Northwoods Nightmare (14 page)

“It's gotten so, any white who says he thinks kindly of the Knife Indians is liable to be hauled into a dark alley and clubbed to death.” Maggie put down her glass. “But I reckon I've sat here long enough. How about that room? And before I forget, I'm to ask for ten dollars in advance.”

The room was small, the only furniture a bed. The door had a bolt and Fargo made sure to throw it. He hadn't seen any sign of Allen Havard. But it wasn't Allen he had to watch out for; it was the men Allen kept hiring to kill him. Which begged the question: Why? There had to be more to it than him calling Allen a jackass. A lot more.

Maggie was waiting with her hands on her hips. “Well? Are you just going to stand there?”

Fargo pulled her close and kissed her, hard. He was content to take his time but she wasn't. Her hand groped between his legs. She had a lot of experience, this one, and his pole was rigid iron in no time.

“Mmmmm,” Maggie cooed when they broke for breath. “Nice. Very nice.”

Fargo wasn't sure if she was talking about the kiss or lower down. He cupped both breasts and she ground her hips against him. Guiding her to the bed, he eased her onto her back. Almost immediately she pried at his buckle and his pants. His manhood sprang free.

“Oh my. You're a handful.”

Doves knew not to wear dresses that took a man forever to get off. Lots of buttons and stays were for their more maidenly sisters. Maggie's had only three buttons and slid off her as easily as the bedspread off the bed. Lying there in her white undergarments with a leg crooked and a come-get-me look in her eyes, she was downright alluring.

“Like what you see, big man?”

Fargo let his actions speak for him. He sucked on a nipple. He rimmed her ear with the tip of his tongue and bit the lobe. He parted her thighs and knelt between her legs and gripped his redwood, about to enter her.

“Let me, handsome.”

Maggie's hand was warm, her fingers delicate. She inserted the tip and ran it up and down her wet slit. Quivering with need, she commenced to slide him up into her. Spreading her thighs wider, she hooked her ankles behind his back. “Ready when you are, my wonderful stallion.”

Fargo was ready. He pumped and she thrust, and they climbed to the pinnacle and went over it together, her fingernails deep in the muscles of his arms, her body aquiver with release.

Afterward, they lay a short while, until Maggie sat up and with reluctance remarked, “We can't linger or I'll get in trouble.”

Fargo wasn't sleepy anyway. He dressed and adjusted the Colt on his hip and pulled his hat brim lower. He moved to the door and opened it, and couldn't hide his surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Angeline Havard had on a full-length dress and polished shoes, and she was nervously wringing her hands. “I need to talk to you.”

“How did you find me?”

McKern stepped around her. “That's my doing, pard. She showed up out front, waving at the window to me. So I went out to see what she wanted, and what she wanted was you.”

“So you brought her up here?”

Angeline was staring past Fargo at Maggie, who was insolently arranging her dress and showing a lot of leg and thigh while doing so.

“She said she had to talk to you right away. That it was a matter of life and death.”

“Whose?” Fargo asked Angeline.

“Yours.”

Fargo turned and smiled at Maggie. “I might see you again on my way back down the canyon.”

“I'd like that very much. You give as good a poke as any I've ever got.”

“Oh my,” Angeline said softly.

Fargo closed the door and took her elbow. “Don't act innocent. I know you're no virgin.”

Scarlet crept up her face. “True. But I've never done as she does and sold my body for money.”

“No. You sneak around and do it behind your parents' backs, and only with men who share your high opinion of yourself. At least that gal back there doesn't put on airs and give it out like it's gold.”

“That was crude,” Angeline said resentfully. Then, sighing, she said, “Look. I didn't come here to argue or criticize. I came here because despite what you think of me, I like you, and I'd rather not see you dead.”

“That makes two of us.”

Fargo led her down the stairs. The saloon was packed. A lot of hungry looks were cast her way. “We can't talk here.” He ushered her out, McKern in their wake. A cool evening breeze stirred the dust, and lights were coming on. “All right. Let's hear what you have to say.”

“Before I do, I want your word that you won't tell my parents I came to find you.”

“Why would I?” Fargo shrugged. “But you have it.”

Angeline glanced up and down Yale's busy main street and resumed wringing her hands. “It's about my brother.”

“Which one?”

“Allen. He was gone all day, doing God knows what.” Angeline bit her lower lip. “I was taking a stroll after supper when someone whispered my name. It was him, hiding in a doorway.”

Fargo waited for her to go on.

“I asked Allen what he was up to and he said he was afraid you would do him harm. When I asked why, all he would say was that you were out to get him.”

“The weasel,” McKern said.

“You looked me up to tell me that?”

“No, no,” Angeline said, still wringing her hands. “There's more. You see, I demanded to know what was going on. He said that somehow or other you got it into your head that he was out to harm you.”

McKern snorted. “Ain't he slick?”

“Let her finish.”

“Allen told me it's because of Strath. That Strath had a grudge against you but you think Allen put him up to trying to kill you.”

Again McKern interrupted. “Your brother wouldn't know the truth if it bit him on the ass.”

“Allen wouldn't lie to me. I admit he's not a saint. But he's always treated me decently.”

“Listen to me, girl. Your brother is a conniving so-and-so. I'd use harsher language but I was raised to treat ladies with respect. Don't you believe a thing he says.”

“He's my brother,” Angeline said, as if that were enough to justify taking Allen at his word.

“You're taking the long way around the stable to put the horse in the corral,” Fargo told her.

“What? Oh. You're suggesting I get to the point. Very well.” But Angeline didn't. She wrung her hands and bit her lip and finally said, “Bear with me. This is hard. I don't want to be involved but my brother has left me no choice.” She nervously smiled. “I've never done anything like this before.”

McKern was growing impatient, too. “Like what?”

Angeline seemed not to hear him. “You see, I care for Allen. I'd never let anyone hurt him. I must do as any sister would do, and protect him any way I can.”

Fargo didn't like the sound of that.

“So when he asked for my help, I agreed. He said that he needed to find a way to talk to you, to convince you that your suspicions of him is unjust. But he's worried you'll shoot him on sight.”

“I would,” McKern said.

“I gave it some thought and came up with an idea.”

“Get to the point some time this year,” Fargo said.

“Sorry. I'm afraid you won't like it, though. It's the only safe way for him to meet with you.” She pointed down the street. “My brother is waiting at the stable.”

“Why there?”

“You're to go alone and to give your revolver to me.”

“Not likely.”

“If you don't, if you show up armed or take McKern along, you'll lose something you value. The only thing I know of that you hold dear.”

“What would that be?”

“Haven't you guessed?” Angeline rejoined. “Let me spell it out for you, then. At this very moment my brother is holding a gun to your pinto's head. If you don't do exactly as Allen wants, he'll blow its brains out.”

Fargo rarely hit women, unless they were trying to stab him or shoot him or kick his face in. He didn't go around slapping women for the hell of it, or to get them to mind, or to punish them, as some men did. It wasn't that he put women on pedestals. He simply didn't treat women any different from the way he treated men, and few women had ever tried to hurt him.

But Fargo came close to hitting Angeline Havard. She was clever, this girl. She had deduced that his Achilles' heel was the Ovaro, and she was right. He had been riding the stallion for years and was as attached to it as any horseman ever got to an exceptional mount. More than that, she had deduced that he would do whatever he had to in order to spare it from harm.

McKern looked ready to slug her, too. “You'd kill a man's horse? What kind of female are you?”

“Not me,” Angeline answered. “My brother.”

“But you put him up to it,” McKern said. “It was your brainstorm.”

“All he wants to do is talk. And this way, Skye here won't lift a finger against him.”

“You're a damn fool, girl.”

Fargo palmed his Colt and held it out. “Hold on to this for me. If he comes out of the stable instead of me, you can keep it. My horse, too.”

“Fat chance of that puny pup getting the better of you, hoss.”

Angeline put her hands on her hips. “Why are you talking like that? No one is to be harmed. My brother gave his word. And to prove my intentions, and to show you that my brother can be trusted, I'm going to the stable with you.”

McKern shook his head. “It's better if you don't.”

“She can come,” Fargo disagreed. “And can see for herself how trustworthy her brother is.”

Angeline started down the street. She wouldn't look at Fargo although they were practically rubbing elbows.

“What I don't get,” he said to provoke her, “is why Allen wants me dead. What's his reason?”

“That's just it. He doesn't. My brother isn't bloodthirsty.”

“But he's paid to have people hurt. You said so yourself.”

Angeline was angry and struggling not to show it. “Only a few times. And there were special circumstances.”

The stable stood by itself, the corral to the rear. Both wide double doors were open and a brilliant shaft of sunlight lit the center aisle. Horses were in every stall and more were tied to posts. Many dozed in the heat. Allen wasn't anywhere to be seen.

“He has to be here somewhere,” Angeline said, and called his name. “That's strange,” she remarked when there was no answer.

“Better let me go first.”

“Not on your life.” Angeline moved down the aisle, a hand cupped to her mouth. “Allen? Allen? Where are you?”

A horse whinnied but otherwise the stable was quiet.

“Where could he have gotten to?” Angeline wondered.

The back door was open. Through it, a splash of white and black was visible.

Fargo moved past her. Out of habit, he flashed his hand to his holster—forgetting it was empty. The sun was so bright, he raised his other hand to shield his eyes.

The white and black was indeed the Ovaro. And standing next to the stallion, holding a cocked revolver pointed at its head, was Allen Havard.

“Not another step, scout.”

“Go easy on that trigger.”

Angeline demanded, “What are you doing? You don't have to point that at his horse.”

“It was your idea,” Allen said.

“To
threaten
to do it. Not to really shoot the poor animal.” Angeline motioned at Fargo. “Look. I brought him, as you wanted. Unarmed, as you insisted. Now talk instead of blustering. It only shows how scared you are.”

“Scared?” Allen repeated, and uttered a bark of amusement. “Sis, have you ever known me to be afraid of anything my whole life?”

“I've lost count,” Angeline said.

Allen took that as a joke and laughed. “Seriously, now. Why don't you go shopping or something and leave Fargo and me to work this out between us?”

“This was my idea. I'm staying.”

“But I don't want you to. It's dangerous. What if he acts up? I'd rather you were somewhere safe.”

Fargo had listened to enough. He took a step, saying, “Point that revolver somewhere else.”

“Very well.” Allen chuckled and trained the Smith & Wesson on him. “I like this better, anyhow. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't squeeze the trigger?”

To Fargo's considerable amazement, Angeline stepped between them.

“Here's your reason. You'll have to shoot me down first. Is that what you want?”

“Damn it, sis. Get out of the way.”

“No. I gave him my word you wouldn't try anything, and you will by God stop these childish antics. Here's your chance to convince him you aren't out to kill him.”

“I doubt he'll believe me.”

Angeline turned to Fargo. “How about it? Will you behave long enough for him to set things right between you?”

“It will take some doing.”

“You heard him, sis,” Allen said. “Why should I even bother? Please. Go find Father and Mother and leave the scout and me here to settle our differences like men.”

“That leaves you out,” Fargo said.

“I'm more of a man than my father will ever be,” Allen declared. “He's a disgrace to the family name.”

“Oh, Allen,” Angeline said.

“Well, he is. If you weren't so blind, you'd see it for yourself. Our father, dear sister, hasn't been a man in years.”