The Trailsman 317

by Jon Sharpe

  “Like hell I will.”

  “We are wasting time,” Fargo said. He had made up his mind and he would not give in.

  It sank in. Crestfallen, Mabel bowed her head. “All right. If you insist. Help me, will you?”

  Fargo looped the reins around the saddle horn and offered her his free arm.

  She gripped it above the elbow and he started to swing her down when she suddenly wrenched his arm to one side while simultaneously shoving him with all her might. Caught off guard, he felt his right boot slip from the stirrup, and the next instant he was unhorsed. He grabbed at the cantle, but missed. Landing on his back, the parfleche under him, he immediately pushed to his feet and lunged at her but the horse was already in motion. He caught Mabel’s ankle, only to have her kick free. Her laughter tinkled on the wind as she waved, and then she was around a bend.

  Fargo boiled with anger. He had been careless, and now she might pay for his carelessness with her life. “Mabel!” he shouted. “Come back here!” His answer was the fading clatter of hooves.

  “Damn,” Fargo fumed. He set off on foot, walking rapidly. It would take him half the day to reach the Landing. By then—he did not like to think what could happen by then. Mabel was alone and unarmed. What did she hope to do? Kill Skagg herself? Skagg would break her like a twig, or worse. “Damn, damn, damn.”

  The morning crawled by. Worry gnawed at him like a beaver on a tree. He hoped against hope that she would come to her senses and stop and wait for him. Once he opened the parfleche and took out a piece of deer meat but he put it right back. He had lost his appetite.

  The sun reached its apex and Fargo still had a ways to go. He was trudging along, mentally cursing females in general and his blunder in particular, when he remembered the mare and Binder’s horse. They should be close by. Eagerly, he plunged through the undergrowth and came to where he had tied them.

  Binder’s mount had pulled loose and run off, but the mare was still there. Elated, Fargo patted her, tied the parfleche on, and forked leather. The mare could use water and graze but it would have to wait.

  Mabel came first.

  At a gallop, Fargo headed for Skagg’s Landing. When he came within earshot, he slowed to a walk and finally drew rein when the buildings were in sight.

  Sliding down, he cat-footed forward, taking advantage of the cover. Forty yards out he stopped to size up the situation.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Horses were tied at the hitch rail in front of the trading post, but otherwise there was no sign of life. The cabins were silent, the lean-tos deserted. And the canoes that had been tied at the landing were missing.

  Fargo edged toward the nearest cabin. He put his ear to the door, heard nothing, and opened it. The cabin was empty. The same with the second cabin. He was almost to the next when low voices reached him. He ducked around the corner, tensed to fight or flee, but no shouts rang out, no shots boomed. Sidling to the window, he listened at the burlap. Women were talking in hushed tones. One of them sobbed and was comforted by another.

  Fargo took a gamble. The latch rasped as he worked it. Then he was inside with his back to the door and a finger to his lips. “Don’t yell for Skagg,” he warned.

  The women were seated around a table. All wore long expressions, and two were weeping. They did not act the least bit surprised to see him.

  A brunette with wispy hair stood and came over, wringing her hands. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We wouldn’t give you away. But the men aren’t here.”

  “The canoes?”

  “They went upriver,” she confirmed. “Morning Dove is taking them to the coal.”

  “Why would she do a thing like that? Did Skagg torture her?”

  “Not her.” The woman hesitated. Her lip quivered and a tear formed in the corner of her eye. “It was your friend, Mabel. He made us watch. It was hideous.”

  Fargo gripped her by the shoulders. “Is Mabel still alive? Where is she now?”

  “The trading post,” the woman said, and when he went to go, she caught at his wrist. “Brace yourself.”

  Fargo shivered as he ran out into the warm sun.

  19

  Fargo was almost to the trading post when he saw that one of the horses tied to the hitch rail was the Ovaro. His Henry was in the saddle scabbard. Elated, he shucked it and levered a round into the chamber.

  The door creaked when he opened it. Although the women had told him the men were gone, Fargo was taking no chances. He went in low and fast with the Henry wedged to his shoulder. The horrific sight that greeted him brought him up short.

  Mabel had been stripped naked and nailed to the floor. Long spikes had been driven through her wrists and ankles, and pools of blood had formed under each limb. Her legs and arms were discolored and swollen. As if that were not enough, Skagg had beaten her with a heavy broom handle. The blood-spattered instrument of his savagery lay next to her. Her face was battered and raw, her lips pulped, her nose a ruin. Bits and pieces of broken teeth were stuck to her chin.

  His throat constricting, Fargo went over and sank to one knee. Her eyes were closed, and for a few seconds he thought she was dead. Then she gave a tiny gasp. Eyes glazed with pain blinked open, and fixed on him. Weakly, she licked her lips. “Skye? Is that you?”

  “Oh Mabel,” Fargo said.

  “I hurt. I hurt so much.”

  “Why didn’t you listen?” Fargo softly asked. He bent over her right wrist. The spike was embedded so deep, there was no way to remove it short of digging it out with a knife. He lightly touched her wrist and she cried out and shook from head to toe.

  “No! Don’t! It is more than I can bear!”

  Fargo’s mouth had gone dry. “I am sorry,” he said.

  “My fault,” Mabel croaked. “I was headstrong.” She sobbed in despair. “I never expected this.”

  A hand fell on Fargo’s shoulder. Startled, he spun, then saw it was the woman with the wispy hair.

  Tears streaked her cheeks. “When the men left, we came to help her but we didn’t know what to do. We couldn’t get the spikes out without hurting her worse.”

  “I told the women to leave,” Mabel said. “I don’t want people staring at me. I would rather die in peace.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Fargo said. “I will find a way to free you, and we will put you to bed and doctor you.”

  Mabel closed her eyes. Her voice was barely audible as she said, “No you won’t. I am busted up inside. I am not long for this world. It is a wonder I have lasted as long as I have.” As if to prove her right, blood suddenly trickled from her nose and her mouth. She coughed, and groaned.

  Fargo turned to the woman. “You saw the whole thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I was in my cabin when I heard a lot of yelling. I came out and saw Keller prodding her at gunpoint. He had caught her sneaking toward the trading post.” The woman paused. “You should have seen Skagg’s face when set eyes on her. He took her by the hair, and shook her, then had his men round the rest of us up. Skagg wanted us to see what happens to those who defy him. His exact words.”

  “Keep going,” Fargo said when she fell silent.

  “I wanted to help her. I truly did. So did some of the others. But as God is my witness, there was nothing we could do. We would have been shot dead, or Skagg would have done to us as he did to her.”

  “He nailed her to the floor himself?”

  The woman nodded, and swallowed, tears flowing freely. “She tried to fight him but he was too big, too powerful. He sat on her and pinned her arms and nailed her wrists, then sat on her legs and nailed her ankles. The whole time she was screaming. Such awful, terrible screams. I will hear them in my sleep until the day I die.”

  “But that wasn’t enough for Skagg, was it?” Fargo said, barely recognizing his own voice. “He had to beat her, too.”

  “He did that after she bit him. He was pinching her cheek and making fun of her, and she bit h
is thumb.”

  “What else?” Fargo said when she stopped.

  “You don’t want to hear.”

  “What else, damn it?”

  She would not look him in the face. “Skagg kept baiting her about you. ‘Where is the great Skye Fargo?’ he would ask. ‘Why isn’t Fargo here to protect you? Does he let women fight his battles now?’ Those sort of things.”

  A great rage seized Fargo, a rage such as he had rarely known. “He made Morning Dove watch?”

  She bobbed her chin. “She pleaded with Skagg to let Mabel be. She begged him not to hurt her anymore, but it went on and on. Finally Skagg drew his knife and said he would gut Mabel like a fish if Morning Dove did not take him to the coal deposit. Morning Dove agreed.”

  Fargo ground his teeth together.

  Mabel’s breathing had become labored. She opened her eyes and looked about her. “Skye?”

  “I am still here.”

  “I can’t see you.” Mabel had a coughing fit. “I want to thank you for all you did.”

  “You shouldn’t talk,” Fargo said huskily.

  Mabel had to try twice to speak. “Do something for me, will you?”

  “Anything.”

  “Don’t let him get away with this. Not me and my brother, both. Kill him for me, will you? Please?”

  “Malachi Skagg is as good as dead.”

  “Thank you.” Mabel Landry smiled a blood-flecked travesty of a smile, and died.

  “Oh, that poor girl,” the woman said.

  Fargo slowly stood. “Would you and the other women see to the burial? I will be busy.”

  “We sure will.”

  His entire body burning as if he were in the grip of a fever, Fargo made for the door, then stopped. “I almost forgot. I need a revolver. Do you happen to know where Skagg might keep a spare?”

  The woman brightened slightly. “I can do better than that.” She hurried down the hall.

  Fargo stared at Mabel, and grew hotter. He never took a life unless he had no choice. But this—this outrage demanded justice. He would see Skagg in hell before the day was done.

  “Will this do?” The woman was hurrying toward him. “I saw Keller put it in the back when they brought you in.”

  It was his own gun belt, the Colt in the holster. Fargo expressed his gratitude with his eyes, then hastily strapped the belt on. “When I am done, I will be back. Any of you who wants to go with me to Denver is welcome to.”

  “There isn’t one of us who would stay,” the woman said.

  With the Henry in the crook of his elbow, Fargo dashed out, untied the Ovaro from the hitch rail, and was in the saddle heading upriver before she emerged from the trading post. He looked back and she waved but he did not return the gesture. His mind was filled with one thought and one thought only.

  He did not know why Skagg took the canoes instead of traveling by horseback. Perhaps because the canoes did not need rest, and did not get hungry and thirsty. Or maybe it was because the deposit was near the river, and the canoes were more convenient. Whatever the case, Fargo hugged the waterway. He pushed the pinto but slowed often to restore its wind. He did not stop. Common sense said he should, but the one thought in his head would not let him. It was a thought and yet more than a thought: a compulsion, an urge, an inner drive.

  The terrain seemed to go by in a blur. Part of the time he was aware of the river and the forest and the sky. The rest of the time he was so deep inside himself, the outside world did not exist.

  Fargo hoped to catch up before nightfall but they did not have as many obstacles to contend with. The heavy timber, downed trees, boulders, and impassable tangles that were the bane of every rider, slowed him considerably.

  Nightfall found him high up in the Sawatch Range. He did not want to halt but he had to. He was tired and famished. The pinto was exhausted. He went without a fire and munched on some of his pemmican. He ate only a few pieces. It was all he could stomach.

  He spread out his bedroll but he would as soon have slept on the ground. His Colt in his hand, his rifle beside him, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but in his mind he saw the horror, he relived finding her, and when he could not stand it any more, he sat up, caked in a cold sweat.

  Fargo wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and sat hunched over. He had not felt like this in so long, he had almost forgotten what it was like; a great black hole yawned at the pit of his being, and the only way to close it was to do what someone should have done a long time ago.

  It puzzled him. He had seen a lot of dead people in his wanderings. People who died violently. People who had been tortured. He had seen far worse than Mabel, yet they did not affect him like she did. It was not that he loved her. He had liked her, yes, but that was the extent of it. So why, he asked himself, did her death bother him so much more than all those others?

  He recollected the time he talked to an old-timer about the beaver trade. The trapper went on and on about how he missed those days. He mentioned how he trapped stream after stream, raising hundreds of plews, and earned a considerable amount of money that he invariably spent at the annual rendezvous. “It pricked my conscience a mite,” the old trapper had said. “Killin’ all them critters that never done anything any harm. I must have skinned a thousand when one day I caught me a young ’un. The trap had busted his leg so I had to put him out of his misery. Then the strangest thing happened.”

  Fargo had waited for the old man to go on.

  “I started bawlin’. I was cuttin’ on the hide when tears came pourin’ out of me like water from a pump. I cried and cried, and for the life of me, to this day I don’t know why. Ain’t that peculiar?”

  Fargo had agreed it was. Now he understood. He huddled there in the dark, dozing in snatches, until at last his worn-out body could not take any more. It must have been two in the morning when he fell asleep sitting up. The next thing he knew, he blinked, and dawn was breaking.

  Stiff and sore and hungry, he saddled the Ovaro and stepped into the stirrups. His stomach imitated a bear but he ignored it. The gurgle of the river made him think of how dry his throat was, but he ignored that, too. Thinking only of Malachi Skagg, on he rode.

  Peaks rose to pierce the clouds. Canyons and gorges slashed the slopes. Spruce and aspens alternated with legions of firs in orderly phalanx. It was rugged, untamed, unexplored country, the kind Fargo loved best, that kind that always stirred him deep down, but it did not stir him now. He barely noticed the natural splendor, the bounty of wildlife.

  The river twisted and turned, a blue snake amid the green and brown. He often cut overland to shave time. Every minute shaved brought him that much closer to his quarry.

  Fargo had not given much thought to exactly what he would do when he caught up. But he should. Skagg must have a half dozen men with him. Those kind of odds were not to be taken lightly. Marching up to them and blasting away would likely as not result in his own death, and he would like to avoid that, if he could. He turned over various notions and finally decided to take what came as it came and do whatever needed doing to get the deed done.

  Morning Dove complicated things. Ideally, he would like to pick them off one by one until only Skagg was left, then kill the big man himself. But Skagg was clever enough and vicious enough to use her as a shield and demand he show himself, or Skagg would kill her. The first thing, then, might be to get Morning Dove away from them.

  A sharp bend in the river appeared. He cut through the forest and came out of the trees at a point forty yards past it. He happened to glance at the bend as he went to rein upriver and was taken aback to spy two men and a canoe. The canoe had been drawn out of the water onto a bank. Both men were on their knees with their rifles in hands, their backs to him, staring intently at the sweep of river below. They were unaware he was there.

  Quickly, before they spotted him, Fargo reined into the trees. Dismounting, he yanked the Henry from the saddle scabbard and crept to a vantage point where he could watch without being seen.
r />   Obviously, they were waiting for him. Skagg expected him to come after them and had left the pair to ambush him. If he had ridden around that bend instead of cutting through the timber, they would have picked him off.

  A grim smile curled Fargo’s mouth. Here was a chance to reduce the odds. He could ride on. He could leave them there and chase after Skagg and they would never know. But they were killers in their own right. Skagg only took on men stamped in his own savage mold. Besides, the woman had said that Skagg had called everyone into the trading post and made them watch as he tortured Mabel. These two had witnessed her suffering and done nothing.

  Fargo stalked them. From tree to tree, from boulder to boulder, he glided with the prowess of a mountain lion. He was in no hurry. They were not going anywhere.

  He needed to do this right, without shooting if it could be helped. The sound of shots carried for miles, and Skagg might be near enough to hear.

  One of the men was Hemp. Fargo did not know the other’s name. He was within fifteen feet of them when the other one swore.

  “This is a waste of our time. We have been waiting since yesterday and there has been no sign of him.”

  Hemp looked at him in disgust. “Quit your bellyaching. Skagg says we are to wait until either Fargo shows or Skagg comes back down the river, and that is exactly what we will do.”

  Fargo silently rose into a crouch. The last ten feet were open. He must rush them before they realized he was there. But he had taken only a couple of swift steps when, as fickle fate would have it, the other man glanced over his shoulder and saw him.

  20

  Fargo did not stop. The man had his rifle pointing at the ground, and Fargo counted on reaching them before the man could level it and fire. In that he was successful. He slammed the Henry’s stock against the man’s head and the ambusher folded, but not before crying a warning to his companion.

  Hemp whirled and started to rise. His own rifle had been across his legs, and now he sought to point it and shoot. A swat of the Henry knocked the rifle from Hemp’s hands. Instantly, Fargo drew the Henry back to give Hemp the same treatment as the other one, but Hemp was quick of wit and quick of reflex, and sprang before he could strike.