Sierra Six-Guns

by Jon Sharpe

  Fargo undid his gun belt and set the Colt within easy reach. Prying at his pants, he let his manhood spring free.

  Gretchen looked down and husked, “Oh my.”

  To Fargo’s surprise and delight, she gripped his pole with one hand and cupped him down low with the other. He thought she might be prudish but she was hungry for it. When she slid her fingers higher and delicately ran her fingertip around and around, he almost exploded.

  Now it was her turn to tease him. “Like that, do you?”

  Fargo couldn’t speak for the lump in his throat. He inhaled a nipple and worried it with his lips. With his thumb he rubbed her swollen knob. Her chest heaved from excitement and lust.

  Easing his fingers out, Fargo put his hands under her and raised her high enough for his swollen member to slide between her legs. He ran the head of his organ along her wet slit and she shivered.

  “God, I want you in me.”

  The feeling was mutual. With a sharp thrust, Fargo buried his pulsing sword to the hilt. Gretchen’s head flew back and she opened her mouth wide. His hands on her pelvis, he commenced to pump his piston. He moved faster and she moved faster until the room became a blur. He started to close his eyes to better savor the explosion and caught movement, or thought he did, out in the hall. Forcing himself to focus, he placed his hand on his Colt.

  “Why did you stop?” Gretchen asked, sounding upset. “Is something the matter?”

  “No.” Fargo hadn’t realized he had. He resumed stroking but kept his hand on his revolver. She eagerly rose high on her knees and then impaled herself, again and again and again. Soon she was puffing and caked with sweat. Tilting her head back, she shut her eyes.

  “I’m almost there.”

  Fargo would have been if not for his concern over who or what might be in the hall. He wondered if he had imagined it.

  In a flood tide of passion, Gretchen’s inner dam broke. She gushed and gushed, driving against him in relentless release. It was all Fargo could do to hold on to her. She cried out and it sent him hurtling over the brink of self-control.

  Gradually, they subsided. Bit by bit they slowed until Gretchen collapsed against his chest. Fargo ran his hand over her damp hair and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Any time you want to do that again, let me know.”

  Gretchen made a sound that resembled a goose being throttled.

  “What?”

  “When I said you were hopeless, I had no idea. Is that all you ever think of?”

  “Only when I’m awake.”

  Gretchen laughed and kissed him on the chin. “Thank you. For a while you helped me forget and I’m grateful.” She was about to say more but they both heard the slam of the front door. Scrambling up, she pulled her robe tight, crossed to the other side of the room, and leaned against the wall. Fargo hitched at his pants and got them up just in time.

  In strode a tall drink of water in a slicker. “Moon sent me,” Conklin said to Fargo. “He says you might want to come have a look-see at what we found. It has to do with your horse.”

  As much as Fargo would have liked to rest his leg a while more, he pushed to his feet, snatching the Colt and the Henry as he rose. “Lead the way.” He started to follow and realized the mistake he was making. “Wait.”

  Conklin was already in the hall. “What?”

  “We can’t leave without her.”

  “She’s a grown woman. She’ll be fine. And Moon said to hurry. He won’t like it if we dawdle.”

  “We can’t let whoever took Esther take her. She’ll only need a minute.” Fargo smiled at Gretchen and she nodded and he closed the door behind him. In the dark he could barely see Conklin’s silhouette. “Any sign of Esther yet?”

  “Not a lick. Harker is fit to be tied.” Conklin chuckled.

  “You find that funny?”

  “The way he’s carryin’ on, I do. Him and that Landreth, both. They gripe and cry about everything.”

  “I take it you don’t like them much.”

  “Hell, mister. I’ve never cottoned to their kind. This is a job, nothing more. If they weren’t payin’ me, I’d have put windows in their noggins for all the aggravation they cause.”

  “Your boss feel the same?”

  “Moon? He has even less use for them than me. Although now that—” Conklin stopped.

  “Now that what?”

  “Nothing. Where’s that woman? How damn long does it take for her to throw on a dress?”

  They stood in silence until Fargo, too, began to wonder what was keeping her. He knocked on the door. “You decent?”

  “I’ll be right out.”

  “Females,” Conklin spat. “If there is anything more useless in this world, I have yet to meet it.”

  “I’m fond of them, myself.”

  “You can have them. I went six years in prison without one and didn’t miss them a bit.”

  “You were behind bars?”

  “A couple of times. Moon was once, too, for . . .” Once again Conklin stopped. “Listen, I’d be obliged if you don’t tell him I told you. He tends to get mad when we run off at the mouth.”

  “He won’t hear it from me.”

  The door opened. Gretchen had thrown on a plain brown dress and a brown bonnet. “Sorry to keep you gentlemen waiting.”

  “I ain’t no gentleman, lady,” Conklin said, and stalked off.

  “What’s bothering him?”

  “He wishes that he looks as good in a dress as you do.”

  “I never know when you’re serious.”

  Quiet gripped Kill Creek. The wolves had stopped howling, and the coyotes had ceased yipping. Save for the hoot of a solitary owl, the mountains might be lifeless. Conklin led them past the saloon to the stable. Someone was already there; light spilled out of the double doors. “Take a gander,” he said to Fargo.

  Moon was there with Tucker and Beck. So was James and Landreth. When Fargo entered they looked at him and then at the stall the Ovaro had been in.

  The Ovaro was back.

  “What the hell?” Fargo blurted. He hurried over and brought the stallion out. He checked for wounds. He examined all four legs. Then he patted it on the neck and said, “This makes no kind of sense.”

  “It doesn’t to me, either,” James said. “We were hunting for Esther and I happened to look in here and there your animal was. I know you couldn’t have done it because you were with Gretchen.”

  Moon was scratching his stubble. “What kind of horse thief steals a horse and then brings it back?”

  “I know the answer,” Landreth said.

  Everyone looked at him and James said, “You do?”

  Landreth pointed his cane at Fargo. “He’s in league with whoever has Esther.”

  “How in hell do you figure that?” Moon said.

  “Simple. Stealing his horse was a ruse. They only pretended to in order to distract us and keep us at the stable while they killed Shorty and abducted Esther.”

  “That’s preposterous,” Gretchen said.

  “Is it?” Landreth rejoined. “Think about it. Why else did they bring his horse back? A fine animal like that?”

  Tucker said, “I wouldn’t give him back if I stole him.” “Me either,” Beck chimed in. “He’s about the prettiest horse I ever did see.”

  Landreth turned to James. “You can see I’m right, can’t you? We should demand he tell us where Esther is and if he won’t, give him to Moon and have Moon persuade him to talk.”

  “I don’t know,” James said. “I don’t think he was shamming when he found his horse was gone.”

  “I tell you he deceived us. We should confine him until we’re done here and decide what to do with him when we leave.”

  Fargo turned and leveled the Henry. “I’d like to see someone try.” He would be damned if he would let them lock him away somewhere.

  “You’re being absurd,” Gretchen said to Landreth. “He’s our friend and you treat him like this.”

  “He’s your
friend, maybe. He certainly isn’t mine. Anyway, you don’t have a say,” Landreth informed her.

  The bickering might have gone on longer if not for an unexpected interruption: a round object came sailing in the open doors. It bounced and rolled and skittered to a stop, and Gretchen shrieked.

  She had good cause.

  11

  Fargo was as stunned as everyone else. The head had been ripped from Shorty’s body, not severed. Jagged strips of skin and flesh edged the neck, and Shorty’s lifeless eyes were fixed on the rafters in glazed emptiness.

  “Dear God!” James exclaimed in horror.

  Landreth looked fit to be sick.

  Moon was the first of the gun crowd to come out of his shock. He ran up to the head, swore luridly, then bellowed, “Come on, you jackasses.” Drawing his Remingtons, he raced from the stable.

  Conklin, Tucker and Beck overcame their shock, drew their own artillery, and ran out after him.

  Gretchen had turned away and pressed her hands to her face. “How could anyone do that?”

  James went to her and put his arm around her shoulder. “Try to be strong. We’ll take you back and Roy will stay with you while I get to the bottom of this and Esther’s disappearance.” He glanced at Fargo. “What about you?”

  “I’ll be along in a minute.”

  The two city men ushered Gretchen out. She glanced back worriedly at Fargo and he smiled to reassure her.

  No one had thought to do anything about the head. Fargo walked over to it.

  The proper thing to do, he supposed, was to pick it up and carry it back to the body so the parts could be buried together. He kicked it into a corner.

  Fargo turned to the Ovaro. Right before the head was thrown into the stable, he’d noticed that something had been draped over his saddle: his saddlebags. Mystified, he put his hand on them. “How the hell did you get here?” The last he saw, they had been on the table in the saloon. A flap had been undone. He looked inside. His puzzlement growing, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Someone had written on it in a feminine hand. The message read:This is your last chance. They’ll be mad at me but I’ve brought your horse and your effects back. Go, please, before it’s too late. I doubt I’ll be able to help you again. I know him. The killing will start soon.

  Serilda

  Fargo put the paper in his saddlebags and stared at the Ovaro. If he had any sense, he would do what she wanted. He would throw his saddle on the stallion and put a lot of miles between them and Kill Creek. So far all he had suffered was a dog bite and some bruises but he might go through a lot worse if he stayed.

  Fargo slid his saddle blanket off the stall and swung it up and over the stallion. He smoothed it down and then swung the saddle on. After doing the cinch he tied on his saddlebags and was ready. Stepping into the stirrups, he rode from the stable and reined down the middle of the street—not away from Kill Creek, but into it.

  Moon and his pack were barreling from building to building. They came out of one as Fargo was passing, and stopped.

  “You leaving?” Moon asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why saddle your cayuse?”

  “From now on where I go, it goes,” Fargo informed him. He would be damned if he would let it be taken again.

  “No sign yet of the bastard who tore Shorty apart but we’ll find him,” Moon said. “He thinks this is his town and he can hide but he’ll find out different.” Moon motioned and he and his brother wolves ran on.

  Fargo drew rein at the millinery.

  Just then James emerged. “Ah. You’ve joined us. Excellent. How about if we search together while Mr. Moon and his friends conduct their hunt? Two search parties are better than one.”

  “Gretchen?”

  “Distraught, but she’ll recover. Roy will watch over her and see that she doesn’t share Esther’s fate.” James blanched. “My sweet Esther. She’s everything to me, Mr. Fargo. I love her heart and soul.” He headed toward an abandoned house.

  Fargo swung down and led the Ovaro by the reins. As they walked he shucked the Henry from the saddle scabbard.

  “Yes, sir,” James rambled on. “A woman like Esther comes along but once in a man’s lifetime. You wouldn’t believe the sacrifice she has made in the name of our love.”

  “Try me.”

  “She’s given up everything on my behalf. Her parents, the life she was living—she threw them all aside in my favor. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

  Fargo forgot himself and said, “Love or greed?”

  James glanced over sharply. “Greed? What has Gretchen been telling you?”

  “She didn’t say a thing,” Fargo lied. “I overheard mention of a lot of money.”

  “What we’ve done we did out of love,” James said, and put his hand to his chest. “Our love is sublime, Esther’s and mine. It is Romeo and Juliet and Anthony and Cleopatra all over again.”

  “Who?”

  “Surely you’ve read William Shakespeare? Even if you haven’t, you must know what true love is.”

  “Love is what a man calls it when he wants it regular. She must be a wildcat in bed.”

  James stopped and scowled. “I beg your pardon? I’ll thank you not to be so vulgar. Esther is a lady. I love her for her heart and for her mind and her wonderful personality.”

  “What about her body?”

  “Love is more than that. Are you going to stand there and tell me you’ve never felt it, not once in your entire life?”

  “I’ve felt a twinge or two,” Fargo admitted.

  “Well then. You know exactly how I feel about Esther, and why I would do anything for that woman. Now please. We must find her, and quickly. I shudder to think what might happen to her in the hands of whoever murdered poor Shorty.”

  The next house proved to be empty. So did the cabin after that. Moon shouted to them from the other end of the street, asking if they had found anything, and James yelled back that they hadn’t.

  Fargo was on the watch for Maxine and her remaining three dogs but apparently she showed herself to him only when no one else was around. The same with the hulking figure in the frock and hood.

  “Where can she be?” James anxiously asked for the fiftieth time as they came to the last house. “It’s as if she vanished into thin air.”

  “There’s a lot of that going on.”

  “You say the strangest things.” James clomped onto a rickety porch and opened the door. It creaked on hinges long neglected and wouldn’t open all the way. “Esther?” he called out. “Are you in here?” Something scuttled past him and he jumped and bleated, “Look out! It’s a rat!”

  The animal ran past Fargo’s boots and into brush along the porch. “I don’t usually run from rabbits or rodents.”

  James was staring at the brush as if afraid the rat would come back out. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you? Did you see the size of that thing? It was longer than my foot.”

  “A lot of rats grow that big. It’s nothing to pee your pants over.”

  “You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are. For your information, I know of people who were bitten by rats and became deathly ill. What do you think of that?”

  “I think where there’s one rat, there’s liable to be a lot more.”

  James peered into the house and hesitated. “That’s right. They live in colonies, don’t they? There could be hundreds of the vile things. Perhaps thousands.” He drew a pocket pistol. “Be ready, just in case.”

  “Have you ever tried to shoot a running rat?”

  “I can’t say as I have. Why?”

  “They’re as hard to hit as a jackrabbit. Your best bet is to stomp them to death.”

  “And get their guts all over my shoes? No, thank you. Mine are made from the finest Italian leather.” James inched forward and peeked around the door. “It’s so dark in here.”

  Fargo almost said “Boo” to see what he would do. “We don’t have all night.”

  “All r
ight.” James went in but took only a couple of steps. “I don’t hear anything. Do you?”

  “Oh, hell.” Fargo shouldered past. As near as he could make out, he was in a parlor or sitting room. A narrow hall led to a small kitchen. A squat shape in the corner caused him to level the Henry but it turned out to be a stove. The whole house had a dank, earthy scent, the result of neglect, he reckoned and went back out.

  James was anxiously waiting. “She’s not in there? Damnation. I dare say our search will prove as fruitless as the last time. Where in the world can they have taken her? Into the forest?”

  Fargo was about to suggest they look over at the bluffs when a faint sound fell on their ears. So faint, he barely heard it—a low wavering howl.

  “Was that a wolf?” James asked.

  “A dog.”

  “Where did it come from? I couldn’t tell.”

  Fargo looked down at his boots. He would swear the howl had come from under the ground. He thought of how Serilda and her family kept disappearing, and of the cool air he’d felt on his face in the back room of the saloon, and then of the dank smell in the house, and he slapped his forehead and swore.

  “What’s wrong? Did you see another rat?”

  “I’m an idiot. I should have figured it out sooner.”

  “Figured out what?”

  “I thought there must be a hidden door in or out of the saloon but I was wrong. They’re not going through the walls.”

  “What on earth are you talking about? I’m utterly confused.”

  “Go fetch a lantern.” Fargo stepped out on the porch, careful to avoid a hole where the wood had rotted.

  “I’m the one in charge. Give me one good reason why I should go and not you?”

  Fargo trained the Henry on him. “This holds fifteen reasons.”

  James smiled and extended his pistol. “I have a gun too. You’ll need to do better than that.”

  “Esther.”

  “What about her?”

  “Do you want to find her or not?”

  “That’s a stupid question. I just got through telling you a short while ago how much she means to me.”