Texas Swamp Fever (9781101611890)

by Sharpe, Jon

  “Look there,” he said, and pointed.

  “Is it them, you think?”

  “Let’s find out.” Fargo would love to turn the tables and ambush them. He reckoned they had stopped to eat.

  A cross-channel appeared, leading toward the smoke.

  Soon they came in sight of a large island.

  Fargo saw he was mistaken. The smoke wasn’t rising from a campfire. It was coming out of a stone chimney.

  “Why, it’s a cabin!” Clementine exclaimed.

  It stood well back from the water. Whoever built it had done a piss-poor job. The logs hadn’t been trimmed and were fitted unevenly. A plank door hung at an angle. The window had no glass.

  A canoe had been left broadside on dry land so it couldn’t drift off.

  “People, by God!” Clementine said happily. “I didn’t know anyone lived out this far.”

  Fargo recollected being told that a few hardy souls lived off in the swamp rather than close to the Landing. Trappers, mostly. And sure enough, pelts hung on pegs on the cabin wall.

  “Maybe they’ll help us reach the settlement,” Clementine said. “We’re as good as saved.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  The moment their bow touched, Fargo was out and pulling. Clementine joined him and helped. Their shoulders and hips brushed. He thought about how he would like her to shed that dress, and he was picturing her bare-assed when he turned and saw a man had stepped from the cabin and was staring at them.

  “How do you do?” Clementine called out, and gave a cheery wave.

  The man didn’t return it. He was tall and lean, more bone than flesh, with a skeletal face. He wore a shirt and pants cobbled from a dozen hides: raccoon, possum, fox, bobcat and others. His footwear was stitched from rabbit fur. He was cradling an old long rifle and he had a knife on his hip.

  “How do you do?” Clementine hollered again.

  The trapper sauntered toward them. His left cheek bulged, and midway he spat a gob of brown juice. Near-black, beady eyes appraised them as if they were animals he was thinking of skinning.

  Fargo had the Henry in his left hand. He placed his right on his Colt.

  The man stopped and his thin lips twitched in what might be a smile. “Who might you folks be?”

  Clementine introduced herself and Fargo, and didn’t stop there. “We’re part of a party the government sent in, and we’re the only ones left. We can dearly use your help.”

  “Government?” the trapper said.

  “Federal,” Clementine informed him. “Out of Washington, D.C.”

  “I don’t much like the government,” the trapper said. “I don’t much like those as work for it, either.” And with that, he started to swing the muzzle of his rifle in their direction.

  22

  Fargo flashed his Colt out and up. At the click of the hammer the trapper imitated a cypress.

  The trapper’s throat bobbed. “Hold on there, mister. There’s no call to be pullin’ your hardware.”

  “Set the rifle down,” Fargo commanded.

  The man glanced at it as if he were unaware he was holding it. “I plumb forgot myself. I wasn’t about to shoot you.”

  “I hope not,” Clementine said.

  With exaggerated care, the trapper placed his rifle on the ground. As he straightened he showed yellow teeth in a smile. “My name is Beauregard. Everybody calls me Beau.”

  “We’re pleased to meet you, Beau,” Clementine said cheerfully.

  Fargo held his Colt steady.

  “I must look a sight,” Clementine said, and brushed at a bang. “We’ve had the most horrible time. Cannibals, alligators, killers, you name it.”

  “Cannibals?” Beau said.

  “How far to Suttree’s Landing?” Fargo asked.

  Beau peered past him at their boat. “I reckon you can be there by tomorrow night if you push real hard.”

  Clementine beamed. “I can’t wait.”

  “But you don’t need to head right out,” Beau said. “How about I fetch you somethin’ to eat and drink.”

  Fargo was about to say they didn’t want anything but Clementine had other ideas.

  “I’d dearly love some tea. I don’t suppose you have any?”

  “Matter of fact, I do, ma’am,” Beau said. “Chicory tea. There’s some as don’t like the taste ’cause they say it’s too bitter. They don’t know how to make it right, is all.” He paused. “I happen to have some on the stove, if you’re of a mind.”

  Clementine turned to Fargo. “Can we? Please? The rest would do my shoulders good.”

  Reluctantly, Fargo said, “One cup, and we’re on our way.”

  Beau pointed at his rifle. “You’re not fixin’ to leave that there, are you? Bess has been in my family since my grandpa bought her.”

  “I’ll bring it,” Fargo said. He holstered the Colt.

  Apparently the trapper did most of his skinning and curing at the side of the cabin. The ground was stained dark by the blood, and bits and pieces of animals lay rotting and stinking to high heaven.

  “Pardon the smell,” Beau said when Clementine crinkled her nose and coughed. “I don’t give it no mind since I’m used to it.”

  “You trap for a living?” Clementine said.

  “That I do, ma’am. Me and my pappy before me and his pap before him.”

  The inside of the cabin reeked of sweat and other odors. Pelts hung on every wall and dangled from hooks on the rafters.

  “My word,” Clementine said.

  Fargo leaned the man’s rifle near the door and stood where he could see out.

  Beauregard fondled a coon hide. “Ain’t she pretty? My hides are always prime. Anythin’ worth doin’, a man should take pride in.”

  “Why, I do believe you’re a philosopher,” Clementine complimented him.

  “I don’t rightly know what that is, ma’am,” Beau said. “But if they skin and cure, that’s me.”

  A small stove squatted in a corner. A kettle was on, and Beau shuffled about looking in cabinets and drawers until he found three cups and set them on a table.

  “I don’t want any,” Fargo told him.

  “It’s damn fine tea,” Beau boasted. He touched the kettle. “Still warm. I had some this mornin’. Have some most every mornin’.”

  “You live here by yourself?” Clementine said. “No wife? No family?”

  “I had me a woman once,” Beau said. “A squaw gal. Her man drowned in the bottle, and he sold her to me to buy booze. Got her for fifty cents, if you can believe it.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “No, ma’am. She was a bargain. The quietest little thing you ever did see. Good cook, too. And she never put up a fuss when I poked her.” Beau laughed. “She was strange, though. She’d just lie there. No matter how hard or how long I was at it, she never moved a muscle or let out a peep.”

  “That’s enough,” Fargo warned.

  “I was only sayin’,” Beau said. “Goes to show that you can’t ever tell how a female will take to a poke.”

  “Pour the damn tea.”

  Beau frowned, and did. “Sorry I ain’t got no sugar, ma’am. Don’t care for sweets, myself.”

  “That’s quite all right.” Clementine sat and raised her cup and stopped with it halfway to her mouth. “When was the last time you washed these?”

  “Ma’am?” Beau said, bending down. “Oh. That stain? That’s nothin’ but possum blood. I was carvin’ one up and it spattered and I forgot to wash the cup off. It won’t harm you none.”

  Under different circumstances Fargo might have laughed at the expression on Clementine’s face as she took her first sip.

  “It’s actually quite good.”

  “Told y
ou,” Beau said. He opened another cabinet and brought over a burlap sack. “There’s biscuits in here if you’re hungry. Made them my own self about two months ago.”

  Clementine opened the sack and brought out a lump of dough speckled with mold. “You eat these?”

  “Use ’em as bait, too,” Beau said. “There’s nothin’ a coon likes better than a tasty biscuit.”

  Clementine nibbled, and grimaced. “I don’t believe I’m all that hungry.”

  Fargo was keeping an eye on their boat and the swamp. So far the only sign of life had been a woodpecker.

  Clementine swallowed more tea. “I can’t thank you enough for your gracious hospitality.”

  “My what?” Beauregard said.

  “For being so kind.”

  “Oh. Well, it ain’t every day a fine lady like you stops by. You and this scout are the only visitors I’ve had in a month of Sundays.”

  “How do you know I’m a scout?” Fargo said.

  “I was guessin’. Who else wears buckskins like yours?” Beau responded.

  Fargo could think of a lot of people. “Someone else didn’t happen to stop here before us, did they?”

  “You just heard me say you two are the first in a long while.”

  Clementine said, “I don’t see how you do it. I couldn’t stand to live alone way out here.”

  “The swamp ain’t that bad once you know its secrets,” Beau said.

  “What kind of secrets?”

  “The habits of the critters, what they eat and where they hole up. Where to find good water. How to keep from bein’ snake-bit and how to tell when a gator is about to show itself.”

  “You’re forgetting the quicksand and the bugs and the snakes.” Clementine shuddered.

  “None of that ever bothered me much. I’m past sixty and I’ve lived here a good thirty years.”

  “You must have been one of the first.”

  “I was,” Beauregard declared. “Before the Landin’ was built, I was here trappin’ for a livin’.”

  “We have a lot of swamp to cover yet,” Fargo impatiently reminded Clementine.

  “I know, I know,” she said. “Another minute and I’ll be done.”

  “You’re welcome to rest here a spell,” Beauregard said. “Might even be best for you to stay the night and get an early start.” He quickly added, “It wouldn’t bother me none, you sleepin’ over.”

  “How nice of you,” Clementine said.

  “We’re not staying,” Fargo said gruffly.

  Beau’s features clouded. “I’m not too sure I like you, mister.”

  “Do I look like I give a damn?”

  “You take a man’s gun. You come in his house and insult him. You put on airs.”

  “You forgot one,” Fargo said.

  “Eh?”

  “I hit you in the mouth if you don’t shut up.”

  Clementine set down her cup so abruptly, tea spilled. “That will be quite enough. Beau is right. Your manners are atrocious.”

  “Finish your tea,” Fargo said.

  Clementine slowly raised the cup and slowly took a sip and slowly set it back down again, and smirked.

  Beauregard chuckled.

  “I apologize for how Mr. Fargo is treating you,” Clementine said. “He’s been under a terrible strain. All the people we were with are dead. We barely made it back ourselves.”

  “You don’t say,” Beau said.

  Fargo thought he heard a sound outside. Sidling to the doorway, he poked his head out. All he saw were sparrows frolicking in a bush.

  “I’m frazzled,” Clementine prattled on. “I doubt I’ll sleep well for months.”

  “You poor gal.”

  Clementine drained the stained cup, and sighed with contentment. “That was nice. I thank you again.” She stood and came around the table. “I’m just about ready to depart if you are.”

  “Just about?” Fargo had half a mind to throw her over his shoulder and carry her.

  Ignoring him, Clementine said to the trapper, “I don’t suppose you have an outhouse?”

  “No, ma’am,” Beau said. “But the woods out back are right handy.”

  “Thank you.”

  They went out and Clementine went to the corner of the cabin.

  “I won’t be long.”

  “She’s polite, that one,” Beau remarked.

  “I’m not,” Fargo said. He debated going to the corner to watch Clementine but she’d only squawk about needing her privacy.

  “I don’t know what I did to rile you,” Beau said.

  “There’s something about this place,” Fargo said. He couldn’t be more specific.

  “You have good instincts, mister,” Beauregard said. “Most folks have blinders on. Take your friend, for instance. She’d never in a million years guess that Bodean and Judson might be friends of mine and that I’d be glad to help them turn you into gator bait.”

  Fargo realized his back was to the other corner. He started to turn just as a gun barrel was jammed against his spine.

  “Miss me?” Bodean said.

  23

  Beauregard spat more brown juice, and laughed. He relieved Fargo of the Henry and his Colt and stepped back out of reach. “Surprise.”

  Fargo looked over his shoulder. “I had a feeling,” he said.

  “I’ve known Beau for years,” Bodean said. “Jud and me have been spyin’ on you and the woman. We knew you were headed this way. So we circled in front of you and I asked Beau to lend a hand. He was happy to oblige.”

  “For twenty dollars,” Beau said. “And you better have the money. I find out you lied, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “It’s practically every cent I have to my name but it’s worth it to pay this bastard back.” Bodean jabbed his rifle harder into Fargo. “I’ve been thinkin’ on how to do you in. I don’t want it quick or easy. I want you to suffer.”

  “I’ll lend you one of my skinnin’ knives,” Beau offered.

  “That’s somethin’ a redskin would do,” Bodean said. “I’ve got me a better notion.” He stepped away and glanced at the corner Clementine had gone around. “She better not take too damn long.”

  Fargo was tempted to make a break for it but he’d have a slug in him before he took a step.

  “Yes, sir,” Bodean said, his eyes lit by vicious gleams. “I can’t hardly wait.”

  “Don’t involve me in that part, no how,” Beau said. “This is betwixt you and him.”

  “Since when did you become skittish?”

  “Since I heard they’re government folks. The last thing I want is more of their kind nosin’ around askin’ a lot of questions.”

  “Hell,” Bodean said. “No one knows they’re here but us. The government does come lookin’, these two’ll be nothin’ but bones.”

  “Leave the woman out of it,” Fargo said.

  “Not hardly. She’ll tell about Cleon and that big soldier and we’ll have the law breathin’ down our necks.”

  Beauregard stiffened. “Hold on. What was that about Cleon?”

  “They shot him,” Fargo said. “The wound became infected. He couldn’t fight back when we were attacked by the Kilatku and they killed him.”

  “The hell you say.”

  “Cleon turned on us, Beau,” Bodean said. “He sided with the soldiers. What else were we to do?”

  “I liked Cleon,” Beau said. “He was a good ol’ boy. You shouldn’t ought to have shot him.”

  “I’ve explained how it was.”

  “There’s no excuse for shootin’ one of our own.” Beau shook his head. “No, sir. His folks need to be told.”

  “Damn it, Beau. Use your head.”

  “I’ll take my canoe. I’ll l
eave you out of it. I’ll just say the Kilatku killed him.”

  “Let Jud and me do it.”

  “I don’t want to be here when you kill these two, anyhow,” Beauregard said, and turned to go inside. “I’ll fetch my rifle and head right out.”

  Bodean shot him in the back.

  At the blast, Beau was slammed against the jamb.

  He clutched it and gasped, “Why, Bodean? Why?”

  “I don’t know as I can trust you to keep your mouth shut,” Bodean said.

  Beauregard collapsed. On hands and knees he went through the doorway and groped along the inner wall. “Where’s that rifle of mine?”

  “No you don’t.” Bodean walked up to him, held the muzzle an inch from Beau’s head, and sent lead crashing through his brain.

  “That’s two of your own,” Fargo said.

  “I forgot how close Cleon and him were,” Bodean said. “You had to go and mention we’d killed him, didn’t you?”

  There was commotion at the side of the cabin and presently Clementine Purdy stumbled into view. She had a bruise on her face she hadn’t had before. Glaring behind her, she snapped, “Quit shoving me.”

  Judson strolled out, rifle in hand, his ruined eye covered by an eye patch cut from his shirt. “Don’t give me trouble, bitch. Not in the mood I’m in.” He stared at the legs jutting out of the cabin. “Beau?”

  “Had to,” Bodean said.

  “We have to hide the body. People found out it was us, we’d be lynched.”

  “We’ll blame it on them,” Bodean said, nodding at Fargo and Clementine.

  “No one will ever believe I harmed anyone,” Clementine said.

  “You’re outsiders,” Bodean said. “They’ll believe anything about outsiders.”

  Judson motioned at the swamp. “We should get to it. Someone might happen by.”

  “Not likely, but we will anyway.” Bodean motioned at Fargo and Clementine. “Walk toward the water. Hands where I can see them.”

  Fargo was ready to pounce if either of them let down their guard.

  “What are your intentions?” Clementine asked.

  “I aim to let the swamp take care of you.”

  “You’re unspeakably vile.”

  “You brought this on yourselves, lady,” Judson said, and touched his crude patch. “Your friend here should have let me kill the red brat who did this.”