Sierra Six-Guns

by Jon Sharpe

  Retrieving the Henry, Fargo ran. He came to a fork and bore to the right and presently came on another and this time went straight. By his reckoning he should be directly under Kill Creek.

  A ladder appeared. Setting the lantern down, Fargo climbed. He tried the trapdoor and it swung up without protest. He was in an empty room. From beyond came muffled voices. Clambering out, he quietly lowered the trapdoor.

  The room was familiar. He was in the back of the saloon. He crept to the door and cracked it open. The voices were louder but not loud enough that he could hear what they were saying. Slipping out, he glided along the hall until he was almost to the light.

  “—hear another word out of you,” Moon grated. “You can’t blame me for what happened.”

  “Like hell we can’t.” This from Tucker.

  Fargo flattened. They were just around the corner.

  “You said you had it worked out,” Tucker continued. “You said they’d do as you wanted. But now Shorty’s dead and one of us could be next. Beck and me are for lighting a shuck, and I don’t mean tomorrow.”

  “You’re siding with him?” Moon asked.

  “Everything has gone to hell,” Beck replied. “We can’t trust them anymore, if we ever could.”

  “All that money. We’re supposed to ride off and forget it?”

  Tucker answered. “We can’t spend any if we’re maggot bait. And I don’t mind admitting that that loco son of a bitch scares the hell out of me.”

  “Conklin, where do you stand?” Moon said.

  “With you, like always.”

  “Then it’s two against two.”

  “No one is against anyone,” Tucker said. “We just don’t think it’s smart to stick with a losing hand.”

  “He’s not bulletproof. We shoot him, he’ll die, the same as you or me.”

  “But how many of us will he do in before we bring him down? He’s not human. Those dandies are one thing; that damned lunatic another.”

  “And then there’s that redhead and her dogs,” Beck said. “She’ll try to stop us if she finds out.”

  “She’ll listen to me. I can talk her into anything.”

  Tucker snorted. “You talked her into this and look at where it’s got us. She’s almost as loco as her pa.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Don’t get mad. I’m only saying, is all. It’ll be days before the money gets here. A lot can happen, and none of it good.”

  “Half a million dollars,” Moon said.

  “It’s not worth dying for.”

  “Half a million dollars split four ways is one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  “Each?” Beck said.

  “Each and every one of us.”

  “Hell,” Beck said. “I didn’t realize it was that much. I wouldn’t need to work the rest of my born days.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Tucker urged.

  “You heard him,” Beck said. “One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars each.”

  “Remember Shorty’s head,” Tucker said.

  “Shorty was careless,” Moon declared. “We won’t be. The four of us will stick together so he can’t jump us. He tries anything, he’s dead and we’re rich.”

  “You’re forgetting the bitch and the blonde,” Conklin broke his long silence.

  “I’m not forgetting anyone. We already agreed what to do about them and the dandies.”

  “Not the city gals. I mean your redhead and her sister. Beck is right. They’re awful protective of that pa of theirs.”

  “I don’t care . . .” Moon began, and stopped at a yell from down the street.

  “Listen.”

  Fargo heard it, too. James Harker, shouting for Moon and his men.

  “What the hell does he want now?” Tucker rasped. “I’m sick to death of that no account. I’d as soon blow his brains out as look at him.”

  “When the time comes, he’s mine,” Moon said. “I want him to crawl. I want him to beg. Him and his airs. I’ll teach him.”

  The light and their voices dwindled. The saloon fell quiet and dark.

  Fargo stood. From what he’d gathered, there was a lot more to this than he thought. Exactly how all the pieces of the puzzle fit was still a mystery. Not that he cared. His sole aim now was to whisk Gretchen out of Kill Creek, and Serilda if she wanted to come, and leave the rest to do themselves in as they saw fit.

  Fargo went to the batwing, took off his hat, and poked his head out. The four lead chuckers were passing the butcher shop. Farther down, the Ovaro was still tied to the post. “Hang on, big fella,” Fargo said out loud. “We’re leaving this ghost town in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  Fargo spun.

  Maxine had come out of the hall and was holding a revolver on him. “Miss me, handsome?”

  “I met your pa.”

  “Did you, now? And you’re still alive? I can remedy that.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like this,” Fargo said.

  Maxine took a step and tossed her wild mane of hair. “Sure it does. You killed one of my dogs, you son of a bitch.”

  “It was him or me.”

  “Well, now it’s your turn,” Maxine said, and raised the revolver.

  15

  Fargo threw himself under the batwing as the boom of her six-shooter filled the saloon. The slug bit into the jamb and sent slivers flying. He rolled to the left and was up and to the corner before she could shoot again. He drew his Colt and covered the doorway.

  Down the street, Moon’s bunch had heard the blast and were hurrying back.

  Fargo turned and ran to the rear of the saloon and along the backs of the buildings until he came to the house he was looking for. Darting between it and the next, he jogged to the front.

  The Ovaro was only a few yards away but it wasn’t alone.

  James and Landreth were nearby, staring down the street.

  “What do you suppose that shot was about?” the former wondered.

  “There’s no telling. Moon and his goons went into the saloon and now it’s gone quiet. Maybe we should go see.”

  “And leave the ladies unprotected?” James objected. “I should say not. From now on we don’t leave their sides.”

  “We can take them with us.”

  James hesitated. “I suppose that’s better than standing here not knowing. From what Esther told us, the madman who took her is quite fierce. Moon and his men could be dead for all we know.”

  “At least we’re rid of the scout,” Landreth mentioned. “I never did like him.”

  “I wasn’t all that fond of him either but I wouldn’t want to die the way he did.” James shuddered. “Buried alive, Esther said, when part of a tunnel collapsed on top of him. She was lucky to make it out alive.”

  Just then the door opened and out came the woman who had tried to take Fargo’s life. She wore a dress and had cleaned herself up and was holding a lantern.

  “Was that a gunshot I heard a minute ago?”

  “Yes, dear. Down near the saloon.” James took the lantern. “Moon went to investigate and hasn’t come out.”

  “Where’s Gretchen?” Landreth asked.

  “She says she is staying in our room until morning,” Esther said. “She’s been cross with me ever since I escaped from that monster. I suspect it has something to do with Fargo. She was very fond of him.”

  “Yet another reason I’m glad he’s dead,” Landreth declared.

  Esther stared down the street. “We should go see about Mr. Moon. If that brute and his girls have killed them, we need to know.”

  “What about Gretchen?” James said. “We can’t leave her here alone no matter what she wants.”

  Esther motioned. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn. I was flattered when she insisted on coming along to be sure I was safe but she’s turned out to be more of a bother than she’s worth. I particularly don’t like that she cozied up to Fargo after I explicitly told her not
to.” Esther took his arm. “Come on.”

  Landreth glanced at the millinery and frowned but he went with them.

  Fargo smiled. He waited until they were well along, then ran to the dress shop and ducked inside. The door to the bedroom was shut so he knocked.

  “Who is it?” Gretchen demanded.

  Fargo told her.

  There was a squeal of delight and the door was flung wide and Gretchen threw herself at him and hugged him close, saying in his ear, “Thank God. Esther told us you were dead.”

  “I almost was, thanks to her.” Fargo took Gretchen’s hand. “We’re getting out of here.”

  “But my things . . .”

  “What’s more important, your clothes or your life?” Fargo pulled and she came with him. The street was temporarily empty. Quickly stepping to the Ovaro, he untied the reins and swung up. “Grab hold,” he said, and offered his arm.

  Gretchen wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her cheek on his back. “I’m so happy you’re alive.”

  “Makes two of us.” Fargo reined toward the bluffs. He rode at a walk until he was sure he was out of earshot. At a trot he looped around until he came to the old road, well past Kill Creek. A dark wall of forest hemmed both sides. From its depths issued shrieks and bays and an occasional roar.

  They had gone a quarter of a mile when Gretchen straightened and said quietly, “I can’t.”

  “Can’t what?”

  “Leave Esther this way. It’s not right. You have to take me back.”

  “Like hell.”

  “She’s my friend. I can’t up and abandon her, even if we have had a spat.”

  Fargo told her what he’d overheard, adding, “If she doesn’t care about you, you shouldn’t give a damn about her.”

  “That was her anger talking. Deep down Esther cares for me. I know she does. I can’t desert her. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  “I’m not turning back.” As far as Fargo was concerned, the rest could kill themselves off, and good riddance. He liked Serilda, but when she threw that dirt in his face and ran off, she had made it plain where her sentiments lay.

  “Please.”

  “No, damn it. Don’t ask again.”

  “You owe me this favor.”

  Fargo swore. Women everywhere were the same. Make love to a female and she considered the man to be in her debt for as long as he drew breath.

  Gretchen had more to say. “You won’t want to hear this but you have a streak of decency in you or I would never have let you have me. I’m appealing to that streak. If it was your best friend back there, you wouldn’t run out on them.”

  “You don’t know me,” Fargo said gruffly.

  Gretchen reached around and touched his cheek. “I know what my heart tells me and my heart never lies.”

  “Women and their hearts.”

  “Men and their stubborn streaks,” Gretchen retorted. “I know I’m right. Why else did you come to get me? Please. I’m begging you. Turn around.”

  Fargo cursed some more, then drew rein and shifted in the saddle. “We’re shed of that place. We got away clean and we should keep on going. We’ll head for the nearest town and look up the law and have them deal with it.”

  “By then Esther could be dead.” Gretchen shook her head. “No. If you won’t turn back, I’ll go alone.”

  “Damn you.”

  “You don’t mean that.” Gretchen put her hands on the saddle and went to push off.

  Fargo grabbed her wrist. “Hold on. You win. But we should wait until daylight.”

  “No.”

  “Esther will be all right until then. James and Landreth are there to protect her.” The truth was, Fargo doubted the pair could fend off a riled chipmunk but he kept that to himself.

  “I don’t know,” Gretchen said uncertainly.

  “If we hear a shot or a scream we’ll head back,” Fargo promised.

  “I suppose it would be all right. We haven’t gone all that far.”

  Fargo reined into the trees and came on a small clearing. He helped her down, then proceeded to untie his bedroll and spread it out for her to sit on. He opened a saddlebag, took out his pemmican, and offered her a piece.

  “What’s this?”

  “Ground buffalo meat mixed with fat and chokecherries. I got it from a Shoshone gal.”

  “Buffalo meat and fat?” Gretchen shoved it at him. “No thank you. I’ve never eaten buffalo meat and fat doesn’t appeal to me.”

  Fargo didn’t take it. He sat next to her, selected a piece for himself, and bit off the end. Chewing lustily, he smacked his lips. “You don’t know what you’re missing. Pemmican has jerky beat all hollow.”

  Gretchen watched him chew. Scowling, she took a tentative nibble, chewed a while, and smiled. “You know, it’s not half bad. I should thank you for going to so much trouble on my behalf. You’ve been more of a gentleman than James and Roy put together.”

  To the north a ululating cry rose on the wind.

  Gretchen’s head snapped up and she looked fearfully about her. “Did you hear that?”

  “It was a wolf and wolves don’t bother people much,” Fargo enlightened her. “You’re safe.”

  As if to prove him wrong, the screech of a mountain lion echoed off a high slope.

  “Safe, you say?” Gretchen moved closer. “I don’t mind admitting the wilds frighten me, and always have. I don’t know how you do what you do.”

  Fargo shrugged. “We get used to things.”

  “Used to bears out to rend you limb from limb? Or painted hostiles out to lift your hair? I could never get used to that.”

  “It’s not as if I run into a griz every other day.”

  “Once a lifetime is enough for me.” Gretchen regarded him thoughtfully. “You’re a rare breed, Skye, whether you’re willing to admit it or not.”

  Fargo was never comfortable talking about himself. He changed the subject.

  “Are you going to report her when you get back to civilization?”

  “Esther?”

  “No. The queen of England.”

  “Haven’t you been listening? Esther is my best friend. I could no more report her than I could abandon her.”

  “She doesn’t feel the same about you.”

  “Be that as it may,” Gretchen persisted, “I have been her friend for too many years to turn my back on her when she needs me most. So no, if I make it back, I’m not going to turn her in. I hope she and James make it to Paris and live happily ever after.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “Don’t you have a shred of romance in your soul? Everything Esther has done, she’s done out of love. I might not agree with how she has gone about it but I admire her devotion to her man.”

  “You don’t care that she’s going to steal half a million dollars from her own pa?”

  “Her father can afford it.”

  “That’s no answer.”

  Gretchen was about to take another bite of pemmican but lowered it. “I’m not perfect. I have faults the same as everybody else. One of them is loyalty to my friends, no matter what they do.”

  Fargo admired her for that. He was about to say so when the crack of a twig brought him to his feet, his right hand on the Colt.

  Gretchen stood up too. “What was that?” She sidled over and her arm touched his. “Some kind of animal?”

  “A deer, maybe,” Fargo said to set her at ease. The vegetation was a patchwork of dark shapes and sizes, any one of which could be responsible.

  “Or a bear,” Gretchen said fearfully.

  “Bears usually make a lot more noise.”

  “Usually?”

  As Fargo could have told her, when a bear wanted to it could move as silently as a ghost. Another tidbit he kept to himself.

  “We should build a fire. Fires keep animals away.”

  “They would see it in Kill Creek.”

  “Then we should find a spot where we can build one that they can’t see.
I’d sleep better.”

  Fargo thought he saw something move and focused on the spot but nothing appeared.

  “In fact, why don’t we roll up your blankets and leave right this minute?” Gretchen suggested.

  The Ovaro suddenly nickered and stamped a hoof.

  Fargo drew his Colt. “Get behind me.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  The stallion had its ear up and was staring into the woods near where Fargo had spotted movement. So something was out there. He thumbed back the Colt’s hammer.

  “Maybe it will leave us be,” Gretchen said.

  “Maybe.” It had been Fargo’s experience that nine times out of ten, meat-eaters fought shy of people. It was that tenth time a person had to worry about.

  “I sure hope you’re right about it being a deer.”

  Fargo wished she would stop talking. He spied a patch of black that did not appear to be part of the surrounding brush. “Stay here.” He took a step and she gripped his wrist.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Then where you go, I go.”

  Rather than argue, Fargo moved toward the edge of the clearing. She held his arm so tight, her nails dug into his skin. “You’re fretting over nothing,” he said.

  From the depths of a thicket came a growl.

  “I knew it!” Gretchen cried.

  “Get behind me,” Fargo urged. He tried to tug his arm free but she wouldn’t let go.

  There was another growl, and the undergrowth crackled, and the next moment, the creature stalked into view.

  “Dear God,” Gretchen said. “How did it find us?”

  “Its nose,” Fargo guessed.

  The mastiff crouched to spring.

  16

  Fargo’s first thought was that where there was one mastiff there were bound to be the others. “Get behind me,” he said again, and raised the Colt.

  Gretchen was rooted in place, her hands clamped on his arm. “Look at how big it is.”

  Fargo was well aware of its size. He must make his first shot count or it would be on them ripping and rending. He aimed at the center of the dark rectangle that was its head. “Watch for the other two.”