Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860) (11 page)

“I know, dear,” Ginny replied, “but you're not helping matters by making him mad.”

“Hug and kiss him, why don't you?” Roselyn said.

“Roselyn Deerforth,” Ginny exclaimed. “That will be enough of that kind of talk.”

They were near enough for Fargo to hear the creak of saddle leather. Tucking the Henry to his shoulder, he stepped from behind the boulder and centered the rifle's sights on Garvin Oster's chest. “Hold it right there.”

“Skye!” Roselyn shrieked in delight.

All three drew rein.

“I'm so glad to see you!” Roselyn cried, and made as if to climb down.

“Not yet,” Fargo said, and sidled a few feet to his right so he had a clear shot at Oster. “Everyone is to sit still. Except you, Garvin. Use two fingers and two fingers only and shuck your six-shooter.”

“Go to hell.”

“I have a lot to tell you,” Roselyn said excitedly.

“Not
now
,” Fargo stressed. He didn't dare let himself be distracted. His cheek to the Henry, he said, “Shuck it or die, Oster.”

“He means it, Garvin,” Ginny said.

“I won't go down easy,” Oster said.

Fargo took a step closer. “I can't miss at this range.”

“Shoot him,” Roselyn urged.

“Hush, child,” Ginny said, and twisted in her saddle to look at Oster. “Please, Garvin. I don't want your blood on my hands.”

“It would be on his,” Oster said, with a bob of his chin at Fargo.

“No. Make no mistake,” Ginny said. “Whatever happens now is because of me.” She turned to Fargo. “Please don't shoot him. Not on my account.”

“It's his choice,” Fargo said gruffly, annoyed that she was interfering.

“For me, Garvin.” Ginny appealed to her captor.

Oster swore. Imitating a turtle, he plucked his revolver from his holster and let it fall to the ground. “There. Want me to drop my gun belt too?”

“No need,” Fargo said. “Climb down, nice and slow.” He covered him. “Now move away from your horse with your hands out from your sides.”

“I'll get you for this, mister.”

“Do it.”

Glaring his spite, Garvin obeyed. “What now? You tie me and take me back?”

“Were it up to me I'd shoot you,” Fargo said.

“Enough of that,” Ginny intervened. “I'd like for all of us to get along.”

“You're ridiculous, Mother,” Roselyn said.

“That's no way to talk to your mother,” Ginny said. “I demand an apology.”

“Both of you be quiet,” Fargo said. “Oster, lie on the ground and keep your hands where I can see them.”

“I should have put that slug in your head,” Garvin said, slowly sinking.

“You almost did.”

“He wasn't trying to kill you,” Ginny said. “I begged him not to.”

Garvin was down, his arms outspread. “Where's Marion? Back at the mansion where he's safe?”

“Don't insult him,” Ginny said. “It's unbecoming.”

“You're not right in the head, Mother,” Roselyn said. “You've gone insane.”

Fargo had put up with all he was going to. He stroked the Henry's trigger.

At the blast, mother and daughter started.

Oster raised his head but showed no alarm. “What in hell did you do that for?”

Fargo had fired into the ground. He worked the lever and took aim. “To get everyone's attention. Not another damn peep out of any of you until I say so.”

“Does that mean me too?” Roselyn asked.

“And me?” Ginny said.

“All of you.”

“Why are you so mad?” Ginny asked. “We haven't done anything.”

“Shut . . . the . . . hell . . . up.”

Ginny raised a hand to her throat. “Well, I never. Here I thought we were friends.”

“You really should let me tell you what I know,” Roselyn said. “It's important.”

“Not now, dear,” Ginny said. “He's in a mood.”

“But—”

Fargo glared at Roselyn and her cheeks flushed red and she clamped her mouth shut. In the few seconds he took his eyes off of Garvin Oster, Oster started to rise. Turning back, Fargo said, “You're not that quick.”

Garvin sank down. “I'm quick enough. You'll find that out soon enough, by God.”

Fargo went around Oster to Oster's horse and helped himself to a rope. He tossed it on the ground near Oster's legs.

“Tie your ankles. Do it good and tight.”

“Like hell I will.”

Fargo shrugged. “Either that, or I'll shoot you in the foot.”

“You wouldn't,” Ginny said.

Fargo ignored her. He was tired of her prattle. Wagging the Henry, he said to Oster, “I'll count to five and I'm already on four.”

Garvin Oster was no fool. He slowly rolled over and slowly sat up and took hold of the rope. “You have no notion of what you're doin'.”

“Says the jackass who stole a hundred thousand dollars and kidnapped two women.”

“It's not what you think.”

“You're stalling,” Fargo said. “And like she said, I'm in a mood.”

Oster looped one end of the rope around his ankles. “If Ranson and Jules had done what they were supposed to, you wouldn't be holding that rifle on me.”

“They worked for you?”

Oster didn't answer.

Without being told to, Ginny dismounted. She brushed dust from her dress and fluffed her hair. “I haven't been out in the sun so much in years. It's not doing my skin any favors.”

Fargo used to think she was a sweet old gal. But she was an idiot. “Has he hurt you in any way?”

“Garvin hurt me?” Ginny laughed. “Oh, please. He wouldn't harm a hair on my head.”

“How about you?” Fargo asked Roselyn.

“You told us not to talk, remember?”

“It's all right to talk now,” Fargo said, keeping one eye on Oster.

“I don't want to. You were rude.”

“Save it for the marshal then,” Fargo said.

Ginny put a hand to her throat. “Marshal Moleen is after us too?”

“What else did you expect? He organized a posse,” Fargo said. “I'm part of it.”

“Oh dear. Who else is with him?”

“Your husband. The banker. Lacey Mayhare and Vin Creed. And two deputies.”

“Oh dear,” Ginny said, and again, “Oh dear.”

“I thought you'd be glad to hear it,” Fargo said.

“I'd hoped they wouldn't come after us,” Ginny said sadly. “Things haven't gone as they should.”

Fargo's patience with her grew thinner by the minute. “You were abducted, for God's sake. Did you figure the law would overlook that? Or your husband would sit around twiddling his thumbs waiting to hear from you?”

“No, you don't understand.” Ginny bowed her head and turned and took a few steps away from him.

Garvin Oster had two loops of rope around his ankles and was winding a third. “I have an idea,” he said. “How about if I give you five thousand dollars and you let us go?”

“Keep trying.”

“Ten thousand, then. That's a hell of a lot of money.”

“And have the law after me? I'm not as dumb as you.”

“No one would ever know,” Garvin said. “Hide it in your saddlebags. Tell Moleen we gave you the slip.”

“We?” Fargo said. “I'm taking Ginny and Roselyn back where they belong.”

“You shouldn't have butted in,” Garvin said. “We could have gotten clean away if not for you.” He stopped winding. “All right. Twenty thousand, but that's as high as I'll go.”

From behind Fargo, Ginny said, “That's too much.”

Fargo hadn't heard her come up. Suddenly his head exploded in agony and a black pit yawned and he pitched into it and the world blinked out.

Pain brought him around.

Fargo lay still, collecting his senses. He was on his belly on the ground. His head throbbed. The back of his neck felt strange. Gingerly, he reached up. There was a gash as long as his little finger. Dry blood matted his hair and covered his neck.

“Son of a bitch.”

He eased onto his side. His hat was next to him, partially crumpled. Wincing, he sat up. Ginny had hit him. He didn't know what to make of it; this whole damn business got crazier by the minute. He picked up his hat and reshaped it and carefully placed it on his head.

Judging by the sun, he had been unconscious for a couple of hours. He looked around. The women and Oster were long gone.

It was a wonder Garvin hadn't killed him.

Fargo put a hand down to prop himself so he could stand.

He had to try twice. Swaying, he managed to stay up. He looked for the Henry but it wasn't there. He glanced at his holster; his Colt was gone, too.

Gritting his teeth, he walked slowly along the base of the bluff. The Ovaro was where he had left it, thank God. He climbed on and sat still until the waves of pain lessened.

Fargo rode back to where he had been struck. Their tracks led to the northwest. He resumed his pursuit, at a walk. He supposed he should be thankful he was still breathing. Oster had the perfect chance to kill him and hadn't. Was that Ginny's doing? But if so, why had she knocked him out?

The whole affair was a tangled knot that he was in no shape to unravel. He didn't bother to try. He rode until noon and stopped and rested. Seated on a flat rock, he chewed jerky and mulled over all that had happened since he arrived in Deerforth.

He recollected that Ranson and Jules had latched on to him almost as soon as he rode in. Since the pair worked for Garvin Oster, that told him two things. First, that Oster had been planning to steal the money for some time. Second, that Oster wanted him out of the way so he couldn't track him.

That still left the question of the women. Had Oster been planning to abduct them all along too? If so, why? Why not just steal the money and ride hell-bent for leather to parts unknown? The women slowed Oster down. They made escaping that much harder.

Fargo finished eating and climbed on the Ovaro. He'd find out what it was all about eventually. Oster had made another mistake in taking his guns and leaving him alive. He wasn't the forgive-and-forget type.

Evening came, and he hadn't caught up to them. They were pushing a lot faster. He debated riding into the night but decided to camp. His head could use the rest. He kindled a small fire and sat and ate more jerky and listened to the coyotes. He turned in early and had no trouble falling into an undisturbed sleep.

Dawn found him in the saddle again. He felt invigorated. His head was a little sore but not enough to bother him.

Toward the middle of the morning Fargo came to where Oster and the women had spent the night. They'd had a fire, too, and near the charred circle was another stick with a sheet of paper stuck to it, and next to the stick, placed neatly side by side, were his Henry and the Colt.

“I'll be damned.”

Fargo dismounted. He inspected the rifle and the six-shooter, shoved the Henry into the scabbard, and plucked the note from the stick. Like the first, it was from Ginny. “
Dear Skye
,” it read. “
I pray you can forgive me. I am so very sorry. I would never hurt another living being but I'm afraid you left me no choice. I asked you before and I'll ask you again. Please go back. Please leave us be. There is more to this than you can imagine. All I can say for now is that I am not being held against my will. I have no need of rescue. Show this to my husband. Have him send the posse back. I don't want anyone else hurt. It's horrible enough that those two men are dead and you've been hurt. So far I've been able to persuade Garvin not to spill more blood but if you and the posse keep after us, I'm afraid I won't be able to restrain his more violent impulses. I've made him leave your weapons as a token of our good will. You have no other reason now to come after us. So please, again, go back. Your dear and devoted friend, Ginny Deerforth
.”

Fargo read the note a second time. Ginny
wanted
to be with Oster? A dark suspicion came over him. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but then again, human nature being what it was, nothing surprised him. As for giving up and going back, Ginny was forgetting something: Roselyn. The girl was with them against her will.

Fargo put his hand on the Colt. “Go back my ass,” he said.

He climbed on the Ovaro. Before the day was done he would end this, one way or the other.

The sun was past its zenith when he came on a ribbon of a creek. Oster had stopped to let their animals drink. By the sign they weren't more than an hour or so ahead.

Fargo squatted and dipped a hand in and sipped. He forked leather and crossed and went up a low bank and drew rein in consternation.

Four riders had come in from the west, discovered the tracks of Oster and the women, and gone off after them. The horses the four rode weren't shod. They were Indians, and if Fargo had to guess, he suspected they were from the tribe that some called the scourge of Texas. It was rare for them to be this far south but he was willing to bet good money the four were Comanches.

Fargo used his spurs. He didn't give a damn about Garvin Oster and he cared less about Ginny's fate than he had when he started out but there was Roselyn. The girl didn't deserve to spend the rest of her days in a Comanche lodge.

Comanches were superb riders and fierce fighters. They resented that the land they had roamed for more winters than anyone could remember was being taken by whites. Uncounted raids on farms, ranches, and even settlements had filled the white population with dread. Little mercy was shown by either side, which had Fargo worried the warriors wouldn't take Roselyn alive. It could be they'd kill her outright with the others.