Texas Tornado Page 11

“I’m here for my rifle.”

  “That’s all?”

  Fargo gave her a hungry look, and grinned. “Unless I get to lick you.”

  “Stop with the licking. We have to warn my father.”

  “Not me,” Fargo said, sliding his right foot forward. “I’d just as soon he rot in hell.”

  “I happen to think highly of him. He lives and breathes law and order.”

  “Is that what you call having folks arrested on trumped-up charges and putting them in chains?” Fargo took another half a step.

  “My father never convicts anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Tell that to Alice Thorn.”

  “Surely you’re not comparing her to him?”

  “They have a lot in common.” Fargo stalled while moving his other foot. Soon he would be close enough.

  “She’s a criminal. A murderer, if I remember. My father was elected mayor and appointed himself judge because he didn’t trust anyone else to do the job as well as he can.”

  Fargo snorted—and took yet another step.

  “Enough talk,” Gwen said. “Put your hands in the air. I’m taking you inside and we’ll send for the marshal.”

  “Whatever you say,” Fargo said. He started to raise his arms and as he did he tossed the Arkansas toothpick to the ground at her feet. She did what most anyone would have done: she took a quick step back and stared at the knife.

  A single bound, and Fargo had hold of her rifle. Wrenching it from her grasp, he smiled. “That was plumb easy.”

  “No!” Gwendolyn cried, and tried to snatch it back.

  Thrusting his left foot behind her legs, Fargo swept them out from under her. She squawked and landed hard on her backside. Covering her, he scooped up the toothpick and slid it into his ankle sheath.

  Gwendolyn squirmed and rubbed her bottom. “That was mean. I won’t be able to sit for a week.”

  “On your feet.” Fargo scanned the buildings and the lane but saw no sign of anyone. Apparently Alice Thorn had yet to arrive.

  “What do you intend to do with me?”

  “Save your hide, if I can.”

  “And my father?”

  “I already told you he can rot in hell for all I care.” Fargo meant it. Horatio Stoddard was as big a bastard as he’d ever come across. He wouldn’t lose a minute’s sleep if Alice Thorn were to put a slug between Stoddard’s eyes.

  “Well, I care,” Gwen said. Rising, she adjusted and smoothed her robe. “I won’t stand by and let anyone harm him. Not you, and certainly not that Thorn woman.”

  Fargo was about to order her to get moving when he glimpsed a figure near the darkened house. “Is someone else up?”

  “There’s just my father and me, and he was sound asleep when I came out. I heard him snoring.”

  “Then it’s her,” Fargo said. Grabbing Gwendolyn’s wrist, he pulled even as he broke into a run.

  “What are you doing?”

  “How did you know I was out here?” Fargo asked, intent on the figure.

  “Oh.” Gwen puffed her cheeks out as she sought to keep pace. “My bed is next to my window. When I can’t sleep I like to just lie there and look out and—” She stopped and whispered, “Who’s that?”

  Fargo had seen the same thing: a figure moving along the side of the ranch house. Halting, he yanked her down beside him.

  “Is that her?”

  “Odds are.”

  They were about forty feet from the house. Fargo didn’t think the figure had spotted them.

  “Why have we stopped? Let’s jump her.”

  “You don’t shut up,” Fargo warned, “I’ll shut you up.”

  The figure reached the rear and peered around the corner. Something long and bright gleamed in the figure’s hands.

  Fargo’s Henry. He went to turn to Gwen to tell her to stay put.

  “You there!” she hollered unexpectedly. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  At her shout, the figure whirled. The gleaming object rose.

  Fargo dived, hauling Gwendolyn with him. He wasn’t a moment too soon. The night rocked to three swift shots, and lead buzzed over their heads. He snapped off a shot with Gwen’s rifle, but the figure was already in motion, racing back the way it came.

  “Damn you,” Fargo growled. Pushing up, he gave chase.

  “Stop!” Gwen yelled at the shooter.

  The figure—it had to be Alice Thorn—was running like a bat out of hell. She reached the front and slipped out of sight.

  Mentally cussing a mean streak, Fargo reached the same spot and stopped. He poked his head out and the Henry blasted, the slug nicking his hat. Dropping flat, he took the hat off and eased an eye to the corner. There was no sign of Alice. He waited, hoping she would show herself. But the minutes dragged and she didn’t.

  Unexpectedly, there was a sound behind him.

  Twisting, Fargo pointed the rifle and did more swearing.

  “What are you so mad about?” Gwen whispered, crawling up next to him.

  Fargo decided it wouldn’t help matters to call her a stupid damn cow. He settled for saying, “You should have listened.”

  “It’s my father in there,” Gwen said. “Why can’t you get that through your head?” She tried to crawl past him.

  Clamping a hand on her shoulder, Fargo said, “Do you want your fool head shot off?”

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you sure it was her?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  “You don’t inspire much confidence.”

  “And you don’t know when to shut the hell up.”

  Even in the dark, Fargo saw her color with indignation.

  “No one has ever talked to me the way you do.”

  “Spoiled daddy’s girl, is why.”

  “Why, you . . . ,” Gwen said, and cocked an arm to punch him.

  From out of the tall grass between the house and the road came a shout from Alice Thorn.

  “Fargo? Is that you?”

  Surprised, Fargo sought some sign of her.

  “Why don’t you answer?” Gwen whispered.

  Alice Thorn had a question of her own. “Why couldn’t you leave it be? He has to be put down or else it will go on and on.”

  Fargo frowned.

  “You know I’m right, don’t you?” Alice shouted. When he still didn’t respond, she called out, “If this is how you want to be, fine. From here on out I’ll consider you on their side. It’s a shame you’re so pigheaded.”

  “She sure knows you,” Gwen said.

  Fargo cupped a hand to his mouth. “Alice!” he yelled. She didn’t reply. He yelled her name a second time with the same result.

  “What did you expect? You didn’t answer her. Why should she answer you?”

  “I wonder,” Fargo said.

  “What she’ll do next?”

  “Whether pistol-whipping you would do any good.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Gwendolyn gasped.

  “No, he won’t,” a new voice declared behind them.

  Fargo turned, and this time found himself staring up into a shotgun.

  19

  Fargo froze. He was tired of having guns pointed at him, but he wasn’t about to move a muscle with the business end of a hand cannon trained on his face.

  “What the hell is going on out here, daughter?” Horatio Stoddard demanded. He, too, wore a robe, only his was bulky and ill-fitting. His thin hair, normally slicked back, stuck out at all angles. “I was roused out of a deep sleep by shots and shouting.”

  Quickly rising, Gwendolyn said, “It’s Fargo.”

  “I can see that,” Horatio snapped. “Who else is out there? Who was he yelling to?”

  “That woman who escape
d,” Gwendolyn said. “Alice Thorn. She killed the men in the posse and now she’s out to kill us.”

  “Preposterous,” Horatio said. “She’s a snip of a woman. And she hasn’t given us any trouble since she was sentenced. Unlike that Carmody Wells.”

  “But I heard her,” Gwendolyn said, “and she took shots at us.”

  “Perhaps it was a ruse to draw us out,” Horatio suggested.

  “Shouldn’t we get inside, then?”

  “Excellent suggestion. Take the rifle from him, and his six-gun.” To Fargo Horatio said, “And you, sir. Give me any excuse and I will blow you apart.”

  Gwendolyn dutifully relieved Fargo of the rifle and plucked the Colt from his holster. “Now you’re in for it,” she gloated, and laughed.

  Horatio stepped back. “On your feet. Hands in the air.”

  Left with no recourse, Fargo complied. He gauged the distance but didn’t spring.

  “Now, then,” Horatio said, “we’ll escort you inside and bind you and I’ll get word to Marshal Mako. Need I stress that any act on your part I deem threatening will result in your immediate demise?”

  “I came here to stop here to stop Alice Thorn,” Fargo said.

  “And I’m infantile enough to believe that,” Horatio said, sneering. “It makes perfect sense you’d want to save my life after I’d sentenced you to years behind bars.”

  Gwendolyn laughed.

  “No, what we have here,” Horatio went on, “is you out for our blood. If it’s true the posse members are dead, then it was your doing, not Alice Thorn’s.”

  “Jackass.”

  Horatio put his cheek to the shotgun. “That’s right. Incite me to anger. Were I not so law-abiding, I’d drop you where you stand.”

  “Maybe you should anyway,” Gwendolyn said. “He killed both our dogs.”

  “He did what?”

  Fargo tensed. With the judge in front of him and the daughter behind him, there wasn’t much he could do, but he wouldn’t stand there meekly and be shot down.

  “Killed our poor dogs,” Gwendolyn said, and jabbed Fargo in the back with his own Colt.

  “I can’t wait to get him in court,” Horatio told her. “Between his escape and this attempt on our lives, I can sentence him to life.”

  “That would be fitting.”

  “Bitch,” Fargo said.

  “Enough!” Horatio barked. “Walk around to the front door. No tricks. And keep your arms up where I can see them.”

  Fargo resigned himself to doing as he was told, for the time being. He half expected Alice Thorn to open fire on them, but apparently she was no longer out there.

  Gwen opened the door and the judge gave Fargo a shove.

  “In you go.”

  It was all Fargo could do to contain his anger. A wide hall brought him to a parlor.

  “On the settee,” Horatio commanded.

  “I’ll fetch rope,” Gwen volunteered, and scooted off.

  “She’s a good girl, that Gwendolyn,” Horatio said proudly. “Takes after her mother.”

  “Haven’t seen her yet,” Fargo said.

  “My Maude died giving birth to Gwen,” Horatio revealed. “I’ve had to raise her on my own. With the help of seven or eight nannies.”

  “Seven or eight?”

  “They have a habit of quitting on me. I’m too demanding, they say.”

  “Imagine that.”

  Horatio’s thin lips creased in a sinister smile. “I intend to give Marshal Mako considerable latitude in dealing with you.”

  “Use little words,” Fargo said.

  “Were he to beat you within an inch of your life, I wouldn’t reprimand him.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of being such a bastard?”

  Rage twisted Horatio’s face, but he regained his composure and said, “A bastard with power. You’d do well to remember that.”

  “When the governor finds out what you’re up to,” Fargo said, “he’ll put a stop to it.”

  “First it was the army. Now it’s the governor. You truly do clutch at straws.” Horatio chortled in amusement.

  “You’ll be laughing out your ass once Carmody Wells gets to Austin.”

  “What’s that you’re saying?”

  “Carmody Wells,” Fargo lied glibly. “She went to Austin to report you to the governor. With your posse dead, she has a good chance of getting through.”

  For a few moments Horatio appeared worried, but then he shook his head. “Do you really think Governor Clark will believe the word of a common trollop?”

  “I sent a letter with her to back her story,” Fargo said.

  “I very much doubt that the governor knows you from Adam.”

  “I met him once. He’ll remember me.”

  A hint of worry crept into Horatio’s expression. “Damn me if I don’t think you’re telling the truth.”

  Fargo smiled.

  “The last thing I need is busybodies from the state government snooping around. They might not agree with my methods.”

  “There’s more,” Fargo said, piling the manure on. “I told her to get in touch with all the kin she can of the men you have in that barracks of yours.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Anything to make your life miserable,” Fargo said.

  Horatio grew livid and made as if to shoot but jerked the shotgun down. “No. I’d better not. On the off chance your governor story is true.”

  Fargo was a good poker player for a reason; relief washed over him, but it didn’t show.

  “Damn, damn, damn.”

  Gwendolyn returned carrying two lengths of rope. “Here we go,” she said.

  “Tie him while I cover him and then you’re heading for town,” Horatio informed her. “I need Marshal Mako out here right away.”

  “You expect me to ride all the way to town alone? In the middle of the night? With that madwoman out there?”

  “Fine,” Horatio snapped. “I’ll go. Just hurry and bind him.”

  Fishing for information, Fargo remarked, “Don’t you have ranch hands you can send?”

  “The prisoners do all the work I need done. I save a lot of money that way.”

  “As sons of bitches go,” Fargo said, “you’re near the top of the heap.”

  “Quit talking about him that way,” Gwen said.

  She had Fargo put his arms behind his back and wrapped a rope around his wrists and knotted it. Kneeling, she was about to do the same with his ankles, but stopped.

  “What’s the matter?” Horatio asked.

  “I just remembered.” Hiking Fargo’s pant leg, Gwen slid her fingers down his boot and relieved him of the Arkansas toothpick. “I saw him with this earlier.”

  “Good girl,” Horatio said. “He’s devious, this one.”

  Once she had the second rope tight, Gwendolyn stepped back. Her father handed her the shotgun and left to get dressed.

  Leaning against the wall, Gwen held the shotgun in the crook of an elbow and grinned like a cat that was playing with a canary. “I reckon you wish you’d never set eyes on Fairplay.”

  “You should change the name to something that fits,” Fargo said. “Shitplay, maybe. Or Locoland.”

  “Funny man,” Gwen said. Now that he was at her mercy, she was relaxed and in better spirits.

  Without being obvious, Fargo tested the rope around his wrists. She’d done a good job. It would take considerable doing to work his hands free.

  “It’s too bad how things worked out,” Gwen remarked. “I sort of liked you. You’re about the handsomest fella I ever did see.”

  Fargo grunted.

  “Truth to tell,” she rambled on, “I wouldn’t have minded a frolic.”

  “We still can,” Fargo said.

  “You honestly expect me t
o untie you so we can do that?”

  “How about if I give my word I won’t try and run off?” Fargo said.

  “You must think I’m as dumb as a rock.”

  “I think you’re a peach, and I’d like to suck on you until you gush in my mouth.”

  “There you go again,” Gwen said. Damned if she didn’t blush. “Not another word about that, you hear?”

  From overhead came the clomp of boots.

  “I’ll say one thing for you,” Gwen informed him. “You’ve given my father and the marshal more trouble than anyone ever has.”

  “I’m just getting started.”

  She laughed and motioned at his bound legs. “I love an optimist.”

  They were silent after that.

  In a few minutes Horatio returned, dressed in the long coat and hat he usually wore, only this time with the addition of a revolver strapped around his waist. On him it looked ridiculous. “I’m leaving,” he announced.

  “Don’t take too long,” Gwen said.

  “And don’t you go near him until I return. No matter what.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  “I mean it, daughter. Control those urges of yours.” Horatio didn’t wait for her to reply but wheeled and headed down the hall.

  “Be careful,” Gwen called after him.

  Fargo sighed and sat back. He idly glanced at a window, and froze.

  A face stared back in, twisted with hate.

  The face of Alice Thorn.

  20

  The face was there and then it was gone.

  Fargo realized she hadn’t been glaring at him. Her hate was directed at Gwendolyn Stoddard. “You might want to let me loose.”

  Gwen was moving toward an easy chair, and stopped. “Why on earth would I?”

  “Alice Thorn.”

  “Is long gone.” Gwendolyn sat and placed the shotgun across the chair’s arms. Leaning back, she smothered a yawn. “I’ll need an extra-long nap later today to make up for the sleep I’ve lost.” She fluffed her hair and ran a hand over a cheek. “I nap daily. It’s the secret to a smooth complexion.”

  “What’s the secret to not being shot?”

  “You never quit, do you? That Thorn woman isn’t about to march in here and shoot me. I had nothing to do with her arrest and imprisonment.”