Sierra Six-Guns

by Jon Sharpe

  “Where?” Gretchen exclaimed, and whirled. In doing so, she didn’t let go, and when she turned, she jerked him half around.

  The mastiff snarled and attacked.

  Fargo fired and missed. He thumbed back the hammer to shoot again but the dog was a fluid streak and already on them. It leaped as he squeezed the trigger.

  The impact knocked him back. He tripped over Gretchen and went down with the mastiff on top. Its fangs snapped at his jugular. Letting go of the Colt, he grabbed its throat and tried to force it back.

  Growling savagely, the dog snapped and gnashed.

  Spittle flecked Fargo’s face. He exerted all his strength but those slavering fangs came closer. The dog’s eyes seemed to glow with preternatural hellfire. He thrust his legs up to kick it off but the animal was too heavy. All he did was provoke it into a frenzy.

  “My Colt!” Fargo shouted. “Shoot it!” He couldn’t see Gretchen and couldn’t take his eyes off the mastiff to see if she was still there or had run off.

  He didn’t take her for a coward but her fear might have gotten the better of her.

  The dog lunged, and Fargo almost lost his hold. Its teeth came within a whisker of sinking into his neck. He shoved but it was like trying to push a boulder.

  “Shoot it!”

  Fargo kept thinking about the other two dogs. They were bound to show up and if all three attacked him at once when he was on the ground like this, the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

  The mastiff flailed it paws, clawing at his buckskins, at his chest.

  Fargo changed tactics. He flung both legs wide and wrapped them around the dog’s body. Then, firming his hold on its neck, he threw all his weight into rolling. He got the dog on its side but he wasn’t any better off than before. Its fangs were still dangerously near his throat. He didn’t dare slacken his grip.

  Fargo dug his fingers in as deep as they would go. If he couldn’t let go he would strangle the son of a bitch. But its neck was so thick and so corded with muscle that it was like trying to strangle a log. To make matters worse, he was tiring. Yet the dog was as strong and determined as ever, a churning, raging engine of destruction that wouldn’t be denied.

  Of all the ways Fargo thought he might die, being killed by a dog wasn’t one of them. He pushed and rolled again and succeeded in flipping the dog onto its back so that now he was on top. He pressed down, his thumbs steel spikes.

  The mastiff went berserk.

  Fargo’s hold slipped. Another few seconds and the beast would break free. Suddenly the Colt was in front of his eyes. The muzzle jammed against the dog’s head and the six-gun went off. The flash and the thunder sent his senses spinning.

  The mastiff yelped and went limp. Its legs stopping thrashing and its tongue lolled from a mouth gone slack.

  Overcome by weariness, Fargo slowly released his hold and rose onto his knees. He shook its head to be sure it was dead.

  Gretchen crouched next to him, the smoking Colt in her hand. “Is it . . . ?” she fearfully asked.

  “It is,” Fargo confirmed, and had to add, “Took you long enough.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find your revolver. It went flying when you fell.” Gretchen held out her arm. “Look at me. I’m shaking like a leaf.”

  Fargo grunted and sat back. His buckskins were torn and he was bleeding.

  “Hell.”

  “Let me see.”

  “The other dogs,” Fargo reminded her, and took the Colt. He scanned the clearing but they still hadn’t appeared.

  “I haven’t seen any others.”

  Fargo didn’t understand. The mastiffs always traveled together. Or had this one picked up the Ovaro’s scent and trailed them on its own? Involuntarily, he shivered. He was cold and clammy and not just from his sweat but also from the blood he could feel trickling from the cuts. “I reckon he was alone.”

  Gretchen raised his shirt and touched a slash. “I need to wash your wounds.”

  “They aren’t that deep.”

  “Infection might set in.”

  The nearest water was the stream by the bluff. Fargo was loathe to go out in the open but she was right. “Damn it to hell.”

  “You sure do swear a lot.”

  Fargo chuckled. She should hear him when he was really mad. Rising, he replaced the spent cartridge. Together they rolled up his blankets and moved to the Ovaro. The stallion hadn’t run off as a lot of horses would have done. It was uncommonly devoted and dependable, yet another reason Fargo valued his mount above all else.

  Out on the road the wind was stronger and brought with it the feral chorus of fang and claw.

  Fargo reined toward Kill Creek. Gretchen pressed against him, her warmth welcome, her hands on his shoulders.

  “You were marvelous back there.”

  “I was lucky.”

  “We’re still going back in the morning, aren’t we?”

  “I said we would.”

  “Don’t be mad. Maybe she isn’t as good a friend to me as I am to her but that’s her and not me. And she wasn’t always this way. When we were little we were inseparable. More like sisters than friends. We played together and ate together and she even helped nurse me when I was sick. You can’t expect me to turn my back on her when she needs me most.”

  “She’s not little anymore.”

  “You’re saying she’s changed? I suppose you’re right. I have seen a difference the past few years. But she’s still very much the girl I grew up with. I can no more abandon her than you could your horse.”

  “What made you say that?”

  “I saw how upset you were when it was taken. You would kill for this animal, wouldn’t you?”

  “Damn right I would.”

  “There you have it. End of discussion.”

  Fargo refused to give up. “You go back, you could wind up dead.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “I could wind up dead too.”

  “You don’t have to go with me. You’re under no obligation.”

  “Except to myself.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I have some scores to settle.” The list was as long as Fargo’s arm. He’d been shot at. He’d been clubbed. He’d had dogs set on him. He’d had rocks dropped on his head and been caught in a pit, and as she just mentioned, he’d had his horse taken. An eye for an eye was his code. He’d been willing to put it off in order to get Gretchen to safety, but now that she wanted to return, it was time for him to start doing unto others as they kept doing unto him.

  The bluffs towered like black monoliths. Fargo drew rein at a gravel bar and helped Gretchen down. Sliding from the saddle, he set his hat next to him, stripped off his buckskin shirt, and dipped a hand in the water.

  “Let me.” Gretchen hiked her dress and ripped a strip from the hem. Wadding it, she soaked it, then commenced washing the claw marks and scrapes. “It would help if I had a fire to see by.”

  “We’re too close to Kill Creek.”

  “We could find a spot where they can’t see.”

  “Here is fine.” Fargo liked the spot. They had the bluffs to one side and a low hummock on the other.

  Gretchen leaned closer. “It’s hard to see.” She dabbed at a cut high on his chest, her breath warm on his skin. “I hope this doesn’t hurt.”

  It occurred to Fargo that they had the rest of the night to themselves and he wasn’t the least bit sleepy. He kissed her on the forehead.

  “What was that for?”

  “Guess.”

  Gretchen stopped wiping and said in amazement, “You can’t be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re out in the open in the middle of the wilds in the dark of night. Anything or anyone could happen by at any time.”

  Fargo patted the Colt. “Let them.”

  “Be serious.”

  Fargo kissed her on the mouth. “I am.”

  “No.”

  Fargo ran a hand from he
r wrist to her elbow to her shoulder. He rubbed her neck and traced her ear with his fingertip. She gave a slight shudder.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “My ears work fine. So does the rest of me.”

  “But you’re hurt.”

  “Not where it counts.” Cupping her chin, Fargo let the next kiss linger. When he drew back she poked him in the chest.

  “When I said no I meant it. I’m not about to do that here. The idea is preposterous.”

  Fargo placed his right hand and on her breast and massaged it through her dress. She grabbed his wrist as if to pull his hand away, but didn’t. Her nipples hardened like nails, and he smiled. “Like that, do you?”

  “I should beat you with a rock.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “When a lady says she’s not interested, you should respect her wishes,” Gretchen said softly.

  “The lady in you might not want to,” Fargo said, “but the woman in you does.”

  “They are one and the same.”

  Fargo cupped her other breast and squeezed both, hard. She arched her back and moaned. “Which was that? The lady or the woman?”

  “Give me a rock.”

  Pulling her to him, Fargo kissed her fiercely while kneading and pinching her mounds. This time when he drew back, she was panting.

  “You are the most stubborn man who ever drew breath.”

  Fargo rose and she stood with him. He sculpted his hands to her rounded bottom and ground against her while kissing her neck and ear.

  “You’re infuriating.”

  Sliding a hand between her thighs, Fargo fondled her nether mount. She was a furnace, and when he rubbed, she gasped and dug her nails into his arms.

  “God help me, I love it!”

  “Was that the lady talking or the woman?”

  “Enough. I get your point.”

  With a deft dip of his knees, Fargo scooped her into his arms, carried her to the grassy hummock, and laid her on her back. Starlight lent her face a lovely luster and her hair was a corn silk halo. He sank down and put his hand on her belly. Under his palm, she quivered. “Still want me to stop?”

  “Brute.”

  Fargo stretched full length beside her. He rubbed in small circles from her stomach to her cleavage and began to undo her buttons and stays.

  “You’re going too slow.”

  “We have all night.”

  “I want it now.” Gretchen brazenly reached down and folded her fingers over his engorged member. “You only have yourself to blame.” She stroked him, and grinned. “My oh my. It appears you want it as much as I do.”

  “Brute,” Fargo said.

  Gretchen laughed. “Nothing else to say?”

  Fargo fused his mouth and his body to hers. The chill of the night wind gave way to the warmth of her luscious body. She squirmed and mewed and nipped his chin with her teeth.

  “You have no idea what you do to me.”

  Fargo begged to differ, but didn’t. He kissed and licked and fondled. Soon she was mashing her breasts into his chest and her hips into his. He got his pants down around his knees and her dress hiked around her waist. Pulsing with need, he knelt between her legs.

  “Please,” Gretchen said.

  It was the millinery all over again, only now Fargo could take his time and pace himself. She was drenched and quivering as he penetrated. Her velvet sheath rippling, she wrapped her legs around him.

  “Now?”

  “Now,” Fargo said.

  Afterward they lay side by side, her head on his shoulder. She twirled his hair and moved her palm over his beard.

  “When I’m with you, I feel as if I’m floating on a cloud. Why is that?”

  “Do you float before or after you gush?”

  “You are a cad, sir,” Gretchen said playfully.

  Fargo closed his eyes. He was drowsy and wouldn’t mind sleeping a spell. He suggested the same to her.

  “I’m not tired. I was until you had your way with me. Now I’m bubbling with energy. You would think it would be the opposite.” She pecked his cheek. “You must be magic.”

  Behind Fargo someone snickered. “For his next trick he can try rising from the dead.”

  17

  Fargo had set his Colt beside him when he undid his pants. The instant he heard the voice, he lunged for it, only it wasn’t there. Looking up, he beheld Tucker and Beck. Both held leveled six-shooters. Tucker also had the Colt.

  “Looking for this? You were having so much fun with the lady, I snuck right up and took it.”

  Fargo was furious. Not at them, at himself. His lust had made him careless.

  Beck said, “We were nice and polite and let you finish.” He cackled. “You sure did give it to her good.”

  “I’ll say,” Tucker agreed. “It made me want to do her my own self but Moon would put windows in my skull.”

  “Damn him, anyway,” Beck said.

  Tucker gestured. “Hitch up those buckskin britches of yours. And Miss Worth, you do yourself up. Do it quick, too. We’ve been away too long as it is.”

  Fargo had to ask. “How in hell did you find us?” It was impossible for them to have tracked him in the dark, not without torches. Besides which, they didn’t impress him as being able to track a bull buffalo in mud.

  “The dog the redhead sent on your trail,” Tucker said. “We were supposed to follow it right to you but the stupid thing went and ran on ahead and we lost it. We were talking over what to do when we heard you coming back down the road so we hid and then came after you.”

  “Pretty clever, huh?” Beck boasted.

  Fargo rose to his knees and pulled up his pants. “Maxine and you are working together?”

  “Not us,” Tucker said. “She’s Moon’s. Either of us so much as looks at her wrong, he’s liable to put slugs in us.”

  “Damn him, anyway,” Beck said again.

  Fargo was trying to make sense of it all but a few pieces to the puzzle were missing. “Moon and Maxine? How long has that been going on?”

  “Oh, hell,” Tucker said. “A year or more, I reckon.”

  “We were running from the law,” Beck took up the account, “and we stopped in Kill Creek for the night. We figured it was deserted, being a ghost town and all. We didn’t know about that loco Bromley living down in the tunnels with his girls. Maxine showed herself, and Moon took a fancy to her. They’ve been close ever since.”

  “The lucky bastard,” Tucker said. “She’s a looker, that gal. But looks ain’t everything. Takes after her pa in that she’s half loco herself.”

  Gretchen was swiftly dressing but she stopped to say, “Does all this have anything to do with why Mr. Moon suggested we come to Kill Creek to wait for the money?”

  “Of course it does, you stupid cow,” Tucker replied. “Did you really think we’d settle for fifty thousand when there’s half a million to be had?”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Beck snorted. “Got to spell it out for you, do we? Moon brought you here to dispose of you once the money comes. He figured to let that crazy Bromley do you in. That way the lunatic would be blamed and not us.”

  “Maxine promised she could keep her pa under control until Moon wanted it done,” Tucker said bitterly, “but then the crazy bastard went and bashed poor Shorty’s brains out. I could have told Moon we couldn’t trust that loon but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “You’re despicable,” Gretchen said.

  “Don’t get on your high horse with us, bitch,” Beck snapped. “We know James Harker hired us so the law would blame us for taking you ladies and not him and that Roy. We know James and Roy planned to shoot us and leave our bodies for the law to find to give the law the notion we had a falling-out over the money.”

  “Which no one would ever find,” Tucker said.

  “James never said anything about that to me.”

  “Why should he, lady? From what I can gather, you’re the only one of them who is halfwa
y decent. That Esther? The one you think is your friend? You ought to ask her what she plans to do to you.”

  “Tell me.”

  Tucker shook his head. “You won’t believe it, coming from me. Moon heard her and James talking one night and told us.”

  Fargo had most of it now. They were a bunch of vipers, with betrayal piled on betrayal. He fastened his belt and reached down as if to adjust his pant leg and slid his fingers into his boot. Neither Tucker nor Beck noticed.

  “Hurry it up, lady,” the latter said to Gretchen. “Moon is expecting us to fetch you back.”

  “As for you,” Tucker smirked at Fargo. “That dog was supposed to do you in but I reckon you must have done him. Now we’ll have to do you our own selves.”

  Fargo was ready. “What about the other two dogs?”

  “Which?” Tucker said.

  Fargo pointed behind them. “Those two yonder. Did Maxine send them along too?”

  It worked beautifully. Both gun sharks looked over their shoulders.

  Fargo streaked up and in and buried the Arkansas toothpick to the hilt in Tucker’s neck. Without slowing he twisted and thrust at Beck but Beck yelped and scrambled back and his revolver went off, the slug kicking dirt next to Fargo’s leg. Fargo was on him in a bound and grabbed Beck’s wrist but Beck was able to grab his. They struggled, arms and legs straining, Beck seeking to point his revolver, Fargo to wrench free and use the toothpick. Beck kicked at Fargo’s knee and Fargo sidestepped and Beck’s other foot hooked him and down Fargo went with Beck on his chest.

  “Bastard,” Beck hissed, his wrist slowly turning, the muzzle slowly swinging toward Fargo’s face.

  Fargo heaved but Beck clung on. Fargo rammed a knee up but all Beck did was grunt. He went to slam his forehead into Beck’s face when suddenly the barrel of a six-gun was pressed against the side of Beck’s head. Beck started to jerk away just as the revolver went off.

  Blood and gore splattered Fargo. He instinctively closed his eyes. His ears ringing, he shoved the body off, sat up, and wiped his sleeve across his face. “I’m obliged.” When Gretchen didn’t respond, he looked up.

  She was staring aghast at the body. “I did it again, only this time it was a human being.”