by Sharpe, Jon
Fargo chuckled.
A slug smashed into Creed’s face a full second before the distant boom of the rifle, the force slamming him off his feet.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
Fargo dived flat and clawed at his Colt. He’d forgotten about Oster’s Sharps. He twisted to yell at the others to do as he had done just as a second shot smashed into the deputy’s chest and flipped him backward. “Get down!”
Marshal Moleen threw himself at Senator Deerforth and Roselyn and bore them to the earth with him, shielding them with his body.
The banker, Benton, gaped at the body of the deputy, his mouth opening and closing.
“Get down, you jackass!” Fargo hollered.
Benton looked up in bewilderment. “Where—?” he said. Instead of dropping flat he bent at the knees and reached down to lower himself. There was a splat and the top of his head blew off in a spectacular shower of skin and bone and what little hair he had. He fell like a dropped rock, his brains oozing from the hole.
“The rest of you stay down,” Fargo said. “He can’t see us in this grass.”
Lead whistled overhead and a horse whinnied stridently. The blast came an instant later.
Fargo spun. The animal that belonged to Benton was staggering, blood pumping from its neck. Uttering another whinny, it keeled onto its side and kicked.
“He’s going to kill the horses!” Moleen shouted.
Again lead scorched the air and the right eye of Creed’s horse erupted in a spray of gore. The horse collapsed as if its legs were made of wax.
Pushing up, Fargo ran for the Ovaro. “We have to get out of here!” He veered to help the lawman pull the senator and the girl to their feet. Keeping hold of Roselyn, he flew to a sorrel and heaved her onto the saddle. “Head north!” he yelled, and smacked the animal on the rump. Whirling, he darted to the Ovaro. As his boot hooked the stirrup, a leaden messenger of death sizzled inches from his ear. Swinging up, he hauled on the reins.
Marshal Moleen was riding hell-bent for leather. Deerforth was slapping his legs and staring back in terror.
The other horses were scattering, including the one that bore Ginny’s blanket-wrapped body.
Fargo dreaded that the next shot would bring the Ovaro down. He lashed the reins, anxious to get out of range. For more than half a mile he flew as if the dogs of hell were nipping at the stallion’s hooves.
Ahead of him, the others seemed to ride into the very earth.
Momentarily, Fargo saw why: a basin covered half an acre. He galloped into it and came to a sliding stop.
“Damn that son of a bitch!” Marshal Moleen fumed. “Picking us off like that.”
“He shot the poor horses too,” Roselyn said. She was pale and wide-eyed.
Deerforth put a hand to his face and wiped at a smear of blood and something about the size of a silver dollar that clung to his cheek. He held it out. “Oh, God. I think this is part of Benton’s head.” He threw it down and wiped his fingers on his jacket.
“What do we do?” Roselyn asked, tears in her eyes. “If we show ourselves, he’ll shoot more of us, won’t he?”
“He sure as hell will,” Fargo said.
47
The rest of the day crawled on claws of tension.
They decided to wait until nightfall. Fargo passed around jerky from his saddlebags and after they ate, Roselyn curled into a ball and fell into a fitful asleep. Moleen went to the basin rim to keep watch.
Senator Deerforth walked in small circles, wringing his hands. He was a man on the brink. Now and then he glanced at Fargo as if he were about to say something but didn’t. Finally he came out with, “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“After we get you and your girl back safe, I’ll go look for your wife’s body.”
“No, it’s not that.” Deerforth hesitated. “I’d like for you to kill Garvin Oster.”
Fargo stared. “I’m not an assassin.”
“I know that. You’re a scout, not a gun hand. You don’t kill people for money. But you’ve killed before, and rumor has it you are good at it.”
“I do what I have to to stay alive.”
“Garvin has destroyed my life. He slept with my wife. He kidnapped my sweet child. Now he’s shot one of my best friends, Stanley Benton. If anyone deserves to die, it’s him.”
Fargo didn’t respond.
“Then there are the good citizens who have voted me into office so many times,” Deerforth said forlornly.
“How the hell do they figure in?”
“Politics are my life. It’s all I’ve lived for. I doubt the voters will have much respect for a man who can’t hold on to his wife.”
Fargo shook his head in disgust.
“What? It’s true. I’ll be voted out in the next election. And then what will I have?”
“Roselyn.”
“Well, yes, that goes without saying. But all the meaning will be gone from my life. I’ll lose the thing I hold most dear.”
“It wasn’t Ginny?” Fargo said.
“Why would it be her? She never did like my running for office. All she did was complain. I was away from home too much. I left her alone too often. Silly things like that.” Deerforth still walked in circles. “She accused me of loving power more than I loved her. I told her that was ridiculous but she said if I truly cared, I would spend more time at home.”
“Did you ever think she might be lonely?”
“She had friends. A social life. She didn’t need me there all the time.”
Fargo stared at a him, a notion taking shape. “Did you go to bed with other women?”
Deerforth stopped pacing. “What kind of question is that?” he demanded.
“A simple one. Were you faithful to your wife?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“You weren’t,” Fargo said.
The senator came closer. He glanced at his daughter and said quietly, “The reputation you have, why should it surprise you? A man has needs. When he’s away from hearth and home he must meet those needs some other way.”
“All of this,” Fargo said.
“All of what?”
“Ginny was right about you.”
“You’re saying I’m to blame for our predicament?”
“It’s not all on her,” Fargo said.
“I say it is.”
Fargo had to get away from him. He climbed the slope and sank down next to Marshall Moleen. “Anything?”
The lawman had taken off his hat. “If Garvin is out there, he’s well hid.”
“It’ll be dark in an hour.”
“If I was Garvin Oster,” Moleen said, “I wouldn’t let us reach town. All he has to do is lie in wait between here and there.”
“We circle to the east.”
“Unless he second-guesses us.” The lawman leaned on an elbow. “Or we can second-guess him. You take the girl and circle east. I’ll take Marion and circle west. One of us is bound to make it.”
“I don’t know.” Fargo didn’t like the notion of splitting up.
“What else can we do?”
“Draw him to us,” Fargo proposed. “Make a fire with enough smoke he’s bound to see it.”
Moleen caught on right away. “And rig our blankets so it looks like we’re under them?”
“Only we’ll be off in the high grass.”
“You’re a tricky bastard,” Moleen said, and smiled. “I like that.” He started to slide down. “Let me talk to the senator.”
Fargo rested his chin on his arm and scoured the prairie for movement. He doubted Garvin would be that careless, but you never knew. After a while he heard someone climbing up to join him and thought it was the marshal. “What did the senator say?”
“That I wanted to talk to you first,” Deerforth answered, and sank beside him. “How confident are you that your plan will work?”
“It might,” Fargo said, “and it might not.”
Deerforth frowned. “My daughter’s
life is at stake, to say nothing of our own. I need more assurance than that.”
“It’s a roll of the dice. If he wants you dead bad enough, he’ll fall for it.”
“Why me?”
“It’s you he must hate the most. I suspect he’ll save you for last.”
“You’re just guessing.”
“It’s a good guess. He’ll probably cut on you like he did Lacey Mayhare.”
Deerforth blanched. “My daughter told me about her. But what makes you say that?”
“Think about it,” Fargo said. “He could have shot any of us back there. He picked Creed and the deputy and Benton. Men he hardly knew.”
“He’s working his way to me?” Deerforth licked his lips. “But why? Out of spite over Ginny? I didn’t shoot her, that foolish woman did.”
“You were Ginny’s husband.”
Deerforth ran a hand over his hair. “I won’t be safe, will I, until he’s dead?”
“No.”
“Even if we make it past him and reach town, my life will always be in danger, won’t it?”
“It will.”
“Then yes, let’s try your idea of luring him in. Let’s end this once and for all.”
“One way or the other,” Fargo said.
48
Stars speckled the night sky, broken here and there by islands of clouds.
Fargo lay a dozen feet from the southeast rim of the basin in waist-high grass. He had been there for hours. It was almost midnight and Garvin Oster hadn’t shown.
From where he lay Fargo couldn’t see Marshal Moleen, who was off a ways, or the senator and Roselyn, who were well hid at the north end of the basin, well out of possible harm.
The fire had long since gone out but before it died it gave off enough light and smoke that if Oster was anywhere near, he was bound to spot it.
So where the hell was he? Fargo wondered. All this trouble they had gone to, and Oster might be too smart for them. He went to shift his legs and froze. Over by the basin something moved. He sought to pierce the dark, to tell if it was an animal. The grass swayed—or did he imagine it?
Fargo pressed the Henry to his shoulder and slowly thumbed back the hammer. The click was so slight that he wasn’t worried Oster would hear. He waited for a glimpse of his target. Then, for a split instant a large bulk appeared at the brink of the basin. It was there and it was gone, too swiftly for him to shoot.
Fargo bit off a choice cussword. Lowering the rifle, he crawled. He used his elbows and his knees and tried to rustle the grass as little as possible. He came to the edge and peered over. The basin was a bowl of ink. All he could see were the black silhouettes of the horses.
The horses. Fear filled him—fear for the Ovaro—and he crabbed down into the ink, moving faster than he should but he wouldn’t ever let anything happen to the stallion if he could help it. He’d ridden it for years now, and it meant more to him than most people.
He was making more noise than he should but it couldn’t be helped. A third of the way in, he saw a form rise to his left. He rolled as the night pealed to man-caused thunder and heard the thwack of the slug striking the ground. Prone on his side, he fired, jacked the lever, fired again. The second shot was a waste. The figure had already sunk from sight.
Fargo fed another cartridge into the chamber while scrambling into a crouch. Had he hit Oster? He wasn’t sure.
Minutes passed, and he stayed where he was. To move might draw lead.
“Fargo!” Marshal Moleen called down from the rim. “Are you all right?”
Fargo didn’t answer. It would tell Oster where he was. The lawman should have known better. Then he realized—now Oster knew where Moleen was. Taking a gamble, he replied, “Watch yourself! He’s down here somewhere.” As he shouted, he dived, and it was well he did. The Sharps shattered the night, and the whistle of heavy lead nearly claimed his life.
Oster was good, damn good.
Fargo lay still. More minutes elapsed. The basin stayed still. He was beginning to think he would be there all night when a commotion broke out at the rim. There were blows and curses and a grunt. Throwing caution aside, he rose and raced for the top. When the commotion abruptly stopped, so did he.
Crouching, he listened.
The silence was deafening.
Fargo didn’t move. He dared not make the same mistake again. His ears pricked at a slight scrape, as of a body dragging along the ground. Someone was crawling toward him.
He centered the Henry on a patch of grass and guessed right—the grass parted. A dark object the size of a melon poked out and he curled his finger around the trigger.
“Fargo?”
Moleen’s voice was strangled with pain. Wary as a cat Fargo went over. The lawman was slumped flat. His hat was missing and his vest was torn. Fargo put a hand on his shoulder.
“Moleen?”
“The son of a bitch stabbed me,” the lawman said into the dirt, his words muffled.
“Here,” Fargo said, and carefully rolled him over. Dark blotches marked the shirt under the sternum. “How bad?” he whispered.
“Bad,” Moleen rasped.
“I can’t tend you until I know where he is.” Fargo scanned the rim.
“He’s gone,” Moleen said. “I think you hit him. He was moving strange when he jumped me and when he crawled off.”
The lawman coughed and dark spots appeared at the corners of his mouth. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“Keep it down,” Fargo said. “He might circle around.”
Moleen groaned. His hand rose feebly to his shirt. “So this is how it will be.”
“Save your breath. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”
“No. He got me good. His knife went in to the hilt. He was going for the heart.” Moleen coughed harder and blood trickled down his chin.
“I can get you some water.”
“Don’t bother.”
They were quiet save for the lawman’s heavy breathing, which grew slower and slower.
“Never been so wrong about anyone as I was about him,” Moleen broke the silence. “I thought he’d given up his old ways.”
“A wolf can be tamed but it’s still a wolf,” Fargo said.
Moleen sucked in a long breath. “Don’t let him get the senator and the girl.”
“I’ll protect them the best I can.” Fargo didn’t add that it might not be good enough.
Moleen raised his face to the heavens. “A pretty night for dying.”
“You’re not dead yet.”
“Yes,” Moleen said. “I am.”
The breathing sounds stopped.
49
Fargo had to say their names several times before Marion Deerforth answered. He led the horses to the spot where they were hidden. “You can stand up.”
The senator rose, Roselyn clinging to him in fear. “We heard shots. I didn’t know if it was safe.”
“We’re lighting a shuck.” Fargo handed over the reins to their mounts.
“What about Marshal Moleen?” Deerforth peered at the basin. “Is he staying to cover our backs?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone where?” Roselyn asked.
“Heaven or hell or nowhere. Take your pick.” Fargo gripped the saddle horn, the saddle creaking under him.
“Hold on,” Senator Deerforth said. “It’s just the three of us now?”
Fargo told them about the lawman’s death. They were shocked, Deerforth more than his daughter.
“I knew Floyd a good many years. He was as honest as they come. Dependable, too.” He went to climb on his animal. “Wait. Did you bury him?”
“We don’t have the time.”
“Damn it, man. We can’t leave him for the vultures and the coyotes.”
“Listen to me,” Fargo said. “Oster is out there somewhere. He might be hurt but that won’t stop him from finishing what he’s started. We have to go, now, and put as many miles as we can behind us before daylight.”
“L
isten to him, Father,” Roselyn said.
Deerforth smiled. “Thank you for calling me that. I was afraid you would regard Garvin as your parent now that the truth has come out.”
“He didn’t raise me. You did.”
Going to her horse, Deerforth held up his hand and Roselyn clasped it. “It means the world to me that you still care for me.”
From across the basin came a thud.
“Get on,” Fargo commanded.
With the senator on his right and Roselyn on his left, they spent the next several hours fleeing south across the starlit plain.
Fargo needed a brainstorm, a way of turning the tables, but he was fresh out of ideas. Oster was too canny to fall for the same ruse twice.
Toward morning he was on the lookout for a place to lie low. Endless flat met his gaze.
“Skye,” Roselyn spoke for the first time since midnight. “I can’t keep my eyes open.”
“Me either,” the senator was quick to say. “I demand you let us rest. It’s inhuman to push us so hard.”
“Would you rather be dead?”
A swath of churned ground gave Fargo hope. A herd of buffalo had passed that way in the past few days, and where there were buffs, there were wallows. Wallows reeked of urine and in the heat of the day swarmed with flies but they were large enough and deep enough to conceal a horse and rider.
An arch of fire had risen to the east when Fargo found what he was looking for—half a dozen wallows. Drawing rein, he announced, “This is as far as we go.”
“Thank God,” Deerforth said.
Roselyn had to be helped off her horse. When Fargo started to usher her into a wallow she stopped and sniffed and scrunched up her face.
“You can’t be serious.”
“We’ll rest and head out at sunset.”
“Spend all day in that?” Roselyn shook her head. “I can’t. It reeks to high heaven.”
“It’s just buffalo piss.”
“Fargo, please,” Senator Deerforth broke in. He hadn’t climbed down yet. “Your language.”
“I absolutely refuse,” Roselyn said.
“You’ll be safe.”
“I’ll be sick.”
