“Ha!” he said happily. “I feel somethin’ here! I think this is it!”
Ford tossed the pitchfork aside and hurried over to watch Fargo as he retrieved a bag. But as soon as he brought the bag out for a closer examination, his smile changed to a frown.
“What the hell?” he said. “The bag is empty. There ain’t no money here!”
“Well, where is it?” Ford asked. “Somebody’s got it. He wouldn’t of just kept an empty bag.”
“Bill Kirby,” Fargo said.
“Who?”
“The man they say shot Dooley. His name is Bill Kirby. And I’d bet you a hunnert dollars to a horseshoe that he’s the one that got the money.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We find the son of a bitch,” he said.
Chapter Twenty
When Fargo woke up the next morning, he saw that he was in one of the rooms upstairs over Big Kate’s saloon. There was a whore sleeping beside him and as he looked at her in the harsh light of day, he marveled at how different she looked now from the way he’d thought she looked last night. There was a large and disfiguring scar on one cheek. She was missing three teeth, and her breasts were misshapen and laced with blue veins.
“Damn,” he said to himself. “How’d you get so ugly so fast? I must’a been pretty damn drunk last night.”
Turning the covers back, he stepped out on the floor, put on his hat, and then, totally naked except for the hat, walked over to the window and looked at the back of the building behind the saloon. Feeling the need to urinate, he lifted the window and let go, watching as a golden arc curved down. A cat, picking through the garbage below, was caught in the stream and, letting out a screech, started running down the alley.
“Ha!” Fargo laughed out loud.
At that moment the door to the room opened and Ford came in.
“Son of a bitch!” Ford DeLorian said. “I seen ’im! I seen ’im when he come out of the sheriff’s office.”
“You seen who?” Fargo asked.
“I seen the fella that kilt ole Dooley.”
“You seen Kirby?”
Ford smiled broadly. “Yeah, I seen ’im,” he said. “Only his name ain’t Kirby.”
“What do you mean, his name ain’t Kirby?”
“I mean his name ain’t Kirby ’cause it’s Jensen. He’s the same fella that we put Logan’s shirt on,” Ford said. “Smoke Jensen, Dooley said his name was then. You recollect him, don’t you, Fargo? He’s a big man.”
“Yes, I recollect him all right,” Fargo said. “But how do you know he’s the one that kilt Dooley?”
“Well, he’s the one they give the reward for doin’ it,” Ford said. “They was talkin’ about it downstairs, how Kirby was goin’ to get a reward from the sheriff this mornin’. That’s why I went down there so I could see what he looked like.”
“You went down to the sheriff’s office?”
“Yeah. I was out workin’ this mornin’, while you was in here layin’ up with the whore.”
“Well, you had her first. If you hadn’t been so tight about it, we could’a each had our own whore ’stead of sharin’ one.”
“Is she still asleep?” Ford asked, looking toward the bed.
“Yeah, she’s either asleep or passed out,” Fargo replied.
“She did drink a lot last night,” Ford said.
“She couldn’t of drunk as much as we did. Otherwise, we wouldn’t of brought her up here. Did you get a good look at her? She is one ugly woman.”
“Yeah, well, me’n you ain’t exactly what you would call good-lookin’,” Ford replied. “Damn, Fargo, you just goin’ to stand there naked all day?”
“Oh, yeah,” Fargo said. “I guess I’d better get dressed.”
“You know what I don’t understand?” Ford asked as Fargo began pulling on his long underwear. “I don’t understand what Jensen’s doin’ here. How come he ain’t in jail?”
“He must’a broke out.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the trouble with jails these days,” Ford said. “Hell, a citizen can’t even count on ’em to keep the outlaws locked up.”
“Are you sure it was Jensen you saw?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. And if you don’t believe me, you can see for yourself. He’s downstairs right now. But you better hurry, ’cause he ain’t goin’ to be there long.”
“How do you know?”
“’Cause I heard him askin’ someone how to get to Bertrand.”
Fargo look up sharply. “Bertrand, you say?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s where the Logans was goin’.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinkin’ too,” Ford said. “You reckon Jensen is goin’ after them?”
“Of course he is. Damn, you know what I think the son of a bitch is doin’?”
“No, what?”
“Well, what he is plannin’ on doin’ is runnin’ us down and killin’ us one at a time,” Fargo said.
“For revenge?”
“Probably some revenge,” Fargo agreed. “But more’n likely, it’s to get his hands on the money that we stole.”
“Damn! That mean he plans to kill us, don’t it?”
“Yeah,” Fargo replied. “Unless we kill him first.”
“How we goin’ to do that? We can’t just walk downstairs and shoot him where he’s sittin’.”
“No, but if he’s goin’ to Bertrand, we can set up an ambush along the way.”
As Smoke rode out of Dorena, he thought about the reward money he had received from killing Ebenezer Dooley. Five hundred dollars was still quite a way from having enough money to pay off the note on his ranch, but it was a start. If there had been a reward for Dooley, maybe there was a reward on the others. If each of them was worth five hundred dollars, finding them all would be worth three thousand dollars. Three thousand dollars would not only pay off the note on his ranch, it would give him a little operating capital to start the next year with.
Smoke had never been a bounty hunter, had never even considered it. But this was a different situation from hunting men just for the bounty. He needed to find each of these men in order to prove that he was innocent of the bank robbery in Etna.
On the first night on their way back to Sugarloaf Ranch, Sally, Pearlie, and Cal made camp on the trail. They found a place next to a fast-flowing spring of clear water where there was abundant wood for their fire and grass for the horses. Cal had gathered the wood, Pearlie had made the fire, and now Sally was cooking their supper.
Pearlie started laughing.
“What ever are you laughing about?” Sally asked.
“I was thinkin’ of the way you had the deputy all trussed up and gagged like that.”
“Yeah,” Cal said. “And what was real funny was the way the marshal was laughin’ at it. He said Smoke done the same thing to him.”
“Did the same thing,” Sally corrected.
“Yeah,” Cal said. “But you have to admit, whether he done it or did it, it was funny, especially you doin’ it too.”
“He had such a dejected look about him that I almost felt sorry for him,” Sally said.
The others laughed again, then Cal inhaled deeply. The aroma of Sally’s cooking permeated the camp.
“They ain’t nothin’ no better’n bacon and beans when you’re on the trail,” Cal said as he walked over to examine the contents of the skillet that was sitting on a base of rocks over the open fire. A Dutch oven of biscuits was cooking nearby. “It sure makes a body hungry.”
“Cal, you are incorrigible,” Sally said, shaking her head. “What you mean is, there isn’t anything better than bacon and beans,” she said, correcting him.
“Yes, ma’am, I reckon that is what I meant,” Cal said contritely.
“And when have you not been hungry?” she added with a chuckle.
“Well, you’re right about that, Miss Sally,” Cal said. “But there ain’t . . . isn’t,” he corrected, “anything any better than bacon and bean
s cooked out on the trail.”
“’Ceptin’ maybe bear claws,” Pearlie said. “Too bad you can’t make us a batch of them out on the trail.”
Sally smiled. “Well, maybe I will make some tomorrow night,” she suggested.
Pearlie smiled broadly. “That would be . . .”
“Help me, somebody,” a voice called, interrupting Pearlie in mid-sentence.
“What was that?” Sally asked.
“Help me,” the voice called again.
“Can anyone see him?” Cal asked, looking all around them.
“Who is it? Who’s out there?” Pearlie called. He pulled his pistol and cocked it. “Answer up. Who’s out there?”
“Don’t shoot,” the voice called. “I ain’t got no gun.”
“Come toward the camp,” Pearlie said. “Come slow, and with your hands up in the air, so we can see you as you come in.”
“I’m comin’,” the man’s voice answered.
The three campers looked toward the sound of the voice until a man materialized in the darkness. As he came toward them, he kept his hands raised over his head, just as Pearlie had ordered.
“That food sure smells awful good,” he said. “It’s been near a week since I’ve et ’nything other’n some roots and bugs.”
“Who are you?” Sally asked.
“The name is Yancey, ma’am,” the man said. “Buford Yancey.” His hands were still raised.
“You can put your hands down, Mr. Yancey,” Sally said. “And you are welcome to some of our beans.”
“Thank you, ma’am, that’s mighty decent of you,” Yancey said.
“What happened to your horse?” Cal asked.
“He stumbled and broke his leg,” Yancey said. “I had to put him down.”
“How’d you do that? You don’t have a gun,” Pearlie said.
“Oh,” Yancey replied. “Well, I, uh, lost my gun. It must’a fell out of my holster. Uh, if you don’t mind, I’m goin’ to go over there an’ get me a drink of water.”
Yancey went over to the side of the stream, lay on his stomach, stuck his mouth down into the water, and drank deeply.
A few minutes later Sally took the food off the fire, then distributed it to the others. Pearlie noticed that she took less for herself than she gave anyone else.
After they had eaten, Pearlie found a moment to talk to Sally without being overheard.
“Miss Sally, what do you aim to do about this man?” he asked.
“Do? What do you mean what do I aim to do about him?”
“What I mean is, he’s eaten. Don’t you think it’s time to send him on his way?”
“Look at the man,” Sally said. “He’s half dead. We can’t just send him away.”
“Well, what do you plan to do with him?”
Sally sighed. “I don’t know exactly,” she said. “As far as I know, the closest town is still Etna. I guess we should take him back there.”
“That’ll make it two extra days before we get back to the ranch,” Pearlie said.
“I realize that, but it can’t be helped.”
“So that means you’re going to let him spend the night here with us?”
“Pearlie, I told you, we can’t just run him off,” Sally insisted.
“I don’t like it. There’s somethin’ about him that I don’t trust.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Sally suggested. “We can take turns staying awake all night. That way, someone will always be watching him. Do you think that would make you feel better?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pearlie said. “I think that would be a good idea.”
“All right, I’ll take the first watch. I’ll stay awake until midnight. You take the second watch, from midnight to four, and we’ll get Cal to take the watch from four until dawn.”
“You know your problem, Miss Sally? Your problem is you are too decent to people,” Pearlie said. “Your first notion is to just take ever’one at their word. But that hasn’t been my experience.”
“Pearlie?” Sally said. She put her hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. “Pearlie?”
“What?” Pearlie asked groggily.
“It’s your time on watch,” Sally said.
“Oh,” Pearlie groaned.
Sally chuckled. “Don’t blame me. You said we shouldn’t trust our visitor, remember?”
“Yes, ma’am, I remember,” Pearlie said. He sat up and stretched, then reached for his boots. He nodded toward Yancey, who was wrapped up in a spare blanket. “Has he been quiet?”
“Sleeping like a log,” Sally replied.
“It don’t seem—”
“It doesn’t seem,” Sally corrected.
“Yes, ma’am. It doesn’t seem fair that he gets to sleep all night, while we have to take turns lookin’ out for him.”
“Don’t forget to wake Cal at four,” Sally said.
During Pearlie’s watch he sat very still, just listening to the snap and pop of the burning wood. For the first hour he stared into the fire. He looked at the little line of blue flame that started right at the base of the wood, watching as the blue turned to orange, then yellow, and finally into twisting ropes of white smoke as it streamed up from the fire. Orange sparks from the fire rode the heat column high into the night sky, where they added their tiny, red glow to the blue pinpoints of the stars.
Pearlie didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he did know when he woke up. He woke up when he heard the metallic click of a pistol being cocked. Opening his eyes, he saw Buford Yancey standing in front of him, holding a pistol that was pointed directly at him.
“I figured if I stayed awake long enough, I’d catch one of you asleep,” Yancey said.
“Where did you get the pistol?” Pearlie asked.
Yancey pointed to one of the two bedrolls.
“The boy over there had it lying on the ground alongside him. It wasn’t hard to get. No harder than it’s goin’ to be for me to take one of them horses.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Pearlie said. “Miss Sally was plannin’ on us takin’ you into Etna tomorrow. She figured you could get back on your feet there.”
“Ha!” Yancey said, laughing out loud. “Now that would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it? For you to take me back into Etna, after I just robbed the bank there little more’n a week ago.”
“You?” Pearlie said. “You are the one who robbed the bank?”
“Yeah, me’n some pards,” Yancey said. “Only they ain’t much my pards now. The stole my share of the money from me.”
“Was one of your pards Smoke Jensen?” Pearlie asked.
“Who? No, he ain’t . . . wait a minute,” Yancey said. “I think Jensen was the name of the fella we put Curt’s plaid shirt on. Leastwise, that’s what Dooley said his name was.”
“So you admit you framed him?”
“Slick as a whistle,” Yancey said with a laugh.
“Thank you, Mr. Yancey,” Sally’s voice said. “I will expect you to tell Marshal Turnbull that.”
“What the hell?” Yancey said, spinning around quickly, only to see Sally holding her pistol on him.
“Drop your gun,” Sally ordered.
Yancey smiled. “You think I’m going quake in my boots and drop my gun just because some woman’s holding a pistol on me? Why, you’d probably pee in your pants if you even shot that thing.” Yancey reached for her gun. “Why don’t you just hand that over to me before you hurt yourself?”
Sally fired, and the tip of Yancey’s little finger turned to blood and shredded flesh.
“Oww!” Yancey shouted, dropping his gun and grabbing his hand. “What the hell? You shot my finger off.”
“Just the tip of it,” Sally replied. “And I chose your little finger because I figure you use it less. It could be worse.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you aimed at my little finger? That it wasn’t no accident that you hit it?”
“Miss Sally always hits what she aims at,” Pearlie said, picking up the p
istol Yancey dropped.
“Get over there and sit down,” Sally ordered.
“Miss Sally, I’m sorry about this,” Pearlie apologized. “I must’ve fallen asleep. The next thing I knew, he was holding a gun on me.”
“That’s all right,” Sally answered. “I’m sorry I didn’t pay more attention to you. You said there was something about him you didn’t trust. It turns out that you were right.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Ford lay on top of a flat rock, looking back along the trail over which he and Fargo had just come.
“Do you see him?” Fargo asked.
“Yeah, he’s back there, comin’ along big as you please. He’s trailin’ us, Fargo. I mean he’s stickin’ to us like stink on shit. We can’t get rid of him.”
“I don’t want to get rid of him,” Fargo said.
“What do you mean you don’t want to get rid of him? You said yourself that you thought he was trackin’ down ever’one of us to kill us.”
“Why did I suggest that we come through Diablo Pass? It’s twenty miles farther to Bertrand this way than it would have been by going through McKenzie Pass.”
“I thought it was to throw him off our trail,” Ford said.
“No. It was to get him to come through here. I can’t believe the son of a bitch was dumb enough to take the bait. We’re playin’ him like you’d play a fish.”
“If you say so,” Ford said, though it was clear that he still didn’t understand what Fargo had in mind.
“Think about it, Ford,” Fargo said. “This is the perfect place to set up an ambush. I’ll stay on this side of the pass, you go on the other side. When he gets between us, we’ll open up on him. We’ll have him in a cross fire.”
“Why do I have to go over the other side?” Ford asked. “That means I’ve got to climb down, go over, then climb back up.”
“Want the money he took from Dooley, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then just do what I tell you without all the bellyaching.”
“All right,” Ford answered. “But after all this trouble, he better be carryin’ that money with him, is all I can say.”
Betrayal of the Mountain Man Page 17
