Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860) (15 page)

Climbing down, Fargo drew the short-barreled Remington Vin Creed had lent him. The front sight had been filed down and the trigger guard removed. It held five cartridges in the cylinder, not six like his Colt.

Fargo removed his spurs and stuck them in the chestnut's saddlebags. He left the horses and glided along the creek until the glow reappeared. With consummate care he crept forward.

Garvin Oster and Ginny were seated side by side. Across from them was Roselyn, glumly poking the ground with a stick. Their horses and the Comanches' horses and the Ovaro were tied in a string.

Sinking flat, Fargo crawled. He saw that Oster had the Henry across his lap.

Roselyn was jabbing that stick fit to break it. The angry glances she cast at her mother and Oster explained why.

“Will you stop that?” Ginny said.

“No.”

“It annoys me.”

“I don't care.”

Garvin stirred and said, “You'll do as your mother tells you, girl.”

“Or what? You'll take me over your knee?”

“You're not too old for a spankin',” Garvin said.

Roselyn pointed the stick at him. “You ever so much as lay a finger on me, I'll scratch your eyes out.”

“That will be enough of that kind of talk,” Ginny said. “I want us to get along.”

“Let me go back,” Roselyn said.

“Not again,” Ginny said, and sighed. “How many times have we been through this? There is no going back, not now, not ever. You're my daughter and you're with me from here on out.”

“I don't want to be with you. I want to be with my father.”

“You are.”

Roselyn glowered at Garvin Oster. “Did he raise me? No. Did he show me the love a father should? No. Calling him that doesn't make it so.”

“Consarn you, girl,” Garvin said. “I would if I could have but your ma said we had to be careful.”

“I've always done what I thought best for you,” Ginny said.

“You wouldn't know what is best if it bit you on the ass, Mother.”

“Roselyn!”

“Don't talk to your ma like that,” Garvin warned.

“I hate you,” Roselyn said. “I hate the both of you for what you've done to my life. I hate you for taking me against my will, and the secret you've hid all these years. I hate you and I wish you were dead.”

“You don't mean that,” Ginny said.

Roselyn uttered a cry of exasperation. “If I had a gun I swear I would shoot you both.”

Ginny smiled lovingly. “You don't have it in your heart to kill us.”

Fargo rose and strode into the circle of firelight. “I do.”

To Garvin Oster's credit, he didn't try to use the Henry. All he did was blink and say, “I'll be damned.”

Ginny started to jump up but caught herself and muttered, “He has more lives than a cat.”

Roselyn leaped to her feet. “Skye!” she cried, and would have flung herself into Fargo's arms had he not motioned for her to stay where she was.

“First things first,” Fargo said. He moved around behind Oster and Ginny and pressed the Remington's muzzle to the back of Garvin's head. “Slide my rifle behind you.”

“Anything to please,” Garvin said. Gripping the Henry by the barrel, he complied.

“Where's my Colt?”

“In your saddlebags. I didn't have any use for it.”

“Fetch it for me,” Fargo said to Roselyn, and the girl flew to the horses. He went around to the other side of the fire.

Garvin seemed puzzled by something. “Why am I still breathin'? Were I in your boots, I'd have put a slug in my skull.”

“I thought about it,” Fargo said. “But I owe it to Marion to take you back alive.”

Ginny looked over her shoulder. “Where is he?” she apprehensively asked.

“Waiting for me to get back with the horses I borrowed.”

“So that's how you caught us,” Garvin said.

“Wait.” Ginny went rigid. “You've seen them since we saw you last?” She paled. “You told Marion about Garvin and me, didn't you?”

“I'm leaving that for you,” Fargo said.

“Oh, God.”

Garvin touched her arm. “Why are you upset? Your husband would have figured it for himself sooner or later.”

“Maybe not,” Ginny said.

“I don't savvy,” Garvin said.

Roselyn returned bearing the Colt. She handed it to Fargo and said, “I flatter myself that I understand. I'm beginning to learn how my mother thinks.”

“You hush,” Ginny said.

Roselyn stared at Garvin. “So long as my father doesn't learn the truth, she can go back to him if things go wrong.”

“She wouldn't do that,” Garvin said.

“Think about it,” Roselyn said. “As far as he knows, you stole the money and you stole us. He doesn't know about you and her. He doesn't know that it was her idea to steal the money. That it was her who came up with the plan to run away to South America. It's all on your head.”

“But you and Fargo know.”

“She thought Skye was dead and she kept me with her so I couldn't tell anyone.”

Garvin turned to Ginny. “Tell me she's got it wrong. Tell me you wouldn't toss me over in a minute if it would save your hide.”

“Of course I wouldn't. The child is trying to create a rift between us. Any fool could see that.”

“So I'm a fool now, am I?”

Ginny patted his cheek “You know how much I adore you. I was just hoping to spare Marion's feelings.”

“I don't know as I believe you, Gin-Gin.”

“Enough.” Fargo wasn't about to let them get into another of their long-winded arguments. He had Roselyn bring a rope and asked her to tie their hands behind their backs.

“With pleasure.”

“You wouldn't!” Ginny said as her daughter moved behind her.

“Watch me.”

The girl took so much delight in it, Fargo grinned. He instructed her to tie their legs, too.

The pot of coffee they'd made—using his pot—was three-fourths full. Fargo filled a cup, blew on the steaming coffee, and sat. “In the morning we'll head back.”

“What will happen to them?” Roselyn asked, joining him.

Fargo shrugged. “Oster might end up swinging from a rope. Your mother will likely spend a few years behind bars.”

“I hope it's more than a few,” Roselyn said.

“Listen to you,” Ginny said sorrowfully. “To talk about your own mother like that, as if all the years I've devoted to you mean nothing.”

A gust of wind fanned the fire. Fargo raised his head and caught the scent of moisture.

“Marion would never let them put me in prison,” Ginny boasted. “He cares for me too much.”

“You slept with another man, Mother,” Roselyn said. “Not once but over a period of years. And now you've deserted the man you were married to to be with your lover. Father will wash his hands of you, and I say good riddance.”

“My own daughter,” Ginny said.

“Stop saying that.”

Another gust bent the trees. From off to the west came a low rumble.

“Was that thunder?” Roselyn asked.

“A storm is coming,” Fargo said. At that time of the year it wasn't uncommon for thunderheads to sweep across the prairie at any hour of the day or night.

“Are we in any danger?”

Fargo wanted to say no but that would be a lie.

It was almost midnight when nature unleashed the tempest.

By then Fargo had made sure the horses were securely tied and toted the saddlebags and saddles under a pine and covered them. It was the best he could do. There was no shelter to be had and trying to outrun the storm was pointless.

At first a few cold drops fell. The shrieking wind whipped the trees and the rain became stinging barbs. Then, with a blast that shook the ground and a bolt that lit half the valley, the storm was on them.

Almost immediately the fire was extinguished. It hissed and gave off smoke that the wind swept away before it could rise.

Huddled with a blanket over his head and shoulders, Fargo watched the woods churn into a frenzy. He'd thought about moving from the clearing into the trees. They'd have better cover but the risk from lightning was greater, and they'd end up just as wet.

Another bolt splashed pale light. To his right, a blanket over her head, was Roselyn. Ginny and Garvin were on their sides. He'd covered them with blankets, and Garvin's was flapping as if to be airborne.

The Henry was in Fargo's lap, the Colt in his holster.

He figured he had the situation under control. The storm would pass and they'd rekindle the fire and in the morning they would be on their way.

The cannonade of thunder was near continuous. The same with the vivid streaks that produced it. Nearby bolts illuminated the clearing. Distant ones didn't. One minute they were in bright light, the next mired in black pitch. It went on like that for half an hour. Gradually the lightning diminished and they were in the dark for longer periods.

“How much more of this?” Roselyn asked. She sounded miserable.

“It's almost over,” Fargo assured her. The wind had lessened from banshee wails to mewling like a neglected infant.

Fargo peered out from under his hat brim, as anxious as she was for it to be over but for a different reason. He didn't mind the wet so much. He was used to it.

A celestial spear cleaved the sky, lighting up them and the clearing.

Fargo clearly saw Roselyn with her head under the blanket, and Ginny huddled against the chill—and an empty spot where Garvin Oster had been. In a twinkling he was on his feet, the blanket discarded. He spun to the right and the left but there was no sign of him. Cursing, he wrapped an arm around Roselyn, bodily lifted her, and was in among the trees in a few bounds.

“What in the world?” Roselyn's head poked out. “What are you doing?”

“Hush,” Fargo cautioned. “Oster is loose.”

“Oh my God.”

Fargo pushed her down and crouched. Oster wouldn't be taken alive if he could help it; he'd want horses and guns, and Ginny.

“What do we do?”

“I said to hush up.”

“Sorry.”

Fargo pivoted on his heels, turning in a slow circle. Rain still fell but not heavily. The trees weren't bending as fiercely. But the sounds were loud enough that he wouldn't hear Oster until Oster was on top of him.

“What about my mother?”

The girl just wouldn't listen.

A bolt struck a good ways off, the glow faint but enough that Fargo could see Ginny where they had left her.

A whinny brought him around with the Henry to his shoulder. He caught movement at the end of the horse string. “Stay here,” he commanded. In the dark the animals were vague shapes. He crept down the line, counting them.

One was missing.

Fargo scowled. He stalked to the other side. The woods were a patchwork of black and almost black, impossible to penetrate. To go in after Oster would be folly.

He suspected that Oster would try to take another horse but the minutes dragged and no attempt was made. The rain ended and all was quiet save for the drops dripping from the trees.

Fargo wondered if he was making a mistake. Oster might go for Ginny, instead. He glided over.

The drenched blanket was over her shoulders and she was shivering badly. “Get the fire going, will you?” she pleaded. “I'm freezing.”

“In a minute.” Fargo turned to where he had left the daughter. “Roselyn?”

The girl was gone.

“I don't understand it,” Ginny Deerforth said for the tenth or eleventh time since they set out. “I don't understand how he can abandon me.”

Fargo was tired of hearing her gripe.

“I thought he cared for me,” Ginny said. “I thought he loved me. Yet he takes her and goes off and leaves me to my fate.”

Fargo scanned the prairie. He was leading the horses save for the one Ginny was on. They had been riding most of the day.

“Does he care for her more than he does for me? Is that what this means?”

Butterflies flitted about a patch of blue wildflowers.

“I asked you a question,” Ginny said.

“He's your lover.”

“Must you be so callous?” Ginny indignantly demanded. “You could at least be glad for my sake that I found love and happiness.”

Fargo sighed and shook his head. “Ginny, I thought I knew you. I was wrong. You're not a sweet old lady. You're a conniving bitch.”

“We've known each other how many years and you can say that to me?”

“A lot of women would give anything to be in your shoes. You had everything and you threw it away.”

“Everything?” Ginny said, her color up. “Oh, yes, I had a powerful and wealthy husband who treated me the same as he does his gold watch. I'm something to be put on display when the occasion warrants. Otherwise, I'm to mind my manners and never interfere and suffer in silence the many weeks and months that he's being important and I'm left all alone.”

“No marriage is perfect, or so I hear tell.”

“Quit defending him. God knows I bore it as long as I could. I did all sorts of things to keep busy. I sewed. I took up knitting. But part of me was always miserable, and terribly lonely.”

“So you took up with dumb as a stump.”

“Garvin is
not
dumb. He's rustic and rough around the edges but he can be ruthlessly intelligent when he has to be. If not for me, he'd have killed you by now.”