Trailsman #377 : Bounty Hunt (9781101604007) (5 page)

8

The lawman was crouched by the body, probing at the wound with his fingertips. “I see you stabbed him,” he said as Fargo entered the parlor.

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Fargo said.

He sat in the rocking chair and tilted the bottle to his lips.

Glenda frowned in disapproval. “I wish you wouldn't do that in front of my girls.”

“Do what?” Marshal Cripdin asked, and glanced at Fargo. “Oh. Well, there's no law against that. There is against killing, though, and Billy Barnes is definitely dead.”

“You are a wonderment,” Fargo said.

Cripdin stood. “Mrs. Hemmings tells me you killed him in self-defense. That he barged in here determined to kill you for shooting Zeke Bell.”

“It's been one of those days.”

“I'll say it has,” Cripdin declared. “In less than twelve hours you've killed three of the worst outlaws in the territory.”

“Lucky me.”

“You won't think that when Cord Blasingame comes after you. Be smart and light a shuck before there's more killing.”

“Can't,” Fargo said.

“Why in Hades not? What's keeping you here?”

Fargo avoided looking at Glenda. “I have something to do.”

“What?” the lawman demanded, and when Fargo didn't answer, he snapped, “I asked you a question, damn you.”

Fargo set the bottle of Monongahela on the floor and slowly stood. He towered a good half foot over Cripdin, who gave a noticeable start. “Talk to me like that again.”

“Now see here,” Cripdin said.

“Marshal,” Glenda broke in, “I'd be ever so pleased if you would remove the body. You can't expect to leave it here all night.”

“What? Oh.” Cripdin appeared grateful for the excuse to get out of there. “You're right. It wouldn't be fitting. I'll go fetch some men to help and we'll have it removed inside the hour.” Smiling, he touched his hat brim and hurried off.

“Why, he was scared silly,” Jennifer said.

“Hush. He might hear you,” Glenda cautioned. She waited for the sound of the front door closing to say, “But you're right. He was.” Kneeling, she did something Fargo realized he should have done; she went through Barnes's pockets. He had a poke with forty-two dollars, some lucifers, a few spare cartridges for his Sharps, and a scrap of paper. She was about to drop the paper on the pile when she set it on the floor and smoothed it out. “What's this?”

Fargo picked up the Monongahela and went over.

The paper had been torn from a tablet, and on it someone had drawn a crude likeness of a bird's head.

“What do you make of it?”

Fargo swallowed whiskey, and shrugged.

“You don't seem interested. It could be important.”

“I'm tired,” Fargo said, and he was. Rising, he took the paper and stuffed it into a pocket. “I'm going to bed. If the marshal needs to talk to me, tell him it'll have to wait until morning.” He nodded at each of the girls and bent his steps up the stairs.

Fargo didn't bother undressing. He tossed his hat on the chest of drawers, removed his spurs, took off his gun belt and placed it beside his pillow, blew out the lamp, and sprawled onto the bed. It was so soft, the room so warm and cozy, that in no time he drifted off. His sleep was undisturbed—until suddenly he was awake with no idea why.

Fargo lay still, listening. The house was quiet. He opened his eyes. The bedroom was dark save for faint starlight around the edges of the curtains. Without moving his head he glanced at the door; he couldn't be sure, but he thought it was open.

It had been closed when he turned in.

Easing his hand to his holster, Fargo slid the Colt out. He didn't cock it. If someone was there, they'd hear.

Something rustled, and a silhouette appeared at the foot of the bed.

For all Fargo knew, it was another outlaw out for revenge. He coiled to spring, and caught a whiff of perfume. “Who's there?” he growled.

The figure came around the bed, and bent. A finger was pressed to his lips. “Shhhh. It's me. We don't want Mother to hear.” Jennifer whispered. She removed her finger.

“What do you want?” Fargo asked, although he had a good idea.

“It's past two,” Jennifer whispered. “Mother and Connie are asleep.”

Fargo's eyes were adjusting. He could make out the cotton robe she wore. “That doesn't answer my question.”

“I want more,” Jennifer whispered.

“Of what?”

“What do you think?”

“And you left the door open so anyone can walk in on us?”

“Oh Lordy.” Jennifer scooted over to it.

Fargo sat up and leaned back against the headboard. He pushed his gun belt under a pillow and stretched out his legs.

“I'm back,” Jennifer whispered.

Fargo patted the bed. “Climb on.”

“First you have to promise me something.”

“I won't bite your nipples off.”

“What? No. Not that. I want your word that you won't tell my mother.”

“Damn. I was going to wake her up and boast about it as soon as we're done.”

“Be serious.” Jennifer slid onto the bed but stayed half a foot away and didn't touch him.

She stared for so long that Fargo said, “Are you waiting for Christmas?”

“I don't have a lot of experience,” Jennifer said in a small voice. “Isn't it the man who should start things?”

“Where are my manners?” Fargo said. Smiling, he pulled her close so they were chest to breast. “I'll take it easy on you.” Which, now that he thought about it, was a good idea; too much noise and they'd wake Glenda and there'd be hell to pay.

He kissed her and she nibbled at his lips as if they were cake. He covered a firm breast and she cooed and her nipple became a tack. Parting the robe with his other hand, he ran it over her belly.

Jennifer's hands swooped to his pants. She unfastened the buckle and with almost frantic urgency, pushed and pried his pants down to get at him. He shifted and suddenly her fingers were on his member, stroking him. A lump formed in his throat, and it was all he could do to breathe. She fondled and cupped him, low down. For someone so green, she knew just what to do. He had to will himself not to explode.

Together, they stretched out. He peeled her robe off and she tugged his buckskin shirt over his head.

Jennifer kissed his ears, his neck. She licked his throat. She rained small kisses on his shoulders and his ribs.

Fargo grew hot all over. He craved her as he earlier had craved a drink. Kneading first one melon and then the other, he pinched and pulled on her nipples, causing her to squirm and moan. He ran his fingernails down her back and she shivered. When he caressed her thighs, her legs parted of their own accord.

Fargo was about to slide between them when he heard a sound out in the hall. He froze, his hand poised to delve to her nether mount.

“What?” Jennifer whispered. “Why did you stop?”

“Something,” Fargo answered. He cocked his head, listening. He wasn't sure what the sound had been. A scratching sound, he thought. “Do you have a cat?”

“No. My mother hates them.”

“A dog?”

“Did you see one?”

“Maybe someone else is up,” Fargo whispered. He could just see Glenda barging in and tearing into him for having his way with her daughter.

“They were sleeping like logs, I tell you.” Jennifer raised her own head and after half a minute said, “You're imagining things.”

Fargo reckoned that maybe he'd been mistaken. It didn't occur to him until he resumed kissing and caressing her that another outlaw might be out to get him. Three had tried already. Who was to say a fourth wouldn't?

The notion bothered him so much, he couldn't bring himself to relax and enjoy their lovemaking. A part of him was alert for more sounds or anything else out of the ordinary.

He massaged one leg and then the other. But he didn't touch her where it would excite her the most until she was panting with need and husked into his ear, “Please. Oh, please.”

Fargo placed his hand on her slit. She was hot and wet. He ran a finger along it and she arched into him and sank her teeth into his shoulder.

Fargo cut the foreplay short. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was out there. Whoever it was must be listening. Jennifer and he were being quiet but it was still obvious what they were doing.

“Why did you stop?”

Fargo hadn't realized he had.

“Did you hear something again?”

“No.”

“Am I boring you then?”

“You talk too much.” Rising onto his knees, Fargo aligned his member, inserted the tip, and slid inch by gradual inch up into her.

Gasping, Jennifer dug her fingernails into both of his arms.

Fargo only had to stroke a few times and he had a wildcat under him.

“Oh! Oh!”

Jennifer exploded with a ferocity that caught him off guard. The bed shook and the headboard thumped the wall and he inwardly cursed the noise they were making.

Then it was his turn, and he didn't much care. He rammed up into her fit to tear her apart. His explosion rivaled hers.

Afterward, they lay spent and slick with sweat.

Fargo rolled off to spare her his weight and she bundled the robe about her and sat up.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I'd better get back to my room.”

“Any time,” Fargo drowsily responded.

“And see?” Jennifer teased. “Nothing happened. No one was out there.”

That was when the Ovaro whinnied.

9

Fargo heard it even with the window closed. He knew the stallion as well as he knew himself, knew the sounds it made, and the whinny told him something was amiss.

He was off the bed before the whinny died. Pulling his pants up, he slid his hand under the pillow and grabbed his gun belt.

“What is it?” Jennifer asked in alarm.

“Get to your room.” Fargo didn't bother with his shirt or his hat. Racing out the door and along the hall, he bounded down the stairs.

The house was dark and quiet. He reached the kitchen, threw the bolt on the back door and gripped the latch, and caught himself. It could be another outlaw. To go rushing out was the worst mistake he could make.

Cautious now, he moved to a window. He could see the Ovaro over by the fence. It was staring into the night, its ears pricked.

Quickly, Fargo opened the door wide enough to slip out. The air was cool on his skin. Crouching, he ran to the stallion and stared in the same direction.

An empty lot bordered the property on that side. It was choked with grass and weeds that waved gently in the wind.

Fargo waited. If someone was out there, eventually they'd give themselves away. He heard voices in the house, and light flared in an upstairs window. Intent on the lot, he didn't think more of it until more light spilled from the back doorway.

“Fargo?”

Wearing a bulky woolen robe tied at the waist, Glenda was holding a small lamp. “What are you doing? What was all the ruckus?”

Fargo was caught in the lamp's glow, an easy target. But no shots boomed. Retreating to the house, he ushered her inside and closed the door behind them.

“What is it?”

Jennifer and Constance were over by the hall, Constance nervously gnawing her lip.

“Something was out there,” Fargo said. Something, or some
one
. “It spooked my horse.”

“Is it gone?”

“I think so.”

Glenda set the lamp on the kitchen table. “It could have been a coyote. They come into town from time to time.”

“Once a bear did,” Jennifer said.

“And there are skunks,” Constance threw in.

Fargo hadn't caught the scent of a polecat and he doubted it was a bear or any other animal. He had a sense that it was a man, although why he was so sure, he couldn't say. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It's perfectly all right,” Glenda said. “After what happened with Barnes, we can't be too careful.”

It occurred to Fargo that, “Your husband must know I'm staying here.”

“My former husband,” Glenda stressed. “He's nothing to me now. He lost all claim to my affections when he ran out on us.”

Jennifer came over, her arms folded around her breasts. “What if he came back and begged your forgiveness?”

“You've asked that before,” Glenda said, “and my answer is still the same. I want nothing more to do with him, ever.”

Constance said, “I wish things could be like they were before he left. I miss him.”

“I'd rather we talked about something else,” Glenda told them.

“You're just mad because he walked out,” Jennifer said.

“Of course I'm mad. Any grown woman would be.”

“If you took him back,” Constance said, “we could be a family again.”

“Will the two of you stop it?” Glenda said. “Wishful thinking never does anyone any good. My marriage ended the day he abandoned us.”

Fargo wasn't about to stand there and listen to them bicker. “Ladies,” he said, moving past the table. “I need more sleep. I'll be leaving right after breakfast.”

“To where?” Glenda asked. “You have no idea where Cord is.”

True, but Fargo had an idea how he might find out. After the bushwhacking at the pass, he wasn't entirely sure he could trust the three of them. Which reminded him. He stopped and looked back. “Who did you three tell?”

“I beg your pardon?” Glenda said.

“Who knew you sent for me?”

“No one. We've kept it a secret. Just as no one knows I'm Cord's wife.”

“Not even the marshal?”

“Cripdin?” Glenda said, and laughed. “That oaf. He couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. He's the last person I'd tell.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

Fargo shrugged. It was better they not know he suspected one of them. With a bob of his head to Jennifer and Constance, he returned to his room. He closed the door, plopped onto the bed, and pondered until he drifted into a fitful sleep.

As was his habit, he was up before sunrise. He washed in the basin, dressed, and went out to saddle the Ovaro.

A pink blush heralded the new day. Already the birds were in song, and somewhere a cat mewed.

Clatter in the kitchen greeted him. Glenda was getting out pots and pans. “Morning,” she said. “I figured you'd want to leave early. I've already kindled the stove and put coffee on.” She opened a cupboard. “How many eggs would you like? And how do you like them?”

When on the trail Fargo seldom ate breakfast; he treated himself. “Six should do me. Scrambled.”

Glenda laid out slices of bacon in a frying pan, then broke eggs into another. She made toast, too, and set out jam.

Jennifer joined them as her mother was setting out plates. She wore a bright blue dress and had tied her hair back with a matching ribbon and looked fresh-scrubbed and happy. “Morning, everyone.”

“My, aren't you in a good mood,” Glenda said. “Normally you're a grump this early in the day. I take it you slept well after our little disturbance?”

“Nothing little about it,” Jennifer said with a secret wink at Fargo. “But yes, I slept better than I have in ages.”

Constance shuffled in, still in a robe. “The smells woke me up,” she said, stifling a yawn.

“Go back upstairs and get dressed,” Glenda said. “We have company.”

“It's only him,” Constance said, with a nod at Fargo. “He saw me like this last night.”

“That's not the point.”

“If you insist,” Constance grumbled, making it sound as if it were the greatest inconvenience ever inflicted on a human being.

Fargo took his time eating. He'd be in the saddle most of the day, and who knew how many days after. Little was said. Constance was sullen. Glenda seemed to be thinking hard about something. As for Jennifer, she'd give him sly smiles when she thought her mother and sister weren't looking.

By eight Fargo was in the saddle.

“I still don't see what you hope to accomplish,” Glenda remarked. “Not when you don't have a clue where he is.”

“He knows where I am,” Fargo said.

“Don't let anything happen to you if you can help it. I'm counting on you for my half of the bounty.”

“Nice to know you care,” Fargo said.

A jab of his spurs, and he rode down the main street to the north end of Meridian. Beyond, he passed isolated cabins. At one a dog barked. At another children waved.

He never once looked back. If he was right, it wouldn't do to let on that he suspected.

The road ended at the edge of forest that stretched on forever. He went a dozen yards in and drew rein. It wasn't long before a rider appeared. To say he was surprised was putting it mildly. It wasn't an outlaw.

Dismounting, he walked the Ovaro behind a blue spruce, shucked the Henry from the saddle scabbard, and waited to show himself until hooves clomped on the carpet of pine needles.

Leveling the Henry as he stepped into the open, Fargo said, “Well, look who it is.”

Marshal Theodore Cripdin jerked on his reins. “You!” he blurted. He blinked, then asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

Cripdin switched his reins from one hand to the other. “How can that be? I decided to go for a ride on the spur of the moment.”

“Bullshit,” Fargo said. “You're following me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“For Blasingame.”

“You're loco.” Cripdin tapped his badge. “I'm not part of his gang.”

“You were watching Glenda's house last night.”

“I did no such thing,” Cripdin said. “I was home in bed.”

“Why don't I believe you?” Fargo asked. “You wouldn't be the first tin star I've come across who isn't worthy to wear a badge.”

“Now see here,” Cripdin blustered. “You might not think much of me but I'm honest.”

“Yet here you are.”

“I'm out for a ride, I tell you.”

Fargo raised the Henry to his shoulder. “Here's how it will be. You'll turn around and go back to town. If Blasingame asks, tell him I was on to you and didn't leave you any choice.”

“You think you know everything but you don't.”

“If I catch you following me again,” Fargo warned, “I won't be this nice.”

“I'm the one friend you have, mister.”

“In that case,” Fargo said, “I don't want any. Light a shuck unless you want to be shot.”

“You wouldn't kill a law officer,” Cripdin said. “I have half a mind to call your bluff.”

“Who's bluffing?” Fargo said, and thumbed back the hammer.

Cripdin puffed out his cheeks and glowered. “I resent this. Here I thought I was doing you a favor and you pull this stunt.”

“Favor?” Fargo scoffed.

“Keeping an eye on you in case Blasingame's gang tried to bury you.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I don't care what you believe,” Cripdin said. “I'm washing my hands of you. I've tried to help and you won't let me.” He started to rein around to ride off, or pretended to—his other hand dropped to his six-shooter.