Utah Terror : Utah Terror (9781101606971) (12 page)

22

Skye Fargo was used to high odds. Sioux war parties, Apache war parties, outlaws, banditos, he often found himself pitted against more than one enemy at a time.

The Tong were poised to rush him, hands on their hatchets or hatchets in their hands. All they needed was a word or gesture from their master.

Fargo didn't wait for the word to be given. He whipped his right arm and threw the hatchet at Han. There were frontiersmen who excelled at throwing an ax or hatchet; he wasn't one of them. He seldom used an ax, save for chopping wood, and unlike backwoodsmen, he never carried a hatchet. So he wasn't surprised that he missed. Not by much, though. The hatchet flashed past Han's head, and for an instant stark fear animated those inscrutable features.

Almost in the same breath, Fargo threw the other hatchet at Lo Ping. It was only to delay the two and free his hands to use the Colt. But this time the hatchet streaked end over end and buried itself in Lo Ping's right shoulder.

Lo Ping screamed and clutched himself as blood spurted.

Han roared in Chinese.

Fargo whirled and ran. He had come in the back way and he figured to go out that way, too.

Baying and howling like so many wolves, the Tong gave chase, sweeping toward the doors in a body.

Fargo was a fast runner. He had once entered a famous footrace, competing against some of the top runners in the country and a few from overseas. Now he fairly flew down the long hall.

Some of the Tong were fleet of foot, too, and grimly determined to avenge the insult to their lord. Two, in particular, were human antelopes. Legs pumping, they were gaining.

Fargo focused on running and only running. His worry was that their shouts would bring someone out of the side rooms directly into his path and slow him long enough for the main bunch to catch him.

The hall seemed to stretch for miles.

He had gone half its length when the patter of slapping sandals warned him the two fastest were practically nipping at his bootheels. He risked a look over his shoulder.

The swiftest Tong was almost close enough to throw his hatchet if he wanted to. The other one was a few yards behind.

Fargo wouldn't reach the rear door before they were on him. So he didn't try. Suddenly stopping and whirling, he shot the lead Tong in the head. The second one abruptly halted and made as if to throw his weapon. Fargo sent a slug between his eyes.

The rest of the black-clad pack howled in fury.

Fargo ran on. He had a good enough lead over the others that he was confident he'd reach the door ahead of them. In the dark of night he stood a good chance of slipping away.

He went another fifty or sixty feet and looked back to make sure none of the Tong were closing on him. They weren't.

He faced front—and swore.

An old woman holding a broom had stepped through a beaded curtain and was gaping at him in amazement.

Fargo started to shout, “Out of my way!” but he was already on top of her. They collided so hard, they both went down. She screamed, more in fear than pain. His left knee spiked with agony, and then he was up again.

Several Tong were dangerously near.

Fargo shot the first in the chest. The hatchet man pitched forward and the others avoided him by vaulting over the body.

Fargo shot the second as he landed, shot the third in midleap.

More bellows of fury filled the hall.

Fargo's knee hurt with every step but it didn't slow him any. He reached the back door and burst out, and tripped over the body of one of the guards he had knifed.

He stumbled, recovered, and was off into the night before the Tong spilled through the doorway.

Fargo made north toward the canyon wall. If they lit torches and tracked him, it would throw them off for a while.

When he at last turned to the west, he didn't head for the O'Briens' house; he made for their store. He slipped the key O'Brien had lent him into the back door and ducked inside.

Closing the door, Fargo leaned against it to catch his breath. Some light filtered in from the window of a nearby building. Not much, but enough that he could make things out.

He was annoyed at himself for not killing Han. It might come back to haunt him later.

Mopping sweat from his brow with his sleeve, he was about to straighten when he heard the stealthy scrape of a foot. Crouching, he cocked the Colt. He couldn't believe the Tong had gotten there ahead of him, but if they had, they'd find that cornering him and killing him were two different things.

“Skye? Is that you?”

“Damn,” Fargo said, and rose.

A lithe form separated from the shadows. The scent of her perfume was stronger than usual.

“Flanna,” Fargo said gruffly, “what in hell are you doing here?”

“Is that any way to greet me?” Flanna said, placing her hand on his chest and looking up into his eyes.

“Is your pa here?”

“No, just me.” Flanna lightly kissed him on the chin. “I slipped out when they were talking to Mai Wing. Wasn't I clever?”

“You damned idiot.”

“Here now,” Flanna said, her feathers ruffled. “I have a perfect excuse to tell them. I came to show you where to find the kegs of black powder.”

“Your father already told me.”

“I know.” Flanna laughed. “But there are two kegs and you can't carry both so I'll say I came to lend you a hand.”

“You shouldn't have,” Fargo said, and pushed her back. “The Tong are after me.”

“I'm not afraid of them.”

“You should be.” Fargo didn't have time to argue. He remembered the conversation he'd overheard between Han and Lo Ping. “Where's this hidey-hole of yours?”

“I'll show you.”

The black powder was kept in their “cellar,” as they called it, a square hole about four feet deep. To get at it, they had to lift some of the floorboards and set them aside.

“Wasn't this clever of my father?” Flanna said. “He didn't want the Tong getting their hands on it.”

Fargo stiffened. From out in front of the store came the thud of pounding feet. Quickly, he covered Flanna's mouth with his hand and whispered in her ear, “Not a peep if you value your hide.”

Whoever it was—and Fargo could guess who—they went on past.

He removed his hand. “From now on whisper. And don't make any noise if you can help it.”

“Why would they look in here?” Flanna whispered. “They don't know my family and you are friends.”

“Hell, girl,” Fargo said. “You and me walked down the main street together the other day.”

“Oh,” Flanna said. “I forgot.”

“Show me the damn kegs.”

They were stacked one on top of the other in a corner of the hole. Fargo was surprised to also find guns and ammunition.

“Father hid them so the Tong couldn't get their hands on them,” Flanna explained. “Turns out, they don't have much interest in firearms.”

Fargo lowered his feet to the bottom. He was bending to pick up the top keg when he heard more pounding of feet out in the street.

He couldn't say what made him do what he did next. Premonition, maybe, a gut feeling that the Tong would leave no stone uncovered.

Grabbing Flanna, Fargo pulled her down next to him.

“Hey!” she squawked.

“Quick,” he said in her ear. “Help me cover the hole.”

The boards weren't heavy but they had to be placed just so. As Fargo was sliding the second to last into place, a fist hammered on the front door and a voice called out in Chinese.

Fargo pushed Flanna low to the dirt, grabbed the last floorboard, and settled it over his head just as wood splintered at the front of the store.

“They're kicking in the door!”

Fargo clamped his hand on her mouth and held her tight as feet thumped on the floor above.

A lot of Tong were up there, going down every aisle. Voices rattled in Chinese.

Shouts outside apparently drew the Tong back out. The front door slammed and the store fell quiet.

Fargo eased his hand off Flanna's mouth but touched a finger to her lips so she would know not to say anything. It was nearly pitch-black. He became conscious of her warm body against his.

From the commotion in the street, the Tong were going from door to door.

Eventually Fargo felt safe in whispering, “It's all right. We can talk.”

“My father will have a fit when he sees they broke the door in.”

Fargo almost said they had a lot bigger worries than the damn door, but didn't.

“I reckon we're stuck here a while,” Flanna said, not sounding the least bit upset about it.

“Until the coast is clear,” Fargo said.

“Oh well,” Flanna said, and snuggled closer. “We might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

Fargo didn't see how. There was barely enough room for him to stretch out his legs.

Flanna shifted so her bosom was on his chest. “Nice, isn't it?”

“Behave.”

“Whatever are you talking about? I'm not
that
kind of woman, thank you very much.”

Fargo was glad shut-in places didn't bother him. He had a friend who couldn't stand to be hemmed in and wouldn't even enter a closet.

“Listen!” Flanna whispered. “Do you hear that?”

Fargo did. The creak of the front door. Some of the Tong must have been sneaking back in. Maybe they suspected something.

Feet shuffled to a stop overhead.

Fargo felt Flanna's fingernails dig into his arm.

Then one of the boards was lifted out and a hand gripped his shirt.

23

Fargo gripped the wrist above the hand and cocked his other fist.

“It's me!” Mai Wing whispered.

Flanna blurted, “What in the world?”

Fargo let go and removed more floorboards. Mai Wing helped. Standing, he pulled Flanna to her feet and boosted her out of the hole. Only then did he ask, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to tell you,” Mai Wing said. “The Tong came to the house. They took Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien.”

“What?” Flanna gasped in horror.

Fargo guessed what she would do and was out of the hole and had his arm around her waist as she took her second step toward the front door. “No, you don't.”

“Let go!” Flanna struggled, pushing against him. “They're my parents, consarn you.”

“Do you want to be thrown in the dungeon with them?” Fargo said, knowing full well that wasn't the fate Han had in store.

“Please,” Flanna said. “I have to go help them.”

“The only thing for us to do,” Fargo said, “is to get them out of there. But we have to do it smart.”

Flanna subsided, and trembled. “Why would the Tong take them? What have they done?”

“I heard some of what they said,” Mai Wing said. “Your father heard them coming and your mother rushed me to the pantry and had me hide.”

Flanna let out a soft sob. “I wish we'd left this terrible place weeks ago.”

“Han thinks your parents have been helping Fargo,” Mai Wing went on with her account, “so he wants to question them.”

“If that's only all he does,” Flanna said.

Fargo thought of how much Han delighted in torture, and held his tongue.

“I stayed hidden until the Tong were gone,” Mai Wing related. “I knew Skye was to come here for the powder so I came to warn you.”

“You did right fine,” Fargo said. “Stay put, both of you.” He crept to the front and peered out the window.

People were moving up and down the street but he didn't spot Tong. He returned to the women. “They've already searched here so it should be safe to stay a while.”

“And my parents?” Flanna said.

“I'm going after them,” Fargo said. “But first I rig a few surprises for Han and his boys.” He gazed about the shelves. “I need empty bottles.”

“I'll fetch them,” Flanna offered.

“She is most upset,” Mai Wing commented as the redhead hastened down an aisle. “I am sorry I brought sad tidings.”

“O'Brien should have lit a shuck long ago,” Fargo said.

“You wouldn't have, I bet, if this was your store.”

“I don't have a family.” Fargo dropped into the hole and lifted the first keg out, grunting from the exertion. He placed the second keg beside it.

“Is that enough for whatever you have in mind?”

“It's enough to blow this whole camp to hell and back again.”

“You sound eager to do so.”

“Han has it coming.”

“Do you need a light to see by?”

“If I don't want to blow us to kingdom come,” Fargo said. But a light would be seen out on the street. Either they covered the windows with blankets, which would arouse suspicion, or they did the next best thing: they hung blankets on the nearest shelves to form a sort of indoor tent.

“I have been meaning to ask you,” Mai Wing said. “Whatever happened to Mr. Bannon?”

Fargo shook his head.

“Another life Han must answer for,” Mai Wing said. “If he isn't stopped there will be no end to the killing.” She brushed at her bangs. “There are days when I am ashamed that my people are such sheep.”

“A lot of folks aren't fit to fight,” Fargo said. “They don't have it in them.”

“You are kind to make excuses. But I have learned that some things in life are worth fighting for, whether we live or we die.”

“Do me a favor and keep an eye on Flanna while I'm gone,” Fargo requested. “Don't let her come after me.”

Just then the girl stepped out of the shadows. She had bottles in both hands. “What was that? I heard my name mentioned.”

“I was wondering where you'd gotten to,” Fargo lied. “Now I need a towel I can cut into strips. And lucifers if you have them.”

Flanna hastened off again.

Fargo set to work. He placed the bottles in a row, then opened the first keg. He had to pour by feel and a lot of powder spilled over the bottles but he got it done. By then Flanna was back. He cut the towels into strips and plugged one end of each strip into a bottle.

“Oh, I get it,” Flanna said. “You light the strips and they burn down and set the black powder off.”

“That's the plan,” Fargo said as he crammed another strip in.

“I would not have thought of this in a million years,” Mai Wing said. “And my country invented black powder.”

“I didn't know that,” Flanna said.

“It is true. The world owes much of its culture to my people. We are not as backward as many in your country believe.”

“Can't prove that by Han.”

“He is Tong,” Mai Wing said. “He is not typical of most Chinese.”

“Ladies,” Fargo interrupted. “We have to decide where you two will hide until I get back with Terry and Noirin.” The Tong had checked the store and been to the house but they might return.

“Hide, nothing,” Flanna declared. “I'm going with you.”

“Like hell you are.”

“They're my parents. I have every right.”

“You'd only get yourself killed, and me probably besides.”

“I can be as sneaky as the next person,” Flanna argued. “I'll bring a six-shooter and shoot any of the Tong who need shooting.”

“Killed a lot of people, have you?” Fargo sarcastically asked.

“You know I haven't. But that doesn't mean I can't. The lives of my parents are at stake.”

“My no is final,” Fargo reiterated, wishing she would see sense. “Mai Wing, tell her,” he said, thinking she would take his side.

“I would like to come as well,” Mai Wing responded. “And I would very much like a gun if you will show me how to use it.”

“Hell,” Fargo said.

Flanna grinned. “Think of us as soldiers and you're our general.”

“Hell, hell, hell.”

“We'll take your orders. I promise.”

“That's not the damn point. I can't watch you two and everything else at the same time. It's better if you hide out.” Fargo had an inspiration. “And I know just where to do it.” He pointed at the cellar. “Down there.”

“It's too cramped,” Flanna said.

“I would feel like—what do you call it?—a rat in a box?” Mai Wing said.

For two bits Fargo would bean both with a club and drop them in. “Ladies,” he said as earnestly as he knew how, “tagging along is the worst notion either of you have ever had.”

Damned if Flanna didn't cross her arms and stamp a foot and say, “You can't stop me.”

“And if she goes, I go,” Mai Wing said.

Fargo swore.

“My, oh my. That was colorful,” Flanna said. “But you're wasting time. Who knows what that monster is doing to my parents? Let's be on our way, or I will by God go without you.”

“This one is ready to give her life if she must for her friends,” Mai Wing proudly declared.

“I could shoot both of you,” Fargo said. Instead, he hopped back down into the hole and rummaged through the guns and found a Smith & Wesson for Flanna and a Remington for Mai Wing. He loaded both and handed them up. “You'll need something to carry extra ammunition.”

“I know just the thing,” Flanna said, and whisked away. She was gone a couple of minutes and came back holding two pink tote bags with long straps. “Will these do?”

“They are very pretty ammunition holders,” Mai Wing said.

“Any whiskey in this store?” Fargo asked.

“No,” Flanna said. “It's not a saloon. Why would you even want whiskey at a time like this?”

“Beats the hell out of me.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you swear a lot?”

Fargo sighed.

“When I was little if I used foul language my mother washed my mouth out with soap.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I just think you could be nicer.”

“I'm a lot nicer than Han.”

“I've never heard him swear,” Flanna said. “He's been to our store a few times and he always talked like a perfect gentleman.”

Fargo began mentally counting to ten.

“Are you two ready?” Mai Wing asked. “We should start soon.”

“I'm ready,” Flanna said. “I want my parents safe and sound.”

Fargo tried one last time. “There's nothing I can say or do that will change your minds?”

“Not mine,” Flanna said.

“You have done so much for me,” Mai Wing said. “I will do what I can for you.”

Fargo balled his fists. He had half a mind to tie them up but they would likely fight him and where would that leave them?

“Well?” Flanna said. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Lead the way,” Mai Wing said, smiling sweetly, “and we will follow.”

“You have your very own little army,” Flanna said.

“Yes,” Mai Wing said. “Han has the Tong and you have us.”

“God, I need a drink.”

“There are times,” Flanna said, “when I don't understand you.”

“Yes,” Mai Wing said. “Let us, as you Americans might say, go stomp Tong.”

“God help us,” Fargo said.