Trailsman #377 : Bounty Hunt (9781101604007) (4 page)

6

The dishes set out on the kitchen table made Fargo's mouth water. He hadn't had a home-cooked meal in months, and Glenda had gone to extra effort to please him.

There was vegetable soup to start things off. A heaping plate of roast beef, potatoes with asparagus, chopped carrots and hot rolls smeared in butter were the main course. For dessert they'd baked a cherry pie.

Fargo washed it down with four cups of piping hot coffee. When he was done he sat back and patted his belly and grinned. “Now I know why married men pack on so much weight.”

“Cord never did,” Glenda said. “He ate as much as you but he never put on an ounce. He took pride in being as hard as nails.”

Fargo imagined her without her dress, and him as hard as a nail, and grinned.

“Would you care for more pie, Mr. Fargo?” Jennifer asked.

“No, thanks,” Fargo said. The sisters had been subdued the whole meal. No doubt they were still upset about him going after their father, and he couldn't blame them.

“Now then,” Glenda said, pushing her plate away. “Suppose we get to it. I'd very much like to hear how you plan to go about finding my husband.”

“I'll take it as it comes,” Fargo said.

Glenda waited, and when he didn't elaborate, she said, “That's it? It doesn't tell me anything.”

“There's nothing else to tell.”

Her lips pinched and she tapped a finger on the table. “You disappoint me. I expected better.”

“Better how?”

“I don't know. You're the scout. The one they say can track down anyone or anything anywhere at anytime. But it sounds to me as if all you're going to do is twiddle your thumbs.”

“I'll rest up tomorrow and the next day I'll start asking around,” Fargo said to mollify her.

“You're going to waste an entire day doing nothing? What are you thinking?”

“Of my horse,” Fargo said. “I rode hard to get here. It needs a day to rest up.”

“You could rent another from the livery.”

“No,” Fargo said. He hardly ever used another horse. The Ovaro had saved his bacon more times than he could count and was the only mount he'd trust with his life.

“If you have to wait a day, so be it,” Glenda said, not sounding happy at the prospect.

Constance cleared her throat. “We could show him around Meridian, Mother. Give him a feel for the town.”

Fargo knew what he'd like to feel, and it wasn't buildings and hitch rails.

“That's hardly necessary,” Glenda snapped. To Fargo she said, “Why don't you repair to the parlor? We'll clean up and join you directly.”

Fargo shrugged. It was fine by him. He strolled down the hall and settled onto a settee. His full stomach and the peace and quiet, save for a few sounds from the kitchen, filled him with drowsiness. His eyelids grew leaden and it was all he could do to stay awake.

The women took so long that his chin started to dip to his chest. He jerked his head up but his weary body wouldn't be denied. His chin bobbed again and he drifted off.

A warm hand on his shoulder woke him.

“Having a nice nap?” Jennifer asked.

Fargo yawned and stretched and accepted a cup of coffee she'd brought. She sat in a rocking chair as her mother and sister came around the corner, Constance bearing a tray of cookies.

“Sorry we took so long,” Glenda said. “There were a lot of dishes and pots and pans to wash.”

Fargo accepted a cookie and nibbled at it and reflected that if this was married life, it was boring as hell.

“I apologize for my manner earlier,” Glenda said. “It's just that I want Cord brought to bay. The sooner he is, the sooner the killings and robberies stop.” She folded her hands in her lap. “They prey on me so.”

“You're not to blame,” Fargo said.

“I know. But I feel as if I am. I was his wife, after all. Perhaps if I'd been a better one, he wouldn't have left me and the poor people he and his horrid men have murdered would still be alive.”

“You're too hard on yourself, Mother,” Constance said.

“He ran out on us, too,” Jennifer said, “and you don't hear us apologizing for him.”

In the hallway a man said, “Ain't you ladies somethin'?” and laughed.

A cookie in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, Fargo looked over and turned to stone.

The man was short and squat and as filthy as a barnyard hog. His hat, his clothes, his skin, hadn't seen water in years, if ever. But it wasn't his filthiness that turned Fargo's blood to ice; it was the Sharps rifle he held level at his waist, the hammer cocked.

“You!” Glenda gasped.

“How do you do, missus,” the man said. “I'm flattered you remember me.” He grinned at Jennifer and Constance. “And how are you girls these days? You remember me, don't you? Uncle Billy?”

“You're no relation of ours,” Glenda practically hissed. “You were my husband's friend, is all. And what he saw in you is beyond me.” She glared. “What are you doing here, Barnes?”

Fargo recollected that Billy Barnes was one of the names Tassy mentioned.

“I came into town with Zeke earlier,” Barnes said, “and he went and got himself shot by this bastard.” He wagged his Sharps at Fargo. “You have about five minutes left to live, mister.”

“How dare you,” Glenda said, rising. “You sneak into my home and threaten my guest.”

Barnes laughed, showing gaps where teeth had been. “I didn't do no sneakin', bitch. The front door wasn't bolted.”

“Bitch?”
Livid with fury, Glenda moved toward him.

“No, you don't,” Barnes said, training the Sharps on her. “I know Cord gave orders you're not to be harmed but he'll understand how it was when I tell him about Clemens and Zeke and you cozyin' with Zeke's killer.”

“Cord doesn't want me hurt?”

“God knows why, but he's still got feelin's for you,” Barnes said. “But enough about him.” He focused on Fargo. “How is it that this hombre is sittin' in your parlor? And had supper with you? Don't deny it, neither, because I was spyin' through the kitchen window.”

“You despicable wretch.”

“Me?” Barnes said angrily. “You brought this feller to town, didn't you?”

Glenda balled her fists but didn't say anything.

“Cat got your tongue?” Barnes sneered. “Then let me spell it out for you. Zeke decided to brace the jasper who everyone says shot Clemens. Only he went and gots himself killed. And when I follow his killer, where does he go? Straight to your house. He sups with you and here he sits as pretty as you please, makin' small talk with you and your gals.”

“Are you through?”

“I'm just gettin' started.” Barnes curled his finger around the trigger. “It's plain as can be that you and him are in cahoots.”

Fargo stayed silent. The longer they argued, the better his chance of turning the tables. He went to lower the cup but Barnes instantly pointed the Sharps at him.

“I wouldn't, mister. You're dead but I can make it quick or I can shoot you to pieces.” Barnes showed the gaps in his mouth again. “Own up to bein' her hired gun and it'll be smack between the eyes.”

“I'm a scout, not a gun hand,” Fargo said. Although folks did say he was uncommonly skilled with a six-shooter, as he'd demonstrated at the saloon.

“Scout?” Barnes said. “She hired you to hunt us down?”

“He's passing through and I put him up for the night,” Glenda said. “That's all.”

“And I'm the queen of England. You've stepped over the line, woman. Cord won't care anymore once he hears about this.”

Neither of the girls had uttered a word but now Jennifer glanced at Fargo and then said, “Uncle Billy?”

“What, girl?” Barnes said without taking his eyes off Fargo.

“I remember you now,” Jennifer said. “You used to come visit when I was little, before my father ever headed west.”

“That was me,” Barnes said, again without looking at her. “In fact, girl, I was the one who talked him into it for his own good.”

“I remember how you bounced me on your knee,” Jennifer said.

“Many a time,” Barnes said.

“And stuck your hand up my dress.”

Both Billy Barnes and Glenda turned sharply toward her and both said, “What?” at the same instant.

It was all the distraction Fargo needed. Heaving up off the settee, he let go of the cup and the cookie and launched himself at Barnes. The outlaw caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and tried to turn. Fargo rammed into him just as the Sharps went off, the heavy-caliber rifle booming like a cannon. He thought he heard the slug strike the wall near where he had been sitting, and then he and Barnes were on the floor and he jammed a knee to the outlaw's chest to pin him. He grabbed hold of the Sharps to wrest it loose, only to find that Billy Barnes was a lot stronger than he seemed and mad as a riled grizzly.

With a roar of rage, Barnes drove his fist into Fargo's gut. It felt like Fargo's stomach tried to burst out his spine. All his breath left him, and he sagged, momentarily weakened.

Barnes bucked and threw him off. Landing on his side, Fargo sought to get his hands under him. Barnes was on him in a heartbeat. A boot caught him in the ribs. The Sharps's stock arced at his head. He ducked, barely, and lost his hat. Still on his side, he drove his boot into Barnes's knee.

At the
crack
, Barnes howled. Where most men would have collapsed in agony, he attacked. His fist connected with Fargo's temple and Fargo almost blacked out. For a few seconds the parlor swam.

Desperate, Fargo shook his head to clear it and scrambled onto his hands and knees. His vision cleared just as an iron hand clamped on his throat.

A derringer muzzle was inches from his face. Above it, Barnes leered in triumph. “I have you now, you son of a bitch. I told you I'd blow out your wick for what you did to my pard and I'm always as good as my word.”

There was the
click
of the derringer's hammer.

7

Fargo's life hung by the pressure of Barnes's trigger finger. He would have died then and there, except that Jennifer rose out of the rocking chair.

“No, you don't, girly,” Barnes said, pointing the derringer at her. “None of you females are to move a muscle.”

Unnoticed, Fargo slid his right hand under his pant leg and into his boot to the Arkansas toothpick nestled snug in its ankle sheath.

“If you think I won't kill a female, you're wrong,” Barnes warned them. “I'm not Cord. I don't have a soft spot for petticoats.”

“You're despicable, Mr. Barnes,” Glenda said hotly.

“You're a fine one to talk, bitch. I know why Cord left you. You drove him to it.”

“That's a bald-faced lie.”

“Not hardly. He confided in me one night when he had too much to drink.” Barnes was still pointing the derringer at Jennifer.

Constance hadn't moved or spoken. She seemed too scared to even blink.

“Cord Blasingame wouldn't be an outlaw if it weren't for you,” Barnes said. “If you'd been a halfway good wife, he'd still be married.” He paused. “When we heard you'd come here after him, some of us were all for doin' you in but he wouldn't have it.”

“He has at least one redeeming quality left in him,” Glenda said.

“You just don't savvy, do you? A woman can't keep a man under her heel and expect him to stay there forever. Not if he's got a lick of pride.”

“What do you know, you smelly goat,” Glenda said. “You'll get yours one day.”

“Sooner than he thinks,” Fargo said, and when Barnes glanced down, he thrust the toothpick in under his sternum, all the way to the hilt.

Billy Barnes jerked and blurted, “Hellfire!” His eyes rolled up in his head, he gave a convulsive shake, and sank into a pile.

Glenda squealed in delight.

Fargo left the blade buried. He'd stabbed men in the heart before; as soon as he pulled it out, blood would spread.

Glenda came over. “Call me a bitch, will you?” she said, and kicked the corpse in the face.

“I doubt he felt that,” Fargo said.

Glenda was so mad, she kicked Barnes again. “Invade my house, will you? Call me names, will you? He got what was coming to him.”

Constance finally broke her silence. “There isn't any bounty on him, is there?”

“No,” Glenda said. “He's small fry.”

“Stinky small fry,” Jennifer said, and all three of them laughed.

Fargo was surprised at how coldhearted they were. Then again, a woman scorned could be downright mean, and by walking out on Glenda, Cord Blasingame had unleashed a she-cat. He rose and picked up his hat. “You might want to fetch some towels or rags.”

“What?” Glenda said, tearing her hate-filled gaze from the body. “Oh. Yes. The blood.” She gave commands to her daughters and they bustled out.

Fargo rubbed a sore spot where he'd been hit.

Placing a hand on his arm, Glenda smiled. “Thank you. He might have gotten around to hurting us, too. He never did like me. I don't think he liked women, period. Him and that Zeke.”

Fargo was doing the arithmetic in his head. Blasingame plus eight men was now Blasingame plus five men. The odds were getting better. “Now you know why I wasn't in any hurry to head out.”

Glenda digested that, and her eyes widened. “You figured more of them might come after you.”

“Outlaws can be as loyal to each other as cowhands are loyal to a brand.”

“I don't know much about cowboys,” Glenda said, “except that they smell of cows.”

The girls returned. Fargo offered to drag the body outside but Glenda didn't want to move it; she sent Constance to fetch the marshal.

Fargo remembered the bottle he'd put in his saddlebags and said, “I need a drink.”

“You're going to the saloon at a time like this?” Glenda said in amazement.

“I have some whiskey upstairs.”

“Hold on. You brought liquor into my house?”

“Do you want some?”

“I certainly do not. I don't permit it. I never allowed Cord to have any and I won't have you bringing it in, either.”

“Too late.” Fargo needed that drink bad. His head hurt and his ribs ached, and he could use the jolt.

“I want you to bring the bottle down and empty it.”

Fargo laughed.

“I mean it.”

Fargo figured he should set her straight on a few things. “You want me to track down your husband, fine. You want me to split the bounty, fine. But you don't get to boss me around. You don't tell me what to do, now or ever. And if you don't like it, send for someone else.”

Glenda's face rippled with anger. “I don't deserve to be talked to like that.”

“It's easy not to.”

Confusion etched her face. “How do you mean?”

“Don't be a bitch.”

Fargo took the stairs two at a stride. In his room he sat on the end of the bed and savored a long swallow. The burning felt good, and he smacked his lips in enjoyment. Some of the pain faded. “More medicine,” he said, and chugged.

It wasn't five minutes that there came a light knock on his door. “It's me,” Jennifer said.

“Come the hell in.”

She had the toothpick, and held it out. “Mother said to give this to you. I wiped it clean.”

“I'm obliged.” Fargo hiked his pant leg and slid the knife into the sheath.

“You sure are tricky,” Jennifer said.

“It keeps me breathing.”

“Mother's mad at you.”

“I don't give a damn.” Fargo held out the bottle. “Care for a swallow?”

Jennifer stared at it longingly and licked her lips but shook her head. “She'd beat me within an inch of my life.”

“Would she, now?” Fargo had come to regard Glenda Blasingame in a whole new light, and it wasn't flattering.

“Don't misunderstand,” Jennifer said. “She's a good mother. She's had to work really hard to keep us fed and keep clothes on our backs.”

Fargo motioned at the walls. “You have your own house.”

“We rent it,” Jennifer said. “We've been living off a little money she inherited when Grandma died, and it's about gone. It's why she wants the bounty money so much. If we don't get our share, I don't know what we'll do.”

“But you say she beats you?”

“Now and then. Spankings, mostly, when I was little. Deep down she's a good woman trying to do the best she can.”

“If you say so.”

Jennifer came over and bent so her face practically touched his. “Want me to tell you a secret?”

“I'm all ears,” Fargo said, although at the moment another part of him was stirring.

“Those hairs weren't hers.”

“She plucked them off your goat?”

Jennifer laughed. “We don't have a goat, silly. No, they were mine.” She glanced at the doorway as if to assure herself no one was there. “You see, it was my idea. We were sitting around talking about how badly we could use the bounty. Mother mentioned hearing about this famous tracker—”

“Me.”

“Yes. Constance said we should send for you but Mother didn't think you'd come. She'd never heard of you tracking anyone down for money.” Jennifer chuckled. “But she'd heard of your, shall we way, wanton ways? Rumor has it you're quite the ladies' man.”

“I like to fuck,” Fargo said.

Jennifer snorted, caught herself, and covered her mouth and nose. “I'm sorry. I think I got snot on you.”

“I'll live.”

“Anyway, I came up with the idea of sending you some hairs. Mother thought it was scandalous at first but Connie and I convinced her. We figured that if you're as female hungry as they claim, you'd come running like a buck to a doe in heat.”

“Hell,” Fargo said.

“Mother was going to take scissors to the ends of her hair and send those but I said that you could probably tell the difference and they should be real. So I plucked my own.” Jennifer laughed. “You should have seen Mother's face when we folded them up. She was red as a beet. Connie and I about laughed until we cried.”

“I'd like to see the rest.”

Jennifer straightened. “I can never tell when you're serious.”

“I never joke about puss hairs.”

“There you go again.” Jennifer gave him a light smack on the arm. “And when do you think you'd like to?”

“Now is good,” Fargo said, and setting down the bottle, he reached out with both hands, cupped her buttocks, and pulled her to him. He pressed his face to her nether mount and nuzzled her through her dress.

Jennifer gasped and arched her back. “Oh God!” she gasped, and made as if to push him away. Instead, she suddenly grabbed his head and pushed his face harder into her.

Fargo could feel the slope of her mount and the warmth of her thighs. He kneaded her bottom with one hand while raising the other to a breast and cupping it.

“Ohhhhhh,” Jennifer husked.

Fargo's member was swelling into a redwood. He stood and kissed her and she hungrily tried to suck his tongue down her throat.

Mewing like a kitten, Jennifer placed her hand on his pole. She pulled back, looked down, and her mouth formed an O. “I had no idea.”

“Want to see it?” Fargo said, and was about to undo his buckle when steps sounded on the stairs and someone came hurrying down the hall.

Quickly stepping back, Jennifer smoothed her dress and fluffed at her hair.

Fargo picked up the whiskey bottle and held it in front of him to hide his bulge.

Constance bustled in. “Sorry to bother you,” she said, “but the marshal is here and he wants to see Mr. Fargo.”

“Wonderful,” Fargo said.