California Crackdown (19 page)

“We can make a deal,” Sarah said.

“Too late for a deal.”

“Talk to him, Kip. He’ll listen to you.”

“She’s right, Fargo. We can make a deal. I don’t blame you for hating us. Cain was your friend. But he’s gone now. No sense in you turning down a good amount of money and riding off free and clear.”

In other circumstances their movements would have been amusing. Both of them were trying to cover their private parts with little success.

But then Kip made another move and it took Fargo a long second to realize what the naked man had done. He’d flung himself to the side of the bed where his holster hung. He grabbed the gun and pitched himself to the floor. His intention was to use the bed as a shield. He’d fire from behind there.

“Kip!” Sarah Brant cried.

Just as she shouted, Kip’s head came up over the bed. So did his gun. He fired off two shots without realizing that Sarah had twisted around and was directly in his line of fire. One of the bullets struck her in the face, the other in the throat.

“Sarah!” Kip cried, his eyes reflecting the horror he felt at killing his lover.

But that was his last word and last thought. Fargo put a bullet into his forehead. It took only one.

A silence. And in the silence the odors of death and gun smoke. This had been a bloody mission and for all the slaughter Fargo felt strangely unsatisfied. Sometimes it seemed that the only way violence could be stopped was with more violence. And for every life he took he knew that he was changed, hardened, in ways he did not necessarily like. Or admire. Sometimes you had to wonder if you were any better than those you killed.

A footstep. A voice. “You killed my daughter, you sonofabitch.”

Fargo turned slowly to see Brant standing in the doorway, a snout-ugly sawed-off shotgun in his hands. Fargo’s Colt looked pretty punk by comparison.

“I’m afraid that honor went to your good friend Kip, Brant. Your daughter moved in front of him when he was trying to kill me. She took the bullets.”

Tears filled the man’s eyes as they focused on the sight of his daughter stretched across the mussed bed.

“She was all I had. And one way or the other, you’re responsible for her being dead.”

Any other human being, Fargo would have felt pity for the ashen, sorrowful man in front of him. But not this one. He’d killed Cain for no other reason than greed.

Fargo stared at the ugly twin eyes of the sawed-off. He was facing execution.

“You keep saying she’s dead, Brant. You don’t know that for sure and neither do I.”

Brant’s glistening eyes lifted to meet Fargo’s. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“People don’t always die when they get shot. Maybe she’s still breathing. Maybe you can get her to a doctor.”

“You’re just saying that.” But his voice and eyes changed subtly. They reflected a reluctant hope. Maybe she wasn’t dead after all. Maybe the most precious thing of all to him could be saved.

“Look at her. I thought I saw her breathing but I didn’t have time to check after you walked in with that sawed-off.”

“You’re tricking me, Fargo. And I won’t put up with it. I’m not some fool.”

“Well, look for yourself.”

And how could the man resist? He not only let his gaze stray, he let it settle on his daughter for two seconds too long.

Fargo dove to the side of a chair while Brant, enraged, cursing, spent his only two shells on trying to track Fargo.

Fargo got him clean, twice. Once in the forehead, once in the heart. Brant shouted, teetered forward, then fell backward, dead.

Fargo came from behind the chair and looked at the dead man. There was no pleasure in the killing now. He’d rather have Cain alive. Not even avenging his death made up for the loss of him.

Soon enough, Fargo left.

Fargo walked slowly back down the trail to where Hank and Walt and Jim waited for him.

“It’s over,” he said. “Keep guards on the road, but otherwise, get some men to start cleaning up the new addition to Sharon’s Dream.”

The smiles on the three men could have lit up a night.

“What happened?” Walt asked.

Hank handed Fargo a canteen and he drank long and hard before he answered the young miner’s question. He felt numb, the anger gone. All he really wanted to do was get on his horse and ride. But he knew Cain would want him to stay around for a short time and make sure Sharon’s Dream wasn’t threatened, that it and its new addition were headed in the right direction.

When he finished drinking, he said, “I’ll show you. And bring a couple of extra men along and some shovels. There’s a mess to clean up. And we need to figure out why there’s another mine hidden up there.”

“Another mine?” Jim said, his smile threatening to break out of the sides of his face.

Fargo shrugged and turned back up into the box canyon. “Let’s go take a look.”

He walked slowly and alone so the others could round up some other men and follow along. It felt better anyway, walking alone for the moment. It gave him time to gather himself a little. The three caught up with him about halfway up the mile-long canyon.

When they reached the big, white house tucked in the back of the box canyon under the rock walls, all three men were stunned.

“Why build this here?” Hank said.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Fargo said.

Fargo pointed to the upstairs. “The mess is up there. Bury them together in the same grave and don’t mark it. And I’d take that bed out of that one room and burn it, along with their clothes.”

Hank turned to the men coming up behind them with shovels and gave the orders as Fargo headed for the stable. Inside, a lantern filled the place with light, and the smell of fresh hay greeted him like an old friend.

Two beautiful chestnut mares were in stalls. They looked well groomed and well fed. Brant had taken care of his animals, if nothing else.

To the right of the big stable, a mine opening ran back into the rocks, well supported and dark.

Henry Brant’s coat was hung on a hook and Fargo picked it off and checked the pockets before giving it to Hank to toss with the rest on the fire.

“My guess is that somewhere in that house,” Fargo said, “or in here, is his land deed and claim for this mine. Better we find it and other personal papers to make the transfer easier.”

“Good idea,” Jim said.

Walt had moved over to the opening of the mine and had taken a lamp off the hook. “This is well built and all the trailing was taken down the hill. Let’s find out why.” With that, Walt lit the lamp and started into the mine.

“Stop!” Fargo shouted to Walt. “Don’t move a muscle.”

Walt froze about ten steps inside the mine entrance like a statue in a city park. “You want to tell me why?”

“If Brant’s gold is back there, if this mine was dug to hold his gold, which I’m guessing it was, he’s going to have it rigged to kill anyone who shouldn’t go in there.”

“Shit,” Walt said softly.

Fargo and Jim and Hank all grabbed and lit lamps.

With four lamps, the inside of the mine looked like it was outside on a bright, sunny day. And Fargo had been right. Two steps in front of Walt was a trip string about ankle-high off the ground.

Fargo moved up to it and pointed to the string, following it back into the wall to two shotguns dug into and hidden in the rock wall.

“Now, that is just nasty,” Jim said.

“Everyone move back,” Fargo said, putting his lantern on the ground just short of the string. “Hank, Walt, get bridles on those horses and get them out of here. This is going to be loud.”

When they were ready, Fargo grabbed Henry Brant’s coat from where Jim had tossed it over a stable railing. He wadded it up into a ball and, standing in the mine entrance, he tossed the coat at the string, then ducked back to cover his head and face from any sprayed rocks or buckshot.

The sound of the two shotgun explosions filling the mine made his ears ring.

Walt’s face was white as he stared into the swirling dust of the mine. “Fargo, let me say one more time, thank you.”

Fargo patted the big kid on the shoulder. A moment later a half dozen men came running into the stable to make sure they were all right.

They had to wait for the dust to settle before they dared try going into the mine again, so Fargo went out and sat on the front porch of the white house, staring at the rock cliffs around him while the men worked to dig the grave a hundred paces away and pile up the personal belongings of the Brants and Kip. The sun still hadn’t reached the canyon floor and more than likely when it did, it would stick around for only a short time.

After the grave was finished, four men brought the body of Henry Brant down the stairs and tossed him in the deep, narrow hole.

The thud of his body hitting the bottom of the six-foot drop drained some more of the anger from Fargo. Maybe there was something to be said for attending a funeral after all.

Next they brought the body of Kip, wrapped in the rug that had been beside the bed in his room. They tossed him in facedown.

Last they brought Sarah Brant down wrapped in the bloody sheet and blankets that had been on the bed. They tossed her faceup on top of Kip. Then a couple of men dumped some lye on the bodies and started filling in the hole.

Fargo sat there, saying nothing, as the hole filled and then five or six men moved a few large, boulder-sized rocks on top of it, leaving nothing showing but some disturbed ground.

“Good enough,” Fargo said, feeling satisfied that Cain was now avenged. He was going to miss his friend, but at least his killers had been given their just reward. He stood and said to the other men: “Let’s go see if the mine is cleared out.”

It was, and they found no more traps along the way.

In a wide area fifty paces back into the cool mountainside, wooden cases were stacked along both walls.

Jim yanked off the top of one and stared.

Walt yanked off the top of another and stared at it in the same way.

Hank counted the cases, his voice getting louder and louder as he went along.

There were two hundred and eighty-six cases of gold ore, just waiting to be taken to Sacramento to be sold and processed. More money than Fargo wanted to ever think about.

Fargo smiled. Not only had the people who worked for Cain gotten a very good deal by getting Sharon’s Dream when he died, but by defending it they had also gotten very rich very quickly.

“Why would Brant do this?” Walt asked, moving from one stack to another, touching each top box.

“Some people don’t trust banks; some don’t trust coin or paper money either,” Fargo said. “Brant was rich as long as this was here. Now I understand why he built such a nice house up here.”

“He wanted to stay comfortably close to his money,” Hank said.

“Just like putting it under his mattress,” Fargo said, laughing.

Two hours later, while the sun was still high overhead, Fargo climbed on his big Ovaro and headed back into town. They had found Brant’s deed to the mine and his personal papers. Jim said he could copy the signature easily, so tomorrow morning they would appear in front of a judge with a paper stating that Brant was signing over all interest in his mine and all his property to the men and women who owned Sharon’s Dream.

And the official story was that Fargo chased Brant and his daughter off in the middle of the night, letting them live only if they signed the paper.

No one would believe that, of course, but there would be no one to challenge it, and the bodies were so well hidden, Fargo wondered if the devil himself would run across them.

Again, he went into the Wallace through the saloon batwings. Anne Dowling looked up at him and smiled. She came around the bar and in front of a dozen men playing poker, kissed him hard and long.

When she broke it off, she got a round of applause from the men and some somewhat off-color remarks. She just smiled at the men in the room and took Fargo by the hand and led him into her office, where without a word she kissed him hard and long once again.

When she finally pushed back, he said, “Now, ma’am, I sure hope you don’t greet all your customers like that. You’re apt to wear out those lips.”

She laughed and kissed him again. Then she said, “I can see in your eyes that it’s over.”

“You can?” he asked.

“Skye Fargo, I can read you like a professional poker player reads a rube. The anger is gone. You want to tell me about it?”

“Long story,” he said. “How about over a steak? It feels like I haven’t eaten for a week.”

“Sounds great to me,” she said.

“Tonight, though, I’m buying.”

With him escorting her, they went through the bar, into the hotel, and then into the dining room, where by the time the dessert was served, he had told her everything that had happened since he’d left her bed that morning.

“A mine full of boxes of gold ore?” she asked. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“Nope, not kidding. But I need a favor from you again.”

“Anything,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“I need you to arrange that same judge tomorrow to transfer the ownership.” He told her what Jim was doing in Henry Brant’s handwriting.

She laughed. “I’ll set it up in the morning. I’m sure there won’t be a problem. And I think everyone in town will be happy the explosions have stopped so we can all get some sleep.” Then suddenly she looked serious and a little sad. “When are you heading out on the trail again?”

They both knew he would leave. Any thought of staying in one place too long made him feel like he was living in the bottom of that box canyon with walls trapping him. But this time he smiled at her question instead of ignoring it.

“Sharon’s Dream has hired me to guard all their shipments to Sacramento. And after what they found in that canyon, and their normal production, I’m going to be around for a while yet.”