Bowie's Knife

by Jon Sharpe

  “I can make love to whoever I like whenever I like. It’s sheer bliss.”

  Fargo was about under but he heard her next words, which were whispered, quite clearly.

  “Hell, I can kill whoever I want, too.”

  11

  It was the first thing Fargo thought of when he woke in the dead of night. He lay there listening to Sarah’s heavy breathing and an occasional snore and wondered about her comment. The tale of her killing those vaqueros and the owner of the rancho might be true.

  Closing his yes, he tried to get back to sleep but couldn’t. He felt strangely invigorated. Maybe it was the lovemaking. He was also also hungry as hell.

  Quietly rising, Fargo dressed. He strapped on his Colt, attached his spurs, donned his hat, and ambled out.

  The ranch house was so quiet he heard the ticking of the grandfather clock in the parlor before he got there.

  A lamp was on, and he was about to pass by on his way to the kitchen when he saw why. “Are you up late or up early?”

  Dandelion Caventry was perched on a large sofa, her legs curled under her. To one side was the oak case containing the fabled bowie. On the other was a leather satchel that had been tied to their packhorse on the long ride there. She had a magnifying glass and was examining the blade. “I haven’t been to bed yet.”

  Fargo went over. “Is it or isn’t it?”

  “It could be,” Dandy said uncertainty. “It’s old enough, and there are initials etched in the hilt, under the guard.”

  “Whose?”

  “They read ‘JB.’”

  “James Bowie?”

  “That’s what someone wants us to believe,” Dandy said, placing the knife in her lap.

  “But you don’t?”

  “There’s no mention anywhere in anything ever written about Bowie that he carved his initials in his knife. But it’s something a forger might do to try and convince people it’s real.”

  “Ah,” Fargo said.

  “The thing is, the initials are old. They’re faded and worn, as they would be if the knife is genuine.”

  “Ah,” Fargo said again.

  “Is that all you have to say? You’re no help whatsoever.”

  “You’re the expert at old things,” Fargo said. “I read tracks and shoot people.”

  Dandy sat back and studied him. “That’s not all you’re good at. I hear you’re quite the ladies’ man.”

  “Who would say such a thing?” Fargo asked in mock shock.

  “Just about everybody.”

  Fargo caught on quick. “You checked up on me before we left Austin?”

  “I was curious what sort of man Father had hired,” Dandy explained. “At first I thought it was his notion of a joke.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “I’m rather straitlaced about that sort of thing.”

  “What sort?”

  “The sort I suspect you’ve indulged in with Sarah Patterson, the hussy.” Dandy averted her gaze and smoothed her dress. “Anyway, I was surprised to learn that someone else came up with the idea of hiring you and suggested it to Father.”

  “Who?” Fargo asked in mild surprise.

  “My darling brother.”

  Fargo’s surprise became more than mild. “Why in hell would he want me along?”

  “He told Father you were the best there is at what you do and could get us safely across Indian territory. But I suspect he had an ulterior motive.”

  Fargo waited. She’d get to the point eventually.

  “Lester didn’t want to hire you for your scouting skills. He wanted to hire you for your—how shall I put this?—bedroom skills.”

  “I still don’t savvy.”

  “You’ve no doubt noticed that Lester and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things? One of them is how Father spends his money. Another is that. He thinks I’m too rigid. That I need to loosen up, as he puts it. But what he’s really hoping is that I’ll do something that will make Father mad and he’ll end up in Father’s favor instead of me.”

  “What you’re saying,” Fargo translated, “is that he talked your pa into hiring me in the hope you’d let me poke you?”

  Dandy nodded. “Then he would tell Father and Father would disown me.”

  “The little weasel.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Lester has tried again and again to discredit me in Father’s eyes so he’ll get all or most of the inheritance.”

  “Would your father do that to you?”

  Dandy wearily rubbed her eyes. “I’d like to say he wouldn’t, that he loves me too much, but he’s very strict when it comes to that.”

  “You can call it what it is.”

  “I’m a lady, unlike our hostess. Who, from what I understand, has been to bed with everyone in south Texas and is now working on northern Mexico.”

  Fargo laughed. “Your claws are showing.”

  “She practically raped you at the supper table,” Dandy said. “I’m surprised she didn’t let you have your way right there on the table.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having you for dessert.”

  Dandy’s mouth fell. “You’ve just been to bed with her and you proposition me? My God, you’re cocksure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  Dandy realized what she had said, and blushed. “Well, thank you for your kind offer,” she said sarcastically, “but no. My brother will have to come up with a better way of turning Father against me.”

  “If he can do it without teeth,” Fargo said.

  “How’s that again?”

  “I don’t like being used.”

  Dandy straightened and reached out for his hand. “Please. Don’t take him to task about it. It concerns my family and not you.”

  “I’m the one he wants to bed you. It damn well does concern me.”

  “It’s nothing personal,” Dandy said. “To Lester you’re merely another pawn in the endless games he plays with other people.”

  “He can keep his teeth then,” Fargo said.

  Dandy brightened. “You’re willing to forgive and forget?”

  “Like hell,” Fargo said. “I might break a few of his fingers instead.”

  “When some people talk like that, I can tell they’re only letting off steam. They wouldn’t really do it.” Dandy paused. “With you, I have the sense you mean exactly what you say.”

  “You’re not a bad judge of character. But your brother sure is.”

  Dandy placed her magnifying glass in the satchel and stood. “Do I have to beg?” she quietly asked.

  “Hell,” Fargo said.

  “Don’t hurt him. He can be a jackass but he’s my brother.” Dandy touched his cheek. “You can see why I’m willing to overlook what he does, can’t you?”

  “It’s called ‘stupid,’” Fargo said.

  “It’s called love,” Dandy said testily. “I doubt you know much about it since apparently your idea of love is in your pants.”

  Fargo laughed.

  “Damn you. You’re supposed to get mad.”

  “What’s that saying?” Fargo said. He pretended to think about it and snapped his fingers. “I don’t get mad. I get even.”

  “If you hurt him I’ll never speak to you again.”

  “I have a better idea,” Fargo said. “For a walk in the moonlight, I won’t lay a finger on the bastard.”

  “Did I just hear you correctly? You’re trying to blackmail me into that?”

  “Think of it as a trade.”

  “You’re despicable.”

  “An hour of your time and your brother can go on picking his nose.”

  “Oh. Now I see. You’re poking fun. You don’t really want to make love to me.”

  Fargo let his gaze rove from h
er lips to her bosom to her legs. “Care to bet?”

  “I never,” Dandy said.

  “Seems like a fair bargain to me.”

  “You can’t treat a woman’s virtue as if she’s a horse you’re bartering for.”

  “All I want is the walk. Whether you do more is up to you.”

  “It sounds to me as if you’re trying to force me to do it against my will.”

  Fargo shook his head. “I’ve never forced a woman in my life.” He grinned and added, “Never had to.”

  “No, of course not, as handsome as you are. Any woman in her right mind—” Dandy caught herself.

  Fargo held out his hand. “How about it?”

  “Now?”

  “We’re both up and the moon is out.”

  “Yes, I know but—” Dandy stopped again, flustered. “It’s too sudden.”

  “I can wait while your head catches up to your ears.”

  She scowled. “You poke fun at people a lot, do you know that?”

  “I wouldn’t mind poking you.”

  “If we go on this walk, you won’t try to have your way with me? You give me your word?”

  “I won’t try to have my way unless you take off your clothes and say, ‘Ravish me.’”

  “As if that would ever happen.”

  “Secretly you want to shed your clothes. I can tell.”

  Dandy laughed. “It sounds to me as if all your conquests have gone to your head. You’re too full of yourself, by half.”

  “Let’s find out.” Fargo wagged his hand.

  “Just to be clear. You’ll leave my brother alone no matter what we do or don’t do?”

  “Honest Injun,” Fargo said.

  “Very well.” Dandy coughed and took his hand. “I’ll go for a walk with you. A short one,” she amended.

  The front door was bolted. Fargo slid the bolt and led Dandy out onto the porch. She stood at arm’s length, plainly nervous.

  The ranch buildings were dark. Stars sparkled in the heavens and a crescent moon was on its westward descent.

  “The cool air feels nice,” Dandy said. She stretched, accenting the swell of her breasts.

  “Hussy,” Fargo said.

  “Are you referring to me or that woman you were with—?” Dandy stopped, her eyes widening in alarm.

  Fargo started to turn just as a hard object gouged into his back and a raspy voice uttered a warning.

  “So much as twitch and you’re dead.”

  12

  Out of the corner of his eye Fargo saw that there were two of them in store-bought clothes and boots and hats. One was holding a revolver on Dandy. The other had a six-gun jammed against him.

  With surprising calm Dandy said, “What do you gentlemen want? As if I can’t guess.”

  Fargo imagined she was thinking of the money she’d brought to pay Sarah Patterson.

  “Jim Bowie’s knife,” the man behind him said. “Where is it?”

  “And the case it’s in,” the other man said. “We want that too.”

  Fargo wondered if Dandy had caught on to the man’s blunder.

  “Answer me, damn you, or I put a hole in your friend, here, and we beat it out of you,” the man behind him said.

  “If you shoot him,” Dandy said, “you’ll have every cowboy on the Bar P down on your heads.”

  “Smart bitch, ain’t you?” the other hard case said. To his partner he snapped, “Show her what we mean.”

  Fargo was unprepared for the blow to the back of his head. Pain exploded and his legs folded and he fell to his knees.

  “Skye!” Dandy exclaimed.

  “Shut the hell up.”

  Fargo heard a slap and a scuffle.

  “Hold her good, Sully,” the man who had slugged him with the revolver growled, “and let’s see if I can’t loosen her tongue.”

  “You can beat on me all you want,” Dandy said defiantly. “I’ll never tell you where the knife is.”

  “How about if I beat on your friend, here?”

  The toe of a boot caught Fargo in the ribs and fresh pain throbbed.

  “Stop hurting him.”

  “Where’s the damn knife?” Sully demanded. “Your room? Somewhere else? Take me to it. and keep in mind that if I don’t make it back out, Chester, here, will slit your friend’s throat.”

  Fargo could barely think for the pounding in his head, and barely breathe for the throbbing in his side.

  “Please, no,” Dandy said, and gave in. “The knife is in the parlor down the hall.”

  “Lead the way. Chester, you know what to do with that hombre in buckskins.”

  “Sure do, Sully,” Chester said.

  Fargo struggled to regain his full senses. He knew that the moment Sully and Dandy disappeared inside, Chester was going to do him in.

  “I won’t try anything,” Dandy said. “I promise.”

  “I believe you, gal,” Sully said. “Now move your ass.”

  He must have shoved her because Fargo heard her stumble and say there was no need for that.

  His vision was clearing. He turned his head enough to see Dandy going through the doorway and Sully holding a Smith & Wesson on her. The other one, Chester, a rake with a rat’s face, was watching them.

  Fighting the pain, Fargo whipped into motion. He swooped his right hand to his Colt and pivoted on his heels, thumbing back the hammer as he drew. Chester started to swing around and Fargo fanned a slug into his gut that jolted him back a step. Gamely, Chester sought to point his revolver and Fargo shot him again, square in the sternum.

  Over at the door, Sully had spun and came charging back out. He banged off a shot that missed.

  Fargo fired as Sully went to take aim, fired as Sully stumbled, fired as Sully pitched forward and the Smith & Wesson clattered to the porch.

  Dandy was pressed against the jamb, a hand to her throat. “My word,” she declared in horror. “You killed both of them.”

  “They would have killed us.”

  Sully was down, and dead. Chester, though, was still alive, his eyes pools of hate.

  Fargo pointed the Colt. “Who sent you?”

  Chester had to try twice to spit out, “Go to hell, you son of a bitch.”

  “You first,” Fargo said, and stroked the trigger.

  At the blast, Dandy cried, “No!” and dashed to his side. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “A man doesn’t want his brains blown out,” Fargo said, “he shouldn’t pistol-whip and kick folks.”

  “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Is that your outlook on life?”

  “Works most of the time,” Fargo said, touching a knot on the back of his head the size of a hen’s egg.

  Shouts had broken out, both in the house and over at the bunkhouse. Lights flared in windows.

  Bronack was the first to reach the porch. Half-dressed, his pistol in his hand, he stared at the bodies and at Dandy and then at Fargo reloading the Colt and came to the wrong conclusion.“You were protecting her? This was mine to do.”

  “You were beddy-bye,” Fargo said.

  “Don’t rub it in.” Bronack tugged at his pants. “I’m sorry, Miss Caventry. I won’t leave you alone again.”

  “It’s hardly your fault,” Dandy said. “You can’t be with me twenty-four hours of the day.”

  A dozen or more cowboys were rushing from the bunkhouse, rifles and revolvers in evidence. Some were shirtless and shoeless and one was hatless.

  Out of the ranch house came Miquel and Lupe and other servants, and then Consuelo in an ankle-length robe and slippers.

  “Well, well,” was all she said.

  Sarah Patterson emerged last, looking flustered. She, too, wore a robe she’d hastily belted, revealing her considerable cleavage. “What the hell happened? I was so
fast asleep, I was out to the world.” She glared at Fargo as if it was his fault.

  “Cockroaches,” Fargo said. “They grow big in these parts.”

  The cowboys stopped at the foot of the steps except for a stocky slab of sinew who came onto the porch. “Are you all right, Mrs. Patterson?”

  “I’m fine, Brazos,” Sarah said. She nudged Sully with her foot and moved to Chester and did the same. “These aren’t my men. I’ve never set eyes on them before.” She beckoned to Brazos. “You’re my foreman. Either of these coyotes familiar?”

  Brazos was bronzed from the sun and had a shock of yellow hair. The way he looked at Sarah Patterson told Fargo that he did more than ramrod her outfit. “When I heard the shots I was worried plumb sick.”

  “I pay you to worry about my cattle.” Sarah kicked Sully. “Do you recognize these two or not?”

  Brazos squatted. “This one here, no,” he said of Chester. “But that fella you kicked, I’ve seen him over to San Gabriel a few times, at the cantina.”

  “Is he a cowhand?”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t rightly know what he did for a living although I think I heard once that he was partial to the shady side of the law. A little stealing. A little rustling.”

  “A little killing,” Fargo said.

  “They must have intended to rob me,” Sarah said.

  “They were after the bowie,” Dandy informed her. “They jumped Skye and me when we stepped out to take the night air.”

  Sarah’s eyebrows arched. “At this time of night?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Dandy said, her cheeks coloring.

  “Is that so?” Sarah turned to Fargo. “Don’t you ever get enough?”

  “Enough what, ma’am?” Brazos asked.

  Shoes scuffed in the hall and out strolled Lester Caventry. He was in his nightshirt and his hair was mussed. Yawning, he rubbed his chin and said, “What’s all the ruckus about? I was trying to sleep.” He saw the bodies and his arm froze.

  Sarah laughed. “You look scared, boy. Does death and blood bother you?”

  “Nothing bothers me,” Lester blustered.

  Fargo said, “Friends of yours?”

  “What? No.” Lester jerked his arms down and glowered. “What makes you say a thing like that?”

  “Cockroaches are like snakes,” Fargo said. “They nest together.”