Outlaw Trackdown (7 page)

15

Stars sparkled overhead when Fargo climbed on the Ovaro and rode around to the rear of the marshal's office. Coltraine's bay was already tied there, waiting.

The door opened and the lawman emerged. “You're right on time. Good.” He was carrying a Spencer, which he shoved into his saddle scabbard.

“It's not too late to round up a few others,” Fargo mentioned.

“I didn't take you for skittish.”

“You shouldn't take me for stupid, either,” Fargo told him.

“I was willin' to risk those cowpokes and a few clerks and whatnot for Amanda's sake, but not now. Let's drop it.” Coltraine's saddle creaked as he swung on. “I'm pleased enough havin' you along. Folks consider me hell on wheels but a man's got to know how much he can and can't do.”

“We agree there,” Fargo said.

There was no moon. The starlight lent a pale cast to the prairie grass and was barely enough to see by. Now and again a coyote yipped and once a streaking meteor cleaved the heavens.

Marshal Coltraine was grimness personified. “They better be there,” he commented at one point. “I want to end this.”

So did Fargo. The sooner it was over, the sooner he was shed of Horse Creek and everyone in it.

Half an hour out, the silhouettes of hills appeared.

Fargo took his bearings by the North Star. Apparently, Coltraine didn't need to. The marshal never once glanced at the heavens. “You know where we're headed?”

“Everyone hereabouts knows about the Kemp place. It's been there since the town started.”

Presently a small square of light broke the night, and they drew rein.

“That would be it,” Marshal Coltraine said.

“We should climb down and go on on foot,” Fargo suggested.

Coltraine alighted and shucked his rifle. “I'll swing to the left and you to the right.”

“Split up?”

“We'll catch them between us. When you hear me shoot, drop them as fast as you can.”

“It's better to stay together,” Fargo objected, but the lawman was already moving off.

“Hell,” Fargo said. The lawman was being too high-handed to suit him. He told himself that Coltraine had been in situations like this dozens of times and knew how to go about it.

Reluctantly, Fargo slid the Henry from the scabbard, and circled. The small square became a window. Judging by how the light flickered and danced, it was a candle and not a lantern or lamp.

The wind had picked up and was cool on his face. He moved slowly so the high grass didn't rustle against his legs and give him away.

Since everyone called it a farm, Fargo figured there would be a farmhouse and a barn. But there was only one building, a small one, at that. It wasn't until he was close enough to throw a rock and hit it that he realized it wasn't made from logs or frame-built. It was a soddy; squares of sod had been cut from the soil and stacked to construct the walls and laid over rafters for the roof.

No sounds came from within. Nor did Fargo see any mounts. He reckoned the animals must be around back. Edging forward, he discovered that the candle had been placed on the bottom sill of the glassless window.

Fargo stopped cold. No one would put a candle there. Especially not outlaws on the run.

A premonition came over him. Instinctively, he flattened. Over a minute went by and nothing happened and he had about convinced himself that he was giving the outlaws more credit than they were due when someone coughed. But not inside the soddy. From outside it.

Fargo raised the Henry. It must be a lookout. He hoped that Coltraine had heard the cough or the marshal might blunder onto him and all hell would break loose.

The smart thing was for Fargo to let the outlaw give himself away. Instead, out of concern for the lawman, he snaked toward where the cough came from. He tried not to make noise but something scraped, his belt buckle maybe.

“Who's there?”

Fargo turned to stone.

“Abe, is that you?”

Inside the soddy someone said, “What the hell is goin' on out there, Rufus? Who are you talkin' to?”

“I thought I heard somethin',” Rufus said.

Fargo centered the Henry on where he thought Rufus was concealed but he didn't shoot. He needed a target.

“Give yourself away, why don't you?” Abe whispered.

“I hate this,” Rufus said. “I don't see why it had to be us. They should be here helpin'.”

“You could have spoke up when Hoby laid out his plan. But I don't recollect hearin' a peep.”

“Tell Hoby Cotton no?” Rufus Holloway snorted. “That'll be the day. I'm too fond of livin'.”

“Then shut the hell up and we'll do as we were told.”

A shape rose off the ground. Rufus Holloway was changing position or stretching his legs.

Fargo held his breath to steady the Henry and fixed a bead on the center of the shape. He was supposed to wait for Coltraine to start the fireworks but the marshal was taking too long.

Smiling grimly, Fargo twitched his trigger finger.

16

At the blast there was a sharp cry of pain and then an oath. The night stabbed with flame and answering shots sizzled the air uncomfortably close to Fargo's head. He rolled, levered another cartridge into the Henry's chamber, and fired again.

From the soddy window came a bleat of “What the hell?” The candle was extinguished and a rifle boomed.

Rufus and Abe were shooting wild and lead thwacked the ground all around.

Heaving upright, Fargo ran for the side of the soddy. Rufus must have spotted him because lead clipped a whang on his sleeve. He ducked around and the shooting stopped, and in the sudden silence his ears rang.

Fargo pressed his back to the wall and swore he felt it move. Turning, he discovered that it was partially buckled from age and neglect.

A sound prompted him to peer out. He was sure he'd hit Rufus but he must have missed his vitals.

Another sound, from inside the soddy, let him know that Abe was still in there. He focused on the doorway, the only way out. Or so he thought.

A form abruptly dived through the window.

Fargo snapped a shot, and so did Abe, in midair. The slug thudded into a clod of grass next to Fargo's face, causing him to jerk back. When he looked out again, Abe was melting into the dark.

Fargo wanted to kick himself. He'd had a chance at both and blown it. Now he must go after them.

Tucking at the waist, he darted out. He reached the spot where he thought Rufus had been and stopped and crouched to listen. He figured they might go for their horses and fan the breeze but the night was as still as a cemetery.

They were out there somewhere, intent on finishing him off.

Fargo stalked them. He was wary of shooting at anything that moved; it could be the marshal.

Off in the night there was a scuffing sound.

Fargo stopped. The trick to playing cat and mouse was to move as little as possible. He waited for them to give themselves away, aware that Rufus and Abe were probably doing the same.

Something moved off to his right.

Fargo trained the Henry. Whoever it was, they were coming toward him. A few more steps and he could send them to hell. Then he caught a faint gleam on the figure's chest, the glint of metal reflecting starlight. “Coltraine!” he whispered.

The marshal darted over and hunkered. “Here you are. What the hell happened? You were supposed to wait for me to shoot.”

Scanning for sign of the outlaws, Fargo whispered, “You took too long. I had a chance at Rufus and took it.”

“Did you drop him?”

“No.”

“You should have waited. Now we're up against all six.”

“Only two. Rufus and Abe.”

“You don't say.” Coltraine peered toward the soddy. “They could be anywhere. I'll go check the sodbuster's.”

“They're not there.”

“It never hurts to be sure.”

Before Fargo could object, the lawman dashed off.

Simmering, Fargo stayed put. If Coltraine wanted his head blown off, let him go running around. Fargo would be damned if he'd make the same mistake.

Long minutes of silence followed. The coyotes had gone quiet and the breeze had died.

Fargo could crouch there all night if he had to. He thought about what Rufus and Abe had said and a cold anger festered.

Unexpectedly, Marshal Coltraine came running back. “No sign of them in the soddy. I reckon they're gone.”

“You could be wrong.”

“Maybe. But I'm no good at twiddling my thumbs. We might as well head for town.”

“After you,” Fargo said, motioning.

The lawman's reputation for fearlessness was well deserved. Standing, he made for where they had left their horses.

Fargo trailed a few steps behind. He wasn't as willing to gamble his hide on a hunch. But they reached the Ovaro and the bay without being fired at.

Still not satisfied it was safe, he rode with his hand on his Colt.

They had gone about a quarter of a mile when Marshal Coltraine slowed so the Ovaro could come up alongside. “Well, that was a disappointment. I'd hoped to buck them out permanent.”

“They knew we were coming.”

“How could they?”

“They were lying in wait for us, I tell you.”

“You're mistaken,” Coltraine insisted. “I didn't tell a soul what we were up to. How about you?”

“No.”

“Then they couldn't have.”

“You're forgetting who told us the outlaws would be there.”

“Amanda Brenner? You're sayin' she's in cahoots with the Cotton Gang?” Coltraine gave a curt laugh. “That's plumb ridiculous.”

“I heard Rufus and Abe talking,” Fargo enlightened him. “Hoby Cotton sent them to kill us. He wouldn't have unless he knew in advance.”

“Listen to yourself,” Coltraine said. “After all that poor girl has been through, how can you accuse her?”

“What has she been through?”

“Did one of those shots glance off your noggin? You helped track her down and save her from her ordeal.”

“What ordeal?” Fargo said. “Hoby and his gang never laid a finger on her.”

“They abducted her at gunpoint. That was enough.”

“Are you defending her because she's the banker's daughter? Or because you just refuse to see it?”

“See what? Amanda Brenner is as fine a young lady as I've ever met. She's not one of those gals who puts on airs because she's well to do or likes her own looks. She's down to earth. Sweet. Considerate.”

“Marry her, why don't you?”

“I should slug you,” Coltraine said.

“Will you at least question her? Make her admit the truth?”

“There's no truth to admit. I won't have you questionin' her, either. She's been through enough. You hear me?”

“I'm right here.”

“I mean it. If I hear you've been pesterin' her, I'll take it personal. Leave things like that to me.”

Fargo didn't respond. He'd already made up his mind what he was going to do. He didn't like having a bull's-eye painted on his buckskins by a devious little filly. He didn't like it at all.

17

“I'm coming, I'm coming, hold your horses.”

Fargo knocked again, lightly so as not to rouse the other boarders. His saddlebags were over his shoulder and his Henry in his other hand.

A ribbon of light appeared under the door. A bolt rasped and the latch turned and Lucretia peered sleepily out. She had on a lacy nightdress and a gown she had hastily thrown over it but forgotten to tie. “You!” she exclaimed.

“Wake everyone up, why don't you?”

Lucretia opened the door wide. “Sorry. I didn't think I'd ever see you again.”

“Why not? It wasn't you who tried to kill me.” Entering, Fargo set his saddlebags on the small table and his rifle beside them.

“What time is it, anyhow?” Lucretia closed the door and threw the bolt. “I turned in at midnight.”

“About two in the morning.”

Lucretia's huge breasts were practically spilling from her nightdress, and lower down a triangle showed. “What have you been up to? You didn't stop at the saloon earlier.”

“What can you tell me about Amanda Brenner?”

“The girl who was taken?” Lucretia shrugged. “Not much. I see her around and pass her on the street now and then but she never so much as says howdy. But then, the so-called decent ladies hardly ever do. I'm a blight on the female gender—don't you know?” She uttered a sad little laugh.

“You haven't heard anything?” Fargo fished. “Rumors? Gossip?”

“About Amanda Brenner? She's, what, eighteen? And her pa is one of the moneybags in town. That's all I know.”

“Does he ever come to the saloon?”

“Her pa? Hell, from what I hear, he doesn't drink. Maybe wine now and then with his meals but he shuns the hard stuff.”

“Too bad,” Fargo said.

“What's this about? What are you trying to find out?”

“Whether Amanda Brenner is the saint the marshal makes her out to be,” Fargo said.

“I can't help you there, handsome,” Lucretia said. “Although now that I think about it, I seem to recollect hearing that she has herself a beau. One of the local boys, I'd imagine.”

“Where did you hear that?”

Lucretia knit her brow. “Someone at the saloon. But I can't recollect who or even when.”

Fargo removed his hat and placed it on his saddlebags and pried at his belt buckle with his thumb.

“Oh my,” Lucretia said playfully. “Are you fixing to shed your duds? Should I pretend I'm modest and look away?”

“If you want.”

“I don't. That body of yours is mighty easy on the eyes. I can't get enough.” As if to prove her point, Lucretia helped him tug out of his buckskin shirt, then molded her fingers to his chest and his abdomen. “I do so love a man with muscles.”

Fargo cupped her left breast while running his other hand down her thigh. “Can you guess what I like?”

“Women,” Lucretia said.

“Good guess.”

She swooped her mouth to his and they enjoyed a lingering kiss that ended when she pulled back and let out a long breath. “Whew. You about curl my toes. I will miss you when you're gone.”

“None of that.”

“I know, I know.” Lucretia kissed his ear and licked his neck and did something no woman had ever done before: she sucked on his collarbone.

“Now I'm a chicken?” Fargo said.

“I could eat you alive,” Lucretia said huskily, and ran the tip of her wet tongue from his shoulder to his elbow.

Down low, Fargo was swelling. He grew even harder when she cupped him and lightly squeezed.

“Like that, do you?” Lucretia teased. “You squirm real nice.”

Fargo pinched her nipple, and pulled, and she did some squirming of her own. “So do you.”

Lucretia nuzzled his neck. “I half think I must be dreaming and you're not really here.”

Nipping her on the chin hard enough to make her say “Ow!” Fargo said, “Am I real or not?”

“Real enough,” Lucretia said, and laughed. She fused her molten mouth to his and ground herself against him.

A sweep of his arm, and Fargo lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bed. He set her down, removed his spurs and boots, and stretched out beside her. He figured to start right in but she swatted his hand.

“I want you naked first.”

“You're awful bossy.”

“I'm awful randy.”

In no time she had his pants off and dropped them on the floor. She went to press against him and this time he stopped her.

“That works both ways.” He gripped her nightdress as if he was about to rip it off.

“Don't you dare!” Lucretia squealed. “This cost me good money.” She shed her robe and the nightdress and lay back with an exaggerated sigh. “Now look at what you did. I'm plumb wore out.”

Easing on top of her, Fargo gripped her wrists and held her arms above her head. She grinned and parted her legs so he could slide between them.

“Want to get right to it, do you?”

Fargo's response was to rub the tip of his pole along her slit. She shivered and cooed and breathed huskily in his ear.

“Do me. Do me hard.”

Not quite yet, Fargo told himself. With a deft dip of his hips, he slid into her but only partway.

Lucretia groaned and her eyelids fluttered. “What are you waiting for?”

A fraction at a time, Fargo filled her velvet sheath. When he was all the way in, he lay perfectly still. Under him, she wriggled and shook and arched her back. He felt her womanhood contract as a powerful shudder ran through her.

“So soon?” Lucretia said in wonderment, and suddenly she exploded in an orgasm that lifted both of them off the bed. She humped fast and furious and opened her mouth wide as if to cry out but didn't.

When, at last, she subsided, Fargo grinned and kissed her. “What was that for?”

Lucretia laughed. “As if you don't know. You sure can plow a trough. Were you a farmer before you became a scout?”

“The only troughs I'm fond of plowing are your kind.” To demonstrate, Fargo began to thrust in and out.

“Ohhhh,” Lucretia gasped. “If you could do that all night, I'd be in heaven.”

“You don't ask for much, do you?” Fargo joked, and settled into the rhythm of his strokes, gradually moving faster and penetrating deeper until he rammed into her as if to break her in half.

Lucretia wrapped her legs tight around him and matched his every stroke. She was an old hand at lovemaking and knew little tricks to incite both of them to a fever pitch.

Not that Fargo needed inciting. His body seemed to burn all over and a keg of black powder was set to go off between his legs. Gritting his teeth, he held off as long as he could. It reached the point where his body refused to be denied, and then there was no holding back.

Afterward, Fargo lay on his side and let himself drift off. He was almost asleep when Lucretia poked him.

“You want I should put the chair against the door? We don't want that outlaw to pay us another visit.”

“He won't.”

“You sure? The first time was shock enough. And the landlady wasn't any pleased, I can tell you that. I had to beg her not to throw me out. As it was, she went and raised my rent a dollar a month. A whole dollar. And me a working girl who can't hardly make ends meet.”

“Lucretia?”

“Yes?”

“Shush.”

“I can't help it. I'm all worked up.” She kissed his forehead and his cheek and his chin. “You know what would shush me, though?”

“I hit you with a rock?”

“No, silly. We do it again. That should tire me enough that I'll fall right asleep. What do you say?”

Fargo opened his eyes. “Women,” he said.