California Carnage (8 page)

That had worked. Jimmy had agreed without taking offense. Fargo liked the youngster, and from what he had seen so far, Jimmy was a dependable, hard worker, but he didn’t want to trust their lives to his vigilance.

Grayson had the second watch, and Sandy would finish off the night with the last shift. But for now, all of Fargo’s senses were honed to high levels of alertness.

The night had been quiet and peaceful so far. Fargo stood far enough back from the window so that nobody could take a potshot at him from outside, but close enough to catch some of the breeze. He could see the stagecoach parked below. Anyone who tried to meddle with it would get a warm welcome from the big Sharps Fargo had tucked under his arm.

All the horses were in stalls down below. Another stall had been cleaned out so that Grayson, Sandy, and Jimmy could spread bedrolls there. Despite being something of a tenderfoot, Grayson hadn’t complained about the arrangement.

‘‘I grew up poor,’’ he explained. ‘‘I’ve slept in worse places before this.’’

Belinda had been given the hostler’s bunk in the tack room. With the graciousness of his people, the old-timer had surrendered the bunk without hesitation and tried to refuse any payment for his sacrifice, but Grayson had insisted on paying him. The old man had taken the gold coin Grayson gave him and wandered off, intent on finding a jug or a woman, or both.

Fargo was weary after a long day of riding, but he had no trouble staying awake. He had trained himself to be able to do that even when he was tired, because often his life had depended on it.

So he was a little surprised by the soft footstep behind him, but not by the fact that he heard it.

He whirled, every sense alert, every muscle tensed for action. His right hand dropped to the butt of the Colt, ready to draw the weapon and fire in the blink of an eye.

The dark figure coming toward him stopped short. Fargo heard a startled gasp as the shape drew back a step.

‘‘Belinda,’’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper, ‘‘what are you doing up here?’’

She had recoiled from the sudden violence of his reaction, but now she came forward again so that he could make out her face and figure in the light from the moon and stars. ‘‘I . . . I couldn’t sleep,’’ she said.

‘‘So you thought you’d wander around in the dark for a while and maybe get yourself shot?’’

She must have taken offense at the tone of rebuke in his voice, because she said, ‘‘You don’t have to be like that about it. I just thought I’d come up here and keep you company for a while.’’

‘‘I don’t need to be kept company,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘I’m supposed to be standing guard.’’

‘‘Well, if I’m just going to be an annoyance . . .’’ Her voice was edgy with anger now.

Fargo knew the thing to do was to let her be angry. Let her go back down to the tack room.

If she was already having trouble sleeping, though, chances were she wouldn’t be able to doze off now. She would nurse her hurt feelings, and that would keep her awake.

So he said, ‘‘No, stay. Truth is, I wouldn’t mind having some company for a little while.’’

At that moment, one of the men below—Fargo thought it was Sandy—let out with a long, thunderous snore. That had been happening, off and on, all night. Fargo couldn’t help but chuckle at the woeful tone in Belinda’s voice as she said, ‘‘Good, because the tack room is right on the other side of where Mr. Stevens is sleeping, and that wall isn’t very thick.’’ She stepped closer and drew in a deep breath. ‘‘The night air smells wonderful.’’

‘‘It’s pretty nice,’’ Fargo agreed. ‘‘There’s a pile of hay over there if you want to sit down.’’

‘‘No, this is all right. There might be . . . uh . . . bugs in that hay.’’

‘‘Or rats,’’ Fargo said.

Belinda shuddered and moved even closer to him.

‘‘Rats?’’ she said, with worry in her voice.

‘‘Don’t worry. You’ll hear them rustling around, if any of them are close by.’’

‘‘Oh, that makes me feel
much
better.’’ She was close beside him now, only inches away, her shoulder almost brushing his. ‘‘No one’s tried to bother the coach, have they?’’

Fargo shook his head. ‘‘No, it’s been mighty peaceful tonight.’’

‘‘Except for the part where you killed a man.’’

‘‘Well,’’ he said, ‘‘there was that.’’

‘‘I . . . I never saw a man die before.’’

‘‘The frontier’s a pretty rugged place,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘Maybe you should have stayed back east. Where do you and your father live when he’s not running his stage lines?’’

‘‘St. Louis,’’ she said. ‘‘And he didn’t want to bring me. I insisted. I went with him to Texas when he was working there, and I thought California couldn’t be any worse than that.’’

‘‘It’s not. But if you didn’t run into any trouble in Texas, you were lucky.’’

‘‘Actually, Father clashed with Mr. Stoddard there, too,’’ Belinda said. ‘‘But it never got as far as violence. I suppose that must have been the last straw. Mr. Stoddard must have decided that Father would never get the best of him again, no matter what it took.’’ She laid a hand on Fargo’s arm. ‘‘There’ll be more danger before we get to San Francisco, won’t there?’’

‘‘I reckon you can count on that,’’ he told her.

She stood there beside him for several moments, silent in thought. Then she turned to him and said, ‘‘Since we don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, I’m not going to wait to do this.’’

She slid an arm around his neck, came up on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his.

He wasn’t all that surprised by the kiss. He had seen in Belinda’s eyes that she was attracted to him. And even though he didn’t really need a distraction like this while he was standing guard, he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. His right arm was free, since he was holding the Sharps in his left hand now, so he slipped it around her waist and urged her against him. Her body felt good as it molded to his, and her mouth tasted hot and sweet.

When she finally broke the kiss, she whispered, ‘‘Skye, we could put that pile of hay to good use.’’

The idea was mighty tempting. Ideas that involved piles of hay and beautiful, willing young women in the heat of night usually were.

But Fargo shook his head. He had to remain alert until the end of his watch, and anyway, Belinda’s father was sleeping just below, along with Sandy and Jimmy. Nobody had ever accused him of being the soul of discretion, Fargo thought as he smiled to himself, but he had to draw the line somewhere.

‘‘Maybe another time and place,’’ he told her.

‘‘But you said there was going to be more danger along the way,’’ she argued. ‘‘Something could happen to one of us, or both of us. We might never get another chance to be together like this.’’

‘‘Then that would be a mighty big shame. But it still doesn’t mean
this
is the right time and place.’’

She moved back a little so that her face was in shadow, so he couldn’t see her pout. He could hear it in her voice, though, as she said, ‘‘You just don’t want me.’’

‘‘I wouldn’t say that,’’ he told her. And if she could feel the stiffness inside his buckskin trousers right now, neither would she.

She might have argued some more, but at that moment Fargo tensed and lifted a hand. ‘‘Shhh,’’ he said.

She talked anyway, whispering, ‘‘Is something wrong?’’

He had seen something from the corner of his eye, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Turning so that he faced the window, he peered out into the night.

The view from here was out over the yard in front of the stable and the cantina next door. A couple of hundred yards distant stood the old mission. Fargo had no trouble making out the long sanctuary with the sturdy bell tower located at the front of it. Beyond the mission, past the fields and the orchards, he saw the sparkle of moonlight on the endlessly rolling waters of the Pacific. On a quiet night such as this, the sound of the surf could be heard without much trouble.

Fargo leaned forward as he saw a light moving at the mission. ‘‘There it is again,’’ he said, whispering even though he knew perfectly well that whoever was responsible for the light couldn’t hear him at this distance.

‘‘What are you talking about?’’ Belinda said. ‘‘That’s just someone walking around with a lantern over there, isn’t it?’’

The light was a faint, shapeless glow. Fargo didn’t think it came from a lantern. It was too vague for that. And something else wasn’t quite right about it. . . .

‘‘A few seconds ago, when I first saw the light, it was up in that bell tower,’’ he said. ‘‘A man wouldn’t have had enough time to climb all the way down and come outside.’’

That was where the light was now, moving along the front of the mission. Fargo blinked as it disappeared. Then, without warning, it reappeared, this time at the top of the bell tower again.

Belinda had seen it, too. She said, ‘‘Oh, my goodness. How did it do that?’’

Fargo could only shake his head. ‘‘I don’t know.’’ As they stood there and watched, the light faded from sight bit by bit, until it was gone and didn’t come back.

Fargo had always been one to trust the evidence of his own eyes, but right now he doubted what he had just seen. Belinda must have felt the same way, because she said, ‘‘That can’t be, Skye. It just can’t.’’

‘‘We both saw it, so I reckon it has to be, whether we can explain it or not.’’ His voice held a touch of dry humor as he added, ‘‘Unless we both had more tequila to drink at supper than I remember us having.’’

‘‘That . . . whatever it was . . . has made me rather nervous. I don’t think I want to go back down to the tack room alone. Do you mind if I stay up here with you until your watch is over?’’

‘‘You may be a mite tired in the morning, but it’s all right with me,’’ Fargo told her.

‘‘Maybe I’ll stretch out on that pile of hay after all.’’

Fargo thought at first that she might be about to try to seduce him again, but with a slight rustling of the hay she lay down, and within a few minutes, he heard her deep, regular breathing and knew she was asleep. She hadn’t been so disturbed by the mysterious light that weariness hadn’t been able to claim her.

He was in no danger of dozing off, though. Fargo was sure of that as he stared with narrowed eyes at the distant mission.

He let Belinda sleep until it was time to wake her father to take his turn on guard duty. Fargo roused her from slumber first, telling her that she needed to return to the tack room while Grayson was still asleep.

She stretched and said in a sleepy murmur, ‘‘I had the strangest dream, Skye. I dreamed there was this odd light moving around the mission. . . .’’ Her voice trailed off as she sat up. ‘‘It wasn’t a dream, was it?’’

‘‘No, I saw it, too,’’ Fargo told her. ‘‘And I don’t have any more idea what it was now than I did then.’’

She shook her head. ‘‘I’m still glad I came up here, mystery lights and all. Glad I got a chance to tell you how I feel about you. I just wish . . .’’

‘‘Another time,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘Soon?’’

‘‘Soon,’’ he promised with a smile.

He took her hand and helped her to her feet. She brushed hay off the skirt of her traveling outfit. ‘‘That was more comfortable than I thought it would be. And I don’t seem to have been bothered by bugs . . . or rats.’’

Fargo took a last, quick look around from the loft window, then followed Belinda down the ladder. She gave him a hug and retreated to the tack room, easing the door shut behind her. Fargo went over to Grayson’s bedroll and knelt beside him.

‘‘Huh? What?’’ Grayson exclaimed as Fargo gave his shoulder a light shake. ‘‘Mr. Fargo! What is it?’’

Fargo could tell by the man’s confusion that he had been sleeping soundly. ‘‘Your turn to stand guard, Mr. Grayson,’’ he said. ‘‘You sure you’re up to it?’’

Grayson sat up and rubbed his eyes with his fists. ‘‘Yes, I’m fine,’’ he said in a half whisper so he wouldn’t disturb Sandy and Jimmy. He got to his feet and followed Fargo over to the ladder.

Fargo pressed the Sharps into his hand. ‘‘Ever use one of these before?’’

‘‘As a matter of fact, I have. They’ve got a kick like a Missouri mule, don’t they?’’

Fargo smiled. ‘‘Yes, but you don’t have to worry about precise aim. Hit a man anywhere with a shot from one of these and he’s going to be knocked off his feet.’’

Fargo gave Grayson some extra rounds for the carbine, then waited until the man had climbed to the loft before heading for his own bedroll. He fell asleep a short time later, not bothered by Sandy’s snoring, the small noises made by the horses as they shifted around in their stalls, or the memory of that mysterious light at the mission.

The rest of the night passed without any trouble. The next morning, while Sandy and Jimmy were tending to the horses, Fargo asked Belinda, ‘‘Sleep well?’’

‘‘Surprisingly well,’’ she said. With a smile, she added, ‘‘After a certain point, anyway.’’

They ate breakfast at the cantina, then got ready to hit the trail again. Fargo left saddling the Ovaro until last. When he went into the stable he found the hostler combing the big black-and-white stallion.

‘‘He must like you,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘He won’t let just anybody come around him. The big fella’s been known to take a bite out of a man’s hide if he doesn’t take a liking to him.’’

‘‘The horse knows that I have only admiration for him, senor,’’ the old-timer said as he stroked the Ovaro’s nose. ‘‘No one can see the truth in a person’s heart more clearly than a
caballo
.’’

Fargo liked the hostler and sensed that the old man was trustworthy, so he ventured a question. ‘‘I saw something a mite odd over at the mission last night. I was wondering if you might know what it was.’’

‘‘Was it a light, senor?’’

Fargo frowned, a little surprised by the hostler’s question. ‘‘As a matter of fact, it was.’’

The old man nodded. ‘‘
Sí
, of course. What you saw was Father Tomás, Senor Fargo.’’