Texas Swamp Fever (9781101611890)

by Sharpe, Jon

  “How about I don’t,” Fargo said, and sipped and set down his glass. It would take them a minute to work up to it.

  Bodean looked at Judson. “Not very neighborly of him, is it?”

  “Sure ain’t,” Judson said.

  “I don’t like you, mister,” Bodean said, and poked Fargo in the ribs. “Not even a little bit. Give us an excuse and we’ll pound you into the dirt.”

  “You need an excuse?” Fargo said, and punched him in the face.

  4

  Caught unprepared, Bodean rocked onto his heels. He tottered and grabbed at the bar to keep from falling.

  Fargo started to turn but Judson was quicker than he looked, and brawny arms wrapped around him from behind, pinning his own.

  “I got him!”

  Bodean recovered his balance. He touched his hand to blood trickling from his bottom lip, and swore. “Hold him, Jud. I’m about to hurt him real bad.” He balled his fists and took a step but stopped and glared at Cleon. “Why are you just standin’ there? Help us pound on him.”

  Cleon shook his head. “I don’t want no part of this.”

  “Why in hell not? He just hit me.”

  “You were proddin’,” Cleon said.

  Bodean shook a fist. “When I’m done with him, I’m goin’ to whale the tar out of you.”

  “Damn it, Bodean,” Cleon said. “You’re always causin’ trouble.”

  Their spat gave Fargo time to set himself. Now, with a powerful surge, he slammed his head back even as he exerted all his strength against the arms pinning him.

  Judson grunted, and wet drops spattered the nape of Fargo’s neck. Then he was free, and moved away from the bar.

  Judson had a hand to his nose, which poured scarlet.

  “We go at him together,” Bodean said. “Two on one, we’ll wear him down.”

  Judson bobbed his chin.

  Fargo didn’t feel particularly threatened. The pair were bumpkins. All bluster and no brains. He doubted that they had been in half as many fights as he had, and skill trumped stupid every time. “You get this one chance to turn and go.”

  “Scared, are you?” Bodean smirked. “You’ve stepped in it and now your yellow streak is showin’.”

  “I just don’t want to scuff my knuckles on your teeth.”

  “Listen to him,” Judson growled. “Let’s do this!”

  They came in sure but slow, their arms cocked, leading with their left legs and their left fists.

  Inwardly, Fargo smiled. They had no idea what they were in for.

  Bodean launched a right cross that Fargo blocked and then drove a right of his own that split Bodean’s cheek. Judson sought to take advantage by flicking a jab at Fargo’s unprotected side but Fargo lowered his elbow to absorb the brunt and swung a looping right that caught Judson on the side of the jaw and made his knees wobble.

  Bodean lunged, trying to grab Fargo’s arm, and Fargo clipped him on the ear.

  Both swamp rats backed off, Judson shaking his head to clear it.

  “Boys!” Cotton hollered. “That’s enough. I don’t want my place busted up.”

  “Butt out or we’ll bust you,” Bodean warned.

  “You should listen to Cotton,” Cleon coaxed. “No one has been hurt yet.”

  “I think my nose is broke,” Judson said.

  “And what do you call this?” Bodean said, jabbing a finger at his split cheek.

  “We’re not quittin’,” Judson declared. “No one busts my nose unless I bust his back.”

  “Damn it all,” Cleon said.

  Fargo didn’t say a thing. He waited, fists up.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  “We don’t stop until he’s down,” Bodean said, and waded in, swinging wildly.

  Fargo ducked, backpedaled, sidestepped.

  Judson hung back, apparently waiting for an opening.

  With a fierce yell, Bodean drove an uppercut at Fargo’s chin. Fargo countered with a forearm and delivered an uppercut of his own. He thought he heard teeth crunch. A fist slammed his body, and he winced. Judson was on him, arms pumping. He warded off more blows but his collarbone and then his side spiked with pain. He rammed a straight-arm that sent Judson staggering.

  “Damn you,” Bodean raged, spitting out bits of broken tooth.

  “Our fists ain’t workin’,” Judson said. “It should be knives.”

  “Not in here!” Cotton shouted. “I won’t have no killin’.”

  Judson reached for the knife on his hip but Cleon came out of nowhere and seized his wrist.

  “No, consarn you. So far it’s been harmless but a blade means buryin’.”

  “Harmless, hell,” Bodean said, and spat more bloody bits. He dropped his hand to the hilt of his own knife.

  Fargo decided to end it. A fistfight was one thing. A knife fight, one or more of them would need burying. Just like that, he had the Colt out and level. At the click of the hammer, Bodean and Judson froze.

  “God Almighty,” Cotton exclaimed. “Did you see him draw?”

  Bodean jerked his hand off his knife. “Hold on there, mister. We don’t have guns. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Two on one is fair?” Fargo said.

  “I’ll cut you anyway,” Judson growled, still striving to wrest free of Cleon.

  “Let it be, boys,” Cotton urged. “He licked you, and you should own up to it.”

  “Licked us, hell,” Judson said.

  Bodean rimmed his bloody lips with the tip of his tongue. “I reckon this has gone far enough, at that.”

  “What?” Judson said.

  Holding both hands up, palms out, Bodean said, “I’m willin’ to call a truce if you are, mister.”

  “This better be an end to it,” Fargo told him.

  “You don’t know swamp folk if you think that,” Judson said. With a sweep of his other arm, he cuffed Cleon, who fell back. Judson lunged, and suddenly found himself looking down the barrel of Fargo’s Colt.

  “Blink and I splatter your brains.”

  “Damn it, Judson,” Bodean said. “Quit actin’ the fool or you’ll be dead.”

  Judson hissed like a kicked snake.

  “Listen, mister,” Bodean said, slowly sidling toward his friend. “How about if the two of us light a shuck? I give you my word he won’t lift a finger against you.”

  Judson opened his mouth as if to disagree and Bodean grabbed his arm.

  “Enough, goddamn you.” Bodean pulled Judson toward the batwings. “He could kill you as easy as anything, you dumb son of a bitch.”

  Judson glowered at Fargo.

  “See? We’re leavin’,” Bodean said. “No need for gunplay, is there?” At the batwings he shoved Judson ahead of him, and paused. “You and those others, mister. You shouldn’t ought to have come. The swamp will bury you like it does all you outsiders.” His mouth curled in a bloody grin. “And good riddance, I say.”

  The batwings swung shut and they were gone.

  “They never did learn to leave well enough alone,” Cleon said.

  Fargo swung the Colt in his direction. “Where do you stand in this?”

  “Hey now,” Cleon said, backing up. “You saw me try to stop them. They’re my friends, but I’ll be damned if I’ll spill blood for them or have my own spilled because they’re too pigheaded for their own good.”

  “Cleon isn’t like them,” Cotton said. “He’s got more sense than they do.”

  Fargo twirled the Colt into his holster but kept his hand on it. “Are they backshooters?”

  “No,” Cleon replied, much too quickly.

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “They won’t shoot you. But I wouldn’t put it past them to find some other way
to get back at you. Steal your horse, maybe. Or put a hole in one of your boats. That sort of thing.”

  The mere thought of anyone stealing the Ovaro was enough to set Fargo’s blood to boiling. “You better talk to your friends,” he advised. “The next time I won’t go so easy on them.”

  “I’m real sorry about this, mister,” Cleon said, and he hurried on out.

  “Well, now,” Cotton said. “Wasn’t that excitin’?”

  “It helped pass the time.” Fargo refilled his glass and stood so he could see the entrance and the front window. Outside, night had settled. “Didn’t you say something about a dove?”

  “Her name is Sadie,” Cotton said. “She’ll be here when she feels like it.”

  Fargo went on drinking. He was in no hurry to return to camp and have to put up with Major Davenport. The major was a seasoned soldier and highly competent but he was too damn bossy.

  The batwings creaked and Fargo looked up, thinking it might be the woman called Sadie. Instead, Sergeant Morgan stood framed in the doorway. Morgan spied him and came over.

  “Care for a drink?” Fargo offered, sliding the bottle toward him.

  “I’m not here for that,” Morgan informed him. “Have you seen Miss Purdy?”

  “She isn’t with the major?”

  Morgan shook his head. “She disappeared on us about half an hour ago. Davenport has everyone out searching.”

  “Did she take her horse?”

  “No. She mentioned earlier that she’d like to go for a walk.”

  “All by her lonesome?”

  “She has a mind of her own, that one.”

  A body, too, Fargo thought. But he understood the major’s concern. The woods weren’t as dangerous as the swamp but they were no place for Purdy to be. There were bears. Snakes. Gators sometimes came out on land.

  “Care to lend a hand?” Sergeant Morgan asked.

  “I’ll look around the Landing,” Fargo said.

  “Good. Then I’ll go back and help the ma—” Morgan frowned. “Help Davenport.” His civilian clothes couldn’t hide his military bearing as he departed.

  Fargo paid and took the bottle with him. He was halfway to the batwings when they parted yet again and in came a woman.

  “Sadie!” Cotton greeted her. “Want me to set up the usual?”

  “I sure do, sugar,” the woman cheerfully replied, and saw Fargo. “Hello? What have we here?”

  Fargo didn’t know what he was expecting. A dove with a lot of miles on her, maybe. Or a swamp woman with no more appeal than a she-goat.

  The female in front of him wasn’t more than twenty. Her eyes were as blue as his, her dress new, her body an hourglass with thighs that went on forever. She flashed nice white teeth, placed her hands on her hips, and wriggled them invitingly. “See anything you like, big man?”

  “Oh, hell,” Fargo said.

  5

  Sadie sashayed up, crooked her finger, and hooked his chin. “You’re awful easy on the eyes, handsome.”

  So much of her cleavage was visible, Fargo felt a twitch below his belt. “So are you,” he said more huskily than he intended.

  Sadie leaned closer. Her perfume was intoxicating. “I have a room,” she whispered. “How about you and me pay it a visit?”

  Fargo thought of Clementine Purdy. His lust fought with doing the right thing. Unfortunately, doing the right thing won. “Can I take you up on that in an hour or so?”

  “You have somewhere you need to be?”

  “I do,” Fargo said. “Damn it.”

  Sadie laughed. “I won’t let it hurt my feelin’s, then. I can see in your eyes that you’re interested.”

  Fargo stared at the junction of her legs. “You have no idea.”

  “An hour,” Sadie said, stepping aside. “But not much longer, hear? I might get another offer and a workin’ gal has to earn a livin’.”

  Fargo touched her cheek and went out before he changed his mind. He stopped to breathe deep of the muggy night air.

  Suttree’s Landing was dark save for lit windows here and there. The businesses were all closed, other than the liquor mill. A few people were out and about, men mostly. As was common with country folk, most were early to bed and early to rise.

  Fargo prowled in search of Clementine Purdy. It wasn’t far to the Landing so she might have done as he did. He went along the main street and up and down its short offshoots. He started at the swamp end and was almost to the end nearest the wood when he heard voices. A woman said something in anger, and a man laughed.

  Fargo went around the next corner.

  There Clementine was, awash in the faint glow from a cabin window, her back stiff, her arms folded, a portrait of indignation. She was tapping her foot and glaring at three men.

  They had their backs to Fargo but he knew who they were.

  “All we did was ask you to have a drink with us,” Judson said.

  “That ain’t askin’ too much,” Bodean said. “And you owe us, after what your friend did.”

  “I don’t know what you gentlemen are talking about,” Clementine said. “And for the last time, I’ll thank you to get out of my way and let me go about my business.”

  “What business would that be?” Judson asked.

  Cleon had hung back and now said, “We shouldn’t be doin’ this. Those men she’s with won’t like it. That Fargo won’t like it, and you’ve already tangled with him once.”

  “You’re a damned nuisance,” Bodean growled at him. “Why don’t you go home and leave this to us.”

  Clementine said, “I’m warning you for the last time. Get out of my way.”

  “Why don’t you try and make us?” Bodean taunted.

  By then Fargo had come up unnoticed behind them. Hooking his thumb in his gun belt, he said casually, “How about if I try?”

  Bodean and Judson spun, their hands sweeping to their knives. They both glanced at Fargo’s Colt, and stopped cold.

  Bodean’s face was a mask of hate.

  “Mr. Fargo,” Clementine said. “These men were accosting me.”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” Judson said.

  “All we did was talk to her,” Bodean said. “We didn’t lay a finger on the bitch.”

  “Yet,” Fargo said, and motioned. “Run along or have your wicks snuffed. Your choice.”

  “Is that a threat?” Bodean said.

  “Hell no,” Fargo said, and smiled. “It’s a promise.”

  Reluctantly, the pair backed away, Bodean saying, “We won’t forget you for this or the other.”

  “Count on it,” Judson said.

  “You see me trembling?” Fargo said.

  A sly look came over Bodean. “We know these parts,” he said. “You don’t.”

  “I know hot air when I hear it.”

  Wheeling, they melted into the night.

  Fargo turned to Cleon.

  “I told them to leave her be.”

  “That he did,” Clementine confirmed.

  “You need new friends,” Fargo said.

  Cleon started to follow them, and stopped. “We grew up together. They’re not always so mean to me as they were just now.”

  “They’ll get you killed one day.”

  “Maybe so, but I can’t turn my back on them.”

  Cleon doffed his hat to the lady from the Office of Indian Affairs. “Sorry about how they behaved, ma’am. They ain’t much for manners.”

  “They’re despicable,” Clementine said archly.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Cleon jammed his hat on, turned on a heel, and hastened away.

  “I never,” Clementine said after him. “Don’t these bumpkins have any decency?”

  “What are you doing here?
The major has everyone out looking for you.”

  “Does he indeed?” Clementine said. “I can’t go for a walk without you men thinking I need to be rescued? I’m not helpless.”

  “How about I take you back?”

  “I don’t need an escort. But I wouldn’t mind the company.”

  Fargo fell into step, shortening his stride to match hers. “It’s not entirely safe around here at night.”

  “Oh, please. I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.”

  “Not out here you can’t.”

  “I won’t be mollycoddled,” Clementine said. “Just because I’m female, you men treat me as if I’m a helpless infant.”

  Fargo let his gaze rove her luscious figure. “Texas isn’t Ohio.” He recalled that was where she was from.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Ohio is a perfectly fine state, I’ll have you know.”

  “They wear guns in Ohio?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Do you have hostiles in Ohio?”

  “You know we don’t.”

  “Buffalo? Grizzlies? Outlaws?”

  “Oh. I see,” Clementine said. “You’re trying to impress on me how dangerous life is west of the Mississippi. Well, even so, I came prepared. I’m not defenseless.”

  “Prepared?” Fargo said.

  From somewhere in her dress Clementine produced a derringer and held it in the palm of her hand. “Had those men presumed to touch me, I’d have used this.”

  Fargo took it. He’d seen the model before, a Remington pocket derringer, manufactured in various calibers. “Ma’am, this is a .17 caliber.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It’s good for shooting flies and mosquitoes but not much else.”

  “Nonsense. The man who sold it to me assured me I can drop a bear with that gun.”

  “The man who sold it to you was full of shit.” Fargo handed the derringer back.

  “I’ll thank you to watch your language,” Clementine said as her cannon disappeared into the folds of her dress.

  “You shoot someone with that, it will only make them mad.”

  “You’re patronizing me.”

  Fargo sighed.

  “I’ve had to put up with that all my life,” Clementine said. “You have no idea how hard it is for a woman to make her way in a man’s world.”