Texas Timber War Page 9

  For one thing, he didn’t have any real answers. He didn’t know who the one-eyed man was, or why the hombre had been following him.

  Or had the man been following him? Fargo suddenly asked himself. The bastard hadn’t hesitated to start shooting, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other to him whether Fargo lived or died.

  If that was true, then maybe the one-eyed man had actually been spying on someone else, and Fargo just happened to have been there.

  He pulled the curtain closed and then turned to Isabel, who stood near the bed. ‘‘Do you know a tall man with dark hair and an eye patch?’’ he asked her.

  ‘‘Is . . . is that who was out there?’’

  ‘‘That’s right,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘I first spotted him last night, and I thought then that he was on my trail, even though I’d never seen him before. He was at Skinner’s tonight and I figured the same thing. But now I’m wondering if he was actually following you.’’

  His voice was blunt and uncompromising. He wanted answers. Being shot at always made him mighty curious.

  But he wasn’t prepared for the gasp of dismay that came from Isabel. As if her knees had suddenly gone weak, she clutched one of the bedposts and sat down on the mattress. ‘‘Oh, no,’’ she said in a hushed, miserable voice. ‘‘Dear Lord, no. It can’t be.’’

  Fargo reached into the pocket of his buckskin trousers, found a lucifer, and snapped it into life with his thumbnail. He set the gun down, lifted the lamp chimney, then held the match to the wick. It caught, and as Fargo lowered the chimney, a yellow glow filled the room and showed him just how scared and distraught Isabel looked.

  ‘‘What is it?’’ he asked. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’

  She looked up at him with terrified eyes. Choking the words out, she said, ‘‘That man . . . that man must work for my husband. Oh, God, Skye, he’s found me . . . and now he’s going to kill me!’’

  ‘‘His name is Gideon Cutler,’’ Isabel said a few minutes later as she sat on the edge of the bed. She had a dressing gown wrapped around her now and clutched a glass of water that Fargo had poured for her from the pitcher on the table. ‘‘I met him when I was nineteen. He was rich and powerful and handsome, and he . . . he swept me off my feet. That’s the only way to put it.’’

  Fargo had pulled on his buckskins and his boots. He buckled his gun belt around his hips as he said, ‘‘So you married him.’’

  Isabel nodded. ‘‘Yes. I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.’’

  Fargo thought the whole thing sounded like something out of a melodramatic novel, but he didn’t say that. Anyway, real life was often stranger and more melodramatic than anything in fiction, he mused.

  ‘‘I didn’t know what he was really like, though,’’ Isabel continued. ‘‘I thought that since he came from one of the finest families in New Orleans, surely he would be a gentleman.’’

  ‘‘Having money and good breeding never kept anybody from being an evil son of a bitch if that’s the way they’re bent,’’ Fargo pointed out.

  ‘‘Yes, I know that now,’’ Isabel said with a sigh. ‘‘But I was young and innocent then.’’

  ‘‘I reckon the marriage turned out worse than you thought it would.’’

  Another shudder went through her. She took a sip of the water and then said, ‘‘Gideon was a devil. He asked me to do things . . . terrible things . . . not just with him, but with his friends, too. They were just as bad as he was.’’ She looked up at Fargo. ‘‘I didn’t come from a wealthy family, Skye. My father was a merchant. He had to have a loan to keep his store going when business was bad. Gideon’s father owned the bank.’’ A sad smile touched her lips as she shook her head. ‘‘Gideon married me, but at heart he thought I was just a whore. So that’s the way he treated me. He even told me that he owned me and that if I ever tried to leave him, he would kill me. I tried to make the best of it . . . until I couldn’t stand it anymore and I . . . ran away.’’

  ‘‘That’s how you wound up on the Bayou Princess,’’ Fargo guessed.

  Isabel nodded. ‘‘It didn’t happen right away. I left New Orleans. I had a little money I had . . . stolen . . . from Gideon.’’ A bleak smile touched her lips. ‘‘I’d say that I earned it, but that makes me sound even more like a whore, doesn’t it?’’

  Fargo’s voice was gentle as he said, ‘‘Just go on with the story.’’

  ‘‘Out on my own like that, I . . . I had to have some way to get along, and I didn’t want to resort to selling myself. Gideon had taught me how to play poker. I found out that I was good at it, and men enjoyed playing with me. Maybe it’s just another form of prostitution—’’

  Fargo shook his head. ‘‘Hardly.’’

  ‘‘Anyway, I wound up in Shreveport, and that’s where I ran into Cap’n Andy. He and my father were old friends. I’ve known him ever since I was a little girl. When he found out what had happened, he wanted to go down to New Orleans and give Gideon a sound thrashing.’’ Her smile held genuine warmth this time. ‘‘That’s the way he put it, and he would have tried to do it, too, if I hadn’t talked him out of it. I said if he would just let me travel with him on the Bayou Princess, that would be enough. I really didn’t think Gideon would go to the trouble of hunting me down like this, especially so far away from New Orleans.’’

  ‘‘It’s not really that far,’’ Fargo pointed out. ‘‘Just a few days by riverboat. And you said you took some money from him. Some fellas get mighty touchy about things like that.’’

  Isabel shook her head. ‘‘It’s not the money, although I’m sure that made him even angrier. It’s the way I defied him. He can’t stand that.’’

  ‘‘We don’t know that hombre with the eye patch is working for him.’’

  ‘‘You thought he was following you, but wasn’t I with you every time you saw him?’’

  Fargo nodded. ‘‘That’s true enough.’’

  ‘‘And he shot at you, so obviously he didn’t care whether you lived or died.’’

  ‘‘The same thought crossed my mind,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘Everything you’re saying makes sense, Isabel.’’

  A little shudder ran through her. ‘‘Plus, I can feel it in my bones. That man has probably already sent word to Gideon that I’m here, and he’s stayed in Jefferson to keep an eye on me. Gideon may already be on his way.’’

  ‘‘Nobody’s going to hurt you,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘I’m going to see to that.’’

  She set the glass of water aside, stood up, and put her arms around him. Fargo hugged her in return as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

  ‘‘That makes me feel better, Skye,’’ she said, ‘‘but you can’t stay with me for the rest of my life. Sooner or later Gideon will catch up to me sometime when you’re not around. And then . . . and then if I’m lucky he’ll just kill me.’’

  ‘‘And if you’re not lucky?’’ Fargo said.

  ‘‘He’ll make me go back to New Orleans with him, and it’ll start all over again.’’

  Fargo didn’t see any solution short of killing Gideon Cutler, and although some men might have been willing to commit murder for a woman like Isabel, he wasn’t one of them.

  But if Cutler showed up in Jefferson and tried to harm Isabel in any way or force her to go with him, all bets would be off. Fargo wouldn’t hold back in that case.

  ‘‘Maybe we’re both wrong about this,’’ he told her. ‘‘Maybe that gent with the eye patch was just looking to sneak into the hotel and see what he could steal.’’

  ‘‘We both know that’s not true, Skye.’’

  ‘‘Well, I reckon we’ll just have to wait and see what happens. But I can promise you this much, Isabel . . . you won’t go through it alone.’’

  She lifted her head and he kissed her again, but it wasn’t passionate this time so much as it was comforting. It might have turned passionate if it had gone on, but at that moment Fargo heard a rapid knocking of knuckles against a door.
r />   Not Isabel’s door, though. The knocking came from across the hall, where the room he had rented was located. Somebody was looking for him.

  This was a mite awkward. Fargo let go of Isabel and went to the door, held a finger to his lips to indicate she should be quiet, and opened the door a crack. Through the narrow gap he saw Lawrence Kiley standing in the hallway. Even though Fargo couldn’t see Kiley’s face, he got the feeling that the man was agitated about something.

  As Kiley lifted his hand to knock again, Fargo opened the door of Isabel’s room, stepped out into the hall, and said, ‘‘Looking for me?’’

  Kiley jumped a little at the sound of Fargo’s voice, then turned and said, ‘‘There you are.’’ He looked past Fargo at the door of Isabel’s room and frowned.

  ‘‘Somebody tried to break into Miss Sterling’s room,’’ Fargo explained. ‘‘It was during that shooting a while ago, so I figure one of the hombres involved was trying to make his getaway by ducking into her room. He didn’t get in, but the whole thing scared her anyway.’’

  ‘‘I should think so,’’ Kiley said, apparently accepting the story, which had some elements of truth in it. Isabel had stepped into the doorway behind Fargo, with the dressing gown securely belted around her waist and the collar pulled up around her neck. ‘‘Are you all right, my dear?’’

  She managed to smile and nod. ‘‘I’m fine, thanks to Mr. Fargo. He heard me cry out when that awful man tried to open my window and came right across the hall to see what was wrong.’’

  ‘‘I’d tell you that you should report this incident to the sheriff . . .’’ Kiley grimaced in disgust. ‘‘But Higgins is the most useless excuse for a lawman that I’ve ever seen. You’d be wasting your time.’’

  ‘‘That’s what I thought,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘There was no harm done, other than Miss Sterling getting a mite spooked.’’

  ‘‘And I’ll get over that,’’ Isabel said.

  Fargo asked Kiley, ‘‘Why were you looking for me?’’

  Kiley sighed. ‘‘I have more bad news. Those men of mine who were bushwhacked by Dirkson this afternoon . . . ?’’

  Fargo nodded. Even if Kiley hadn’t said that the news wasn’t good, he would have had a bad feeling about this.

  ‘‘They weren’t at Dr. Fearn’s,’’ Kiley went on. ‘‘I couldn’t find them anywhere. But a few minutes ago a man came into town driving a wagon with their bodies in the back of it. He’d found them on the trail outside of town. All three of them were dead.’’ Kiley’s voice caught a little as he added, ‘‘Shot in the back.’’

  ‘‘Where are they now?’’ Fargo asked. He felt a little hollow inside. Although he had saved the men from one ambush, death had caught up to them anyway.

  No, he amended to himself. Murder had caught up to them.

  ‘‘The fellow who found them was taking them to the undertaker’s. He had already reported what happened to the sheriff. Word got around quickly, spread by people who saw him coming into town with the bodies. I heard about it just a few minutes ago.’’

  ‘‘The man who found them, is he trustworthy?’’

  Kiley nodded. ‘‘He’s an old fur trapper who’s been around these parts for years, I gather. He has no connection to Baxter as far as I know. I think he probably found the men on the trail, just as he said.’’

  Fargo nodded. ‘‘Let’s go take a look.’’ He turned back to Isabel for a moment. ‘‘You’ll be all right now, Miss Sterling?’’

  ‘‘I’ll be fine,’’ she assured him, although Fargo saw worry still lurking in her eyes. As long as the threat of Gideon Cutler loomed over her, that worry wasn’t going to go away.

  But Fargo had a responsibility to Kiley, too, and it tied in with Isabel through Captain Russell, who had fallen victim to the river pirates working for Jonas Baxter. If Fargo could do something to end this war between Baxter and Kiley, then he could deal with the threat posed by Cutler without that added distraction.

  His hat was still in Isabel’s room, so he didn’t bother to retrieve it before leaving the hotel with Kiley. Doing so would have weakened his story about going across the hall to Isabel’s room because she was frightened. Fargo had the feeling that Isabel’s reputation was important to her, so he would do what he could to protect it.

  A crowd had gathered in front of the undertaking parlor by the time Fargo and Kiley got there. They shouldered their way through the press of curious townspeople and reached the door of the building, only to find it blocked by a tall, scrawny young man with a prominent Adam’s apple and a deputy’s badge pinned to his vest.

  ‘‘Sheriff says can’t nobody go in, Mr. Kiley,’’ the deputy said.

  ‘‘Stand aside,’’ Kiley grated. ‘‘Those men worked for me. I have a right to see them.’’

  The deputy looked nervous. He didn’t want to go against the sheriff’s orders, but the grim-faced Fargo and Kiley were pretty intimidating.

  He was saved from having to make a decision when the door opened behind him and Sheriff Higgins started out of the building, only to stop short when he saw Fargo and Kiley standing there.

  ‘‘You two again,’’ Higgins grunted, clearly not pleased to see them.

  ‘‘Some of my men are in there,’’ Kiley said, nodding toward the door. ‘‘I want to see them.’’

  Higgins thought about it for a second, then shrugged. ‘‘Come on in. I was gonna have to talk to you about this anyway, I reckon.’’

  The three men went inside. Higgins led them through a parlor and a couple of viewing rooms to the big room in the back where the undertaker did his work. The undertaker, who was short and fat, with a shock of white hair and a surprisingly jolly smile, said, ‘‘Back already, Sheriff?’’ He nodded a greeting to Kiley and Fargo.

  ‘‘Mr. Kiley wants to have a look at the bodies,’’ Higgins explained.

  The three dead men lay on tables with sheets pulled over them. The undertaker nodded and went to each table in turn, drawing the sheets down so that the faces of the corpses were exposed.

  Even though Fargo had seen them only briefly earlier in the day, and under hectic circumstances at that, he recognized all three of the men from the ambush. Kiley confirmed their identities by saying, ‘‘Yes, that’s them. The men I sent out to scout the timber on a new lease. I guess that makes it my fault they’re dead.’’

  ‘‘The fault lies with the bastards who pulled the trigger on them,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘You didn’t have anything to do with it.’’ He turned to the undertaker. ‘‘All three of them were shot in the back?’’

  ‘‘That’s right,’’ the man said, never losing his smile. ‘‘One shot apiece. Probably happened pretty fast, before they even knew what was going on.’’

  Fargo thought that was likely, too. He suspected that Dirkson and a couple of the other bushwhackers had followed the men after Fargo disrupted the original ambush. They had caught up to the unlucky timber scouts before the men could get back to Jefferson.

  Killing the men had been even more imperative after the original ambush failed, Fargo realized. Dirkson and the other killers didn’t know what the three men would be able to testify to. It was possible the men would be able to identify them in court, assuming things ever got that far.

  So now he was the only one who could tie Dirkson to the ambush, Fargo realized as he looked at the dead men.

  If he hadn’t had a target on his back before, he sure as hell had one painted on there now.

  10

  Higgins smirked as he said, ‘‘Looks like you don’t have any proof that Mr. Baxter’s men ambushed your boys after all, Kiley.’’

  ‘‘I saw Dirkson and the others,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘I can identify them.’’

  Higgins shrugged. ‘‘It still comes down to just your word, Fargo. I’ve already talked to Dirkson. Two dozen men will swear that he was working with one of Mr. Baxter’s crews all day, cutting timber.’’

  ‘‘Of course they’ll swear to that, you idiot!’’ Ki
ley burst out. ‘‘They work for Baxter, too.’’

  A dark flush crept over the sheriff’s face as he said, ‘‘I’ve taken all the abuse I’m gonna take from you, mister. One more word and I’ll throw you in jail for disturbing the peace.’’

  Kiley looked like he was ready to do more than say one more word. He looked like he was ready to take a punch at the lawman. Fargo put a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘‘Come on. There’s no point in staying here.’’

  Getting arrested wouldn’t do any good. He left that thought unsaid, but Kiley seemed to get it anyway. Kiley gave a curt nod and turned away from the bodies.

  ‘‘Take care of them,’’ he said without turning around. ‘‘I want them laid to rest properly. I’ll pay for it.’’

  ‘‘Of course, Mr. Kiley,’’ the undertaker said.

  Fargo and Kiley walked out of the place. The crowd in the street was beginning to break up. Curiosity would distract people from their normal pursuits for only so long before it wore off.

  ‘‘If this wasn’t a war before, it is now,’’ Kiley said in a low voice that shook slightly with anger.

  ‘‘As long as Higgins is in Baxter’s pocket, it’s a war you won’t win,’’ Fargo pointed out. ‘‘You’d be better off lying low for a while. Tell your men to avoid Baxter’s crews. In fact, they should stay as far away from where Baxter is cutting timber as possible.’’

  ‘‘That’s hard to do when so many of our leases lie right next to each other. And sometimes my men have to go through one of Baxter’s leases to get to the one where they’re working. Besides,’’ Kiley added in disgust, ‘‘avoiding trouble seems too much like giving up.’’

  ‘‘Going out of your way to find trouble isn’t going to help anything,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘There’s a U.S. marshal in Shreveport. I can be back here with him in a few days, and then Higgins will have to do something.’’

  ‘‘How are you going to get to Shreveport and back in a few days?’’ Kiley wanted to know.

  ‘‘On the Bayou Princess.’’