don’t know that you should.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Glenda Hemmings. Her real name is Glenda Blasingame. Jennifer is Cord Blasingame’s daughter.”

  The marshal’s mouth fell. “The hell you say. You know this for a fact?”

  “Glenda sent for me to hunt him down and told me the whole story.”

  “Well, hell,” the townsman wearing the bowler declared. “This changes everything.”

  Another man bobbed his chin. “Sure does. If she’s Blasingame’s girl, why are we after them?”

  “For all we know,” said a third, “she went along willingly.”

  Marshal Cripdin motioned. “Hold on, all of you. Let’s think this out.”

  “What is there to think about?” the man in the bowler retorted. “Blasingame didn’t steal her like we thought. She’s his own flesh and blood.”

  “He has every right to be with her, outlaw or no,” another posse member said.

  “What are you saying, Floyd?” Cripdin said.

  “We should turn back,” Floyd responded, and several others bobbed their chins in agreement. “She’s not in any danger from her own pa.”

  Cripdin gnawed his lip, then said, “Let’s not jump to any hasty conclusions. I need to ask our friend here a few questions.” He turned to Fargo. “You just told us that Glenda hired you. For the bounty?”

  “She wants to split it,” Fargo said.

  “Then how do we know this isn’t a trick on your part?”

  “Mine?” Fargo said.

  “A trick how?” Floyd asked.

  “Simple,” Cripdin said. “He wants the bounty. To earn it, he has to bring in Blasingame or Blasingame’s body himself. But if we find Blasingame, he doesn’t get a cent.”

  “I see what you’re saying,” Floyd said. “He tricks us into heading back by telling us a tall tale about the girl being Blasingame’s kin, and he has Blasingame to himself.”

  “That’s my guess,” Cripdin said.

  Fargo didn’t know whether to laugh in their faces or curse them for being idiots. “Here I reckoned I was doing you a favor.”

  “That’s what made me suspicious,” Cripdin said. “You being so nice.”

  “Ask Glenda,” Fargo said.

  The marshal grinned. “You’d like that, since we’d have to go all the way back to town.”

  “How dumb do you think we are, mister?” the man in the bowler asked.

  “Pretty damn dumb,” Fargo said.

  “All right,” Cripdin said. “Cover this son of a bitch, boys.”

  In the blink of an eye, four rifles were leveled. Fargo calmly took a sip while fuming inside.

  “We’re taking you with us,” Cripdin announced. “We have enough grub for two or three days yet, and we’re not giving up.”

  “You don’t want to do this,” Fargo said.

  “Like hell. I’ve been looking for an excuse and now you’ve given it to me.”

  A rifle barrel gouged the back of Fargo’s head, and Marshal Cripdin stepped up and relieved him of the Colt.

  They didn’t bind him.

  When they were ready to ride out, they commanded he get on the Ovaro and covered him as he did.

  Marshal Cripdin was in fine spirits. “Yes, sir,” he said as he brought his sorrel alongside the stallion. “Wait until folks in Meridian hear about this.”

  “Which way?” Floyd asked.

  “How about if we try north?” Cripdin said.

  “Deeper into the mountains?” a stocky man wearing a vest brought up.

  “They have to be somewhere,” Cripdin said.

  Fargo could have pointed out that venturing farther in was the worst mistake they could make, that they didn’t stand a prayer if the outlaws got wind of them. But he didn’t.

  All that afternoon the posse pushed on. They weren’t in any hurry so by sundown they’d barely covered five miles.

  The lawman called a halt on a bench that offered a sweeping view of the Shadow Mountains. He had two men watch Fargo while others saw to the horses and Floyd gathered firewood.

  Fargo let them think they had the upper hand. He didn’t once act up. When he was told to do something, he did it.

  Soon a fire crackled and the man in the brown vest put beans on to cook.

  Stars blossomed. A wolf howled and was answered by another.

  No one said much until a man remarked, “I wish I was back in town having my nightly drink at the saloon.”

  “I never thought I’d say this,” another piped up, “but I miss my missus.”

  The man in the vest stirred the pot and said, “Supper should be ready in a bit.”

  “I am so tired of beans I could vomit,” Floyd said. “The first deer we see, we should shoot it and have venison.”

  “I’m surprised we haven’t come across any by now,” a man said.

  Fargo wasn’t. They made enough noise to scare off all the game around. Just one of their many mistakes. Like that fire, he reflected; it was bigger than it should be.

  “You’re awful quiet,” Marshal Cripdin said to him. “Cat got your tongue?”

  “Stupid does,” Fargo said.

  “Do you mean us?”

  “You’re where you shouldn’t be, doing what you shouldn’t be doing.”

  “You’re just mad because we got the drop on you. When we get back to town I’m sending you on your way. We’ll escort you to Bald Mountain Pass, and if you ever show your face in Meridian again, I’ll throw you behind bars and toss away the key.” Cripdin sat straighter and squared his plump shoulders, preening for his audience.

  “That fire can be seen for miles,” Fargo felt compelled to mention.

  “All fires can,” Cripdin said.

  “You wouldn’t see an Apache fire unless you were right on top of it.”

  Floyd laughed. “So what? There ain’t any Apaches in these parts. Hell, we haven’t seen an Injun of any kind this whole while.”

  “You’re trying to scare us but it won’t work,” the man in the bowler said.

  Fargo was watching the horses and saw the Ovaro raise its head. So did a few others. “Any chance I could have my Colt back?”

  Cripdin glanced at his waist. The Colt was tucked under his belt next to his holster. “Not a chance in hell. Why would you even ask?”

  “I’m the only one here who stands half a chance,” Fargo said.

  “I swear,” Cripdin said. “You talk more nonsense than anyone I’ve ever met. Stand a chance against who?”

  Just then Hardy strolled into the firelight with his sawed-off shotgun at his hip.

  At the same instant, Niyan materialized on the other side of the posse with his Spencer to his shoulder.

  “That would be us,” Hardy said with a broad grin.

  19

  Everyone froze except the man called Floyd. “The outlaws!” he shouted, and pushed to his feet, clawing for a revolver on his hip.

  Hardy shot him. He shifted the shotgun and let loose with one of the barrels. There was a saying on the frontier that buckshot meant burying, and in this case it did; the hand cannon blew the top of Floyd’s head off.

  One of the other townsmen screamed and several threw themselves to the ground.

  Hardy broke the shotgun open, ejected the spent shell, and inser
ted another. “Anyone else hankerin’ to die?”

  “God in heaven!” Marshal Cripdin exclaimed, staring aghast at the oozing cavity in Floyd’s skull. “You killed that man.”

  “I sure as hell did.” Snapping the shotgun shut, Hardy trained it on him. “I can kill you too, tin star. Easy as pie.”

  Cripdin thrust out his hands as if to ward off a blast. “Don’t! I’m begging you!”

  “Pitiful,” Hardy said. He glanced at Fargo and chuckled. “This is why we ain’t been caught and never will be.”

  “You not be careless,” Niyan warned him, covering the posse.

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried about these infants?” Hardy said, and laughed with scorn. “Look at them. They have yellow streaks a mile wide.”

  “Not take chances,” Niyan said.

  Hardy sighed and regarded the prone figures with contempt. “You heard the breed. Shuck your hardware. Do it slow unless you want your brains splattered the same as your friend.”

  Turtles could not have done it slower.

  “That leaves you, marshal,” Hardy said when they had all complied except Cripdin.

  “Go easy on those triggers,” the lawman said as he carefully pulled Fargo’s Colt from under his belt with two fingers and dropped it in the grass. He did the same with his own revolver.

  “There now,” Hardy said, and let the muzzles of his shotgun dip. “Let’s get down to business. What are all of you doin’ here, anyhow?” He paused. “As if I can’t guess.”

  “Jennifer Hemmings,” Cripdin said, and caught himself. “Or maybe I should say Jennifer Blasingame.”

  “How’d you find out who she is?” Hardy asked. “Cord wanted it kept secret.”

  Cripdin and most of the posse stared at Fargo.

  “You told them?” Hardy said. “Cord won’t like that much.”

  “I thought he was lying,” Cripdin said. “He wanted us to turn around and head back.”

  “You should have listened,” Hardy said.

  “What are you fixing to do?”

  “I should gun you,” Hardy said. “Were it up to me, I would. But Cord says we’re not to kill unless we have to. So I reckon you can go on livin’ for a spell.”

  The relief on Cripdin’s face and some of the others was almost comical.

  “Sort of,” Hardy said, and smirked.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Leave your horses and weapons here and start back on foot.”

  “Be reasonable,” Cripdin said. “It will take a week or better. We’d never make it.”

  “There are plenty of streams to drink from and game is everywhere,” Hardy said.

  “How can we kill anything without our guns?”

  “You’ll think of somethin’,” Hardy said.

  “It’s the same as murder, I tell you,” the marshal angrily declared.

  Hardy wagged the shotgun. “On your feet.”

  “You want us to start back now?”

  “I do,” Hardy said, and thumbed back a hammer. “Niyan will follow you a ways to see that you don’t try to double back.”

  Cripdin gazed out over the vast pool of pitch black. “We might run into a bear or those wolves we keep hearing—”

  “Or you could trip and stub your damn toe,” Hardy said. “On your way before I change my mind.”

  Panic-stricken, the posse nonetheless rose and shuffled away, giving the outlaws wide berths.

  “I don’t make it back, a federal marshal will come to investigate,” Cripdin said. “They’re not as easy to deal with as me.”

  “That could take months, if ever,” Hardy said. “Off you go.”

  “What if I give you the money in my poke?” Cripdin offered. “There must be twenty dollars or better.”

  “That much?” Hardy scoffed.

  Fargo was biding his time. They had forgotten about him. Even Niyan. In a few steps he could snatch up his Colt and turn the tables.

  “Why am I still lookin’ at you?” Hardy growled at the posse. “You’d better skedaddle while you can.”

  “I won’t forget this,” Cripdin blustered.

  “Niyan,” Hardy said, “if he opens his damn mouth again, shoot him in it.”

  “I do,” the breed said.

  Like men walking to their own execution, the townsmen moved off into the night.

  Niyan melted after them.

  “It’s just you and me now,” Hardy said, and sank cross-legged to the ground on the other side of the fire.

  Fargo was curious. “Why am I still breathing?”

  “Cord would like some words with you. He sent the breed and me to town to get you but we saw this fire and came for a look-see. Lucky us, huh? It’s spared us havin’ to go all the way to Meridian.”

  “Why does he want to see me?” Fargo asked. As if he couldn’t guess.

  “Let’s put it this way.” Hardy chuckled. “I wouldn’t care to be in your boots. Not after what you did to Constance.”

  “Tassy shot her.”

  “By mistake, we hear. His other gal, Jennifer, told him all about it.”

  “Then he shouldn’t blame me.”

  “You’ll find out how Cord feels about it soon enough.” Hardy picked up a tin cup that had fallen from the hand of a posse member. He wiped the rim on his pants and refilled it.

  Fargo was surprised that the outlaw didn’t pick up all the weapons lying about. He wondered if Hardy had left them there on purpose; Hardy wanted him to try to grab one to use as an excuse to blow him in half and justify the killing to Blasingame.

  “I bet right about now you’re wishin’ you never came to these parts,” Hardy said.

  “I regret Constance and Tassy dying,” Fargo confessed.

  “You’ll regret it even more before too long,” Hardy said, and leaned forward. “You see, I know somethin’ about Cord that you don’t. That hardly anyone does except us that ride with him and that bitch of a wife of his.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “No,” Hardy said. “I won’t spoil the surprise.” He sat back and drank and didn’t say anything for several minutes.

  Fargo didn’t try anything.

  After a while Hardy sighed and upended the cup and threw it to the ground. “You’re a disappointment, mister. I took you to have more sand.”

  “I had a hunch,” Fargo said.

  “I was that obvious? Damn. I was hopin’ to save Cord the trouble.” Hardy raised his head and his voice. “You can come on in, Niyan.”

  The breed seemed to appear out of thin air like a specter. “This one smart.”

  “Too smart for his own good,” Hardy said. Standing, he trained the shotgun on Fargo. “Tie his hands in front of him so he can ride and we’ll take him with us.”

  Fargo wasn’t hankering to commit suicide; he didn’t resist.

  “This is a fine mess, and it’s all that bitch’s doin’,” Hardy said. “Why in hell Cord doesn’t let us do her in, I’ll never know.”

  “Him still like her,” Niyan said while tightening a knot.

  “I gave him credit for more sense,” Hardy said. “Women ain’t worth the bother. Nothin’ is ever good enough for them. They nag and they bitch, and when you don’t do as they want they treat you like you’re a simpleton.”

  Niyan went into the dark and returned with their horses. They climbed on, and Hardy commanded Fargo to mount the Ovaro.

  Fargo grinned at their mistake. He could ride with his hands tied in front of him as well as if his hands were free. He’d make a break the first chance he got.

  “Almost forgot,” Hardy said. Uncoiling his rope, he kneed his horse over and proceeded to rig a loop and drop it over Fargo’s head and neck and make the loop snug. As if he had read
Fargo’s thoughts, he laughed and said, “Try to get away now.”

  With Niyan in front of him and Hardy close behind holding the other end of the rope, they started to the north.

  “What about the posse’s horses?” Fargo asked.

  “What about them?” Hardy returned. “We don’t need any.”

  “And the guns?”

  “We don’t need those, either. Shut the hell up and ride.”

  More than an hour went by. The stars glittered in a clear sky, and now and then the wind gusted.

  Hardy had been quiet the whole time but now he remarked on how much he’d liked blowing the townsman’s head off. “There’s nothin’ like buckshot for gettin’ the job done.”

  “And you don’t have to be much of a shot,” Fargo said. “All you have to do is point and squeeze.”

  “Tryin’ to get my goat, are you?” Hardy laughed. “It won’t work.”

  Fargo was curious about something and said, “I’m surprised you’re willing to take orders from a man like Blasingame.”

  “That won’t work either.”

  “He doesn’t carry a gun. He lets the rest of you do all the killing. Why ride with him?”

  “He’s got more brains than I ever will. And he stands by us. That there makes him worth his weight in gold.”

  Niyan grunted in agreement.

  “The thing you should be thinkin’ about,” Hardy said, “is that you have stepped in it up to your neck. The townsfolk hate you. Glenda is usin’ you. Jennifer blames you for her sister dyin’ and Cord can’t wait to show you how he feels about losin’ his little girl.” He made a tsk-tsk sound. “Fact is, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather not be than you.”

  “Thanks,” Fargo said.

  “Tell me. Is that bounty money worth all this?”

  “It’s not worth having to listen to you.”

  “Talk tough all you want. But if you know any prayers, now’s the time to waste your breath sayin’ ’em.” And Hardy laughed.

  20

  No two mountain peaks were alike. Some were bare rock, others had timber to their summits. Some were spikes thrust at the heavens, others jagged or rounded. In the Tetons there was a mountain the Indians called “Buffalo Head” because the summit bore an uncanny resemblance to a buff. In Arizona a mountaintop with a silhouette remarkably like the head of a horse was called “Horse Mountain.” And here, in the Shadow Mountains, reared a peak shaped like the head of a bird.