Beartooth Incident

by Jon Sharpe

  “But not your husband.”

  Mary glanced sharply down. “No, not my Frank. And if I live to be hundred, I’ll never understand why God saw fit to take him. The kindest, most decent man I ever knew. Why, Mr. Fargo? Why do bad things happen to good people?”

  “Hell. You’re asking the wrong man. Find yourself a parson. I gave up looking for answers long ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Fargo. A person needs to have faith in this life. Without it, what else is there?”

  Fargo figured she really didn’t expect an answer. He wearily closed his eyes and immediately dozed off. A jolt brought him back to the world of the living. That, and a loud thump.

  “At last!”

  “Nelly, you heat up water. Jayce, bring in extra firewood.”

  Fingers pried at Fargo’s buckskins. The dry blood had caked them to his skin and they wouldn’t come off. There was a tug, and then fingernails peeled at his shirt.

  “I’m afraid I’ll need to cut these off.”

  More reason for Fargo to miss the Ovaro. He had a spare shirt in his saddlebags. “Do what you have to.”

  As she worked, he faded in and out of consciousness. The warm cloth she used to wash the blood off felt wonderful. She used a needle and thread to stitch the bites and claw marks, and that didn’t feel wonderful at all. Each time the tip of the needle pierced his skin, he gritted his teeth.

  “Sorry if I’m hurting you,” Mary said.

  Fargo passed out again. When next he looked around, he was in a bed with blankets pulled to his chin. He did not need to pull them down to know he was naked. He brought an arm out from under and laid it on top.

  The bed and a dresser were the only furniture. A single candle on the dresser cast flickering light.

  A door opened, and in came Mary, carrying a wooden tray. On it were a steaming bowl of soup, a spoon, and a thick slice of buttered bread. She set the tray on the edge of the bed and sat next to him.

  “Oh. You’re awake. Good. It saves me having to wake you to get some food into you.”

  Fargo’s mouth watered. His stomach growled louder than the wolves had. “That sure smells good.”

  Once again Mary Harper felt his forehead. “You’re burning up. I don’t have a thermometer, but I’d guess your temperature to be at least one hundred and three.”

  “I’m more interested in that soup.” Fargo attempted to sit up, but once more his body betrayed him.

  “Let me.” Mary dipped the spoon and brought it to his lips and carefully let the broth trickle into his mouth.

  Fargo had never tasted anything so delicious. He yearned to grab the bowl and down the soup in great gulps, but fortunately he was too weak. And it might make him sick.

  Mary took her time. Whenever any got on his chin, she wiped it with a cloth.

  Warmth spread from Fargo’s belly. It made him drowsy, and the last thing he wanted was to pass out again. To try to stay awake he remarked, “You make the best chicken soup ever.”

  “Thank the chicken. And Nelly. She plucked it.” Mary’s mouth tweaked down. “We have seven left now.”

  “You killed one of your chickens just for me?”

  Before she could answer, Jayce rushed breathless into the bedroom. He had been outside and was bundled in his threadbare coat. “Ma! Ma!”

  “Calm down, son. You’re acting as if it’s the end of the world.”

  “A rider is coming. I was out chopping firewood and saw him.”

  Mary stiffened. “Just one? Do you know who it is?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s one of Cud’s men. That mean killer. The one they call Tull.”

  5

  There wasn’t much space under the bed. Barely enough for Fargo to keep from scraping his nose on the slat when he turned his head. Through the closed bedroom door came muffled voices and the patter of feet on the floorboards. He gathered that Mary and the kids were scurrying about, cleaning and hiding any trace he was there.

  Mary had insisted he get under the bed. “It’s for your own good. I can’t predict what Tull will do if he finds you.”

  “Give me a gun and I’ll take my chances.”

  “All I have is a rifle, and in the shape you’re in, you wouldn’t be much use with it.”

  The hell of it was, she was right.

  Fargo could tell all three were scared. Nelly, especially. The girl had become as pale as a ghost. Suddenly the bedroom door opened and there she was, practically shaking with fear.

  “Ma says to tell you he’s almost here. She says not to make a sound. And whatever you do, don’t come out from under there.”

  Fargo grunted.

  “You might want to scoot back against the wall. If he comes in here, he’ll see you.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I can’t help it. I like you.” Nelly’s thin mouth quirked in a nervous smile, and she closed the door behind her.

  The scooting took some doing. By levering his elbows and wriggling, Fargo was able to slide far enough back that unless Tull got down on his hands and knees, he should be safe. It rankled him, though, this hiding. He had never hidden from trouble in his life.

  The cabin grew quiet. Outside, a horse whinnied, and soon Fargo heard the low, gruff voice of the rider. Spurs jangled, and there was talk, Mary’s and the man’s, mostly, the man’s rising in anger. It was hard to tell what they were saying, though. Then, without warning, the bedroom door was flung wide.

  Scuffed boots with large spurs entered and stopped midway. The boots turned from side to side.

  Mary’s shoes appeared behind them in the doorway. “I can’t say I like you barging in here like this, Mr. Tull. A gentlemen wouldn’t behave as you do.”

  “Who the hell is a gentleman?”

  Fargo disliked the man, sight unseen.

  “As you can see, no one is here. I told you there’s just me and the children. Why didn’t you take my word for it?”

  “I’m not Cud, lady. You don’t mean bear squat to me.”

  “Has anyone ever mentioned how crude you are?”

  “Don’t put on airs.” Tull’s boots moved to the closet, and the closet door opened. “I saw tracks on my way in. Boots tracks. And I found two dead wolves. They hadn’t been dead all that long.”

  “It has nothing to do with us.”

  “So you say. But right where the boot tracks end, sled tracks begin. And the sled tracks come right to your cabin.”

  “The children were out sledding after it snowed. The tracks you saw must be Jayce’s.”

  “His feet ain’t that big.”

  “I’ve seen tracks get bigger when snow starts to melt.”

  Tull gave a snort. “You must think I’m as dumb as a stump. It hasn’t warmed up a lick since the blizzard.”

  Fargo heard clothes rustle.

  “See? No one is in there. Now why don’t I fix you some coffee and you can tell me why you’re here?”

  The boots turned and took a step toward the bed. Fargo tensed, firming his grip on the toothpick. But the boots stopped a few feet away, and Tull didn’t bend down to look under the bed.

  “Cud sent me ahead to make sure you and the brats are all right. He’s still a few days out and couldn’t come fast on account of the cows.”

  “Cows?” Mare repeated.

  “Oh, hell,” Tull declared. “Now he’ll be mad at me. I wasn’t supposed to give it away.”

  “Why would he be bringing cows? I can’t afford to buy them. I have no money. He knows that.”

  “We rustled a herd a month ago and he kept six out just for you. As a present.” Tull swore. “About makes me sick how he carries on about you. Used to be, Cud Sten was the hardest man I knew. Then he met you and went all to hell.”

  “I’ll thank you to watch your language around the children.”

  “I’m not changing how I talk for you or anyone else. And don’t think crying to Cud will help. I’m not scared of him like some of the others are.”

  “H
e’s a very dangerous man.”

  “I’m a dangerous man,” Tull said matter-of-factly. “In case you ain’t heard, I’ve put windows in the skulls of more men than Cud and all the rest put together, including that damn sneaky Rika.”

  “You’re a natural-born killer. I’ll grant you that,” Mary Harper said. “Which is why I want you on your way as soon as possible. I won’t have you around my children any more than can be helped.”

  “You have your gall. Just because you’re female, don’t think you can insult me and get away with it. And who says I’m going anywhere?”

  “What?”

  “Cud wants me to stay until he gets here. To watch over you, as he put it.” Tull’s laugh was ice and spite. “You and me can get better acquainted.”

  “Lay a hand on me and I’ll gut you. So help me, I will.”

  “Damn, you think highly of yourself. But don’t worry, lady. If I can’t pay for it, I don’t bother with it.”

  “What is he talking about, Ma?” Jayce asked.

  “Nothing, boy,” Tull said, and laughed. “You sure got some innocents, don’t you?”

  “Leave them out of this.”

  “Sure, lady. Sure. How about that coffee? I about froze riding here.”

  Fargo took a risk. He moved his head enough to peer out.

  The man called Tull was almost to the doorway. Of middling height and build, he wore a brown hat and cowhide vest. The hair that poked out from under the brown hat was black. On his right hip, in contrast to his rumpled clothes, gleamed the pearl grips of a nickel-plated Colt. He half turned in the doorway, revealing a lean face stamped with cruelty.

  Fargo drew back before he was spotted.

  Tull’s boots moved into the next room. He left the door open.

  Now Fargo could hear what was being said. And from where he lay, he could also see a small part of the main room, including part of a table and a couple of oak chairs.

  Tull took a seat, his back to the bedroom. “Hurry with that coffee, damn it. I need to warm my innards.”

  “Please, Mr. Tull,” Mary said, bringing over a steaming cup with a saucer under it. “I keep asking you.” She walked off.

  Tull took the cup and drained it in a few gulps. “Ahhh. That’s nice. Real nice. Give me another.” He shifted and stared at something Fargo couldn’t see. “What are you two looking at?”

  “Nothing, sir,” Jayce said.

  “Then quit staring.”

  “We don’t get many visitors. Even your kind.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Never mind. I think I know. That’s your ma talking.” Tull poked a thick finger in their direction. “I won’t warn you again. I don’t cotton to being stared at. Never have.”

  Mary came back, carrying the coffeepot. “Since you insist on staying, you can at least be civil.”

  “You’re a trial, lady. If you weren’t Cud’s woman, I’d get more riled than I am.”

  “Where do you intend to sleep while you’re here?”

  Tull stomped the floor with his left boot. “Right here will do. I’ve got my own bedroll, so I won’t put you out any.”

  About to pour, Mary paused. “I won’t have you under the same roof with my children and myself. It’s not proper.”

  Tull laughed. “What you want doesn’t count. It’s what Cud wants. And what Cud wants is for me to keep an eye on you until he gets here, proper or not proper.”

  “Where am I going to go in the dead of winter with no horse and two children to look after?”

  “It’s not that. It’s the Injuns. We struck redskin sign, and he’s worried they might pay you a visit.”

  “They haven’t bothered us since my husband gave them one of our cows. Why would they harm us now?”

  Tull shrugged, then waggled his empty cup. “Don’t ask me. I wouldn’t care if they helped themselves to that pretty hair of yours. I just do what Cud tells me. And since he said I stay, I stay. Now give me some more coffee, damn it.” Nelly moved between Fargo and the table. She was watching her mother and the outlaw and didn’t realize she was blocking Fargo’s view. He moved so he could see past her.

  “What if I were to insist that you leave?” Mary was saying. “I’ll tell Cud it was my doing so he won’t be mad at you.”

  “Don’t your ears work? I don’t do what you say. I do what Cud says. I’m here and I am staying. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll stop annoying me.”

  Mary carried the pot out of Fargo’s sight. When she came back, she was holding a large towel over both of her hands. “What if I ask you to leave as a personal favor to me?”

  “God Almighty,” Tull declared in disgust. “You’d make a great dog. You worry every bone.”

  “ I’m a woman without a husband, and it wouldn’t do for me to have the likes of you staying under my roof. In a town it would create a scandal.”

  “But we’re not in a town,” Tull said in rising exasperation. He cocked his head and gave her an intent scrutiny. “What are you up to?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’ve been acting peculiar since I rode up. Now you practically want to throw me back out.” Tull scratched the stubble on his chin. “It makes me think you’re up to something.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Tull ignored her. “I keep thinking of those boot tracks. And the sled sign. Where is he, woman?”

  “Where is who? You’ve already searched the whole cabin and didn’t find anyone.”

  “I think I’ll search again.” Tull rose and hooked a thumb in his belt near the pearl-handled Colt. “Only this time I’ll search in every little nook and cranny.”

  Fargo drew back. He was in no shape to go up against a man like Tull. If he had his Colt, it would be different. It didn’t take a lot of strength to thumb back a hammer or squeeze a trigger.

  “I resent this,” Mary said indignantly.

  “Do I look like I give a damn? How about if I start with the fireplace.”

  “Ma?” Nelly said.

  “Hush.”

  Tull’s boots moved out of sight and Fargo heard a metallic clang. A fireplace poker, he guessed. There were other sounds, thuds and scrapes, and then Tull exclaimed, “Well, what do we have here? Looks to me to be a bloody towel you tried to bury under these ashes.”

  “That old thing?” Mary said, stepping into view. “I stuck it in there days ago. I cut my finger peeling potatoes.”

  “There’s an awful lot of blood. Are you sure you didn’t cut off your whole hand?”

  “You’re not funny.”

  “I think I am. And lookee here. You say you cut yourself days ago? But when I picked up this towel, I got some of the blood on me.” Tull chuckled. “Here, girl. Catch.”

  “Don’t do that!” Nelly cried, and dashed to her mother, who took her into her arms.

  “That was uncalled for, Mr. Tull. I won’t have you scaring my children,” Mary said.

  “Hell. Can’t any of you take a joke?”

  Footsteps and jingling spurs came toward the bedroom. Tull stopped just inside and Fargo imagined him looking around.

  “You checked in there,” Mary said.

  “Did I?” Tull moved to the closet, opened it again, and squatted. He picked up a pair of shoes with holes in them. “Don’t you ever get tired of being so god-awful poor?”

  “We get by.”

  “You should stop saying no to Cud. He’d see that you got dresses and shoes and whatever else females cotton to.”

  “I can’t be had for money or clothes. Or anything else.”

  “Oh? How did your husband hook you, then?”

  “With love.”

  Tull uttered a short bark. “Love? It’s nothing but a fancy word that those like you use so you won’t feel guilty about letting a man undo your petticoats.”

  “I was wrong about you, Mr. Tull. You’re not just crude. You’re despicable.”

  “Another fancy word. All it means is that you think you’re too good for
the likes of me.”

  Fargo saw Tull’s boots swivel toward the bed.

  “Are you done in here?”

  “Not yet. There’s one place I forgot to look the first time. Probably because I figured no one would be stupid enough to hide there.”

  The scuffed boots approached, but not too close. A gun hammer clicked, and the man called Tull said, “How about if I shoot this bed a few times and we see if anything pops out?”

  6

  The bed wouldn’t stop the slugs. They would pass all the way through, and into Fargo. He was debating whether to crawl out meekly when Mary Harper intervened.

  “Please don’t. He’s under there but is badly hurt. He can hardly move.”

  “The truth at last.” Tull took a few steps back. “You got a weapon under there with you, mister?”

  “No,” Fargo answered. He placed the toothpick against the wall, where it was darkest.

  “Do you expect me to believe that? Let me see both your hands, and they damn well better be empty.”

  Fargo complied.

  “That’s good. Now crawl on out of there, nice and slow.”

  “I couldn’t do it any other way.” Fargo gripped the edge of the bed and pulled, but he was so weak he hardly moved. He tried again with no better success.

  “I don’t have all day.”

  Mary said, “I told you. He’s hurt. You saw the dead wolves. You saw all the blood. We brought him here and put him to bed, and I was just starting to feed him when you came.”

  “Then you and the brats help him out. Any tricks, and I shoot your girl and boy.”

  “We’ll do whatever you say,” Mary assured him. “Just go easy on that trigger.”

  Hands reached under and gently dragged Fargo out. He did his best to help. Tull stayed well back, his pearl-handled Colt steady in his head.

  “What’s your handle, mister?”

  Fargo told him.

  “Looks as if those wolves about ripped you to pieces. Get up in that bed while I ponder what to do with you.”

  Mary and the children helped. Without them, Fargo couldn’t have made it. He sank wearily onto his back and clenched his fists in frustration. He had never felt so damn helpless.

  “Move away from him,” Tull commanded the Harpers. He came over, the Colt’s muzzle fixed on Fargo’s head. He looked Fargo up and down, then held out his other hand, palm open. “Push on this.”