Trailsman #377 : Bounty Hunt (9781101604007) (3 page)

4

It had been almost two weeks since Fargo was with a woman. For a man like him, who liked cards, whiskey and females more than just about anything, that was a long time to go without. “What do they call you?”

“Tassy.” She playfully swung her leg from side to side, and grinned. “How about you buy me a drink, and then who knows?”

“Fetch a glass and join me.”

Tassy scooted to the bar and was back in two shakes of a lamb's tail. She pulled a chair next to his and sat so their arms brushed. “To the brim, if you please.”

Fargo filled her glass.

She watched him intently. “My, oh my, you are easy on the eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No,” Fargo lied.

“The moment I set eyes on you, I wanted you to give me a poke.”

“I bet you say that to everyone with a pecker,” Fargo said.

Tassy squealed with mirth. “You just come right out with it, don't you?”

Fargo thought of something. “How long have you been working here?”

“At the Ace's High? Going on about four years now. I drifted in one day and liked it and stayed.” Tassy sipped and happily sighed. “It's not as hectic as in the big cities. Why, in Kansas City a girl is on her back twelve hours of the day. Here, I get to pick and choose.” She winked. “And I choose you.”

“What can you tell me about Cord Blasingame?”

About to take another sip, Tassy paused. “Why do you want to know about him?”

“One of his men tried to kill me.”

“Oh God,” Tassy said, and set the glass down. “You're the one everyone is talking about. The one who brought Clemens in.”

“You knew him?”

Tassy shrugged. “All the gang drift into town from time to time. Well, except the breed. Clemens stopped for a drink now and then.”

“Cripdin didn't arrest him?”

Tassy snorted. “As a tin star he's next to worthless. Blasingame himself could stroll down Main Street and Cripdin would hide in his office, quaking in his boots.”

“A yellow lawman?” Most badge-toters Fargo knew were as tough as rawhide.

“Let's just say he's not the bravest and let it go at that.”

“Why do the people let him stay in office?”

“He's the only one who wants the job. The last election, no one ran against him.”

“Must make it easy for Blasingame,” Fargo remarked.

“Now there's another handsome devil. He's just as good-looking as you.” Tassy put her hand on his. “I should warn you, mister. His gang won't take kindly to you killing Clemens. Could be they'll come gunning for you.”

“Let them,” Fargo said, thinking that it would make his hunt easier.

“You don't know what you're saying,” Tassy said. “They're killers, every one. There's Mills, who likes to use a bowie. Hardy, who carries a sawed-off shotgun. And the breed. God, be careful of the breed.”

Fargo ticked them off in his head. The marshal had told him there were seven. “What about the other four? Do you know their names?”

She didn't even have to think about it. “Zeke, Davies, Nesbit and Billy Barnes.”

“How many of them have you had under the sheets?”

Tassy blinked, and laughed a high, nervous laugh. “Just one. But don't ask me which. I'm not the kind to be poked and tell.”

“They do their drinking in here?”

“Sometimes, sure.”

“And no one does anything about it?”

“What could we? We're peaceable folks, not gun hands.”

“This is some town,” Fargo said.

“Why do you say that?”

Instead of answering Fargo took a swig from the bottle. “Since you know so much, where do they hang their gun belts?”

Tassy uttered that high, nervous laugh again. “How in the world would I know that? They're outlaws. They never tell anyone where they hide out.”

“If you say so.”

“Can we stop talking about them now? I'd rather talk about you, and how good-looking you are.”

“How much for a poke?”

Tassy smiled and traced a circle on the back of his hand with her fingernail. “Usually it's five dollars but for you it'll be free.”

“Why so generous?”

“Because as I keep telling you, you're handsome as hell. And I like handsome men as much as I like peaches and cream.”

“Do tell,” Fargo said. She didn't seem to realize the mistake she'd just made.

Tassy leaned against him and huskily asked, “So is it yes or is it no?”

“How about I finish the bottle and make up my mind?” Fargo said.

She sat back. “I don't see why you have to think about it. I'm not that hard on the eyes my own self.”

“No,” Fargo agreed, “you're not.”

That seemed to mollify her. She traced another circle on his hand and rimmed her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I'll make it worth your while.”

“That shouldn't be hard since it's free.”

The corners of Tassy's mouth curled down. “I can't tell if you're teasing or insulting me.”

“I never insult a lady.”

“Good.” Tassy grinned and wriggled her bottom. “So why are you in Meridian, anyhow? Just passing through?”

Fargo decided to be truthful. Her reaction would tell him a lot. “I'm going to kill Cord Blasingame.”

It was as if someone had stabbed her. She stiffened and paled. “What did he ever do to you?”

“He tried to have me killed,” Fargo said. “He sent Clemens to the pass to stop me from getting here.”

“Maybe not,” Tassy said. “Clemens could have been there on his own.”

“It's too much of a coincidence.”

“No. Hear me out.” Tassy fiddled with a button on her dress. “They don't always do everything together. They scatter sometimes and range all over. Two or three might hold someone up while others are off stealing cattle. That time they robbed the bank, only five of them took part.”

“You know an awful lot about how they operate.”

“Everyone does,” Tassy said. “It's not as if they keep it a secret. People coming over the pass have been robbed before. Clemens might not have known you from Adam. Maybe he just wanted your poke.”

Fargo remembered the outlaw gasping that he was there to stop him from reaching town. So much for her idea. But he kept it to himself for the time being.

“It could be Cord Blasingame had nothing to do with it,” Tassy was saying.

“If you say so.”

Tassy brightened. “So you've changed your mind? You're not going after him?”

“No,” Fargo said. “I still am.” He figured to let it go at that but she had other ideas.

“What possible reason can you have for wanting to take his life?”

“There's the bounty.”

“Oh. You're one of those.” Tassy's eyes flashed with anger. “I'll never understand hunting someone down for money.”

“You sell your body for money.”

Tassy pushed back her chair, balled her fists, and stood. “I've changed my mind. You don't get to poke me. Not now or ever.”

“They're your tits,” Fargo said.

“Damn right they are. And I don't have to let anyone touch them I don't want to.” Turning, she walked off in a huff, pushing a man who got in her way. At the batwings she paused to glare at him, and pushed on out.

“Well, now,” Fargo said. Meridian was turning out to be a damned interesting town. He refilled his glass, intending to sit there a while and relax.

It wasn't two minutes later that the batwings creaked again and in came Marshal Theodore Cripdin. He wasn't there for a drink. He spied Fargo and came straight for the corner table.

“I just had a few words with Tassy McCullen.”

“You ask her for a poke?”

“What? No. But I want to ask you to forget about going after Cord Blasingame.”

“That's your business how?”

“I'm the law,” Cripdin reminded him yet again. “It's my job to bring him in.”

“The bank and the stage company think different,” Fargo said.

“Them and their damn bounties. It ought to be illegal to put a price on a man's head. A man shouldn't be hunted like a deer or a bear.”

“Blasingame is an outlaw.”

“So? He's entitled to a trial, the same as everybody else. But he'll never get one with this ‘dead or alive' business.”

“All he has to do is turn himself in and no one can collect it.”

“Oh, sure. And be put on trial and hung. What kind of jackass do you take him for?”

“No one forced him to become an outlaw.”

“Judge, jury and executioner, is that it? It could be something drove him to it. It could be there's more to him than you think.”

“There has to be,” Fargo said, “when whores and lawmen take his side.”

“You have me all wrong,” Cripdin said. “I'm just doing my job.” He appeared about to say more but just then a gray-haired man in clothes that had seen a lot of use and a broad-brimmed brown hat entered the saloon. A Smith & Wesson was in a holster on his left side, worn butt-forward for a cross draw.

Cripdin's Adam's apple bobbed and he started to turn. “I've said my piece. I hope you come to your senses.” He lumbered out.

At last Fargo could drink in peace. Or so he thought until the gray-haired man came over.

“You're the one I'm looking for.”

“This isn't my day,” Fargo said.

“I hear tell you're after the bounty money on Cord Blasingame.”

“Word spreads fast.”

“That it does,” the man said. “My handle is Zeke Bell. I ride with him. I figure to stop you by killing you myself.”

5

Fargo was caught off guard. His glass was in his right hand, halfway to his mouth. His Colt was in his holster, partway under the table.

Zeke's gun hand was inches from his Smith & Wesson, his thumb hooked in his gun belt. “Any last words?” he said.

“Just like this?” Fargo said.

“Just like this,” Zeke said. “I don't back-shoot. I go after someone, I go at them straight up.”

“An outlaw with scruples,” Fargo said. He was stalling while he inched his arm lower.

“I have a few,” Zeke said. “It comes from being older than Methuselah.”

The man didn't look that old to Fargo. The gray was premature. “Do I get to finish my drink?”

“Be my guest,” Zeke said. “As soon as you set the glass down, we'll get to it.”

“What if I don't set it down?” Fargo said, and threw the glass at the outlaw's face.

Zeke tried to duck but some of the whiskey caught him in the eyes. Backpedaling, blinking furiously, he clawed for the Smith & Wesson.

Fargo heaved out of his chair. He drew as his holster cleared the table and fanned a shot that punched Zeke in the gut. Doubled over, Zeke brought up the Smith & Wesson. Fargo fanned a second shot that knocked Zeke back a step, fanned a third that punched Zeke in the chest, fanned a final shot that cored Zeke Bell's forehead and burst out the back of his cranium.

Zeke tottered, dead on his feet. His mouth worked and his knees gave and he crashed to the floor.

The saloon was deathly still. Mouths hung open, eyes were wide. The bartender forgot himself and filled a glass to overflowing.

Fargo reloaded while walking around the table. Squatting, he went through the man's pockets.

“Should you be doing that?” someone said.

Fargo helped himself to a poke. He didn't count the money; he'd do that later. A comb and some snuff he left alone.

Outside, someone hollered and boots pounded. Back into the saloon rushed Marshal Cripdin, who stopped short at the sight of the blood and brains on the floor.

“God in heaven.”

Fargo righted his chair, sat back down, and poured. He ignored the whisperings and the stares. People were looking in the window and over the batwings.

Careful not to step anywhere near the blood, the lawman came over. “Did you have to do it?”

“He came here to kill me,” Fargo said. “Thanks for arresting him, by the way.”

“I had no idea he was Zeke Bell.”

Fargo stared at him.

“What?”

“This is some town,” Fargo said again. “It seems Bell heard I'm after Blasingame and reckoned on stopping me.”

“I wonder how he found out.”

“The whole damn town must know by now,” Fargo said. “I'm more interested in how outlaws can come into Meridian and not be thrown behind bars.”

“I don't like what you're suggesting.”

“And I don't give a good damn what you don't like.” Fargo rose and leaned on the table. “How much do they pay you to look the other way? Or is that your yellow streak is as wide as your back?”

“I won't be talked to like this.”

“But you'll let a killer come gunning for me. You walked right by him when he came in.” Stepping around the table, Fargo punched the lawman in the gut.

Cripdin folded in half and had to clutch a chair to keep from falling. “You can't . . .” he got out, “hit a lawman.”

“Watch me,” Fargo said, and drawing his Colt, he slammed the barrel against Cripdin's temple. The marshal sprawled on the floor, quivering like a dumpling.

Statues filled the saloon and were frozen at the window.

Twirling the Colt into his holster, Fargo placed his hands on his hips. “Spread the word,” he said. “I'm through being played with. Fight shy of me, or else.”

“See here,” a man found his voice. “You can't threaten the whole town.”

“I just did,” Fargo said. “From here on out, anyone gets in my way, there'll be hell to pay. You've been warned.” Grabbing his bottle, he stepped over the marshal and walked out. No one tried to stop him. In fact, they scattered from his path like sheep from a wolf.

Fargo went up the middle of the street. Townspeople watched from doors and windows. He'd created quite a stir, which was exactly what he wanted. Word was bound to reach Cord Blasingame that he'd bucked out two of Blasingame's men. With any luck, Blasingame would come after him and he could get this over with.

The Ovaro was dozing. Fargo untied the reins and led it to the back of the house. He stripped the saddle and saddle blanket and bridle and hung them over the fence. Taking a picket pin and a small coil of rope from his saddlebags, he used a rock to pound the pin into the ground.

The saddlebags over his shoulder, the Henry in his left hand, he started for the back door.

Jennifer and Constance were on the back porch, waiting.

“Why use a pin?” the former asked. “The fence will keep your horse in.”

“In case someone gets the wrong idea,” Fargo said.

“Who would want to steal him?” Constance asked. “We're in the middle of town.”

“Some town,” Fargo said. He reached the steps and asked, “Which one of you wants to show me to my room?”

“We both will,” Jennifer said.

Giggling and grinning, each of them took an arm and steered him through the back door and across the kitchen.

“Where's your mother?” Fargo asked as they brought him down the hall.

“She went shopping,” Jennifer said. She was brazenly running her eyes up and down his body.

“We didn't expect you back so soon,” Constance remarked.

“When our father used to go off drinking, he'd be out most of the night,” Jennifer said.

“He do that a lot?”

“A lot more than Mother liked,” Constance said. “She claimed he did it to get away from her.”

“Did he?”

“Well, she did tend to nag a little,” Jennifer said.

“More than a little,” Constance said.

They guided Fargo up a flight of stairs and along a carpeted hall to a room at the end.

“This is the guest bedroom, Mother calls it. It's all yours.”

“Anything you need, you only have to ask,” Jennifer said. “Mother says we're to bend over backward to make your stay pleasant.” She grinned and winked. “Not that I'd object to you bending me any way you please.”

“Jen!” Constance exclaimed.

“Well, I wouldn't.” Jennifer leaned toward Fargo. “Please don't mention that to our mother. She'd take a switch to us.”

“At your age?” Fargo said.

“That doesn't mean no never mind to her,” Constance said.

“Sometimes I think she likes to hit us,” Jennifer said.

“She can be vicious,” Constance mentioned.

“So she nags and she beats you. Is that why your father left her?”

Both girls let go of him and stepped back.

“There's more to it but we don't care to talk about it,” Constance said.

“We like him, no matter what our mother says,” Jennifer mentioned. “As fathers go, he's hardly the worst.”

“He's an outlaw.”

“So?”

Constance said sadly, “It's too bad there's so much bounty on his head. I don't want anything to happen to him.”

“Me either,” Jennifer said.

Fargo entered the bedroom. It was furnished with a bed, a chest of drawers, and a small table. A pitcher of water and a china basin had been set out. So had a neatly folded washcloth and towel. Lavender curtains covered the window.

“Here you go,” Jennifer said, patting the bed. “You should be plenty comfortable.” She smirked and gave him another wink.

“I worry about Father so much.” Constance wouldn't let it drop. “Frankly, I wish we'd never come here. It was easier when there was distance between us.”

“Forget about him for now,” Jennifer said.

“I can't.”

Fargo dropped his saddlebags and the Henry on the bed. “I take it neither of you are happy I'm here?”

“Sorry,” Constance said, “but no.”

Jennifer shrugged. “I don't want him hurt. But you're not the first to try to collect the bounty and I doubt you'll be the last.”

“Thanks for the confidence.”

“You don't realize what you're up against.”

“I'm getting an idea,” Fargo said.

“If you're smart you'll go,” Constance said. “Pick up those saddlebags and saddle your horse and ride away while you can.”

“I don't believe I will,” Fargo said.

Constance frowned. “He's my father.”

“Mine too,” Jennifer said.

“It's nothing personal,” Fargo told them.

“It is to me,” Constance said, and her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. “I don't care what he's done. I love him, damn you.”

“Connie,” Jennifer said softly.

“I hate this,” Constance said. “I hate that Mother sent for him. I hate her, too.”

“Connie, don't,” Jennifer said, putting a hand on her arm.

A door slammed downstairs.

“Mother's home!” Jennifer exclaimed. “We better go.” She steered her sister out, saying, “And you'd better mop those eyes. She sees you've been crying, she'll be mad.”

Fargo took off his hat and buckskin shirt and gun belt, and filled the basin with water. He washed and dried, then opened his saddlebags and took out his razor and trimmed his beard. He didn't use pomade in his hair like some men did. A few strokes of his brush sufficed. He put on his spare shirt, strapped the Colt around his waist, and jammed his hat back on.

There was a light rap on the door.

“I'm decent,” Fargo said.

Glenda came in. “Supper will be in an hour.”

The thought of food made Fargo's stomach rumble. “Good to hear.”

“Word is all over town that you killed another of Cord's men.”

“Zeke Bell was his name.”

“I know.” Glenda beamed. “I was right to send for you. You'll finally do to my husband what all those others couldn't.” She paused. “If he and his bunch don't kill you first, of course.”