Missouri Manhunt Page 9

  As if he had been waiting for that very moment, a rider appeared off across the valley, trotting toward them.

  “Speak of the devil!” Mattox declared. “Here he comes now. I can’t wait. You know how much he likes surprises.”

  Plainly uneasy, Yoas shifted his weight from one leg to the next. “He will not be mad, not when it is her.”

  The rider came steadily on. He raised an arm and waved, seemed to stiffen, then lowered his arm and brought his mount to a gallop.

  “Mad Dog has seen we have visitors,” DePue said.

  No one said anything after that. Judging by fidgeting and the tension on their faces, the three outlaws were worried. Mattox, whose fingers were as thick as railroad spikes and who looked strong enough to bend iron bars; the short breed Yoas, who had already demonstrated how deadly he was; and the arrogant Cajun—all three were secretly scared of the man coming toward them, so scared they could not help betraying their fear.

  Fargo did not know what he expected. A name like Mad Dog Terrell brought to mind the notion of a brutish monster, a man with the beastlike traits his name implied.

  But names did not always match those they described. Fargo once knew a man named Shorty who was almost seven feet tall. A friend jokingly called the man that one day and the nickname stuck. There was a tavern keeper everyone called Bull who was as mild as a kitten. His nickname stemmed from the day he accidentally stepped in some bull droppings when he was growing up on the family farm. And there was a Crow Indian known as Four Ears who did not have any. The Blackfeet got hold of him one day and chopped them off. He escaped, taking his ears with him, and ever after carried them around in a pouch.

  Fargo thought of them as the rider came to a stop. Mad Dog Terrell was nothing like his name suggested he would be.

  For starters, Mad Dog wore a tailored suit that was the height of fashion in places like St. Louis and New Orleans. His black boots were polished, his black hat fairly new. His shirt, his pants, were spotlessly clean. His black leather holster was decorated with silver studs, his nickel-plated Colt had a pearl handle. As for brutish features, nothing could be further from the truth. Terrell was clean shaven, his face the kind that stopped women in their tracks. Fargo was often called handsome but Terrell was more so, just about the handsomest man Fargo ever saw. Everything about Terrell was flawless.

  Except his eyes.

  Mad Dog Terrell’s were a rare shade of slate gray. They were not normal in another respect, as well: they had a piercing intensity about them. The only thing he could compare them to were the eyes of some crazed animal. The crazed eyes of a rabid dog, for instance. Terrell’s eyes never changed, never became calm or ordinary. It was unnerving to gaze into those twin windows into the dark side of a twisted soul.

  “Well, well, well.” Mad Dog’s voice was low and deep. “What have we here?”

  “It is not my fault,” Mattox declared.

  “We have guests,” DePue said with a suave smile. “The charming Mademoiselle Jentry has shown up out of the blue.”

  “I have eyes,” Mad Dog said, and smiled at her. But his smile did not touch those strange eyes of his. “How do you do, Bobbie Joe? It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  “I am fine, Bruce. I hope you will forgive me for bein’ here.”

  Fargo gave a mild start. No one, not even Deputy Gavin, knew Mad Dog Terrell’s first name. But she did.

  “Of course, my dear,” Mad Dog told her. “But your presence raises questions.” Those intense eyes fixed on Fargo. “So does yours, stranger. Since you undoubtedly know who I am, suppose you show you have manners and tell me who you are.”

  Fargo did.

  “He is part of a posse out of Springfield,” Bobbie Joe elaborated. “The scout the deputy brought along to track you.”

  “You don’t say,” Mad Dog said. “And you considerately brought him here so he can go back and bring the rest?”

  “It is not like that. You know me better. I am on your side. I want to help you.”

  “How did you find our little sanctuary, by the way?” Mad Dog asked.

  Yoas had been fidgeting as if ants were running amok under his clothes. Now he took a step toward Terrell and said in a strained voice, “She followed me, senor. I did as you wanted and left the note. I thought they were all sitting around a fire, talking it over, when I left.”

  “You never checked your back trail?”

  “As God is my witness,” Yoas said. “I am always cautious.” He stopped and a look of shame came over him. “But I did not see them. They were too clever for me.”

  “My dear Jose,” Mad Dog said. “You need not feel guilty. If that man had been trailing me, I would not have noticed, either.”

  “You never miss anything,” Yoas said.

  Mad Dog flashed even white teeth in a dazzling smile. “High praise, for which I thank you. But you must be unaware of who he is. Don’t any of you know?”

  Their blank expressions were answer enough. Mad Dog sighed and sadly shook his head. “I expect better of men who ride with me. I will overlook most any fault, but never stupidity.” He pointed at Fargo. “You heard him mention his name. Don’t you ever read newspapers? Or listen to saloon gossip? Mr. Fargo, gentlemen, is more than a common scout. They speak of him in the same breath as Kit Carson and Jim Bridger. He was in that shooting contest in Springfield a while back.”

  “The one with all the famous people?” Mattox asked.

  “Yes, you thick-skulled lummox,” Mad Dog confirmed. “He is dangerous, gentlemen. Very dangerous. So can any of you tell me why the only one holding a gun on him is Bobbie Joe?”

  Just like that, DePue and Yoas and Mattox produced their revolvers and trained them on Fargo.

  “Better, much better,” Mad Dog said. Dismounting, he came over and held out his hand for Bobbie Joe to take. “Permit me to help you down.”

  “You sure spoil a girl,” Bobbie Joe grinned, and giggled as he lowered her. “Such a gracious gentleman.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Mad Dog said suavely. Still smiling, he slapped her across the face, slapped her so hard that she stumbled back against the dun and would have fallen had she not clutched the saddle.

  “What was that for?” Bobbie Joe asked, more shocked than hurt.

  “You called me by my first name,” Mad Dog replied.

  “You know how I hate that.” His smile faded as he turned toward Fargo and placed his hand on his pearl-handled Colt. “Now then. What are we to do with you?” He snapped the fingers of his other hand. “I know. I will be as gracious as Bobbie Joe claims, and leave it up to you.” He paused. “How do you want to die?”

  12

  Mad Dog Terrell threw back his handsome head and laughed.

  Fargo had never heard a laugh quite like it. Part bray, part screech, part snarl, and overall, tinged with a hint of something vile and vicious that lurked just below the surface. It was a laugh that would frighten children and raise gooseflesh on anyone scared of things that went bump in the night.

  Bobbie Joe Jentry had regained her balance after being slapped, and now she took a step back, a hand rising to her throat. “Dear God. That is the first time I have ever heard you do that.”

  “So?” Mad Dog said, as if the sounds that issued from his throat were perfectly ordinary.

  “Forget it,” Bobbie Joe said, then, “Don’t ever hit me again, do you hear? No one puts a hand on me.”

  “Is that so?” Mad Dog seemed about to hit her again but instead faced Fargo. “One thing at a time, my dear. What do you think? Should I have him staked out and skinned?”

  “No,” Bobbie Joe said.

  “Tie him to a stake and burn him alive?”

  “Not that, either.”

  “You sure are fussy about how people are killed,” Mad Dog remarked.

  “I don’t want him harmed,” Bobbie Joe said. “That isn’t why I got the drop on him and brought him to you.”

  Mad Dog scratched his handsome chin. “Why d
id you, exactly? I am unclear on your motive.”

  “To give you and your friends time to get away. The posse won’t get here for hours yet. By then you can be far away and safe.”

  “You want me to tuck tail and run?” Mad Dog made clucking sounds. “Surely you know me better than that?”

  “Damn it, it is the smart thing to do,” Bobbie Joe persisted. “Kill them and another, bigger, posse will be sent. The sheriff with fifty men instead of the deputy with three.”

  Mad Dog looked at his companions. “Did you hear her, boys? She wants us to run from a tin star and three peckerwoods. What do you say?”

  Yoas answered first. “Do you even need to ask?”

  “I say we kill them all,” Mattox growled.

  “I agree,” DePue said. “If we run from so few, men will say we are yellow. We can not have that.”

  “Oh, God.” Bobbie Joe looked from one to the other in horror. “I thought you would listen to reason.”

  “Me?” Mad Dog said, and uttered that unnatural laugh of his. “Our night together did not teach you much, did it?”

  A pink tinge crept from Bobbie Joe’s neck to her hairline.

  Mad Dog gestured at Fargo, and switching moods in the blink of an eye, snapped, “Why isn’t he tied? Must I do everything myself?”

  With Yoas and DePue covering him, Fargo had no choice but to submit as Mattox bound his wrists in front of him. Mattox then clamped a hand on Fargo’s shoulder, digging his nails in, and propelled Fargo toward the cabin door. Just when Fargo thought he would be slammed against it, Mattox stopped, opened it for him, and practically hurled him inside.

  Fargo stumbled but did not fall. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. To his amazement, the interior was nicely furnished. He would never have guessed, from the burlap on the window. There was an oak table and four chairs and a rug on the floor. In the corner stood a stove and along one wall ran a counter with neatly stacked cooking utensils. On another wall hung, of all things, a painting of a young woman in a flowing dress. A door opened into another room. Through it Fargo could see beds. Not cots, not blankets spread on the floor, but honest-to-God beds.

  “Like it?” Mad Dog asked. “We only stop here on our way in and out of the mountains. A relay station, you might say.”

  Mattox pushed Fargo into a chair so hard, the chair nearly tipped over. Fargo took the treatment calmly, which seemed to anger Mattox. “Nothing to say, mister?”

  “Do you have any whiskey?”

  Mattox blinked. “We are fixing to do you in and all you want is a drink? And people say I am dumb!”

  Mad Dog sank into a chair across the table. “If our guest wants a drink, get him a drink.” He patted the table. “Bobbie Joe, why don’t you sit here next to me so we can get reacquainted?”

  Yoas went to sit but Mad Dog kicked the chair out from under him. “What do you think you are doing? You led them here. You will mount up and backtrack and make damn sure the posse isn’t close behind. One surprise a day is my limit.”

  As meekly as a lamb, and with a parting glare at Bobbie Joe and Fargo, the swarthy killer stalked out.

  DePue had hung back near the door. “What do you want me to do? Go with Yoas?”

  “No. I want you to saddle the horses and get the pack animals ready. We might need to fan the breeze in a hurry.”

  Fargo waited until the door closed to ask, “Where is the girl you took from the stage? She’d better be alive.”

  “Lucy?” Mad Dog said, his eyebrows arching. “What is she to you?”

  “I’ve met her,” Fargo revealed. “We had supper together.”

  “Small world, isn’t it?” Mad Dog said, and chuckled. “I took her riding this morning. We had a marvelous time.”

  “You left her out there?” To Fargo that boded ill. He imagined her battered and broken, lying in a pool of blood.

  “I advise you to talk about something else,” Mad Dog said.

  “In that case”—Fargo bobbed his chin at Bobbie Joe Jentry—“how does she fit in?”

  “I can answer for myself,” Bobbie Joe said.

  Mad Dog grinned. “Why don’t you, my dear? Tell him everything. He must be burning with curiosity.”

  Bobbie Joe stared at the table. “I already told him some of it. How you and me met that time my kin and me were camped out by Devil’s Lake.”

  “You should have seen her,” Mad Dog said to Fargo. “Standing in the lake with the water up to her knees, and holding a rod in one hand and a string of fish in the other. Who could ignore so ravishing a vision?”

  “Don’t poke fun,” Bobbie Joe said.

  “Her sisters and cousins are trolls compared to her,” Mad Dog said. “She took my breath away.” He covered her hand with his. “The feeling was mutual. She told me I was the prettiest man she ever saw.”

  Mattox laughed. Fargo expected Terrell to say something but he didn’t.

  “I didn’t say you were pretty,” Bobbie Joe said. “I called you the handsomest man I ever saw.”

  “And you couldn’t believe I was interested in you,” Mad Dog teased. He winked at Fargo. “You never saw anyone so shy in your life. She did not have much experience with men.”

  “Don’t,” Bobbie Joe said.

  “Too late, my dear,” Mad Dog responded. Then, to Fargo, “By the end of the night she was hopelessly in love with me. When we parted, I vowed to return for her one day and take her for my wife.”

  Bobbie Joe clasped his hand in both of hers. “You promised. We pledged our love for as long as we draw breath.”

  “Yes, well,” Mad Dog said, and coughed. “A man will promise most anything to get up a woman’s petticoats. Or, in your case, in her britches.”

  Bobbie Joe jerked back as if he had slapped her again. “What are you sayin’?”

  “Only that while it was sweet of you to be so worried about my welfare that you betrayed the posse you are part of, you should not take it for granted that our vows that night are binding.”

  Fargo almost felt sorry for her. The dawning truth, the hurt, stunned her. She seemed to shrivel in her chair.

  “Please, no.”

  “Oh, come now,” Mad Dog chided. “Be adult about this. We had a nice night together. That is all.”

  “But we—” Bobbie Joe began, and did not finish.

  “Yes, we did,” Mad Dog said, chortling. “And I must say you were delightful. What you lacked in experience you more than made up for with enthusiasm.”

  “Damn you.”

  “Let’s not start that. No one forced you to lie with me. You came to me of your own free will and shared your body because you wanted to.”

  Tears moistened Bobbie Joe’s eyes. “You said you loved me. You said that you would give up your outlaw ways one day and we would live together as man and wife.”

  “You can’t be so naive as to think I meant it?” Mad Dog responded. “Good God. Tie myself to one woman? The notion is preposterous.”

  A tear trickled from a corner of Bobbie Joe’s eye.

  Mad Dog Terrell did the last thing a man should do when a woman professes her love; he laughed. “You did! You truly did! Oh, how marvelous. I am flattered, my dear. But honestly. You need to grow up. You need to see things as they are and not as you fancy them to be.”

  Bobbie Joe coughed and had to try twice to speak. “And how are they between us, exactly? Since you don’t love me, do you like me? Even a little bit? Or not at all?”

  “There is no such thing as love. Men say they care for a woman to have their way with them, and when they have had their way, they go on to another woman and lie to her so she will part her legs.”

  “That is all I ever was to you?”

  “How could you expect to be anything else?” Mad Dog glibly replied. “As best I can recall, we met in the middle of a hot summer’s afternoon, and by two in the morning I had your britches down. Does that sound like true love or lust?”

  “But I thought—That is, you wer
e—” Bobbie Joe stuttered. With a visible effort she gained control of her emotions. “So you do not love me and every word you told me was a lie and I was a fool to come here to warn you. Is that how it is?”

  “Not everything was a lie,” Mad Dog corrected her. “When I said you had a fine body, I meant it.”

  “God,” Bobbie Joe said softly.

  “There is no Almighty, either, so don’t bring religion into this. We shared a night together and now I am done with you.” Mad Dog grinned, and put his hand on hers. “Unless you want to spend another night together.”

  Bobbie Joe shook from head to toe, then yanked her hand away. “What did I ever see in you?”

  “What every woman sees. The best-looking man alive,” Mad Dog boasted.

  “You are a pig.”

  “No insults, remember?” Mad Dog said. “Be adult about this.”

  “Adult?” Bobbie Joe exploded. “Is that what you call it? You lie, you steal a girl’s virtue, and then you have the gall to say I am actin’ childish?”

  “You are,” Mad Dog said coldly. “As for your virtue, if I truly was the first, it will be something to brag about. I rarely get to poke a virgin.”

  Bobbie Joe came out of her chair as if hurled out of it. Her right hand was a streak. She raked her nails across Terrell’s face, across his cheek from his brow to his chin, leaving bloody furrows when she drew her hand back to do it again.

  “Grab her!” Mad Dog snarled, and seized her wrist.

  Bobbie Joe’s other hand flew to the hilt of her knife but by then Mattox was behind her chair. His huge hands closed on her like twin vises, pinning her arms to her sides. She struggled but she was completely helpless in the giant’s grip.

  While all this had been going on, Fargo had been busy. He had lowered his hands under the table and hiked his leg so he could reach his Arkansas toothpick, nestled snug in its ankle sheath. Then, reversing his grip, he had cut at the rope, careful to move his fingers but not his arms. The double-edged toothpick was razor sharp, but the rope was thick and it took some doing. He had it halfway through when Mattox seized Bobbie Joe.