by Jon Sharpe
A grizzled apparition bent toward him. “Aren’t you one of his deputies?”
“I sure as hell am not,” Fargo declared. “I’m here to free you.”
Stunned expressions spread like wildfire.
“What did you say?” the grizzled man asked. “I must not have heard right.”
“I’m here to free you,” Fargo repeated.
All of them were up and staring at him in surprise, disbelief, and hope.
“How’s that again?” a prisoner farther back said. “Did you say free us?”
“Is this some sort of trick?” another asked.
Fargo moved down the aisle between the bunks until he was midway. “Listen close. I’m not with the marshal. I was in jail. I broke out. Now I aim to break all of you out.”
“You’re serious?” a scarecrow bleated.
“God in heaven!” another exclaimed.
“I have the keys,” Fargo said, and gave the ring a shake. “I’ll free a couple of you and they can free the rest and we’ll get the hell out of here.”
“You are serious?” the scarecrow said, and his eyes filled with tears.
“If Mako catches us, him and his deputies will shoot us down like dogs,” another man mentioned fearfully.
“They’re nowhere around,” Fargo assured them. “Now, are you with me or not?”
Their initial shock was fading. A number of them swapped glances and nodded and then one man let out with, “Hell yes, we’re with you.” Another yipped for joy.
“Quiet down, damn it!” Fargo cut their elation short. “Do you want to wake half the town?”
Silence fell, and many looked anxiously at the front door.
“That’s better,” Fargo said. He set down the lamp and moved to the partition. “Ladies first. Then I’ll be back to free you. Be ready.”
All three of the females were up: Carmody Wells, the young one with freckles, and the woman who had to be in her fifties.
“You heard?” Fargo said as he stepped to Carmody’s bunk. She stared as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.
“You came for me.”
“And these others.”
“You came for me,” she said again. “Why? Most men wouldn’t have bothered.”
“Let’s just say,” Fargo remarked as he bent to the metal band around her ankle, “I don’t much care for sons of bitches who beat on women.”
“You’re really here to free us?” the freckled one said. She wasn’t much past twenty, with brunette hair clipped short below her ears. It lent her a pixie quality enhanced by her big green eyes.
“This is Alice Thorn,” Carmody introduced her. “The other lady is Sarabeth.”
Fargo tried a key, but it didn’t work.
The older woman had her hands to her throat. “I don’t know about this. I truly don’t.”
“Sara?” Carmody said.
“I only have a few months left on my sentence,” Sarabeth said. “If we escape and they catch us—” She shuddered.
“They won’t catch you,” Fargo said as he tried a second key.
“You don’t know that,” Sarabeth said. “The marshal will get up a posse.”
The clamp opened, revealing discolored flesh and red lines where the band had chafed and bitten into Carmody’s flesh.
“Thank you,” Carmody said softly.
Working quickly, Fargo freed the other two. Alice Thorn jumped up and rubbed her ankle, but Sarabeth slid back on her bed and shook her head.
“No, sir. I’m not going. I won’t have time added. I couldn’t take it.”
“Sara,” Carmody said. “Please.”
“No, I say.”
Fargo had no time for this. “Talk her into it if you can while I free the men.” Hurrying out, he found them eagerly perched on the ends of their bunks. Some held their chains and shook them in impatience.
“Hurry up, mister.”
“We want the hell out of here.”
“Do we ever!”
The same key that had freed the women worked for the men. Fargo let loose two and gave them the ring. “Do the others.”
“Lickety-split,” one replied.
Fargo went to the front door and stepped outside. He listened but heard only the sigh of the wind and the mew of a cat. Not a single light glowed anywhere. The good people of Fairplay were tucked in their beds. He hoped to hell they stayed there.
A sound drew him to the jail. He peered in and discovered that Deputy Clyde had removed his belt and was trying to jimmy the cell door lock with the prong. Quietly slipping in, Fargo was almost to the cell before Clyde noticed him and sprang back.
“I wasn’t doing anything!” Clyde yelped, and tried to hide the belt behind his leg.
Fargo held out his hand. “Hand it over.”
“Hand what over?” Clyde asked innocently.
Placing his hand on the Remington, Fargo asked, “How stupid are you?”
“Damn it,” Clyde said. But he slid the buckle between the bars. “It wasn’t working anyhow.”
Fargo dropped the belt on the desk. He checked at the front window; the street was still deserted. Satisfied, he went out the back again, saying, “Make any noise and you’ll regret it.”
“Mister,” Deputy Clyde replied, “the only one who will regret this is you.”
A few prisoners were still shackled, but they wouldn’t be for long. The rest of the men had gathered near the door.
Carmody and Alice were there, too, but not Sarabeth.
“The coast is still clear,” Fargo informed them. “In twenty minutes we’ll be on our way out of town.”
“I sure hope so,” one said. “I’ve had my fill of this hellhole.”
“What’s your handle?”
“Franklyn Immelt. Just call me Frank.”
“Have them line up,” Fargo directed. “When I give the word, we’re heading for the stable. No talking. No yelling. Savvy?”
Frank bobbed his head. “We’ll be as quiet as mice.”
The last man of them was being freed.
Fargo turned in the doorway, and a warm hand touched his neck.
“I want to thank you again,” Carmody Wells said softly.
“Later would be better.”
“There might not be a chance,” Carmody said. “I want you to know that whatever else happens, I’m sticking with you.”
Fargo had them extinguish the lamp and the lantern. He told them that if they couldn’t see that well, to hold the hand of the person in front. “Whatever you do, don’t fall behind.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Frank said.
“We want out of here more than you can imagine,” another prisoner declared.
Carmody put her lips near to Fargo’s ear. “Did you say something about holding hands?” she said, and clasped his.
Fargo led the way. They went around the jail to a side street and along it toward the stable. They had several blocks to cover. He stuck to the darkest patches and stopped at the slightest sounds.
They only had one block to go when the clomp of hooves caused Fargo freeze in place.
A rider was coming up the next street over.
Hunkering, Fargo pulled Carmody down beside him. The rest promptly dropped low, too.
“Who can it be?” Alice whispered.
“Quiet,” Fargo warned.
The thuds grew louder.
Fargo glimpsed a big man on a big horse heading in the direction of the jail. His gut tightened. The rider’s size worried him. He’d only seen one person in Fairplay that big: Deputy Brock. Fargo had no idea what Brock was doing up and about so early. But if he was right, all hell would soon break loose.
Up and moving before the clomps faded, Fargo went twice as fast. He would run except the prisoners weren’t in the bes
t of shape.
The stable was shut for the night, the wide double doors barred.
Fargo told the others to stay put while he slipped around to the back. A couple of horses were in the corral and neither whinnied or stamped. He climbed over the rails and tried the rear door. It wasn’t bolted.
Once inside, Fargo hesitated. Should he get his Colt from his saddlebags or let the others in?
He ran to the front, raised the heavy bar, and set it to one side.
No sooner had he pulled on one of the wide doors than a shot shattered the night.
12
The prisoners were frozen in alarm, many with their heads cocked in the direction the shot came from: the marshal’s office.
“What can it mean?” Frank gave voice to their fear.
There was another shot and then shouts. Deputy Brock began bellowing, “They’ve escaped! The prisoners have escaped!”
“He’ll rouse the whole town!” a prisoner exclaimed.
“We have to hide!” another cried, and bolted into the darkness.
“Come back!” Fargo snapped, but the harm had been done. Their fear blossomed into panic. Seven or eight ran after the first, and a moment later almost all the rest scattered. He was left standing there with Carmody, Alice, and Frank.
“The jackasses,” the latter declared. “They can’t get away on foot.”
“Inside,” Fargo urged, and after they quickly obeyed, he replaced the bar on the doors. “Pick a horse,” he said. “Any horse.”
No one argued that horse stealing was wrong or that it would add to their time behind bars if they were caught.
For Fargo’s part, he raced to the Ovaro’s stall. First he opened his saddlebag and hurriedly strapped on his Colt. Then he threw on his saddle blanket and saddle.
Somewhere in the distance more yells were raised. Another shot cracked and someone screamed.
Acutely conscious that each passing second increased their danger, Fargo got a bridle on and brought the stallion out.
The others were already on mounts. Only Carmody had bothered with a saddle.
“As soon as the door is open,” Fargo instructed, “we break to the right and ride like hell. Once we’re out of town, we’ll head west.”
“If we make it out,” Carmody said.
“Don’t talk like that,” Alice Thorn said. “I’m never letting them get their hands on me again.”
Bedlam had been unleashed. Fairplay was in the grip of a spreading cacophony of cries and a riot of hammering feet.
Raising the heavy bar once more, Fargo moved it out of the way and dropped it. Not wasting a moment, he forked leather, kicked the door open, and with twin jabs of his spurs he was out into the night. The others were right behind him. He wheeled the Ovaro and was almost to an intersection when a man in a nightshirt huffed from a house waving a shotgun.
“Hold on there, you people! Stop or I’ll by God shoot!”
The man made the mistake of running out in front of them.
Another jab of Fargo’s spurs and the Ovaro slammed into him like a four-legged battering ram. Squawking, the man went flying one way and his shotgun another.
Fargo didn’t look back to see how badly the man was hurt. He didn’t give a damn.
In the next street half a dozen townsfolk were milling in confusion. Several pointed and a woman yelled and a six-gun flared.
Fargo answered in kind. He shot high, at the shoulder instead of the chest, and saw the man fold. His conscience pricked him for shooting someone who was only trying to stop a jailbreak.
He reminded himself that the good people of Fairplay didn’t mind being lorded over by their high-handed mayor and vicious marshal, and deserved whatever happened to them.
The other townsfolk fled.
At the next junction Fargo reined left. It was six blocks yet to the outskirts. Once they were in the open, they stood a good chance of leaving pursuit far behind.
A rider galloped out of an alley, cutting them off. It was Deputy Gergan, a revolver in his hand. Gergan didn’t order them to stop. He pointed his six-gun and snapped off a shot.
Fargo heard Frank cry out. Fargo fired, and Gergan was jolted half out of his saddle but clung on and raised his revolver to shoot again. Fargo sent a second slug into him. Then they were past and the deputy was upside down, hanging by a boot hooked in a stirrup.
“You killed him!” Carmody cried.
What the hell did she expect? Fargo wondered. It was root hog or die, and he was fond of breathing. He flew the last five blocks. No one tried to stop them. No lead was slung.
Once the last building was behind them, he slowed so the others could catch up. Carmody and Alice were fine, but Frank was doubled over and clinging to his saddle horn.
“How bad?” Fargo asked.
“Keep going. I can make it.”
Fargo took him at his word and rode on, the women on either side. They were as grim as death, aware of the stakes. Neither said a word.
More shots boomed back in town. More shouts added to the discord.
Fargo was glad to be out of there. He wouldn’t put it past Stoddard and Mako to put out wanted circulars on them, and he’d deal with that later. Right now the important thing was to put as much distance as they could behind them.
They covered half a mile. A mile.
Pale starlight bathed the road and the high grass, lending the illusion of peace and serenity.
At a holler from Carmody, Fargo glanced over his shoulder and drew rein.
Frank had fallen behind. He was swaying and had one hand splayed to his chest. Almost too late, he reined up to keep from colliding with them.
“You let us think it wasn’t that bad,” Fargo said.
Frank showed his teeth in a lighthearted grin. “I did, didn’t I? I lied.” He laughed, or tried to, and froth spilled from his lips.
“Hell,” Fargo said. Dismounting, he reached up. “Lean on me,” he directed, and carefully eased the thin man down. “Can you stand?”
“No,” Frank said, and started to collapse. A stain darkened much of his shirt.
“Easy.” Fargo lowered him onto his back.
Carmody sank to her knees and clasped Frank’s hand in both of hers. “No,” she said softly. “No, no, no. You treated me the nicest of just about anybody.”
“You’re a good gal,” Frank said, wheezing. “They did you wrong like they did the rest of us. You should keep going before they catch up.”
Fargo stared back along the road. “No one is after us yet.”
“I won’t leave you like this,” Carmody said to Frank “You’ve been a friend.”
Frank coughed, and more froth dribbled from his mouth. “I won’t have them catch you on account of me. Get on your nag and light a shuck.”
“Not on your life.”
“Not on yours, either,” Frank said. “Listen to me, girl, before it’s too late.”
It already was. Fargo spied four-legged stick figures far off. “I spoke too soon,” he said. “Here they come.”
“Go,” Frank said, and tried to push Carmody, but he was too weak.
“I’m not leaving and that’s final.”
Frank looked up at Fargo. “Please, mister. Do what has to be done. They get their paws on her, it’ll be twice as bad as before.”
Fargo put his hand on Carmody’s arm. “He’s right. We have to go.”
“No.”
“They’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”
“I don’t care. He’s my friend, damn it.”
Frank coughed and limply held out his arm to Fargo. “Please,” he pleaded.
“Hell,” Fargo said. Suddenly looping his arm around Carmody, he bodily lifted her, took a step, and swung her up and over her animal. In reflex, she spread her legs and grabbed the mane to keep from fal
ling.
“No, I told you!”
“Go,” Frank said.
Fargo pointed at the riders. There were four of them, coming hard, raising a cloud a dust. “We don’t have time for this.”
Carmody uttered a sob and tried to climb down, but Fargo wouldn’t let her.
“Stay up there, damn you.”
“I won’t leave him!”
Alice Thorn stepped over to Frank and raised her right leg. Before they could guess her intent, she stomped her foot down on Frank’s throat. Frank gurgled and arched his back.
“No!” Carmody cried.
“What the hell?” Fargo said, and spun, but he couldn’t reach Alice before she brought her foot down a second time. The crunch was as clear as anything.
Frank bucked, spewed blood, and was gone.
“Now we can go,” Alice Thorn said.
“Alice, damn you!” Carmody cried. Again she tried to dismount.
Fargo almost lost his hold on her, he was so shocked. Shoving her upright, he pointed at the body. “He’s gone. There’s nothing you can do.”
Carmody quaked and said with tears streaming down her cheeks, “Alice, how could you?”
The freckle-faced woman didn’t answer. As calmly as if she were going on a Sunday ride, she climbed back on her bay and raised the reins. “I’m ready when you are.”
Stepping into the stirrups, Fargo checked on their pursuers. He reckoned they were a quarter mile off yet. “Fan the breeze,” he said, and when both women broke into a gallop, he did likewise.
For long minutes they raced. Here and there a low hill reared. They had gone another two miles or so when Fargo called another halt.
“Why are we stopping?” Alice demanded. “I can ride all night if I have to.”
“Your horse can’t,” Fargo said, nodding at her winded animal. “We’ll give them a breather.” Not that the Ovaro needed one. The stallion possessed exceptional stamina.
Alice gazed back. “I don’t see them after us anymore.”
“They stopped at the body,” Fargo guessed. “It won’t delay them long.” He paused. “Answer me something.”
