Trailsman #377 : Bounty Hunt (9781101604007) (11 page)

20

No two mountain peaks were alike. Some were bare rock, others had timber to their summits. Some were spikes thrust at the heavens, others jagged or rounded. In the Tetons there was a mountain the Indians called “Buffalo Head” because the summit bore an uncanny resemblance to a buff. In Arizona a mountaintop with a silhouette remarkably like the head of a horse was called “Horse Mountain.” And here, in the Shadow Mountains, reared a peak shaped like the head of a bird.

Niyan and Hardy made straight for it.

Fargo found out why when they entered the mouth of a canyon that couldn't be seen until they were right on top of it. The canyon wound along the bottom of the bird-peaked mountain and came to end in a three-sided box hemmed by cliffs.

The surface of a spring gleamed in the bright light of the midday sun. Cottonwoods grew in profusion and so did plenty of grass for graze. A cabin had been built, with log walls and a stone chimney. There was a corral for their horses, and of all things, an outhouse.

Nesbit was seated on a stump with a rifle across his legs, keeping watch down the canyon. He stood and gave a nod of greeting to Niyan and Hardy.

Davies was on the top rail of the corral, whittling. On seeing them, he closed his folding knife and hopped down.

Mills was chopping firewood. He set the ax down and came over.

Cord Blasingame stepped from the cabin. As usual, he wasn't armed. “So I was right to have you keep an eye on our back trail,” he said as Niyan and Hardy came to a stop. “He was tracking us.”

“He wasn't the only one lookin' for us,” Hardy said, and related his run-in with the posse.

“You shot one?” Blasingame interrupted when Hardy came to that point. “I've told you before. The fewer of them we kill, the less incentive they have to come after us.”

“I don't even know what incentive means,” Hardy said. “He was throwin' down on me. What else was I to do?”

“You did right,” Blasingame said. He stared up at Fargo and smiled but there was no warmth in it. “We meet again.”

“Where's Jennifer?” Fargo asked.

“Inside,” Blasingame replied. “And you're a fine one to show concern for her after what you did to Constance.”

“Tassy shot her. Not me.”

“It was you that threw her aim off. Jen told me all about it.” Blasingame motioned at the others. “Get him off his horse and bring him inside, if you would.”

Mills and Davies did the honors, Mills with his hand on the hilt of his bowie.

They had gone to some trouble to make the cabin homey. A bearskin rug lay in front of the fireplace. A lamp sat in the center of the table. Their bedrolls were piled in a corner.

Jennifer was tied to a chair over near the far wall. She didn't appear to have been harmed. “They caught you,” she said.

“This is how you treat your flesh and blood?” Fargo said to Blasingame.

“She kept trying to leave.”

Jennifer glared at her father. “I don't want to be here. You have no right to keep me against my will.”

“I have every right when it's for your own good,” Blasingame said. “I've lost one daughter. I'm not about to lose another.”

“Nothing will happen to me,” Jennifer said.

“You don't know that.”

Jennifer turned back to Fargo. “Isn't it touching, how devoted he is?”

“Don't start with that again,” Blasingame said. “I walked out on your mother, not on you and your sister.”

“You left us all the same,” Jennifer said, “and I'll never forgive you.”

Blasingame instructed Mills and Davies to tie Fargo to a chair, too. “We don't want him slipping away like he did the last time.”

Jennifer asked a question very much on Fargo's own mind. “What are you fixing to do with him?”

“He'll be our guest for a short while,” Blasingame said. “And then he won't be.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” Jennifer said.

Neither did Fargo. But with Hardy and Niyan covering him, there was nothing for it but to submit to being tied. When Mills and Davies finished and stepped back, Blasingame came over and stood in front of him.

“I want you to know I don't blame you entirely for Connie's death. Part of the blame is mine.”

“I don't recollect you being there,” Fargo said.

“I had you in my power once and let you live. If I'd done as some of the others wanted and let them kill you, my daughter would still be alive.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself, Cord,” Mills said. “How were you to know?”

“I played at being nice to him and it cost me,” Blasingame said.

“Played?” Fargo repeated.

A flinty gleam came into Blasingame's eyes as he bent so they were face to face. “Did you honestly think I was as kindly as all that? Did you think that men like these”—and he swept an arm at the killers and cutthroats—“would follow someone who wasn't just like them?”

“I did think it strange,” Fargo admitted.

Blasingame's smile became downright vicious. “I learned a long time ago that if you treat people as if they're your best friend, you can get them to do damn near anything.”

“It's not all pretend,” Mills said.

“Not with you and the others, no. We're pards.” Blasingame straightened. “But everyone else, I use it like you use your bowie and Hardy his shotgun. It's a weapon to keep folks in line.”

“I told you he was smart,” Hardy said to Fargo.

“Let's go have a drink,” Blasingame said to them, and they trooped out.

Fargo tested the ropes. He couldn't move his arms or legs the barest fraction. “Damn.”

“I'm sorry,” Jennifer said.

“For what?” Fargo asked while straining every sinew in his body.

“You came after me, didn't you? You wouldn't be in the fix you're in if not for me.”

“I'm in the fix I'm in,” Fargo said, “because I tried to do the posse a favor.” Never again, he vowed.

“My father has been saying the craziest things,” Jennifer said. “How he wants him and me to be like a normal father and daughter. How he wants me to stay with them from here on out. Can you believe it?”

Fargo was willing to believe people would do just about anything, but he held his tongue.

“He blames my mother more than you. He says she shouldn't have come after him. She should have left well enough alone.”

Fargo debated rocking his chair until it tipped over in the hope it would shatter and he could wrest free. Only the outlaws were bound to hear.

“They hate each other, you know, my mother and father,” Jennifer had gone on. “When you get right down to it, this whole thing is about hate.”

“For me it's about breathing.”

“If you were free, what would you do?”

“Kill the sons of bitches.”

“My father too?”

“Him most of all,” Fargo said. Now that he knew the nice act for what it was, he realized that Cord Blasingame was as deadly as the rest. So what if Blasingame had the others squeeze the trigger for him? It was the same as if Blasingame did it.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Jennifer said. “I want your word you won't.”

“Can't give it to you,” Fargo said. It wasn't about the bounty anymore. It was personal.

“Please. Give me your solemn promise that you won't hurt my father.”

Fargo looked at her.

“If you do, I'll take you with me,” Jennifer said. She glanced at the front door. Then, to his surprise, she moved her right arm away from the chair. “I wriggled it free hours ago. They didn't tie me as tight as they tied you.”

“Lucky you.”

“Don't be mean.” Jennifer placed her arm flush with the chair, holding the rope so it appeared she was still tied. “Will you or won't you?”

“I can kill everybody else?”

“You're awful bloodthirsty. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Fargo couldn't believe she was haggling with his life. “They're fixing to kill
me
.”

“All right. I don't care about the others. They've treated me decent but only because my father makes them. You can kill whoever else you want. Satisfied?”

“Get me the hell out of this,” Fargo said, and shook the chair.

“Hold your horses. It will be a while yet. You heard my father.”

Fargo wasn't so sure. And he disliked being helpless. He disliked it more than just about anything.

“I figured to wait until they turn in.”

“That won't be for hours,” Fargo said. Far too long.

“I'll stall him. I'll beg him not to do anything to you.”

“You're playing with my life.”

Jennifer mulled that while staring at the door. From outside came voices and gruff laughter.

“Do it now,” Fargo urged her.

“Don't rush me, consarn you.”

Without warning the door opened and in strode Cord Blasingame. He was holding a whiskey bottle and took a swig and grinned. “Having fun?”

“I don't like being trussed like this,” Jennifer said. “If you really cared about me, you'd set me free.”

“Forget it, girl. We both know you'd bolt the first chance you got.” Blasingame leaned against the table and regarded Fargo like a cat about to play with a mouse. “Any regrets?”

“Go to hell.”

“Now, now. Pettiness won't do you any favors. Do you want it quick or slow?”

“Untie me and give me a gun.”

“Do I look insane?” Blasingame laughed. “The last person I did in was a bank guard. He tried to back-shoot me when we robbed the bank so we brought him with us. He begged for me to give him a gun, too. I burned him alive.”

“Father, you didn't,” Jennifer gasped.

“It was quite the spectacle.”

Fargo tried to recollect if he ever heard an outlaw use the word “spectacle” before.

Blasingame set down the bottle and straightened. “I suppose we should get to it.”

Just then, from down the canyon, came a shout. “You there! This is Marshal Theodore Cripdin! We have you trapped! Surrender or else!”

21

“What the hell?” Cord Blasingame blurted, and was out the door in a heartbeat.

There was a shot, and a cry, and then a flurry of rifle and pistol fire that ended when Blasingame hollered, “Stop firing! Stop firing!”

“Where did the marshal come from?” Jennifer asked. “How did he find this place?”

“Get me loose,” Fargo said. “Now.” He needed to take advantage of the distraction while it lasted.

“You haven't promised yet,” Jennifer said.

“To hell with you then,” Fargo said. Bracing both feet, he stood, the chair forcing him to stoop slightly.

Coiling, he jumped straight up. In midair he tilted his body back so that his full weight came down on top of the chair as it crashed to the floor. He heard a loud crack, and splintering. The rear legs had broken but not the front; his own legs were still tied fast.

Grunting from the effort, Fargo rolled onto his side and from there managed to heave to his feet again.

“Promise me,” Jennifer said. She had freed one hand and was prying at the knots to the rope that bound her other arm to the chair.

Outside, Marshal Cripdin and Cord Blasingame were shouting at one another. Something about the lawman giving the outlaws ten minutes to throw down their guns and come out with their hands in the air.

“I don't want my father hurt,” Jennifer said. “I don't care what he's done. He's still my father.”

Fargo tensed and jumped. This time when he crashed down, the already weakened chair cracked and broke in several places. A wrench, and his left arm was loose but still tied to the part of the chair that had broken off. Quickly, he began working on the rope around his other wrist.

“Didn't you hear me? Why won't you say anything?”

“I'm like your father,” Fargo said.

“I don't understand.”

“I'm tired of being nice.” Fargo pried with fierce fervor; any moment, one of the outlaws might come in.

Down the canyon, Marshal Cripdin shouted, “We have you boxed in, Blasingame. Try to escape and we'll blast you from your saddles.”

Someone laughed. It sounded like Hardy.

“I'm told there are only six of you, marshal,” Blasingame yelled back.

“So?” Cripdin hollered.

“Your posse is made up of shopkeepers and a stableman, I understand. Do you honestly think you're a match for us?”

“We have rifles and we're not bad shots,” Cripdin said.

“A lawman shouldn't lie,” Blasingame said. “None of you could hit the broad side of a barn if your lives depended on it.”

“Try us,” Cripdin said.

Fargo, meanwhile, had freed his right hand and was working on his feet.

“There,” Jennifer said, and stood. She moved to the door and peeked out, then came back. “This is your last chance. Give me your word you won't hurt him.”

Fargo tugged at a knot. If he could get to the toothpick it would make short shrift of the last ropes.

“Ignoring me, are you? Very well. I'll let my father know you're almost loose.”

Fargo looked up. “You wouldn't.”

“Ah,” Jennifer said, grinning. “That got your attention.”

“He'll kill me that much sooner,” Fargo said.

“You don't know that. He's too busy with the marshal. He'll probably just tie you again.”

“And you,” Fargo said, tugging furiously.

“All you had to do was give me your word.” Shaking her head, Jennifer turned toward the door.

Lunging, Fargo grabbed her ankles. Before she could think to act or call for help, he jerked her legs out from under her.

Jennifer came down hard on her elbows. She cried out and kicked with both legs, trying to break free, but he held on and pulled her toward him.

“Stop! Let go of me!”

Pinning her legs with his chest, Fargo got an arm around her waist. Jennifer twisted and clawed at his face, raking a cheek.

“Let go, I said!”

Fargo had to silence her. Balling his fist, he struck her flush on the jaw. He held back but he still hit her hard enough that it caused her eyelids to flutter. He would have let go but even though she was dazed and weakened, she tried to crawl toward the door, yelling, “Father! Help me!”

Fargo slugged her again. This time she went limp. He didn't waste a second. As soon as his right leg was free he resorted to the toothpick. Then, standing, he carried Jennifer over near the stove where she would be out of harm's way and gently set her down.

A search for a weapon turned up a butcher knife. That was all. His Henry was still on the Ovaro, so far as he knew, and he didn't know where his Colt had gotten to.

Just then Blasingame yelled, “Use your damn head, Cripdin. We have plenty to eat and the spring to slake our thirst. We can wait you out. Eventually you'll run out of supplies and have to go back to town.”

“Why bother waitin'?” Hardy said so that only the outlaws heard. “Why not go finish this?”

“If it comes to that,” Blasingame said, “we'll wait until dark and let Niyan deal with them.”

“Them easy to kill,” the breed said.

The lawman gave a holler of his own. “I can send one of my men for help. We'll have twenty more rifles in no time.”

“Who are you kidding?” Blasingame responded. “It'll take days for your man to reach Meridian. Do you expect us to twiddle our thumbs until he gets back?”

Standing to one side of the door with the butcher knife in one hand and the Arkansas toothpick in the other, Fargo peered out. He saw several of the outlaws right away; Cord Blasingame and Mills were over at the horses, behind a sorrel, using it for cover; Hardy was behind a stump; Nesbit had hunkered behind a boulder.

There was no sign of Niyan or Davies.

A head poked out past the first bend down the canyon. “I gave you your chance,” Marshal Cripdin hollered. “What happens next is on your shoulders.” He quickly pulled back.

Fargo needed to reach the Ovaro. He crouched and started to ease out of the cabin when he spotted a figure snaking along the bottom of the canyon wall. It was Niyan, halfway to the bend. Once Niyan reached it, he could pick off the posse with his Spencer.

Fargo almost shouted a warning but it would only get him shot. Instead, he crept toward the nearest outlaw, Nesbit.

Nesbit took off his hat and raised his head for a look-see.

Fargo moved faster. He figured to bury the butcher knife in the outlaw's back, reclaim his Henry, and cut loose on the others. He glanced at Blasingame and Mills and Hardy to be sure they hadn't looked back and seen him. He thought to glance at Niyan, too, and stopped cold in his tracks.

The breed had stopped crawling. Niyan must have glanced back and seen him and was raising the Spencer to his shoulder.

Fargo threw himself down just as the rifle boomed.

Blasingame, Hardy and the other outlaws all looked toward Niyan, wondering why he had fired.

In a burst of speed, Fargo raced for the cabin. He was almost there when the Spencer cracked again. So did a revolver from over at the horses. As he went through the doorway, lead smacked a log inches from his elbow. Ducking inside, he slammed the door. There was no bar, no bolt. He put his back to it but thought better of the idea and darted to one side.

No sooner did he move than several shots crashed through the door.

Fargo went to the window. It had no glass and just an old piece of blanket for a curtain. Carefully moving it, he risked a peek.

The outlaws were all facing the cabin. Niyan had turned and was crawling back.

“We should rush him,” Hardy hollered to Blasingame. “He doesn't have a gun.”

“Stay put,” the outlaw leader said. “We show ourselves, the posse will open up.”

“They can't shoot worth a damn. You said so yourself.”

“Stay put anyway.” Blasingame cupped a hand to his mouth. “Jennifer? Can you hear me in there?”

Fargo glanced over. She was still unconscious.

“Jennifer? Answer me?” Blasingame took a step toward the cabin but Mills grabbed his arm and said something.

“Fargo!” Blasingame shouted. “Why doesn't she answer? What have you done to her?”

“I've gagged her,” Fargo lied.

“Let her talk to me so I know she's all right.”

“I'll make a deal,” Fargo proposed. “Your daughter for my horse and my guns.”

“Don't listen to him,” Hardy butted in. “He harms a hair on her head, he's as good as dead and he knows it.”

“My horse and my guns,” Fargo said, “and I'll ride out and never come back.”

“I don't believe you,” Blasingame said. “And I want to talk to her, damn you.”

Jennifer groaned.

“If I let you talk, I get my horse and my guns?”

“Yes,” Blasingame said.

“No!” Hardy shouted. “He tries to ride off, I'll blow him to hell and back.”

They began to argue.

Fargo went over to Jennifer. Her jaw was swollen and bruised. He set the butcher knife behind him and touched her arm and her eyes slowly opened. She tried to speak and groaned louder.

“I hurt something awful.”

Sliding a hand under her, Fargo boosted her up and over to the chair she had been tied to. “Take it easy while your head clears.”

“You hit me.”

“I'll do it again if you force me.”

Gingerly rubbing her chin, Jennifer said glumly, “And to think, I let you have your way with me. I won't make that mistake twice.”

Blasingame picked that moment to shout, “Jennifer? Can you hear me? Come out here.”

She began to stand.

“No,” Fargo said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You're not going anywhere.”

“That's what you think,” Jennifer said, and drove her foot between his legs.