by Sharpe, Jon
“Go to hell.”
They galloped through the orchard to the road and for another quarter of a mile before Fargo was certain no one was after them. He slowed to a walk and Belinda followed his example.
“I wish we could have prevailed on them to let me stay,” she remarked. “Edna needs constant watching.”
“Shouldn’t you be worrying about something else?” Fargo said.
“The McWhertles? They’ve threatened me before. All it is, is talk.”
“I’m talking about Sawyer and Abigail. What if you’re wrong and it is rabies?”
“Then heaven help us.”
They passed no one on the road. When the lights of Ketchum Falls twinkled in the far distance, Belinda brought her mount next to his and said, “I’ve been thinking.”
Fargo waited.
“Where do you plan to bed down for the night?”
“I hadn’t given it any thought.”
“Well, if you want, you’re welcome to sleep in my parlor. The settee’s not all that comfortable but I can spread blankets on the floor.”
“What will the neighbors think?”
“I’m a grown woman. I can do as I please. And it’s not as if I have a man over every night. In fact, you’ll be the first man I’ve had over since I came here.”
“I was joking,” Fargo said.
“Oh.”
The lights grew brighter and buildings took shape. They were almost to the edge of town when Belinda said, “That’s strange. Where is everyone?”
The main street was empty. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Nor, Fargo noticed, were there any horses at any of the hitch rails. He drew rein and motioned for her to stop. “Listen,” he said.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s just it.”
Ketchum Falls didn’t have saloons and bawdy houses like a lot of wild and woolly towns west of the Mississippi. But there should have been some signs of life and the sounds that went with it.
There should have been voices. There should have been occasional laughter. There should have been the squeals of children.
“Why, the place looks to be practically deserted,” Belinda said.
Fargo put his hand on his Colt and clucked to the Ovaro. He stayed in the middle of the street and probed the recesses and doorways.
“Where can everyone have gotten to?” Belinda wondered.
“Look,” Fargo said, and nodded at the second floor window of a house. Faces were peering out of them, those of two small children and their mother. All three commenced to frantically wave their arms and point down the street.
“What are they trying to tell us?” Belinda said.
Fargo noticed other faces at other windows, and then he noticed a body. The legs stuck out from the corner of a building. The rest was in a pool of shadow. He reined the Ovaro over.
“Why, it’s Marshal Gruel!” Belinda blurted.
Before Fargo could stop her, she swung down and sank to a knee.
“Look at his neck!”
Fargo had already seen; a fist-sized hole in the lawman’s throat. He climbed off and touched her shoulder. “We have to hunt cover.”
“It can’t be,” she said. “Not here.”
From out of the blackness down the street came a hiss.
16
Fargo whirled, his Colt out and up. The skin at the nape of his neck prickled as something took shape in the darkness a couple of blocks down. He heard the scrape of shambling feet, and into the light from a window lurched a man.
The figure was hunched over. The head was turned down. Fargo couldn’t see much of the face except for the foam dripping from the chin.
“Oh God. It is,” Belinda breathed. “It’s another one.”
The figured looked up.
“Not him!” she exclaimed.
“I’ll be damned,” Fargo said.
It was Robin Hood or Dastardly Jack or whatever Timmy Wilson had been calling himself. Timmy shuffled along with his fingers splayed like claws. He looked behind him and then up the street in their direction.
“I hope he doesn’t see us,” Belinda whispered.
Fargo doubted the boy could. They were in deep shadow. Their horses, though, weren’t, as he realized when Timmy Wilson stiffened and stared at the Ovaro and the bay like a wolf ravenous for food.
“Surely not,” Belinda said.
Timmy hissed and started toward their mounts.
“He’s going to attack our horses,” Belinda stated the obvious. “Why would he do that?”
Fargo would have asked her if she’d forgotten about the chickens and the hog and the mule out at Old Man Sawyer’s but he had a more pressing concern. Striding past the Ovaro, he extended his arm and yelled, “Stop where you are, boy.”
Timmy caterwauled like a mountain cat and broke into a lope. Foam wreathed his mouth and glistened on his neck.
“Don’t shoot him,” Belinda cried. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
The boy’s face split in a fierce, maniacal grin.
Fargo cocked his Colt.
“Please, no,” Belinda said. “We must subdue him so I can treat him.”
“He bites us, we might come down with it too,” Fargo said. The boy was thirty feet away and swiftly closing.
“If it’s contagious,” Belinda said. “Besides, you’ve already been bitten on your knuckle.”
“Don’t remind me,” Fargo said, and shot him.
The slug caught Timmy Wilson high in the left thigh and knocked his leg out from under him. Timmy did an ungainly somersault and crashed onto his shoulder. He didn’t seem to feel the pain. He pushed onto hands and knees and then shoved upright and limped toward them, his red eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
“Let me try something,” Belinda said, and darted past Fargo.
“Get out of the way!” Fargo shouted.
Holding her hands out, Belinda cried, “Stop, Timmy. I beg you. Or he’ll shoot you again.”
To Fargo’s surprise, the boy did stop. Wilson grunted and his brow furrowed and he looked at Belinda as if he was trying to remember something.
“That’s it. You know me,” Belinda said. “We’re friends, you and I. I stood up for you when everyone wanted to punish you over that calf incident. Don’t you remember?”
Timmy cocked his head.
“We’re friends,” Belinda said again. “And if you’ll let me examine you, I’m confident I can find a cure for whatever has done this to you.”
Timmy snarled.
“Do you have any idea how you contracted the disease? Did someone or something bite you?”
Timmy Wilson crouched.
“Listen to me, Tim. Sort out my words in your head so they make sense. You’re not an animal. You’re a human being. Do you hear me? You can fight this through force of will. I know you can.”
Baring his teeth, Timmy charged her.
Fargo squeezed the trigger.
At the blast Timmy’s head erupted in an explosive spray. Timmy took one more stride, and his legs folded under him. He pitched headlong to the ground, hitting hard. His body broke into convulsions. With a last hiss of air escaping from his lungs, he went limp.
“Did you have to?” Belinda sadly asked.
“He was almost on you.”
“But did you really have to?”
Fargo commenced replacing the spent cartridges. He heard doors open and subdued voices and footsteps as people came out of buildings up and down the street.
“Is he really dead?” a townsman yelled.
“Dead as hell,” Fargo answered.
The townsfolk converged, some of them nervous, some of them fearful, mothers averting the faces of their children.
A man in a suit and bowler stood over Timmy’s body and said, “We thank you, mister. He had this whole town terrorized.”
“One boy,” Fargo said.
“He showed up about two hours ago,” another man said. “Just came out of the woods and commenced hissin’ at folks. He a
ttacked Meg Tilly’s dog and killed it with his bare teeth.”
“That’s when everyone ran indoors,” a woman took up the account when the man stopped. “None of us wanted to be bit.”
“Marshal Gruel tried to take Tim into custody,” the first man said, and gestured at the lawman’s bulk. “That’s when this happened.”
“That was over an hour ago,” a third man said. “We’ve been hidin’ and waitin’ for him to leave since.”
“One boy,” Fargo said again.
“I know what you’re thinkin’, mister. We should have dealt with him. We should have shot him ourselves. But most of us knew that boy a good long while and we weren’t about to shoot one of our own without damn good cause.”
“His killing Gruel wasn’t enough?”
“Go to hell, mister. You’re an outsider. You wouldn’t understand.”
“We’re not yellow, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”
“Your words,” Fargo said.
Several of the men glared and one rubbed the knuckles of his right fist against his left palm. Whatever they were contemplating, Belinda put an end to it by saying, “I need to examine these bodies. I mind find a clue as to what caused Timmy’s condition. Will some of you help carry them to my place? I’d be grateful.”
No one objected. They were eager to get the bodies off the street. A lot of people trailed along, talking quietly and gazing apprehensively into the darkness. They were worried there were others out there like Timmy.
Fargo brought the horses. Instead of tying them out front, he took them around to the backyard, which was bordered by a picket fence. He brought both into the yard and closed the gate.
Belinda converted her parlor into an examination room. She had several men carry the kitchen table in. The bodies were laid out side by side and she shooed everyone out so she could set to work.
Fargo asked if there was anything he could do and she replied that he might as well take it easy. He put coffee on to brew, moved a chair close to a window that looked out on the backyard and the horses, and sat with his boots propped on the sill and stared into the night until the coffee was ready. He took a cup to the parlor.
Belinda had gloves on. Her bag was open and instruments had been laid out in a row. She’d stripped Timmy Wilson to the waist and had used a scalpel to open him from sternum to navel. At the moment she was poking around in his organs.
“Do you want some?” Fargo asked, holding out the cup.
“Eh?” Belinda looked up. “No. Thank you. I’m too busy. Leave it, though.”
“Found anything?” Fargo asked.
“Not yet. I think I’m going to cut open his stomach and maybe his intestines to see if I can learn what he’s eaten recently.”
“Have fun,” Fargo said, and returned to the kitchen. He poured a cup for himself and sat in the chair and sipped. It had been a rough couple of days and he was beat but he held off going to bed.
The minutes crawled into an hour and the hour into four.
His eyelids were heavy when shoes scraped and Belinda came in. She still wore the gloves, which were covered with gore and blood, and went to the sink.
“Any luck?”
“I’m not sure. I’d have to cut open Old Man Sawyer and Abigail to try and find a common denominator.” She stripped off a glove and dropped it in the sink and pried at the other.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine as can be,” Fargo said.
“No fever? No queasiness? No headache? Nothing like that?”
“I’m fine,” Fargo said.
“It may well be that bites don’t spread the contagion, after all. Or maybe it’s that you were bitten on the knuckle and the disease didn’t get into your blood.” She pried off the second glove and dropped it, then turned and leaned against the counter. A portrait of weariness, she swiped at a bang and said, “I must look a mess.”
“You’re the sexiest sawbones ever,” Fargo said.
Belinda smiled. “Why is it men think of one thing and one thing only?”
“You answered your own question.”
Laughing, Belinda went to a cupboard. “I needed that to help me take my mind off the gruesomeness of it all. I’ve never enjoyed cutting people open but there are times when it has to be done.”
“They were past caring what you did,” Fargo said.
“And I don’t want others to share their fate.” She took down a cup and saucer. “Perhaps I should contact the governor and have him impose a quarantine.”
“How would you get word to him?”
“I’d have to ride there myself, I suppose.” Belinda stepped to the stove and picked up the pot. “He’d need to hear it from my lips.”
“Nice lips,” Fargo said.
“Have you been thinking of that the whole while you’ve been waiting?”
“That and other things.”
“Such as?”
“I should go after Old Man Sawyer in the morning. He’s still running around out there, foaming at the mouth.”
“You would do that? After how you’ve been treated?”
Fargo regarded his knuckle. “I have as much at stake as anyone in finding out what this is.” He touched the tiny bite mark. “You could say I have more.”
“If you find him it would be wonderful if you could take him alive and bring him here for me to examine.”
“Taking Abigail alive was hard enough.”
“I know. I ask a lot.” Belinda sipped and came over and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate your help. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, let me know what and when.”
Fargo ran his gaze from her lips to her bosom to her winsome legs. “There is,” he said. “And right now is as good a time as any.”
17
“You can’t be serious.”
“Try me.”
“I’m a mess,” Belinda said, and fussed with her hair. “I’d have to wash up first.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Fargo said.
Belinda blushed and glanced down the hall and bit her bottom lip. “Why not?” she said, more to herself than to him. “Give me ten minutes.”
“Take as long as you like.”
She turned and started out but stopped and looked back at him. “Are you always so easy to get along with?”
“Orville and the rest of his dumb-as-stumps clan don’t think so.”
“I mean, with women.”
“You’re wasting time,” Fargo said.
Belinda smiled coyly, and with a swirl of her dress, she was gone.
Grinning, Fargo refilled his cup. If he knew anything at all about females, she’d take a lot more than ten minutes. He went down the hall to the parlor. She’d draped sheets over the bodies. In a bucket by the table were organs she had removed.
The bucket was speckled with blood and small pieces of whatever she had dropped in it.
Fargo continued on to the front door. She’d forgotten to throw the bolt. He opened it and stepped out for some fresh air.
Ketchum Falls lay quiet under the stars. Not many lights were on at that hour. He scanned the street but saw no one out and about. Somewhere off in the forest a fox yelped.
Going back in, Fargo threw the bolt. He made a circuit of the rooms, checking that the windows were latched. Returning to the kitchen, he opened the back door to check on the Ovaro. It was dozing. He closed the door and worked the bolt.
Draining the cup, Fargo placed it on the counter. He didn’t care to sit in the parlor with the bodies so he stayed in the kitchen, in the chair by the window, until nearly an hour later when a soft rustle made him look around. The wait had been worth it.
Belinda was enough to make any man hungry with desire.
She’d not only washed up, she’d done her hair, too, and it cascaded in a bright sheen past her slender shoulders. Instead of the ankle-length dress, she had on a sheer white nightdress that left little to the imagination. It wasn’t see-through bu
t it might as well be. He could see her nipples outlined against the white, like hard tacks. And at the junction of her thighs was a darker triangle. He felt a lump in his throat, and swallowed.
“Do you like it?” she shyly asked.
“Never liked anything more,” Fargo said.
Belinda plucked at the fabric. “It’s the only one like this I own. I hardly ever wear it.”
Fargo rose and walked over and placed his hands on her hips.
“You’ll be gentle, won’t you?” she asked, looking into his eyes.
“I left my whip and chains in Denver.”
Belinda laughed. “I’m serious. I don’t have a lot of experience at this.”
“It will come naturally,” Fargo said, and kissed her lightly on the lips.
“I hope so. I don’t mind admitting how nervous I am. I’m afraid you won’t like me.”
“What’s not to like?” Fargo rejoined, and switched his hands from her hips to her breasts.
At the contact Belinda gasped and stiffened. Her red lips parted in an oval. “Oh! You get right to it.”
Fargo squeezed. She moaned and closed her eyes. He fused his mouth to hers and tasted mint on her breath. Her lips parted and he touched his tongue to hers in a wet dance. Belinda forgot her inhibitions and ground her nether mound against his rigid pole.
“Goodness,” she gasped when they broke for breath. “You make my head spin.”
“I’ll do more than that,” Fargo said, cupping her rounded, firm bottom.
“Shouldn’t we go up to my bedroom?” she suggested. “We’d be much more comfortable on my bed.”
“We’ll get there,” Fargo said. Pressing her against the wall, he ran his hands over her breasts and down over her belly to her legs even as he ran his mouth over her throat and her ears.
Belinda uttered another moan.
Fargo caressed from her hip to her knees and up again. He pressed the tips of two fingers to the bottom tip of the dark triangle, and she shuddered.
“Mercy me,” Belinda breathed. “You better get me to bed. My legs are so weak, I don’t know as I can stand.”
Tucking, Fargo scooped her into his arms. He went on kissing her as he carried her down the hall and up the curved flight of stairs. Her bedroom door was wide open. Her bed was a surprise: a four-poster with a rose-colored canopy. She had already folded the quilt at the bottom and drawn a pink blanket back. Two long pillows and two small ones were arranged along the top.
