The Trailsman 317 Page 5

  “I did not tell them exactly how much. I only offered a hundred.”

  Fargo indicated the knot of cutthroats near the trading post. “It’s more than most of them have had at any one time in their whole lives.”

  “Which is why I offered it,” Mabel said. “How else might I stir them to help me find my brother or his body?”

  Fargo sighed. She was missing the point. “They will do anything to get their hands on that money. And when I say anything, I mean anything. They will kill, even.”

  “Here you go again,” Mabel said in disgust. “You think everyone is out to harm us.”

  “From now on we should stick together,” Fargo advised. “Never leave my sight unless you tell me where you are going.”

  “Oh, please. I do not require a nursemaid.” Mabel stepped to the end of the landing and was quiet a bit, then asked, “How far inland does the river go?”

  Fargo pointed to the west at the peaks of the Sawatch Range. “Another twenty miles or so. It is fed by runoff.” The river was narrower higher up. It widened to thirty feet at the landing. Random rapids made it a challenge to navigate.

  “Would it be possible for us to take a canoe if we have to go inland?” Mabel wondered. “I am sick to death of a saddle. I am sore in places I have never been sore before.”

  “We will see.” Fargo did not like the idea of leaving the Ovaro untended.

  “How long will we stay here before we move on?”

  “We will see,” Fargo said again. “For now let’s get through the night. Do you want to sleep in a cabin or under the stars?”

  “As fond as I am of my creature comforts, I will pick stars over lice any day of the week.”

  Malachi Skagg came to the door of the trading post and watched as they climbed on their horses and entered the timber.

  Fargo rode until he found a clearing to his liking. Near the river, it was in the shape of a teardrop. He used picket pins to reduce the risk of their animals wandering off—or being taken. He got a fire going, then walked to the river to fill his coffeepot. Sinking to one knee, he went to dip the pot in the water.

  Imprinted in the soft soil at the water’s edge was a footprint. The print was so clear that he could make out the stitching on the moccasin. He told Mabel about it as he was putting coffee grounds in the pot. “An Untilla warrior, unless I miss my guess. Not more than two days old.”

  “Well, you did say they come here to trade with Skagg,” Mabel said.

  Even so, Fargo was uneasy. He had enough to deal with, what with Skagg and Skagg’s men. He did not need the Untillas to complicate matters.

  The afternoon waned and evening fell. Mabel, who had been unable to sit still for more than two minutes, turned to him and whispered, “Do you have the feeling we are being watched? I did not want to say anything because I thought it might be a case of nerves, but I have felt eyes on me for quite a while now.”

  “So have I.” Fargo spread out his blankets and propped his saddle for a pillow. He leaned back, the Henry at his side. From under his hat brim he scoured the vegetation. He saw nothing, and was about convinced he was wasting his time when a thicket parted, framing a face and a partially scalped head. “You can come out,” Fargo said. “I won’t shoot you.”

  Binder cautiously emerged. As he crossed the clearing, he repeatedly glanced over his shoulder.

  “Worried about something?” Mabel asked.

  “If Skagg finds out I came, my life won’t be worth a gob of spit,” Binder replied. “I reckon you have guessed why I am here so let’s get down to business. You made mention of a hundred dollars. I want half in advance and the other half when we reach the cabin.”

  “Not so fast,” Mabel said. “What cabin are you talking about?”

  “The one your brother built. The one he was living in,” Binder said. “I have been there several times and can lead you right to it.” He held out a dirty palm. “Fifty dollars, if you please.”

  “I don’t please,” Mabel said. “I am not a fool. I offered a hundred and I will pay a hundred, but only when we get there. Not before.”

  “I am taking my life in my hands and you are quibbling,” Binder objected.

  “Put yourself in my shoes,” Mabel said. “You could be lying. If I pay you the fifty, I might never see you again.”

  “All right,” Binder said sourly. “I will be here first thing in the morning to guide you. It will take the better part of three days to get there.”

  “That long?”

  “Your brother wanted to be shed of human company, remember?” Binder said. “He was a strange one, but I liked him. He always treated me decent.”

  “You talk about him in the past tense,” Mabel said. “Why is that? What has happened?”

  “I am sorry.” Shaking his head, Binder backed toward the trees. “I will take you there but that is all I will do. The rest you must figure out on your own.” He stopped. “If you are smart, though, you won’t be here come morning. You will pack up and head back before it is too late.” He pointed at Fargo. “Skagg hates your guts, mister. He has special plans for you. Plans that call for you to suffer. I wouldn’t want to be you for all the money in creation.” So saying, he spun on a heel and vanished into the greenery.

  “Well,” Mabel said.

  Fargo began to pour himself a cup of coffee.

  “Have you nothing to say? An apology, perhaps? My little idea worked, didn’t it?” When Fargo did not reply, she changed the subject. “Earlier Skagg mentioned that you broke his nose. Is that why he hates you so much? Why did you do it, anyway?”

  Memories flooded through Fargo. He had stopped at the Landing for the night, and was at a corner table, eating, minding his own business. Tamar had waited on him and they had talked a while. She was friendly and lonely and eager for company. He did not know Skagg considered her his woman. His first inkling of trouble came when he saw Skagg glaring at him. Skagg had been drinking heavily. Without warning, he came around the counter, walked up behind her, and cuffed her over the head. Tamar fell to her knees. Nearly hysterical with fear, she asked Skagg what she had done. Instead of answering, Skagg commenced striking her about her shoulders and back. Again and again and again, and all the while she pleaded and begged and wailed for him to stop.

  No one was disposed to help her. Certainly not Skagg’s men, some of whom laughed and whooped for Skagg to hit her harder.

  Fargo had taken it as long as he could. Tamar was groveling on her belly and moaning pitiably when he pushed back his chair and stood. Bending, he gripped the chair by the legs and walk up behind Skagg. Someone shouted a warning, and Skagg turned. It was then Fargo swung, smashing the chair with all his might across Malachi Skagg’s face. Skagg’s nose made a crunching sound, the chair splintered, and Skagg collapsed in a sprawl.

  Several of Skagg’s men started toward them but changed their minds when Fargo’s Colt leaped from his holster to his hand. He helped Tamar to her feet. She could not stop thanking him, and urged him to get out of there before Skagg came around.

  “You don’t know him like I do. He will kill you, mister. But only after he whittles on you some.”

  Fargo had sought to convince her to gather up her possessions and light a shuck with him. He even offered to take her as far as Denver. But she declined.

  Undaunted, Fargo had finished his meal, and then left. He never counted on stopping there again, and put the incident from his mind. Then along came Mabel Landry and her search for her missing brother, and now here he was, tempting Skagg’s wrath.

  “Well?” Mabel prompted. “You haven’t answered me.”

  “It seemed like the thing to do at the time,” Fargo said.

  “There must be more to it than that. Why won’t you come right out and say?”

  Before Fargo could answer, the vegetation crackled and out flew Binder. He came straight to them, glancing repeatedly to his rear, fear writ large on his face. “You are about to have company!” he breathlessly exclaimed. “It is
the big man himself! Remember, I was never here.” He raced on past them and into the woods on the other side of the clearing.

  “What do we do?” Mabel asked.

  “We stay calm,” Fargo said. But it took every ounce of will he possessed not to grab her hand and seek cover. Leaning back against his saddle, he took a sip of hot coffee.

  Malachi Skagg did not sneak up on them. He strode into the clearing flanked by four of his pack of human wolves. At a gesture from him, they stopped and he came over to the fire.

  “Mr. Skagg!” Mabel cheerfully greeted him. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

  “I am looking for one of my men,” Skagg said. “His name is Binder, and he was last seen headed this way.”

  “I am afraid I do not know the man,” Mabel said. “What would he want with us?”

  “That is what I want to know,” Skagg replied. “I gave orders that no one is to come anywhere near you without my say-so.”

  “Why on earth would you do a thing like that?” Mabel feigned innocence.

  Fargo lowered the tin cup. “He doesn’t want you to find out the truth about your brother.”

  Skagg’s less than handsome face was made uglier by his hate. “What truth would that be? The one where he got his throat slit by the Untillas? Or caught in an avalanche? Or maybe eaten by a griz?”

  “Or maybe killed by you?” Fargo said.

  “Give me a reason for me to have him planted,” Skagg countered. “I don’t go around killing folks for the fun of it.”

  “I don’t have one,” Fargo admitted, adding meaningfully, “yet.”

  Skagg’s smile was ice and spite. “When your time comes, you will die slow and you will die hard, and you will scream the whole time.”

  Mabel wagged a finger in reproach. “That was mean. Did you treat my brother the same way you treat Fargo?”

  “Hell, no,” Skagg said. “He was an infant, and it is no fun to pick on infants. Most won’t fight back, and those that do can’t fight worth a lick.”

  “More of your passion for violence,” Mabel commented. “One of these days your evil deeds will catch up with you.”

  “So I am evil now, am I? Have you been listening to him?” Skagg jerked a thumb at Fargo.

  “He won’t tell me the cause of the trouble between you two.”

  “I might if you ask me real nice,” Skagg said with a leer. “A little sweet talk goes a long way.”

  “Need I remind you I am a lady?”

  “It riles me when a female puts on airs,” Skagg told her. “I have a way of curing you of that flaw.”

  “Do you indeed?” Mabel pushed to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. “I have about had my fill of your arrogance. You will leave, and you will leave this instant.”

  Malachi Skagg laughed. “You have spunk. I like that.”

  Fargo was about to stand when he saw one of Skagg’s men stiffen, and the man’s eyes go wide with surprise. The man was gazing past them. Glancing over his shoulder, Fargo saw only the night-shrouded woods.

  Then a bowstring twanged, and out of the forest sped a feathered shaft—straight at Mabel Landry’s back.

  7

  Fargo’s reflexes were second to none. He leaped even as he saw the arrow, and tackled Mabel. As quick as he was, she had only started to buckle when the arrow streaked past her head, missing her ear by the width of a fingernail.

  The shaft embedded itself in Malachi Skagg.

  “Untillas!” the man whose eyes had widened shouted, and he and his three companions unleashed a leaden firestorm on the forest.

  Mabel had no idea why Fargo had brought her down. She had not seen the arrow strike Skagg. Twisting, she pushed against him, demanding, “What on earth?”

  “Stay down.” Fargo could not see the warrior who’d let the shaft fly, and he doubted Skagg’s men did, either. They were firing blind, out of panic.

  Amazingly, the one person who was calm and composed was Malachi Skagg, and he had the feathered end of an arrow sticking out of his side and the barbed tip jutting from his back. Skagg had to be in extreme pain but he did not show it. Gripping the arrow, he moved it slightly, as if to gauge whether he should pull it out. “Stop shooting!” he bellowed.

  The frightened foursome complied.

  The man whose eyes had widened ran to Skagg, saying, “How bad is it? What can we do?” He was lean but muscular, with a thick mustache although hardly any beard.

  “Keep an eye on the woods, Keller.” Skagg drew one of his knives and cut his buckskin shirt where the arrow had gone through. Grunting, he remarked, “I think it glanced off a rib. I would be a goner if it hadn’t.”

  “The damn Untillas!” Keller snapped. “This makes the third time they have let loose an arrow on us.”

  “It is me they are after—” Skagg began. Catching himself, he glanced sharply at Fargo and Mabel.

  The other three riflemen had fanned out and moved to the edge of the clearing. One of them asked, “Should we go after the red bastard?”

  “What good would it do, Hemp?” Skagg responded. “He is long gone by now, and you can’t track him in the dark.”

  Fargo rose and helped Mabel up. She brushed at her clothes, then turned to Malachi Skagg.

  “I can get that out for you if you want. I have doctored a few hurt people over the years.”

  Skagg was as surprised as Fargo. “That is all right. I know what to do, lady.” Reaching behind him, he gripped the barbed end of the shaft and broke the tip off as easily as Fargo might break a dry twig, then held the bloody barb near to the fire to inspect it. “It is a good thing the Untillas don’t poison their arrows like some tribes do.”

  “Why are they out to get you?” Mabel asked.

  “They don’t like whites, is all.” Skagg cast the tip to the ground. Then he gripped the feathered end, and slowly pulled the arrow out. Along with it came blood but the flow quickly dwindled to a trickle. “Hurts a mite,” he grunted.

  “You handle pain remarkably well,” Mabel said.

  Skagg gave her a pointed look, his brow knit as if he were puzzled. “A little nick like this is nothing to get upset about.” He threw the arrow down and pressed his hand to his side. “But I thank you for your concern.”

  “It is nice to know you can be a gentleman when you try.”

  Skagg was turning to go but he stopped and said gruffly, “Don’t make me out to be something I am not. I am no damn gentleman. I am not an animal, either, although Fargo, there, might think so.” He waited for Fargo to comment, then scowled and marched off, barking, “Let’s go! I need to have Tamar bandage me up.”

  “A strange man,” Mabel Landry said.

  “A killer,” Fargo stressed. He scoured the woods. “Maybe we should pack up and go to the trading post.”

  “Whatever for?”

  Fargo nudged the feathered half of the bloody arrow with his boot. “The Untillas might come back.”

  “They didn’t harm me when they took my hairbrush.”

  “Those were women,” Fargo pointed out.

  “So you think we are in danger?”

  Fargo honestly didn’t know. To the best of his knowledge, the Untillas were not on the warpath. But why would the Untillas want to kill Skagg, their sole source of trade goods? There was a mystery here.

  “I would as soon stay put,” Mabel was saying. “The Indians did not bother us until Skagg showed up.”

  “All right,” Fargo said. They were in as much danger from Skagg, if not more, than they were from the Untillas. “But move your blankets closer to mine, and sleep with your revolver in your hand.”

  “There is something you should know. I have never shot anyone, and I doubt that I ever could.”

  “You are not taking this seriously enough,” was Fargo’s opinion.

  “On the contrary,” Mabel assured him. “But I know my limitations. I am counting on you to protect me, should it come to that.”

  Wonderful, Fargo thought. She would
be next to useless if they were attacked. Hunkering, he added fuel to the fire so the flames blazed brighter than he normally would let them, casting their glow well into the timber. It should keep the Untillas away, he reckoned.

  Mabel busied herself doing as he wanted. “I must say,” she commented as she slid her saddle over, “this is turning into quite an adventure. If only Chester is still alive.”

  “It is looking less and less likely that he is,” Fargo said without thinking.

  “What a cruel thing to say. Just because no one has seen him in a while does not mean he is dead.”

  Fargo almost said that she was grasping at a straw, but he held his tongue. “We should learn more when we reach his cabin.”

  “I can’t wait! I have missed Chester so much. He is the only sibling I have.” Mabel arranged her blankets so that they overlapped his. Sinking down, she lay on her back, her head propped on her saddle, her hands behind her head. The soft material of her blouse molded to the contours of her ample bosom, outlining her breasts.

  Fargo felt a familiar constriction in his throat, and looked away. She was mighty attractive, this Mabel Landry. But now was hardly the right time or place. Sitting cross-legged, he placed the Henry across his lap. “You can go to sleep any time you want.”

  “What about you?”

  “One of us needs to keep watch.”

  “That is hardly fair,” Mabel said. “I will spell you in the middle of the night. Wake me.”

  Fargo disliked trusting his life to greenhorns. She rolled onto her side, and those long, willowy legs of hers, so close to his, stirred notions better left alone. To take his mind off them, he refilled his tin cup to the brim and sat sipping coffee and going over everything that had happened since she hired him. There were so many unanswered questions. What had happened to Chester Landry? What were the Untillas about? Where had Cyst and Welt gotten to? And when and where would Malachi Skagg make his move?

  Another question occurred to him. Could they trust Binder? The man appeared to be sincere about leading them to Chester’s cabin, but what if the whole thing was a ruse cooked up by Skagg?

  Off in the woods an owl hooted. Fargo listened intently but it was not repeated. It had sounded like a real owl, but some Indians were so skilled at imitating bird cries, it was hard to tell the real from the fake. Shifting, he studied the timber.