Texas Tornado (8 page)

The shot came from off to the east, which puzzled Fargo. He wondered if it was the posse. Maybe signaling. But to whom? Rising, he began to put himself back together.

“Who could that be?” Carmody asked, imitating him.

“Just about anyone.”

They climbed on their mounts and moved to the road. In both directions it was empty.

“I don't see anyone,” Carmody said. “Let's keep going. The last thing I want is for Marshal Mako to get his hands on me again.”

Fargo recollected the incident he'd witnessed through the window. “How did he treat you?”

“Most of the time he was decent enough. But now and then I'd catch him looking at me as if . . .” Carmody stopped.

“As if what?”

“I don't rightly know.” She shrugged. “As if he had something in mind I'd rather not think about.”

“You don't mean—?”

“I told you. I don't know. Probably not. One time a male prisoner tried to grope me, and Mako broke both his hands.”

“Tough hombre,” Fargo said.

“Dangerous hombre,” Carmody amended. “You can see it in his eyes. He's vicious when he wants to be. But he has respect for the law.”

“Horatio Stoddard's law.”

“I mentioned that to Mako once. I said it's not right to say who can and can't make love, and how much people can gamble, and things like that.”

“What did he say?”

“He agreed, if you can believe it. He stood there and flat out said some of the town's laws are stupid. But it's his job to enforce them anyway.”

“He's not out to fleece folks?”

“Not him. The mayor, yes. Stoddard imposes fines that go into his bank account and gets all that free labor to work at his ranch.”

She would have gone on, but just then hooves drummed. They both started and straightened.

Out of the east flew a horse. Riderless, it came at a gallop and would have swept on by if Fargo hadn't cut it off and grabbed its trailing reins to bring it to a halt.

The horse tossed its mane and stamped but didn't attempt to break away.

Carmody came up and was the first to notice. “Say, what's that all over the saddle?”

Fargo bent. It was blood. A lot of it. Larger patches near the saddle horn with smaller drops behind and lower down. “Whoever was on this was gut-shot.”

“How can you tell?”

“The pattern,” Fargo said. “I've seen it before.” He'd been in plenty of skirmishes with hostiles and seen a lot of troopers wounded by lead, arrows, and lances. Turning in the saddle, he peered east. “I'm going back.”

“What?” Carmody's eyes widened. “We're in the clear. We should push on.”

“I want to know who was shot.”

“Who cares, damn it?” Carmody said. “Besides, what about your precious rifle? We have to go after Alice, remember, and she went west.”

“Did she?” Fargo said. “I wonder.” He scanned the dirt road to the west. Puzzled, he dismounted and searched on foot. “I'll be damned.”

“What now?”

“There aren't any fresh tracks. She didn't go west, after all.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“Not about tracks.” If there was one thing Fargo did better than just about anyone, it was read sign. It was why the army considered him one of the best scouts alive. He climbed back on the Ovaro, snagged the other animal's reins, and wheeled to the east.

“This is dumb,” Carmody said. “We're asking for trouble.”

“You don't have to come.”

“Damn you,” she said, and did.

Fargo scoured for sign, becoming more puzzled the farther they went. After half a mile, he remarked, “She didn't come this way, either.”

“What are you saying? Alice cut across country to the north or the south? She'd have to be dumber than you. We're in the middle of Comanche territory, in case you've forgotten.”

The next moment Fargo spotted a body, belly down in the middle of the road. He tapped his spurs and was out of the saddle before the stallion stopped moving.

A pool of scarlet formed a body-sized halo. It was more—much more—than a human being could lose and go on breathing.

Fargo rolled it over.

The man was in his twenties and wore store-bought clothes. A derby lay nearby, upside down. The slug had entered above his groin and left an exit wound close to his spine.

To Fargo's surprise, the man's eyelids fluttered and opened.

“God,” he said.

“Who did this?” Fargo asked.

The man seemed to struggle to focus. “One of you.”

“Like hell,” Carmody said. “Neither of us put lead in you, mister.”

“The other gal,” the man barely got out. “The one with brown hair and freckles.” He groaned and weakly placed a hand over his belly. “God, I hurt.”

“Brown hair and freckles?” Carmody repeated, incredulous. “Alice Thorn?”

“She shot me with no warning,” the townsman said. “From off in the grass.”

Fargo stepped to the edge of the road and discovered a flattened trail where a horse had emerged. He realized that Alice must have been paralleling the road the whole time. Which was why he didn't find her tracks. It was clever. Very clever.

“I never saw her,” the townsman gasped. “I think she made her horse lie down and picked me off when I got close.”

Fargo came back over. “You're with the posse?”

The man managed to nod. “They sent me on ahead. My horse was faster than theirs. I was to find you and get word back to them.” He closed his eyes and groaned louder. “God, now I'm cold. I'm not long for this world, am I?”

Carmody glanced at Fargo, and Fargo shook his head.

“I'm sorry,” she said to the townsman. “I never wanted anyone hurt.”

“Then you're not like that other one,” the man said. “She stood over me and smiled and told me I got what I deserved.”

Carmody said, “You're not our enemy. The mayor is. Him and his tin-star flunkies.”

“Your friend aims to kill them, too. Her and that shiny rifle of hers.”

Fargo frowned.

“How do you know?” Carmody asked, but the man didn't seem to hear. Gently shaking his arm, she asked it again.

His eyes opened partway. Wearily, he said, “She told me, is how. She stood right there and said she intends to kill Mayor Stoddard and the marshal and everyone else who had a hand in putting her behind bars. She even aims to kill the mayor's daughter.”

“Hell,” Fargo said.

The townsman shivered. “I asked her to put me out of my misery, but she refused. She said it was right I suffer. Me and all the rest she's after.”

“You think you know someone,” Carmody said, more to herself than to either of them.

“I don't want to die. I honest to God do not—” The townsman gazed at the sky, said simply, “Oh!” and breathed his last.

“He never told us his name,” Carmody said. “Do we bury him?”

Fargo had a more important matter to tend to. “I'm heading for town.”

Rising, Carmody clasped his arm. “What in hell for?”

“You heard him,” Fargo said. “She killed him with my Henry.”

“So?”

“So it's
my
Henry.”

“What difference does that make? You can always buy another. Why risk your life going back there when you don't have to?”

Fargo climbed on the Ovaro. It would be pointless to try and overtake Alice. She had too much of a lead. He held to a walk and chafed at having to do so.

Carmody quickly caught up. “You didn't answer me.”

“What do you know about her?”

“Alice? She didn't talk a lot. Not about herself, anyhow. She was raised on a farm, as I recall.”

“That's all?”

“She hunted a lot when she was a little girl. Meat for the table, mostly. Rabbits and squirrels and such. Once she shot a black bear.”

“So she's damn good with a gun.”

“And she can ride as good as a man. She bragged as much.”

“It gets better and better,” Fargo said.

“You wouldn't know it to look at her,” Carmody said, “but she's as tough as they come.”

“Is she as good as her word?”

“I never knew her to tell a lie, if that's what you mean.”

“No,” Fargo said. “Will she carry out her threat to kill Stoddard and whoever else she has in mind?”

“I suppose. Again, what difference does it make? I won't lose any sleep over it and neither should you.”

No, Fargo wouldn't, but he continued to the east.

“Why are you doing this?” Carmody asked. “If they get hold of you, they'll slap a leg iron on and you'll be digging ditches and planting crops from now until doomsday.”

Fargo didn't answer.

“Damn it,” Carmody snapped. “I don't understand, and I'd like to.”

“I already told you.”

“Because she has your stupid rifle?”

Fargo grunted.

“What kind of reason is that? I refuse—you hear me? I refuse to go back there and be chained like some animal all over again.”

“No one is forcing you.”

“Please don't.”

“Head west if you want. In six or seven days you'll reach a settlement called Travis.”

“Go all that way by my lonesome? With Comanches and God knows what else out there?” Carmody glared. “I hate this. I pray you know what in hell you're doing.”

Fargo didn't say anything, but so did he.

Half a mile farther they heard more shots. Four blasts in quick cadence—
bam, bam, bam, bam
—which hinted to Fargo that the shooter was sure of his target.

They spied the bodies from a hundred yards out, four sprawled figures at the side of the road.

Fargo drew his Colt and they cautiously advanced. He didn't need to examine the fallen to be sure they were dead. All four had been shot in the head.

Dismounting, he roved about, reconstructing the sign. Two horses were off in the grass, grazing. The other two had run off.

Carmody stayed on her mount, her features a mirror of disbelief. “Alice did this?”

“Appears so,” Fargo said.

“Sweet, quiet, little Alice?”

“It's the posse that man we found earlier was with. He went on ahead while they stopped to rest and waited for him to report back, remember?”

“I don't see the marshal.”

“Mako wasn't with it.” Fargo rolled one of the bodies over. “This one was.”

“Deputy Clyde!” Carmody exclaimed.

The weasel had been hit smack between the eyes. In death he was even uglier than in life.

Fargo noticed something else. “See that watch lying there? And that folding knife? She went through their pockets and pokes.”

“She robbed them?”

Fargo came to the last man. A revolver lay next to him, but he wasn't wearing a gun belt. The revolver was the same caliber as Fargo's Henry. “She got hold of more ammunition.”

“And rode on to town?” Carmody gazed eastward. “Dear God. What does she think she can do?”

“Haven't you been paying attention? She's out for revenge.”

“Alice is one woman against a whole town,” Carmody said. “She doesn't stand a prayer.”

“She's killed five men in an hour's time,” Fargo said. “That's a damn good start.” Climbing on the Ovaro, he flicked the reins.

“Why wasn't the marshal with them?”

“He's probably overseeing the search for the rest and sent Clyde and those other four after us.”

“Too bad,” Carmody said. “If he'd been with them, he'd be dead, too, and Alice would have her vengeance.”

“You're forgetting the mayor and Gwendolyn and whoever else she's out to kill.”

“You don't think—” Carmody stopped, as if her thought surprised her. “You don't think she's out to make the whole town suffer, do you? She wouldn't do something like poison their water, would she?”

“What makes you say that?”

“She mentioned a few times how much she hated the town and everyone in it. Said as how she'd like it if all of them were dead.”

“Those were her exact words?”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn.”

“This is going to get a lot worse, isn't it?”

“A lot worse,” Fargo predicted. He recollected how Alice had stood up to Deputy Brock in the barracks. At the time he'd thought she had spunk. Now he saw her defiance as a vein that ran deeper and darker. “Do you have a friend who could put you up for a while?”

“Excuse me?” Carmody said.

“Somewhere you can lie low while I hunt for her.”

Carmody considered and said, “There's Jugs. You said you know her, didn't you?”

“Yes,” Fargo said. He didn't expand on how or what Jugs had done in court.

“She'll help me if anyone will. But we'll be seen riding in.”

“Not if we wait until dark.”

The sun was well on its downward arc when Fargo veered into a stand of trees. As he swung down, his leg brushed his empty rifle scabbard. “Damn her,” he said.

In the distance loomed Fairplay.

“I wish there was some other way,” Carmody said.

“You can wait here.”

“With nothing to eat or drink?” She waved a hand, dismissing the notion. “No, thanks. I like a roof over my head at night. I'm fond of a soft bed. I'd rather stay with Jugs.”

Fargo leaned against an oak and folded his arms.

“I've been meaning to ask. How far are you willing to take this?”

“Far?” Fargo said.

“Let's say you find her. What then? You ask her, pretty please, that she give back your rifle and come with us? What if she won't? What if she's hell-bent on killing? How far are you willing to go to stop her?”

“As far as I have to.”

In not quite an hour, bright reds and yellows and a splash of orange lit the western sky as the last sliver of sun was about to set.

Fargo took out his Colt. Normally he kept the chamber under the hammer empty, but he added a sixth cartridge. Something told him he'd need it, and more, before this was over.

A canopy of stars twinkled overhead when he once more climbed on the stallion.

Carmody was slow to do the same. “Any chance you'd change your mind?”

“No.”

“What's so special about this damn rifle?”

“It's mine.”

“That's it?”

“That's enough,” Fargo said, “when she's using it to kill.”

“Last I heard, that's what rifles are for.”

“Give it a rest,” Fargo said in annoyance.

To his relief, she did.

Staying clear of the road, they rode on.

“Do you hear that?” Carmody asked.

Fargo did. Shouts and whoops, as if a celebration were taking place. The racket was punctuated by a few shots.

“What the hell?”

Fargo didn't know what to make of it, either. One thing was clear. They couldn't ride in until the town quieted down. He drew rein.

“Figures,” Carmody said. “I'm dirty and hungry and thirsty. I need a bath and a hot meal. And I'm stuck out here with you.”

“I know how we could spend the time,” Fargo suggested with a grin.

“I'm not in the mood.”

They sat their mounts in the growing cool of night as the sounds of mirth continued.

“They're having a grand time, whatever the hell they're doing,” Carmody grumbled.

Fargo took a bundle wrapped in rabbit hide from his saddlebags and climbed down. “We might as well have supper.”

“It's not jerky, is it? I don't like jerky much.”

Fargo unfolded the hide and held out a piece. “This is pemmican.”

She sniffed it and scrunched her face. “Did you make this yourself? What's in it?”

“Ground meat and fat and berries.” Fargo bit and chewed, relishing the tangy taste.

“I'd rather go hungry.”

Fargo was about to say, “Suit yourself,” when he stiffened.

Hooves drummed. A single rider was on his way out of town, heading west.

Keeping low, Fargo darted to where he could see the road. He wondered if Mako had sent someone to check on the posse. A night ride made sense in that Comanches did most of their raiding during daylight.

An elbow bumped his. “Who is it?” Carmody wanted to know.

The rider appeared, a man much larger than most.

“Deputy Brock,” Fargo suspected. His hunch had been right. He watched until the hoofbeats faded.

“Lucky you,” Carmody said. “One less tin star you have to worry about.”

Time crawled. So did the stars. It was pushing ten o'clock when the revelry died and Fairplay's usual quiet returned.

“About damn time,” Carmody said.

They approached at a walk, Fargo with his hand on his Colt.

“It's not too late to change your mind,” Carmody said hopefully as they neared the outskirts.

“You're like a dog with a bone,” Fargo growled.

“I'm not hankering to die.”

Nearly all the buildings were dark. A light glowed in the second-floor window of a house and in the Tumbleweed and another in the window of the marshal's office.

Concealed in black shadow at the end of the main street, Fargo surveyed it from end to end. He detected no evidence of an ambush.

He gigged the Ovaro. They went two blocks without incident.

In the distance a dog yapped and somewhere a woman was singing.

Up ahead, the saloon's batwings opened and out came a pair of townsmen.

Fargo quickly reined between a feed-and-grain and a butcher's.

Carmody wasted no time following him. “Do you think they saw us?”

Apparently not. The pair made off up the street in the other direction.

Fargo didn't budge until they were out of sight. “Keep your eyes skinned.”

They'd only gone half a block more when Carmody whispered and pointed. “What's that?”

At first Fargo didn't see anything. Then he made out a hitch rail—and something else. It was too small for a horse, and it was under the rail instead of in front of it.

“What
is
that?” Carmody said again.

The short hairs at the nape of Fargo's neck prickled, but he couldn't say why.

They were almost to the hitch rail before they saw what it was. Both of them drew rein at the same instant and Carmody exclaimed, “God in heaven!”