Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860) (18 page)

“No, I don't think he would go that far. He doesn't love me in the way my real father”—Roselyn caught herself—“He doesn't love me in the way the man I thought was my father does, but he does feel a certain fondness because he sired me.”

“Where did he get to?”

“He didn't say where he was going. Frankly, I hope he disappears and we never see him again.”

Fargo stepped to the Ovaro. After undoing his bedroll, he slid the Arkansas toothpick out and cut a strip from his blanket to use as a bandage. He applied it despite her protests that she didn't need one. “There. Now there's less chance of infection.”

Roselyn raised adoring eyes. “I'm awful grateful for all you've done.”

“I'd do it for anyone,” Fargo said, which wasn't entirely true. He tied on the bedroll, climbed up, and offered his hand. Once she was behind him with her arms around his waist, he reined around and tapped his spurs.

“We're not heading for town?”

“The posse,” Fargo said. “The senator is beside himself with worry.”

“Is he sad over my mother?”

“What do you think?”

“To be honest, I don't know what to think anymore. My life has been turned upside down. A lot of what I took as true, isn't. I never would have imagined my mother having an affair with any man, let alone Garvin Oster.”

“Makes two of us,” Fargo said.

“Did she really love Oster or was it just . . . the other?”

“Sex?”

“I wish you wouldn't say that word.”

“We'll call it the other, then,” Fargo said, grinning. “It's all some people think about. As for your mother, I can't say.”

“Is it all you think about?”

“Talk about something else.”

“But I never get to talk about it, and I'm curious. My parents always acted embarrassed if I so much as mentioned kissing a boy.”

“You'll find out about it yourself soon enough.”

“Is it as good as they say?”

“Some folks like it.”

“How about you?”

Fargo shrugged. “I can go without if I have to.” Which was about the biggest lie he'd ever told.

“But it feels nice, doesn't it?”

“Some,” Fargo said.

“You're not being much help. I'm trying to figure out why my mother was so attached to Garvin Oster.”

“It could be she cared for him and liked doing the other, both,” Fargo said.

Roselyn was quiet a while. Finally she said, “These have been the worst days of my life. What do we do when life kicks us in the teeth like this?”

“Kick back,” Fargo said.

The reunion was touching. Senator Deerforth held her and cried and she sobbed into his chest.

Everyone else stood around looking uncomfortable.

Fargo walked off a short way and squatted and plucked at the grass. A shadow fell across him and a silver flask was dangled in front of his face.

“Care for a sip?” Vin Creed asked.

“Don't mind if I do.” Fargo swallowed and savored the warmth that spread through his gut. He passed the flask back. “I'm obliged.”

“Where do you reckon Oster got to?”

“No telling.”

“If he's smart he'll hightail it clear out of Texas. Only he hasn't ever struck me as having a whole lot of brains.”

“He had enough to run the senator's estate.”

“And bed his wife.” Creed sipped and let out a sigh. “I had my heart set on that one hundred thousand.”

“There's always next year.”

“No, there's not,” Creed said. “While you were gone the senator mentioned that this was the last of his poker tournaments. He couldn't go through another. It would bring back painful memories.” He gazed across the prairie. “It's just as well, I suppose. Texas is too rough and wild for my blood. I like New Orleans. It's more refined, more elegant.”

“Elegant?” Fargo said, and laughed.

“Mock me if you will but I'm fond of my creature comforts.” Creed held out the flask again and Fargo shook his head. “Yes sir. As soon as we get back, I'm packing and heading for a more civilized part of the country.”

“I like the wild parts, myself.”

“That's because in some ways you're more Injun than white. You don't mind spending days in the saddle. You like to sleep under the stars. You shoot and cook your own food.” Creed shook his head. “Me, I'm fond of a soft bed and the best restaurants. And as for riding, my ass is so sore, it won't bother me a lick if I never sit a horse again.”

Fargo chuckled.

A slug smashed into Creed's face a full second before the distant boom of the rifle, the force slamming him off his feet.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

Fargo dived flat and clawed at his Colt. He'd forgotten about Oster's Sharps. He twisted to yell at the others to do as he had done just as a second shot smashed into the deputy's chest and flipped him backward. “Get down!”

Marshal Moleen threw himself at Senator Deerforth and Roselyn and bore them to the earth with him, shielding them with his body.

The banker, Benton, gaped at the body of the deputy, his mouth opening and closing.

“Get down, you jackass!” Fargo hollered.

Benton looked up in bewilderment. “Where—?” he said. Instead of dropping flat he bent at the knees and reached down to lower himself. There was a
splat
and the top of his head blew off in a spectacular shower of skin and bone and what little hair he had. He fell like a dropped rock, his brains oozing from the hole.

“The rest of you stay down,” Fargo said. “He can't see us in this grass.”

Lead whistled overhead and a horse whinnied stridently. The blast came an instant later.

Fargo spun. The animal that belonged to Benton was staggering, blood pumping from its neck. Uttering another whinny, it keeled onto its side and kicked.

“He's going to kill the horses!” Moleen shouted.

Again lead scorched the air and the right eye of Creed's horse erupted in a spray of gore. The horse collapsed as if its legs were made of wax.

Pushing up, Fargo ran for the Ovaro. “We have to get out of here!” He veered to help the lawman pull the senator and the girl to their feet. Keeping hold of Roselyn, he flew to a sorrel and heaved her onto the saddle. “Head north!” he yelled, and smacked the animal on the rump. Whirling, he darted to the Ovaro. As his boot hooked the stirrup, a leaden messenger of death sizzled inches from his ear. Swinging up, he hauled on the reins.

Marshal Moleen was riding hell-bent for leather. Deerforth was slapping his legs and staring back in terror.

The other horses were scattering, including the one that bore Ginny's blanket-wrapped body.

Fargo dreaded that the next shot would bring the Ovaro down. He lashed the reins, anxious to get out of range. For more than half a mile he flew as if the dogs of hell were nipping at the stallion's hooves.

Ahead of him, the others seemed to ride into the very earth.

Momentarily, Fargo saw why: a basin covered half an acre. He galloped into it and came to a sliding stop.

“Damn that son of a bitch!” Marshal Moleen fumed. “Picking us off like that.”

“He shot the poor horses too,” Roselyn said. She was pale and wide-eyed.

Deerforth put a hand to his face and wiped at a smear of blood and something about the size of a silver dollar that clung to his cheek. He held it out. “Oh, God. I think this is part of Benton's head.” He threw it down and wiped his fingers on his jacket.

“What do we do?” Roselyn asked, tears in her eyes. “If we show ourselves, he'll shoot more of us, won't he?”

“He sure as hell will,” Fargo said.

The rest of the day crawled on claws of tension.

They decided to wait until nightfall. Fargo passed around jerky from his saddlebags and after they ate, Roselyn curled into a ball and fell into a fitful asleep. Moleen went to the basin rim to keep watch.

Senator Deerforth walked in small circles, wringing his hands. He was a man on the brink. Now and then he glanced at Fargo as if he were about to say something but didn't. Finally he came out with, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“After we get you and your girl back safe, I'll go look for your wife's body.”

“No, it's not that.” Deerforth hesitated. “I'd like for you to kill Garvin Oster.”

Fargo stared. “I'm not an assassin.”

“I know that. You're a scout, not a gun hand. You don't kill people for money. But you've killed before, and rumor has it you are good at it.”

“I do what I have to to stay alive.”

“Garvin has destroyed my life. He slept with my wife. He kidnapped my sweet child. Now he's shot one of my best friends, Stanley Benton. If anyone deserves to die, it's him.”

Fargo didn't respond.

“Then there are the good citizens who have voted me into office so many times,” Deerforth said forlornly.

“How the hell do they figure in?”

“Politics are my life. It's all I've lived for. I doubt the voters will have much respect for a man who can't hold on to his wife.”

Fargo shook his head in disgust.

“What? It's true. I'll be voted out in the next election. And then what will I have?”

“Roselyn.”

“Well, yes, that goes without saying. But all the meaning will be gone from my life. I'll lose the thing I hold most dear.”

“It wasn't Ginny?” Fargo said.

“Why would it be her? She never did like my running for office. All she did was complain. I was away from home too much. I left her alone too often. Silly things like that.” Deerforth still walked in circles. “She accused me of loving power more than I loved her. I told her that was ridiculous but she said if I truly cared, I would spend more time at home.”

“Did you ever think she might be lonely?”

“She had friends. A social life. She didn't need me there all the time.”

Fargo stared at a him, a notion taking shape. “Did you go to bed with other women?”

Deerforth stopped pacing. “What kind of question is that?” he demanded.

“A simple one. Were you faithful to your wife?”

“It's none of your business.”

“You weren't,” Fargo said.

The senator came closer. He glanced at his daughter and said quietly, “The reputation you have, why should it surprise you? A man has needs. When he's away from hearth and home he must meet those needs some other way.”

“All of this,” Fargo said.

“All of what?”

“Ginny was right about you.”

“You're saying I'm to blame for our predicament?”

“It's not all on her,” Fargo said.

“I say it is.”

Fargo had to get away from him. He climbed the slope and sank down next to Marshall Moleen. “Anything?”

The lawman had taken off his hat. “If Garvin is out there, he's well hid.”

“It'll be dark in an hour.”

“If I was Garvin Oster,” Moleen said, “I wouldn't let us reach town. All he has to do is lie in wait between here and there.”

“We circle to the east.”

“Unless he second-guesses us.” The lawman leaned on an elbow. “Or we can second-guess him. You take the girl and circle east. I'll take Marion and circle west. One of us is bound to make it.”

“I don't know.” Fargo didn't like the notion of splitting up.

“What else can we do?”

“Draw him to us,” Fargo proposed. “Make a fire with enough smoke he's bound to see it.”

Moleen caught on right away. “And rig our blankets so it looks like we're under them?”

“Only we'll be off in the high grass.”

“You're a tricky bastard,” Moleen said, and smiled. “I like that.” He started to slide down. “Let me talk to the senator.”

Fargo rested his chin on his arm and scoured the prairie for movement. He doubted Garvin would be that careless, but you never knew. After a while he heard someone climbing up to join him and thought it was the marshal. “What did the senator say?”

“That I wanted to talk to you first,” Deerforth answered, and sank beside him. “How confident are you that your plan will work?”

“It might,” Fargo said, “and it might not.”

Deerforth frowned. “My daughter's life is at stake, to say nothing of our own. I need more assurance than that.”

“It's a roll of the dice. If he wants you dead bad enough, he'll fall for it.”

“Why me?”

“It's you he must hate the most. I suspect he'll save you for last.”

“You're just guessing.”

“It's a good guess. He'll probably cut on you like he did Lacey Mayhare.”

Deerforth blanched. “My daughter told me about her. But what makes you say that?”

“Think about it,” Fargo said. “He could have shot any of us back there. He picked Creed and the deputy and Benton. Men he hardly knew.”

“He's working his way to me?” Deerforth licked his lips. “But why? Out of spite over Ginny? I didn't shoot her, that foolish woman did.”

“You were Ginny's husband.”

Deerforth ran a hand over his hair. “I won't be safe, will I, until he's dead?”

“No.”

“Even if we make it past him and reach town, my life will always be in danger, won't it?”