Texas Tornado Page 6

  At a quarter to nine, Marshal Mako stepped to the gun rack and armed himself with a short-barreled shotgun. He passed out one to Gergan and one to Clyde.

  It was Gergan who unlocked the cell.

  “Nice and easy does it,” Marshal Mako said. “You don’t want to give us an excuse.”

  Fargo strode out. He wasn’t in the best of moods. In addition to everything else, his head had a dull ache and his wrists were chafed from having the cuffs on all night. “Can’t say much for your hospitality.”

  “Flap your gums while you can,” Mako said. “Once you’re sentenced, you don’t get to speak unless you’re spoken to.”

  Fairplay didn’t have a courthouse. Trials were conducted in a side room off the mayor’s office.

  Fargo was made to sit on a long benched flanked by the deputies. He was surprised to see Jugs there. He noticed a bruise on her left cheek and another on her chin. She avoided meeting his gaze.

  A court clerk went through the usual rigmarole, and Mayor Horatio Stoddard, wearing a long robe and carrying a sheath of papers, grandly entered like a king about to hold court. He perched in his high seat and smiled down at them. Picking up a gavel, he rapped it several times while declaring, “Court is now in session. Let the proceedings commence.”

  “Don’t I get a lawyer?” Fargo asked.

  About to consult his papers, Stoddard looked up in annoyance. “Eh? What was that? You’re requesting the services of a counsel?”

  “Why not?” Fargo said.

  “Do you have the money to hire one?”

  “Ask your tin star. He has my poke.”

  Stoddard turned to the marshal. “Is this true, Marshal Mako?”

  “No, Your Honor. We searched him when we arrested him. He didn’t have a cent to his name.”

  Fargo wondered what they were up to and found out when the mayor nodded as if he suspected as much and said, “We’ll add vagrancy to the charges already lodged against him. That’s good for another six months.”

  “If I’m found guilty,” Fargo said.

  “If you’re—?” Stoddard said, and smothered a laugh. “Yes, indeed. We must adhere to the letter of the law, mustn’t we?”

  “You wouldn’t know the letter of the law,” Fargo said, “if it bit you on the ass.”

  Deputy Gergan hiked his shotgun as if to bash Fargo in the face.

  “No!” Stoddard barked. “No violence, if you please.” Placing his hands flat, he bent forward. “I will only warn the defendant this once. Proper decorum will be followed at all times.”

  “I can’t say ‘ass’?” Fargo said.

  “You may not insult the integrity of this court in any manner,” Stoddard replied.

  “It doesn’t have any.”

  Stoddard sat back and scowled. “Enough. If the defendant persists, you are to gag him, Marshal Mako. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” the lawman answered.

  “Now, then. Where were we?” Stoddard said.

  “Vagrancy,” Fargo reminded him.

  “Ah yes.” Stoddard consulted a paper. “You are hereby charged with that, as well as threatening an officer of the law, consorting in proscribed carnal activities, and obstruction of justice. How does the defendant plead?”

  “Proscribed?” Fargo said.

  “That means illegal,” Stoddard said.

  “It’s against the law to fuck?”

  Deputy Clyde laughed and drew a glare from Marshal Mako.

  “It’s against the law to solicit the services of a prostitute,” Stoddard said.

  “I didn’t solicit anything,” Fargo said. “She wanted to hump me.”

  “Oh, really?” Stoddard turned toward Jugs. “Miss Bedelia Cavendish, will you rise, please, and step to the witness stand, where the bailiff will swear you in?”

  Jugs, her chin bowed, obeyed.

  Fargo could imagine what was coming. This bunch didn’t miss a trick.

  “Now, then,” Stoddard began, “you just heard the defendant. I will ask you point-blank. Is he telling the truth?”

  Jugs glanced nervously at Marshal Mako, then said so quietly it was hard to hear her, “No, Your Honor.”

  “Tell us in your own words what occurred.”

  Jugs swallowed and had to try twice before she got out, “I was working at the Tumbleweed when”—she stopped and trembled—“when this gentleman came up to me and asked me if I’d go to bed with him for, uh, forty dollars.”

  “Aha!” Stoddard exclaimed. “And did you agree?”

  Jugs glanced at Mako again. “To my shame, Your Honor, I did.”

  “Very well. That will be all.”

  “I can go?”

  “The marshal has informed me that you agreed to testify in exchange for immunity from prosecution. So yes, you’re free to depart.”

  Jugs gave Fargo a look that said she was sorry more eloquently than if she’d said it out loud. With a swish of her dress, she whisked out of there.

  “As the defendant just heard,” Stoddard said, “his lie has been exposed.”

  “It’s her word against mine,” Fargo said.

  “This court prefers to believe her.”

  “I’m shocked.”

  Stoddard picked up the gavel. “Have you anything more to say before sentence is pronounced?”

  Fargo sat up. “That’s it?”

  “We believe in a speedy trial.”

  “I don’t get to take the stand? Or call witnesses of my own?”

  “What good would that do? We’ve heard the prostitute and we have Marshal Mako’s written testimony. That’s all this court requires.”

  “You mealymouthed sack of shit.”

  Horatio Stoddard became the same color as a beet. With a sharp gesture, he growled, “I’ve listened to enough. Marshal, gag the prisoner.”

  “Before you do,” Fargo quickly said, “you’d better decide what to do about the army.”

  Mako paused in the act of taking a crumpled handkerchief from a vest pocket, while Stoddard scrunched his face in confusion.

  “The what?”

  “The army,” Fargo repeated.

  “What can they possibly have to do with this?”

  Fargo touched his cuffed hands to his chest. “In case no one told you, I scout for a living.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m due at Fort Bowie by the end of the month.”

  “So?”

  “So they knew I was coming this way. When I don’t show up”—Fargo shrugged—“could be they’ll send someone to look for me.”

  It was called grasping at a straw. He waited to see what effect his bald-faced lie would have.

  10

  Horatio Stoddard straightened and sat back. His eyebrows tried to meet over his nose. “You expect the court to believe that?”

  Fargo shrugged and said as casually as he could, “If you can’t tell what I do for a living, you’re dumber than a stump.”

  Marshal Mako cleared his throat. “He did say he was a scout when we first met.”

  “He sure looks like one,” Deputy Gergan threw in.

  “Daniel Boones,” Deputy Clyde added. “Why can’t they wear clothes like everybody else?”

  Stoddard drummed his fingers and crooked one at the marshal. “A word, if you please. Approach the bench.”

  Fargo tried to hear what they said, but they whispered. Stoddard appeared agitated. When Marshal Mako came back he didn’t look happy.

  “There will be a delay in sentencing,” Stoddard announced, “while this issue of the army is resolved. The defendant will be held in jail until such time as the court deems otherwise.”

  “On your feet,” Mako said to Fargo. “Boys, cover him.”

  Fargo was elated. He’d bought some time. But how much? As they ma
rched him from the municipal building, he asked, “What did he mean by resolved?”

  “The mayor knows a few people in high places,” Marshal Mako said. “He’s going to check on your story. He’s writing a letter to a colonel he knows. We should hear back in a couple of weeks, maybe a little longer.”

  “In the meantime I rot behind bars?”

  “I’ll find ways to keep you busy,” Mako said.

  Fargo spotted Jugs. She was across the street, staring sadly. He smiled to show there were no hard feelings, but he couldn’t tell if she noticed.

  “Just so you know,” Marshal Mako said. “If it turns out you’re lying, it’ll add another six months to your sentence.”

  “Is that all?”

  The lawman looked at him. “I’ve worn a tin star long enough, I can feel it in my bones when someone is trouble. And you’re as much trouble as they come.”

  “Why, you sweet-talking devil, you.”

  Mako let that pass and said, “Which is why I’m taking extra precautions. Those cuffs stay on, so get used to them. And I’ll make it plain to my deputies that if you give them any guff, I won’t mind a bit if they kick your teeth down your throat.”

  “So much for the sweet talk.”

  “I don’t like your kind,” Marshal Mako said coldly. “Not even a little bit.”

  “What kind is that? Scouts?”

  “It’s not what you do. It’s you. You’re one of those who thinks he can do as he damn well pleases, and the rest of the world be damned.”

  “Last I heard,” Fargo said, “this is a free country.”

  “A country with laws. Laws that you reckon aren’t good enough for you to follow.”

  “When the law says a man can’t spit without being arrested,” Fargo said, “that’s a pretty damn dumb law.”

  “You just made my point. It’s not what a law says. It’s the fact that it’s a law. I’m paid to make sure folks abide by them, whether they want to abide by them or not.”

  “That mayor and you make a good pair,” Fargo said. “It’s too bad you don’t have your own country to run.”

  “This town will do,” Mako said. “And before I forget, a word to the wise. If you try to escape, we’ll shoot you dead. Army or no army.”

  “Escape is the furthest thing from my mind.”

  “Like hell.”

  On that note Fargo was shoved back into his cell and the door clanged shut once again.

  Over the next couple of days he paid close attention to their routine.

  Mako was only there during the day. At night the deputies worked shifts. Brock had the first, Gergan the second, Clyde the last. Each morning the prisoners were roused and herded into the prison wagon for another day’s work.

  Twice a day they brought Fargo food. They always slid the plate through a wide slot in the bars rather than open the door.

  All in all, it was a well-run jail.

  But there was a weak spot.

  The third night, Gergan propped his boots on the desk, folded his arms and pulled his hat low, and dozed off.

  Hiking his pant leg, Fargo palmed the Arkansas toothpick. They had made light of his buckskins, but buckskins had one thing city-bought clothes didn’t: whangs. His were six inches long on his shirt. He cut ten of them off, replaced the knife in his boot, and tied the whangs together, end to end.

  Moving to the bars, he crouched. He fashioned a loop and positioned it on the floor directly under the food slot. Drawing the end inside, he tied it to the bottom of a bar.

  Returning to the bunk, he lay with his back to the room.

  Deputy Clyde showed up to relieve Gergan. No sooner was Gergan out the door than Clyde sat down at the desk and propped his boots as Gergan had done.

  Fargo got up and went close to the bars. But not too close. “Deputy,” he called out.

  Clyde raised his head. “What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Some water,” Fargo said. “My throat’s dry.”

  “Tough.”

  “One glass,” Fargo said, “and you can take your usual nap.”

  “I’ll take it anyway. And you can wait until breakfast.”

  “Would you do it for a dollar?”

  “Nice try,” Clyde said, “but the marshal took your poke.”

  “I had a loose dollar in my pocket,” Fargo said.

  Clyde showed interest. Deputies didn’t make a lot of money. “I give you the glass, you shut the hell up and let me sleep?”

  “That’s the deal.”

  Reluctantly Clyde stood and went to the water pitcher. He filled a glass and brought it over, his other hand on his six-gun. “No tricks.”

  “All I want is a drink,” Fargo said. And to get the hell out of that cage.

  “Not that there’s much you can do,” Clyde said.

  Fargo held his cuffed wrists out. “Isn’t that the truth?”

  Deputy Clyde stopped in front of the slot. In the dim light from the single lamp, he didn’t spot the loop on the floor even though his left foot was partly in it. “Here,” he said, and passed the glass through.

  “I’m obliged,” Fargo said as he stepped up and took it in both hands. He raised it to his mouth but paused when Clyde turned. “Shouldn’t you take the glass with you?”

  “What for?”

  “I might break it and try to cut one of you with the broken glass.”

  “That would be a damn fool stunt,” Deputy Clyde said, but he turned back. “Hurry up and drink and give it to me.”

  His left foot was in the middle of the loop.

  Fargo drank half the glass in two gulps and held it to the slot.

  “That’s all you wanted?” Clyde reached to take it from him. “And where’s that dollar you promised? You’d better not have been lying.”

  “Me lie?” Fargo said, and streaked his hands to the whang cord. Grabbing it, he gave a powerful jerk; the loop slid up around Clyde’s ankle and fastened tight.

  “What the hell?” Clyde blurted.

  Fargo wrenched, slamming Clyde’s leg against the bars. Swearing, Clyde let go of the glass and clawed for his six-shooter. His face was near the bars.

  Quick as thought, Fargo thrust his hand through the slot. As hard as he could, he drove his rigid fingers into Clyde’s neck. Once, twice, and again.

  Clyde cried out. His eyelids fluttered. He tried to pull his leg away and couldn’t. He twisted, which put his holster close to the slot.

  A flick of Fargo’s fingers, and the deputy’s Remington was his. Cocking it, he growled, “Try to run and I’ll splatter your guts.”

  Clyde groped his empty holster. Sagging against the cell, he groaned.

  Fargo thrust the revolver’s barrel into his. “Did you hear me?”

  “Run?” Clyde gasped, a hand to his neck. “I can’t hardly stand.”

  Fargo glanced past him at a peg on the wall. On it hung a large brass ring with the keys. “You’re going to fetch the key and let me out.”

  Sucking in deep breaths, Clyde said, “You’ll get ten years for this.”

  “You won’t live ten minutes if you don’t do as I tell you.”

  “Go easy on that trigger. I have no hankering to die.”

  Fargo told him to free his leg from the loop.

  Still wobbly, Clyde had to try several times and nearly fell, but he managed to slide it off. “Clever,” he said. “I never would’ve thought of this.”

  “Get the keys,” Fargo commanded. “Try to run—”

  “I know, I know,” Clyde said. He staggered to the peg and brought the ring over. The first key he inserted didn’t work.

  “Quit stalling.”

  “I can’t hardly think,” Clyde complained. “It’s a wonder you didn’t kill me.”

  “The night’s not over yet.”


  Clyde looked at him in new fear. “Hold on, now. I’m doing what you want, ain’t I?”

  “Get the goddamn door open.”

  Working faster, Clyde succeeded. “There.” He pulled the door open, and groaned. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “Inside,” Fargo said. Not content to wait, he took hold of the scruff of Clyde’s neck and pushed him.

  Clyde stumbled and fell to one knee. Easing onto the bunk, he cradled his head and said through his fingers, “There’s nowhere you can run that the marshal won’t find you. He’ll have circulars made and send them all over Texas.”

  “Who said anything about running?” Fargo closed the cell door and went to the front window. Moving the shade, he peered out.

  The street was as empty as a cemetery.

  Fargo made sure the front door was bolted, then moved toward the back.

  “Hold on,” Deputy Clyde said. “What in God’s name are you fixing to do?”

  “Raise hell,” Fargo said.

  11

  It was easy to tell which key to use on the padlock on the barracks door; it was bigger than all the rest. Fargo dropped the padlock to the dirt and picked up the lamp he had set down while he opened it.

  Inside was dark as pitch. As the light spread, it revealed the sleeping forms of the prisoners. It was a hot night and many hadn’t bothered pulling their single blanket up. They were a haggard bunch. The hard labor and bad food had taken a toll.

  Fargo stepped to a lantern on a peg and set to lighting it.

  Some of the men stirred. They mumbled, blinked, shifted. Chains rattled and clanked.

  One man squinted and raised a hand in front of his eyes to protect them from the glare. “What’s goin’ on?” he croaked.

  Another sat up and looked about in confusion. “It can’t be morning yet.”

  Fargo raised both the lamp and the lantern over his head. The light reached clear to the partition that separated the men from the women. “Wake up. All of you. You’re getting out of here.”

  More of them woke, some mumbling and grumbling.

  “Somethin’ is goin’ on!” the first man hollered. “They’re up to somethin’ new.”

  Fargo waited for them to rouse. Dawn wasn’t for three hours or so, more than enough time for what he had in mind. “Keep it down,” he cautioned. “You don’t want to make a ruckus that will bring the marshal.”