The Trailsman 317 (3 page)

A split second before the shots rang out, Fargo was in motion. He threw himself at Mabel Landry, caught her about her waist, and bore her to the earth. The slugs buzzed empty space above them like angry hornets.

“Stay down!” Fargo commanded. Then he rolled, grabbed the Henry, and levered a round into the chamber. He fired while prone, three swift shots, aiming at where the muzzle flashes had been.

A rifle in the trees cracked, and a geyser of dirt erupted inches from Fargo's face. He heaved up into a crouch and did the last thing the bushwhackers expected; he charged them, firing on the fly, the Henry tight against his hip. It would be pure luck if he hit them. His purpose was to drive them off, and in that he succeeded. The crash of undergrowth and the whinny of a horse told him the would-be killers were fleeing. He raced toward the sounds, firing until he emptied the Henry. Then he stopped.

The hoofbeats rapidly faded.

Fargo swore. If not for the Ovaro, he might now be dead. Once again the pinto had saved his life.

Behind him, footfalls pattered. Fargo whirled, slicking the Colt, thumbing back the hammer as he drew. When he saw who it was, he snapped, “Damn you. Don't you ever listen?”

“I was worried for your welfare,” Mabel Landry said, breathless from her run, her bosom rising and falling. “Is that so wrong?”

“You could have taken lead,” Fargo said. He let down the Colt's hammer and slid the revolver into its holster.

“I didn't know you cared,” Mabel said with more than a touch of sarcasm. She gazed into the inky woods. “Did you see who it was?”

“I didn't need to see. I know.” Fargo started toward the clearing and she fell into step beside him. “It was Cyst and Welt.”

“What makes you say that? What proof do you have?”

“I don't need proof, either.”

“How convenient.” More of her sarcasm. “It must be nice to be God. But you can't accuse someone without proof.”

Fargo gestured. “Out here you can. Out here there are no courts, no laws. It is every man, and every woman, for him or her self.”

“Why did they do it, then?” Mabel asked. “What possible reason would they have to kill us?”

“They wanted me dead, not you.”

“Then why did you pull me down like you did? I bruised an elbow.”

“The next time we are ambushed you are on your own,” Fargo said. He emerged from the pines and went to the Ovaro and the mare to make sure they had not been hit by stray lead.

Mabel dogged his footsteps. “But
why
? What was their motive? Surely they don't go around killing people for the fun of it.”

“I would not put anything past those two. As for a motive, I will ask them the next time I see them.”

“It is much too bewildering for me,” Mabel said. “All I want is to find my brother.”

Fargo sat with his back to his saddle and commenced reloading the Henry. He began by working the thumb lug. Then he fed fifteen cartridges, one by one, into the tubular magazine below the barrel. When he was done he leaned back with the rifle across his legs.

Mabel was back on her blankets, her legs crossed, her elbows on her knees. “If what you say is true, why don't you go after them?”

“In the dark?” Fargo shook his head. “Cyst and Welt would like for me to come blundering along so they can pick me off as easy as you please. Besides, we know where they are headed. Skagg's Landing.”

She was a fount of questions. “But aren't you worried they might sneak back and try again?”

“Their kind likes to have the odds in their favor. They know I will be on my guard now, so they will leave me be for the time being.”

Mabel gnawed her lower lip while regarding the surrounding endless sea of black. “I don't see how you can be so calm about it.”

“I will sleep with one eye open,” Fargo joked. He unwrapped the rabbit hide. “Care for more pemmican?”

“I don't mind if I do,” Mabel said. “I was tired a few minutes ago but now I am wide-awake and my heart won't stop pounding.”

“It is not every day a person is shot at.”

Mabel thoughtfully chewed, and after she swallowed she leaned toward him and said, “You impressed me, what you did with your rifle. I never saw anyone shoot one so fast.”

“I have had a lot of practice.”

“May I ask you a question?” Mabel did not wait for him to answer. “How do you rate the prospect of me finding my brother alive and well?”

Fargo wished she hadn't brought it up. “Do you want the truth or do you want it sugarcoated?”

“I am a grown woman. I will not fall to pieces.”

“You told me in Denver that it has been three months since you heard from him.”

“That is correct, yes.”

“Then I would not get your hopes up.”

“So you think he is dead?” Mabel went to take another bite but lowered the piece of pemmican. “Maybe he is. Maybe I have come all this way for nothing. But I need to find out. He and I have always been close. A girl could not ask for a better brother than Chester.”

Fargo's estimation of her rose a notch. “You are doing this out of love, then?”

“Why else?” Mabel said. “If you have a brother or sister, you can understand my sentiments.”

“I have a few friends,” Fargo said.

“But no family? How sad.” Mabel held up a hand when he went to speak. “No. That is all right. It is none of my business. But I don't mind baring my heart to you. My brother means everything to me. If he is indeed dead, I need to know. Do you understand? I
need
to be certain.”

“I will do what I can,” Fargo promised. “I just wish you would listen to me once in a while.”

Mabel had a nice smile. “I thank you for being so concerned. In my defense, I have always done as I see fit, and I am too old to change my ways.”

“You can't be much over twenty,” Fargo observed.

“Twenty-three, to be exact. Chester is twenty-seven, soon to be twenty-eight.”

“You are that old?” Fargo said. “And no husband, as pretty as you are? Do you intend to spend your days a spinster?”

Her laugh pealed to the treetops. “Land sakes, no. I have not met the right man yet, is all. I suppose I am too particular, but better that than spend the rest of my life with someone whose habits would drive me to distraction.” She paused. “How about you?”

Fargo thought of all the lovelies he had bedded, willing doves and others. He had lost count long ago. “I am not nearly as fussy.”

“Chester hoped he would find a girl out here,” Mabel said. “He was of the silly opinion that Western girls are somehow more appealing than Eastern girls. Which is sheer hogwash.”

“Says the girl from the East.”

“Be honest. What do women out here offer that women back in the States do not?”

“They are not as prissy, for one thing,” Fargo said. Which tended to make them more playful under the sheets.

“They still step into their petticoats one leg at a time,” Mabel argued. “If you ask me, their allure is the same as the grass on the other side of the fence.”

Fargo gave her more pemmican and they ate in silence, each alone with their thoughts. In Fargo's case, he was thinking of the headaches Mabel's presence would cause. The vermin at Skagg's Landing would be delighted to set their lecherous eyes on a female of her ladylike caliber. They would be eager to try their luck, and the boldest would not be put off by feeble protests. “Stay close to me when we get to the Landing and maybe we can avoid trouble.”

“What brought that up?” Mabel asked, and blinked. “Oh. Our talk about women.”

“Talk about something else if you want,” Fargo suggested.

She did. For the next hour Fargo listened to her prattle on about her childhood. She tried to get him to talk about his but he refused.

“I must say, you are not much of a conversationalist,” Mabel remarked. “In polite society you would be considered a bore.”

“I don't give a damn what others think of me,” Fargo said. He rode his own trails, and always had.

“I envy you, then. I was brought up to think of others first and myself second. The Golden Rule, and all of that.”

“The rule I live by is simple,” Fargo said. “Step on my toes and I will shoot your foot off.”

Mabel tittered. “In other words, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. If everyone thought as you do, no one would ever get along.”

It was pushing midnight when she turned in.

Fargo sat up awhile, listening to the bestial chorus of cries, squeals, and snarls. He heard nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to suggest that the two men who had tried to kill him were anxious to try again.

Still, when Fargo finally fell asleep, it was an uneasy rest. He tossed and turned and snapped awake at the slightest sound. Well before dawn he was up and kindled the embers of their fire.

Mabel did not stir until a golden arch crowned the eastern horizon. Poking her tousled head from under her blankets, she smothered a yawn and languidly stretched, her breasts straining for release from her riding blouse.

“You slept in your clothes?”

“Not because of you,” Mabel said, and scanned the ground around her. “I am scared to death of snakes. If one should crawl over me in my sleep, I would die of a burst heart.”

Fargo did not entirely blame her. Rattlesnakes were fond of warmth, as many travelers discovered when they woke up in the morning to find an unwanted blanket mate. “I knew a man down in the desert country who stuck his foot into his boot one morning without checking the boot first, and was bit by a sidewinder that had crawled into it during the night.”

“Oh my. Did he die?”

“No. He was bit in the big toe, and he chopped it off right away so the venom wouldn't spread. From then on he made it a point to kill every sidewinder he came across.”

Mabel sat up and vigorously shook her head while running her hands through her lustrous hair. “If you will excuse me, I will go into the woods and tidy myself up.”

“It is better if you do it here,” Fargo said.

“And have you watch me? No, thank you. Some things a woman must do alone.”

“Give a holler if you need me.”

Mabel smirked. “I am old enough to make myself presentable without help.” She cast her blankets off and stiffly stood. Taking her bag and a hairbrush, she walked off whistling.

Fargo admired the sway of her hips and the suggestion of willowy legs. She had a natural grace about her, and he could not help but imagine how she would look naked.

Smiling to himself, Fargo rolled up his bedroll. He saddled the Ovaro, and as a favor to Mabel, did the same with her mare. The whole time, the image of her stuck in his head.

He wiped dust off the Henry, checked that his Colt was loaded, then hiked his pant leg and verified his Arkansas toothpick was secure in its ankle sheath. He was straightening when a scream pierced the brisk morning air.

“Skye! Skye! Come here, quick!”

Without a moment's delay Fargo raced to Mabel's aid. He half expected to find she had seen a snake or spotted another bear. Ten yards into the forest he came on her bag, lying untended in the grass, but not a sign of her anywhere. “Mabel?” he hollered. “Where are you?”

There was no answer.

Fargo glanced every which way. He called her name several more times and was mocked by silence. Not so much as a bird warbled. That in itself was ominous. Bending, he cast about for tracks. The ground was hard but in a patch of bare earth he found a footprint that sent a tingle of worry down his spine.

Whoever made the print wore moccasins.

An Untilla, Fargo guessed. Where there was one there might be more, and there was no telling what they would do to her. He broke into a run, guided by bent blades of grass and disturbed brush.

“Mabel! Answer me, damn it!”

More of that unnerving silence.

Fargo ran faster. It could be the Untilla had slain her and were carting her body off. Ahead, a figure appeared. Someone in buckskins, running flat out. He poured on the speed, his legs flying. Intervening trees and undergrowth prevented him from seeing the figure clearly. He gained rapidly, though, and when he was only a few yards behind his quarry, he launched himself into the air and wrapped his arms around the other's legs. Locked together they sprawled to the ground, and tumbled.

Fargo pushed to his feet but the other was faster. He glimpsed long black hair and an oval face, and twin mounds molded by buckskin. It was an Untilla, all right, but a woman, not a warrior. Surprise rooted him in place, which proved to be a mistake.

For woman or no, she was armed with a bone-handled knife, and as she rose, she drove the point at his throat.