Utah Terror : Utah Terror (9781101606971) (13 page)

24

Fargo and his “little army” snuck out the back of the store and made their cautious way toward the Pagoda. Fargo made no more sound than the breeze. Flanna and Mai Wing did their best but their shoes scraped and their clothes rustled and once Flanna coughed and another time Mai Wing stumbled and almost fell.

Both women had their pink bags slung over their shoulders with the bag under an arm to steady the two bottles each carried. Their revolvers were tucked under belts taken from a store shelf and strapped tight around their waists.

Fargo was a bundle of raw nerves. The women didn't seem to realize that all it would take was the slightest of mistakes to see them in Han's clutches, or worse. Or maybe they did, and he should give them credit for more courage than most.

An unnatural quiet pervaded the camp. The Tong were out in force, searching and patrolling.

Once again the Pagoda loomed large.

From behind an outhouse Fargo studied the situation. A lantern had been lit and set near the back door. There were four guards now and one held a rifle.

“Pewwww,” Flanna whispered. “Can't we hide somewhere else? I can't stand the stink.”

“Hush up, damn it,” Fargo said.

“We could go over by that cabin,” Mai Wing whispered, indicating the one the outhouse was behind.

Fargo debated. To reach it they must cross forty feet of open space. “On your bellies,” he said. “Hold the bottles in front of you and take it nice and easy.”

Flanna dropped flat and crawled, whispering, “I'm part tomcat. Don't you worry about me.”

Mai Wing eased down. “I like her,” she whispered. “She has what you Americans call spunk.”

“Too bad she doesn't have what we Americans call brains,” Fargo muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Crawl, damn it.” Fargo followed, never once taking his eyes off the guards. They were alert, no doubt because they didn't care to share the fate of the ones he had stabbed.

The cabin was dark. Fargo took that to mean the occupants weren't home. He rose to his knees as the women had already done. “We made it.”

“Did you think we wouldn't?” Flanna asked.

“We are good at sneaky,” Mai Wing said.

Fargo promised himself, then and there, that when this was over, he was going to get drunk and stay drunk for a month.

“Skye?” Flanna prompted.

“Just thinking,” Fargo said. “We can't go barging in with those guards there. We need a distraction.”

“I could show myself to them and run off,” Flanna suggested. “I bet they'd chase me.”

“Not all of them,” Mai Wing said.

“We have to lure the Tong from the Pagoda,” Fargo clarified. “Not just those four.”

“How in the world can we do that?” Flanna asked. “Set some of the buildings on fire?”

“Close,” Fargo said. “Hand over one of your bottles.”

“Be careful with it,” Flanna said. “It's filled with black powder.”

“Give me strength,” Fargo said.

“They're not that heavy. See? I can hold it as easy as anything. You should know. You filled them.”

“Flanna?”

“Yes?”

“Shut the hell up.”

“Must you be so mean to her?” Mai Wing asked.

“You can shut the hell up, too.”

“You are a strange man,” Mai Wing said.

“Don't go anywhere,” Fargo commanded. “No matter what you hear or see.”

“What will we hear?” Flanna asked.

“Thunder,” Fargo said. He crept to the front of the cabin. It was set back about twenty feet from the street.

People were passing by. Men, mostly. Few women and no children were abroad at that hour.

Across the stream at the House of Pleasure it was business as usual.

A pair of Tong had been posted at both ends of the bridge.

Fargo hadn't counted on that. He'd intended to slip across and place the bottle along the side of the House of Pleasure and light it. But he'd never reach the other side without being seen.

Hefting the bottle a few times, Fargo gauged the distance. He couldn't throw it far enough. It would fall short and kill passersby.

The creak and rattle of a wagon drew his gaze. A big wagon hauled by two plodding horses was coming up the street. The wagon was driven by an old Chinese; its bed was piled high with crates and covered with a canvas.

Inspiration struck. Fargo took a few steps, and froze.

Six Tong were out in front of the Pagoda. At the moment several were talking to a young woman and the others were listening.

Staying in the darkest patches, Fargo glided to the street.

The wagon's driver looked to be half-asleep. His chin was on his chest and his head bobbed with the rolling motion of the wheels.

Fargo fished the lucifers out of his pocket. He must time it just right.

At the Pagoda the young woman laughed. She was enjoying the attention.

The wagon rumbled abreast of Fargo. He waited until it was almost past, then darted over and around the rear to the other side. The driver didn't notice. Nor did the Tong at the bridge. Pacing the wagon, the bed between him and the Pagoda, he struck the lucifer and lit the end of the makeshift fuse. The strip crackled into flame and the fire ate toward the bottle.

The wagon neared the bridge.

Fargo held the bottle close to his chest so the Tong wouldn't see the glow, and when the flame was barely a whisker's width from burning into the bottle, he threw it high, praying his aim was true.

Trailing a fiery tail like a miniature falling star, the bottle crashed down onto the roof of the House of Pleasure.

For a few moments nothing happened and Fargo feared the flame had been extinguished.

Then, with a tremendous blast, the black powder exploded. Sheets of flame erupted skyward and a huge cloud of smoke roiled and billowed. Parts of the roof rained down as fire spread across a jagged, gaping hole.

Literally everyone stopped and gaped.

The old driver jerked upright and hauled on the reins.

The Tong on the bridge and the Tong in front of the Pagoda ran toward the House of Pleasure. The people in front of it ran the other way. Within moments a panicked melee filled the street.

Fargo raced around the tail end of the wagon and over to the cabin.

The four Tong who had been at the back of the Pagoda came running to the front. They saw the flames and the smoke and sprinted toward the bridge to help their brother Tong.

From within the House of Pleasure rose screams and yells.

Fargo flew to where he had left the women. “Come on,” he growled, hardly slowing.

“What did you do?” Flanna asked as she caught up.

“Spoiled a lot of lovemaking.”

Fargo yanked the rear door of the Pagoda wide and sped along the narrow hall. He figured that Terrence and Noirin O'Brien had been taken to the dungeon and he was halfway to the stairs when Mai Wing surprised him by urgently calling his name.

Mai Wing had parted a curtain of beads. She nodded at something beyond. “Here,” she said.

Fargo and Flanna ran back.

“I heard one of them try to call out to us,” Mai Wing explained.

Trussed hand and foot and gagged, Terrence and Noirin O'Brien had been dumped on their sides in an alcove. Both struggled at their ropes and uttered muffled pleas for help.

“Mother! Father!” Flanna cried, and sprang to free them.

“Help her,” Fargo said to Mai Wing as he took a bottle from her pink bag. Whirling, he ran to the front of the hallway. At the moment no Tong were in sight but he could hear feet pounding on the stairs that led down from Han's audience chamber.

Quickly, Fargo lit the cloth. This time he didn't wait. He stepped out and hurled the bottle at the stairs. The glass smashed with the same explosive results. Buffeted by a gust of hot air, Fargo ducked back as slivers of wood peppered the floor and the walls.

Both parents were free and Flanna was hugging her mother.

“You came for us,” Terry said, rubbing his thick wrists.

“Did you think we wouldn't?” Fargo gestured. “Get them moving. I'll cover you.”

“Boyo,” Terry said, grasping his arm, “I can't tell you how grateful I am.”

“Later,” Fargo said.

The Irishman nodded and ushered the women toward the rear.

Smoke was pouring into the hall. A ruckus had broken out: angry shouts and cries of fear and what must have been oaths in Chinese.

The fire would spread rapidly; pine burned fast and hot.

Fargo backpedaled, watching for Tong, but none came after them. The hatchet men had their hands full with the fire in the stairs and the fire across the street.

Terry and the others were waiting. Fargo shut the door and led them to the west, saying, “Stay close and stay down.”

Absolute bedlam reigned out in the street. Flames and smoke rose from both the Pagoda and the House of Pleasure.

“All that is your doing?” Terry marveled. “Remind me to never make you mad.”

“It's Han I want,” Fargo said grimly.

“And he wants you,” Terry said, puffing as they ran. “You should have heard him. He practically flew into a rage at the mention of your name.”

“Why didn't they put you in the dungeon?”

Terry chuckled again. “That's your doing, too. Lo Ping was going to take us there but Han said what good would it do since you'd escaped from it and returned for Bannon and killed more Tong and slipped away again. So they threw us in that cubbyhole.”

“We were lucky to find you.”

“I saw you and Flanna go past and tried to yell and that's when the Chinese girl heard me.” Terry puffed as he ran. “Han will be madder than ever. He hates you, that one. I shudder to think what he would do if he got his hands on you.”

“I'm going to give him his chance,” Fargo said.

25

First, Fargo had to get the O'Briens and Mai Wing to safety. There wasn't room for all four of them in the hidey-hole in the general store. The Tong would go over every square foot of their house. The blacksmith shop, too, would be searched from top to bottom. So that left . . . “Grab enough food and blankets and whatever else you need to last a couple of days and I'll take you off into the woods.”

“What if that damnable Han should get the better of you?” Terry bluntly asked.

“Head anywhere,” was Fargo's advice.

The west end of the camp was largely deserted. Everyone had rushed to witness the conflagrations. Flames thirty to forty feet high licked at the night sky as they devoured the House of Pleasure and the Pagoda.

“I have to say,” Terry remarked, “I don't like the idea of you doing my fighting for me.”

“One of us should stay with the women,” Fargo said, “and it's your wife and daughter.”

They made a circuit of the house to be sure no Tong were lurking.

“In you go,” Fargo said to the O'Briens. “And don't dawdle.”

“In and out,” Terry promised.

Mai Wing stayed with Fargo. Folding her hands, she gazed at the distant fires and said, “I have been most happy to know you.”

“Hell in a basket, woman,” Fargo growled. “You make it sound like I'm already dead.”

“I was speaking from my heart. If you want to take me with you when you leave, I would be honored to be your companion.”

Fargo sighed.

“Am I to take that as a no?”

“It never fails,” Fargo said. Poke a woman and she thought she owned you.

“I am not to your liking?”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Fargo said. “I ride alone.”

“One day, perhaps, you will change your mind.”

Fargo was tempted to tell her it would be a cold day in hell but all he did was shrug.

Mai Wing smiled and reached over and touched his cheek. “You are a good man, Skye Fargo.”

“No,” Fargo said. “I'm not.”

“I can prove it,” Mai Wing said.

“How?”

“By logic. Han is a bad man, is he not? And you are the opposite of him, in your nature and your character. And what is the opposite of bad? It is good. Therefore you are a good man.”

“What's taking them so long?” Fargo snapped.

Mai Wing chuckled. “Does my saying you are good make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Fargo said, “but all this blabber hurts my ears.”

“Why do you pretend to be mean? I know the real you. We have shared our bodies. When two people do that, they share all that they are.”

“All I shared was my cock.”

“And a nice one it is. As nice as you are.”

“Do you ever listen to yourself?” Fargo retorted.

Mai Wing laughed.

Fargo wasn't nearly as amused. He kept an eye on the street in case Tong came along but evidently they had all been pressed into service as a fire brigade and were combating the flames with buckets dipped in the stream. It was a losing proposition. Akin to spitting on a torch.

Given the size of the buildings and the rate the fire was spreading, the Pagoda and the House of Pleasure would be cinders by morning.

“Keep watch,” Fargo instructed, and went around the back for the Ovaro. Climbing on, he rejoined Mai Wing and swung her up behind him.

“I like riding this way,” she said, snuggling against his back and kissing his ear. “Does it excite you?”

Fargo wouldn't mind ripping off her clothes and doing her on the ground. But he answered, “Not a lick.”

The O'Briens took too long but finally emerged laden with the things they thought they needed.

“What about horses?” Terry asked.

“We have the next best thing,” Fargo said.

They went back up the street to the blacksmith's, and on to the rear and the buckboard.

Dismounting, Fargo said, “Help me throw everything off.”

“But those are Tom Bannon's possessions,” Noirin objected.

“If he comes back from the dead and wants them, they'll be right here.”

“You have a tart tongue, Skye Fargo,” Noirin said.

“Some ladies like it.”

Noirin's eyes widened. “I sincerely hope you don't mean what I think you mean.”

Even with all five of them, it took more than ten minutes. Some of the tools and bags were heavy, to say nothing of the anvil. Fargo and O'Brien handled that themselves.

Finally the buckboard bed was empty and the women made themselves comfortable. Terry climbed onto the seat.

Fargo swung onto the Ovaro and they were under way.

The flames were higher than ever, and the crackling and hissing as the timbers were consumed could be heard from one end of the canyon to the other.

“It's an inferno,” Flanna said breathlessly. “I've never seen the like.”

“They're the biggest fires I've ever seen, too,” Noirin said.

“It is evil that burns,” Mai Wing said in her simple way, “and evil always burns bright.”

Terry shifted in the seat. “Amen to that, girl. It's too bad if Han got out in time. It would be fitting if a fire sent him to hell.”

“I wouldn't wish that on anyone,” Noirin said. “Even my worst enemy.”

“Which is exactly what he is,” Terry said.

“Han's evil must be destroyed,” Mai Wing said. “How is not important.”

“There's a right and wrong way to do things,” Noirin disagreed. “We shouldn't stoop to his level.”

“Is there a right and a wrong way to kill a scorpion about to sting you?” Mai Wing countered. “Or a snake about to bite you?”

“He's not an animal,” Noirin said. “He's a human being like the rest of us.”

“He is not like us at all.”

“The Book says that all men are sons and daughters of God,” Noirin said. “Even a lowly heathen like Han. To treat him or anyone else as if they were animals is an insult to our Maker.”

“Your Maker,” Mai Wing said, “does not seem to care who lives or dies, or how they are slain.”

“That's not true,” Noirin heatedly replied. “We've escaped through his Grace.”

“You are escaping,” Mai Wing said, “because Fargo went to the Pagoda to rescue you.”

Terry tried to intervene. “Ladies, ladies. That's enough, if you please. Argue some other time.”

Noirin wouldn't let it drop. She turned toward Fargo. “How about you, Mr. Fargo? Where do you stand? Does Han deserve to die as a human being or as an animal?”

“I'm going to kill the son of a bitch any way I can,” Fargo answered.

Terry laughed.

“I don't find it the least bit funny,” Noirin complained. “The world would be a better place if more people respected the sanctity of life.”

“Han sure as hell doesn't,” Fargo said.

On that note they fell silent. They left the camp behind and wound along for more than a mile. Fargo would have gone farther but Terry spied a clearing and wheeled the buckboard over.

“This will do us,” he announced.

“Thank goodness,” Noirin said. “I'm exhausted. I need rest.”

Fargo dismounted and helped Flanna and then Mai Wing from the bed. Mai Wing pressed close, her body brushing his, and surreptitiously pecked him on the cheek.

“Do you think it's safe to start a fire?” Terry asked.

Fargo stared.

Terry coughed and said, “For the women's sake. My wife brought some tea. It would help quiet their nerves.”

“Tong hatchets would quiet their nerves permanently.”

“Point taken,” Terry sheepishly responded. “No fire it is, then.”

While the women spread blankets and prepared to bed down, Fargo took the two remaining bottles from a pink bag and slid them into his saddlebags. He checked that the Henry was loaded and that there were six pills in the Colt's wheel and went to Terry and offered his hand.

“What's this?”

“Just in case.”

The Irishman gripped and shook. “Don't talk like that, boyo. I expect to see you again. You're a damn fine man. Anything you ever need, you have only to ask and it's yours.”

“What will you do after Han and the Tong are taken care of? Leave or stay?”

“I haven't thought that far ahead,” Terry admitted. “With him gone we wouldn't really have a reason to go, would we?”

Fargo stepped to the Ovaro and was about to climb on when a hand touched his shoulder.

“This one is most humbly grateful for all you have done in her behalf,” Mai Wing said.

“You've already made that plain.”

Mai Wing grew somber. “One thing. It is not enough that Han and Lo Ping are disposed of. To break the Tong, you must slay as many of them as you can.”

“I figured on doing that anyway.”

“Most especially slay the Hu brothers,” Mai Wing said. “Should they live, they will take the place of their masters and nothing will have changed. They are just as cruel and heartless.”

“Savvy that.” Fargo gripped the saddle horn and forked leather, the saddle creaking under him.

“It has been an honor to know you.” Mai Wing gave a slight bow and walked off.

Fargo reined around and looked one last time at the O'Briens.

On her knees on a blanket, Flanna smiled. “Please be careful. It would sadden me considerably if you were to die.”

“Makes two of us.”

Fargo had lingered long enough. He tapped his spurs and brought the Ovaro to a trot.

He had a war to wage.