Death Devil (9781101559666) (11 page)

“Any advice you can give me for when I go after the girl?” Fargo asked.

“Yes,” Belinda said. “Don't get bit.”

The golden orb of the sun blazed the misty eastern horizon when Fargo stepped into the stirrups and reined the Ovaro toward the cornfield. He'd slept on the settee, or tried to, and had a fitful night. He kept waking up at the slightest sound. It didn't help that Harold McWhertle refused to bolt the doors in case Abigail came back. Orville argued that he was putting their lives at risk but Harold refused to give in.

Belinda had stayed up in the bedroom with Edna so Harold slept in another bedroom by himself. His kids he put down in the root cellar. The rest of the McWhertles sprawled wherever they saw fit.

No one else was up when Fargo roused and went to the kitchen. He'd kindled the stove and helped himself to coffee left over from the day before.

Now here he was, off to find the possibly rabid spitfire.

The morning air was brisk but that would soon change.

He rode around the barn and crossed to the corn and drew rein. He had a choice. He could track her through the corn, which could take a month of Sundays, or he could circle and try to find where she'd left the corn for parts unknown. He chose the second.

Reining right, Fargo went along the perimeter to the corner and reined left. The only tracks he saw were those of a rabbit and an opossum. He went another thirty feet, and stopped. There, in a patch of bare dirt, was the partial print of a small naked foot. It pointed toward woods that covered a nearby hill.

Fargo tapped his spurs. Out of habit he loosened the Colt in its holster.

At daybreak the trees were always alive with the warbling of birds. Wrens twittered and sparrows chirped.

Shafts of sunlight dappled a clearing where a doe and a fawn grazed.

Fargo was finding it hard to spot sign. The girl was a sprout, barely seventy pounds, and the ground was covered with leaves. Half the time he had to guess which way she'd gone and twice he had to backtrack. By the middle of the morning he'd traveled barely a mile and had yet to see her. She'd been meandering all over the place. It was a wonder, he reflected, that a coyote or a bear hadn't stumbled on her. Then again, one whiff and an animal was likely to run the other way.

A blue ribbon of water gleamed amid the greens and browns. Fargo came to a small creek and dismounted. While the Ovaro drank he scanned the countryside for a patch of white. The girl was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and turned toward the stallion.

Not ten yards away stood Abigail, her small body in a crouch, her fingers claws, her eyes as red as the night before, and her chin flecked with froth.

The instant Fargo saw her, she hissed and charged. He side-stepped and she flew past, only to wheel on a heel and come at him again. He pivoted, hooked her legs with his boot, and sent her tumbling. But she rolled and was on her feet in the bat of an eye and came at him again, her teeth bared.

“Damn it, girl.” Fargo dodged, spun, dodged again. She flew past and he grabbed her shoulders, only to have to snatch his hands away when she snapped at them.

Abigail paused, her wiry frame hunched, more froth oozing from her open mouth.

“I don't want to have to hurt you,” Fargo said, knowing full well she couldn't understand.

Hissing, Abigail launched herself at his legs. Fargo tried to dart aside but she lunged and wrapped her arms around his left thigh. Her teeth closed on his buckskins.

Fargo pushed with all his strength and the girl went tumbling. He bent to examine his leg; a horror welling up subsided. But her teeth weren't sharp enough to rip through buckskin. His flesh hadn't been punctured. He smiled in relief and looked up.

Abigail was gone.

Fargo looked right and left and there she was—stalking toward the Ovaro. “No!” he cried, and ran at her. She skipped away and hissed. He grabbed at her hair but she was too quick and slipped under his arm and flew into the woods.

“Damn it.”

Fargo gave chase. He was confident she wouldn't get away, not in broad daylight.

Abigail was moving flat out, her small lithe form a blur. She vaulted a boulder with ease and skirted a small pine.

Fargo went around it and nearly ran into her. She had stopped and spun and was waiting for him. This time she leaped at his throat, not his legs. He got a hand up and she snapped at it. He closed his fingers on her neck and felt spittle under his palm. The girl screeched and bit at his wrist but she couldn't quite reach it. Seizing the front of her dress, he forced her onto her back on the ground. She kicked. She clawed. She uttered a wail of fury.

Fargo's rope was on his saddle. He needed it but he didn't dare let go of her. Instead, he dragged her toward the Ovaro. She resisted with all the might in her small body. Whether it was the disease or her rage or both but she was stronger by far than any normal girl. It was all he could do to hold on to her.

Her foot caught him close to his groin. Her nails raked his cheek.

“Damn it,” Fargo said again. The longer they struggled, the more the risk of his being bitten. He had to end it. He cocked his fist but he couldn't bring himself to hit her.

It was stupid but there it was.

Abigail twisted violently. She craned her neck and slashed with her teeth.

Fargo felt a sting. She'd broken the skin on a knuckle and it was bleeding. She went to bite him again and he threw her to the ground. He didn't mean to hurt her, not severely, and was surprised when she went limp.

“Abigail?” Fargo said, suspecting a trick. He nudged her with his boot but she didn't react. Bending, he gripped her by the arm and pulled. Again, nothing. With great care he gripped her shoulders and raised her partway, and saw the rock. It was melon sized, the part he could see that wasn't buried. When he flung her, she'd hit her head, and the rock was spattered with scarlet.

“Hell.” Fargo bent to examine her, and caught himself. Going to the Ovaro, he got his rope. It took some doing to cut some off even though his Arkansas toothpick was razor sharp. He tied her wrists behind her back and then tied her ankles. He also removed his bandanna and gagged her. Only then did he examine the wound. She had a gash but it didn't appear to be life threatening. Satisfied, he tied her belly down over his saddle and climbed on.

The farm was quiet when he arrived.

Belinda Jackson was seated on the porch steps, drinking coffee from a china cup. The instant she saw him she was on her feet and hurried over.

“You did it!”

Fargo showed her his knuckle. “She bit me.”

Belinda took his hand. “It's not deep. Did you bleed much? No? Then I wouldn't worry.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Edna and Harold are up in their bedroom. She hasn't come around and I insisted he stay in bed for the time being and rest. But damn, he's a difficult patient.”

“The others?”

“They're still here . . .”

She got no further. The front door opened and out strode Orville, Abner, and Clyde. They came down the steps and Orville gently lifted Abigail from the saddle.

“Jesus, mister,” Abner said. “What in hell did you do to her?”

“She hit her head on a rock,” Fargo explained.

“Get her inside,” Belinda directed. “We'll put her in her own bed.”

Orville turned, then looked at Fargo. “For what it's worth, I'm obliged. You didn't have to do this. She ain't your kin.”

Fargo nodded. They all went in and he wearily climbed down and tied the reins off. He could use some coffee himself. He ambled to the kitchen and was delighted to find a half-full pot, plenty hot. He filled a cup to the brim and sat at the table with his back to the wall so he could see the hallway and the back door, both. He'd taken several grateful swallows when the doorway filled with a man-mountain.

“I meant what I said even though I shouldn't even be talkin' to you. My wife has been naggin' me all night to stomp you for hittin' her.”

“Are you turning over a new leaf?”

Orville pulled out the chair across from him. “You don't give an inch, do you?”

“Not usually, no,” Fargo admitted.

“Well, I'm bein' honest with you. My kin mean a lot to me. But I guess you noticed.”

Fargo grunted.

“So when someone does us a favor, I remember it.”

“Do me a favor, then,” Fargo said.

“Name it.”

“Quit being an ass about Jackson. She's a damn good sawbones, whether you like her or not.”

Orville's jaw twitched. “You push and you push. The best I can say is that I'll ponder on it some.”

“It's a start,” Fargo said, then stated, “I just don't savvy why you're so fond of Dogood.”

“Charlie has been helpin' folks in these parts for twenty years or more,” Orville said. “He's been to our house for supper more times than I can count.”

“That's cause to hate Jackson?”

“There's more to it.”

“I would really like to know,” Fargo said.

Orville frowned and shifted in his chair. “He asked us to sort of run her off if we could.”

“And you agreed?”

“Not in so many words,” Orville said. “But like I just told you, he's more than a patent medicine man to us. He's a friend. This doc doesn't like him. She's said as much. Hell, she hadn't been in Ketchum Falls a week when she was callin' Charlie a quack and such. She had the gall to try to give us the notion that we should drive
him
off. That didn't sit well. It didn't sit well at all.”

Fargo sighed.

“What we've got here is feudin' docs with us caught in the middle,” Orville said.

“Dogood's not a doctor.”

“As far as we're concerned he is,” Orville said. “He's healed more of us than you can count.”

Fargo wondered about that. Most people healed naturally, given enough time.

“I've been thinkin' about it, though,” Orville had gone on, “and with this rabies business, maybe it's best she sticks around. For the time bein',” he amended.

“Your friend Dogood won't like that.”

“It's rabies,” Orville said. “Even he can't do anythin' about rabies. There's only one way to deal with it and I've called a meetin' of all the kinfolk for tonight to talk it over.”

“I don't follow you,” Fargo said.

“What do you do with a rabid dog or a rabid coon? You put it down, is what. You put a bullet in its head.”

“So?”

“So that's what I'm goin' to propose we do with everybody who's been bit. We're goin' to kill every last one.”

Fargo stared at his knuckle and didn't say anything.

Fargo figured a couple of dozen people would show. He stopped counting at sixty.

By sundown there were so many horses and buckboards and buggies that the front yard looked like the gathering for a church social.

He planted himself in a rocking chair in a corner of the porch.

The McWhertles were gabbing and some smiled now and then and occasionally someone laughed but overall it was a somber gathering. A lot of nervous stares were cast at the house.

Orville came out and stood at the rail. Abner and Clyde flanked him. When Orville raised his huge arms, silence fell.

A boy who was whistling was told to shush. Two small girls were made to stop scampering about.

“It warms my heart that so many of you came,” Orville began. “But it saddens me why we're here.”

The screen door creaked and Belinda emerged. She appeared tired and worn and her bangs hung in wisps over her forehead. She leaned against the wall and smiled tiredly at Fargo. He nodded. He'd wanted to talk to her all afternoon but never got the chance. She'd hovered over her patients and wouldn't let anyone come anywhere near them.

“I reckon by now all of you have heard,” Orville continued with his speech. “Old Man Sawyer went loco. No one could figure out why. Now little Abby has gone loco, too, and we've figured out what it is. They both have rabies.”

“Hold on,” Belinda interrupted, and moved to the rail. “I'm not entirely convinced it
is
rabies. The symptoms don't match the disease as I understand it.”

Orville frowned and addressed his kin. “Everyone here knows Doc Jackson, I take it? Edna asked her to come out to treat Abby and then Abby bit Edna and Harold and now the lady sawbones is treatin' all three.” He looked at her. “You say that you can't be sure that what ails them is rabies, is that right?”

“I need to do tests.”

“Answer the question,” Orville said.

“No, I can't say for sure.”

“But you can't say for sure it ain't, either, can you?” Orville asked.

“Well, no, but—”

Orville held up a hand and turned to his listeners. “You heard her, folks. She's a doctor but she can't say one way or the other. I'll be nice and not comment on how poor a doc a person has to be not to know rabies when she sees it—”

“Here now,” Belinda cut in. “I won't have you belittle me in front of all these people.”

“Seems to me,” Orville said slyly, “that you're belittlin' yourself.”

Smiles and grins showed that a lot of the McWhertles agreed with him.

“Medicine is a science,” Belinda raised her voice. “We learn by experience, by trial and error. We catalogue symptoms and compare them to a patient's condition and thereby diagnose with some degree of accuracy.”