Outlaw Trackdown (11 page)

26

It was night when Fargo reached Horse Creek.

He'd washed his wounds in the creek and had a cup of coffee before heading out but neither helped much. He hurt like hell. His arms and legs were stiff, his side throbbed from being stabbed, and his wrists were welters of pain.

The town lay deceptively quiet under sparkling stars. Voices and laughter came from the saloon but most of the businesses were dark. Most folks were home at that hour, resting with their families.

Fargo drew rein at the marshal's office. The glowing window told him someone was there. He marched in and over to the desk and demanded, “Where's the marshal?”

Deputy Wilkins had his boots propped up and was dozing. He gave a start, jerked up, and blurted, “You!”

“I asked you a question.”

“The marshal?” Wilkins said in confusion, and then, “Where have you been? You look terrible.”

“The marshal,” Fargo said again.

“He's over to the Brenner place. They invited him to supper. Their way of thankin' him for savin' their girl.”

“You don't say.” Fargo wheeled and strode out.

The Brenner house was lit bright and piano music tinkled on the air. He did them the courtesy of knocking and had the satisfaction of seeing the shock on Amanda's face when she opened the door.

“You!”

“That seems to be popular tonight.”

“What does?” Amanda said, and shook her head. “What are you talking about? More to the point, what are you doing here?”

“You're not going to invite me in?”

“After your horrible accusation?” Amanda said. “Over my dead body.”

A shadow moved along the hall wall and banker Brenner appeared behind her. “Who is it, Amanda?” Brenner saw Fargo and smiled. “Why, it's the scout. The man who helped the marshal save you.” He put his hand on Amanda's shoulder. “Why are you standing there blocking him? Move aside so he can come in.”

“He was rude to me, Father,” Amanda said harshly.

“Why? What did he say?” Brenner asked.

“I told her I thought she was sweet on Hoby Cotton,” Fargo said.

Brenner laughed uproariously. “Oh, that's a good joke, my dear. After what that terrible boy put you through. Now move, I say, and let our guest in.”

Her eyes twin daggers, Amanda scowled and gave way.

“I'm obliged, ma'am,” Fargo said in mock civility.

“Drop dead.”

“Amanda!” Brenner said. “I won't have that kind of talk in my house. Be polite or you can go to your room.”

“I think I'll go there anyway,” Amanda said, and walked off with her back as stiff as an ironing board.

“You must forgive her,” Brenner said. “She has her mother's temper. She can't take a joke for the life of her. Now do come in and join us in the parlor. We were just sitting down to have some brandy. Would you like some?”

“If you don't have whiskey.”

Marshal Coltraine was in a chair and rose in surprise. “Where have you been? I was lookin' for you earlier.”

“I was picking wildflowers,” Fargo said.

Mrs. Brenner rose from the settee and came over and warmly clasped his hand. She was like her husband and on the plump side from too much soft living. She had a nice smile and was one of those women everyone would find likable. “Why, you must be Mr. Fargo, the one I've heard so much about. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I'd like to thank you personally for the part you played in saving my pride and joy.” She looked past him. “Where is she, by the way? I thought she answered the door.”

“She's having another tiff, my dear,” Brenner said. “Apparently Mr. Fargo teased her about Hoby Cotton being smitten by her charms so she went off in a huff.”

“That girl,” Mrs. Brenner said. “You must excuse her, Mr. Fargo. She's sensitive where Hoby Cotton is concerned. I trust you can understand after what she went through.”

They offered Fargo a chair. He winced as he sat and was grateful for the glass of Monongahela the banker brought. Downing it at a gulp, he held it out and said, “I'd be obliged for seconds.”

“Oh my,” the banker said, and laughed. “Rough day, was it?”

“You have no idea.”

Mrs. Brenner had reclaimed her seat and smoothed her dress. “We were just discussing the Cotton Gang when you knocked, Mr. Fargo. The marshal, here, is of the opinion they have left these parts and we have nothing to fear from them for a while.”

“The marshal is wrong.”

“You know that for a fact?” Brenner asked.

“I do,” Fargo said, and told them about Rufus and the bear. He spared Mrs. Brenner the gorier details, but when he was done she was still aghast and Brenner was pale.

“My word. The horror you've been through,” Mrs. Brenner said. “I don't know if I could have stood it. A grizzly, you say? Why, the mere sight of them gives me the shivers.”

Coltraine had been strangely quiet but now he said, “Serves you right for goin' after them alone. You should have asked me to go with you.”

“Why, Marshal, that was rather cold,” Mrs. Brenner said.

“Everyone knows how vicious the Cotton Gang can be,” Coltraine said. “He'd already tangled with them once and should have known better.”

“I know better now,” Fargo said. “I know I'm going to find out who they're working with here in town.”

“What's that you say?” Brenner said.

“Someone has been feeding them information,” Fargo said. He didn't say that he thought it was the banker's daughter.

“Why, that's vile, if it's true,” Brenner said. “Anyone who would do that should be took out and hung.”

“Now, now,” Mrs. Brenner scolded. “Don't be perverse.”

“There's nothing perverse about justice, my dear,” Brenner said. “And after how they stormed into my bank and killed poor Ed the teller and then struck me and stole all the deposits—” He stopped and then finished bitterly with, “I'm sorry, but every last one of them deserves to die.”

“If I arrest them, they have the right to a fair trial like anyone else,” Marshal Coltraine said. “It could be they'll get death by hangin' or it could be life behind bars.”

“They don't deserve prison,” Brenner insisted.

“You're forgetting we must always turn the other cheek,” Mrs. Brenner said. “It's not for us to judge.”

“There are limits to how much we must stand for. Give people like these Cottons free rein and where would we be?” her husband argued.

“I'm just saying we should be polite about it.”

Brenner changed the subject. “What are your plans, Mr. Fargo? I'd imagine you must be eager to quit the town if not the whole territory.”

“No,” Fargo said.

“You're stickin' around?” Marshal Coltraine said.

“I'm not going anywhere until this is settled.”

“How do you mean by settled?” Mrs. Brenner asked.

“Until the Cottons and Timbre Wilson are breathing dirt.”

Coltraine frowned. “That's called taking the law into your own hands.”

“It sure as hell is,” Fargo said.

27

Marshal Coltraine glared and Brenner coughed and quickly said, “Enough about that. Let's talk about something else. Why exactly did you stop by, Mr. Fargo?”

“To see the marshal here,” Fargo said.

“And to flaunt the law?” Coltraine said.

“To tell you that Hoby Cotton has taken a personal interest in you. His very words.”

Coltraine sat up. “What?”

“He said that one of the reasons he robbed the bank was to embarrass you. That teller died to make you a laughingstock.”

“My word,” Mrs. Brenner said.

“Why does he hate the marshal so much?” the banker wondered.

“Let's ask the marshal,” Fargo said.

“How the hell would I know?” Coltraine snapped, and caught himself. “Sorry, ma'am,” he said to Mrs. Brenner. “But the scout, here, seems determined to get my dander up tonight. After all I've done for him, too.”

“I must have missed that part,” Fargo said.

“I let you out of jail, didn't I? I went with you to the sodbuster's. You ask me, I've bent over backward on your account.”

“Please, don't spat,” Mrs. Brenner said. “I'm sure Mr. Fargo doesn't mean you any ill will. Do you, Mr. Fargo?”

“It's Hoby Cotton I'm after,” Fargo said. “And those who ride with him.”

“I can't permit that,” Coltraine said.

“You can't stop it.”

“You're not the law. I am. I won't allow you to run around causin' trouble. In fact, I've just now decided you have until mornin' to leave Horse Creek and never come back. If I catch you here after sunrise, I'll throw you behind bars.”

“On what charge?”

“Obstructin' a law officer and anything else I can think of,” Coltraine said. He suddenly stood. “I won't be treated with disrespect. Not in my own town. Not in front of friends.” He bowed slightly to Mrs. Brenner and nodded at the banker. “If you'll excuse me, I'm afraid I can't stay.”

“Marshal, wait,” Mrs. Brenner said.

But the lawman was already in the hallway. He didn't look back and in a few seconds they heard the door slam.

Mrs. Brenner wagged a finger at Fargo. “That wasn't nice. You made him terribly mad.”

“How very peculiar,” the banker said. “If you ask me, the marshal overreacted.”

Fargo thought so, too. He stood and touched his hat brim. “I'd best go. Thanks for the drinks.”

He half thought that Coltraine might be waiting for him but the yard and the street were empty. He started down the gravel path to the gate in the picket fence and stopped when he heard whispering. It came from around the side of the house.

Gliding over, he peered around.

A second-floor window was open and out of it leaned Amanda Brenner. She was the one whispering to Marshal Luther Coltraine, who stood to one side of a downstairs window so he couldn't be seen from inside.

Fargo couldn't quite hear what she was saying. The lawman responded and he caught the words “Hoby” and “last thing I need.” He hoped to hear more and went to edge forward but Amanda whispered something and the marshal nodded and turned toward the front of the house.

Fargo moved to the steps to give the impression he was just leaving.

Coltraine sauntered around the corner, and stopped. “I have half a mind to pistol-whip you.”

“You can try,” Fargo said.

“I took you for a friend. I was wrong.”

“I took you for worth a damn,” Fargo said.

Coltraine came over and planted himself. “I meant it about bein' gone by daybreak. Don't make me come after you.”

“Do what you have to,” Fargo said.

“I won't abide troublemakers,” Coltraine said curtly, and stalked off. He went down the street and was soon lost in the darkness.

Fargo stepped to the side of the house and along it until he was under Amanda's window. Groping the ground, he found a few pebbles. The first he threw missed the window and hit the house but the second and third clacked on the glass.

The window opened and Amanda poked her head out. “Did you forget something—?” she began, and stopped in amazement.

“Remember me?” Fargo said.

“What the hell do you want?”

“My, oh my,” Fargo taunted her. “Such language from the little lady.”

“I'll yell for my parents if you don't go away.”

“What were you talking to the marshal about?”

“None of your damn business. And if you claim I was to my folks, I'll deny it.” Amanda pulled back and gripped the sash as if to slam it down. “Don't bother me again.”

“How's Hoby?”

Amanda hesitated. “You don't know when you're well off. You should forget about him and leave Horse Creek while you still can.”

“I'm not done here.”

“What do you hope to prove? What has he ever done to you that you're persecuting him so?”

“Besides stabbing me and hanging me out for a bear to eat?”

“He did what?”

“Anything you want me to say to him when I find him? Give him your undying love maybe?”

“You think you know but you don't.”

“No?” Fargo said. “How about if you give him a message for me. Tell him I'm not going anywhere until he's six feet under.”

“You're despicable.”

“I'll be keeping my eye on you, girl.”

Amanda leaned out. “Why me?”

“Sooner or later you'll lead me to Hoby or he'll come see you. When he does . . .” Fargo grinned and pointed a finger and let down his thumb as if shooting a gun.

“It could be you they bury. I hope it is so you'll leave me alone.” She drew back and brought the window down so hard, it was a wonder the glass didn't shatter.

Chuckling, Fargo walked out to the street. Down the block a townsman was carrying a bundle into a home. Otherwise, it was deserted. He strolled along, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt. He happened to glance at a dwelling he was passing. Beyond it, on the next side street, a furtive figure in a dress was hastening toward Main.

The figure was too far off to tell much but Fargo was sure it was Amanda Brenner. She must have snuck out the back of her parents' house and was on her way—where?

Fargo turned and cut through the yard. He reached the other street in time to see Amanda go around the corner. He quickened his pace. He mustn't lose her. With any luck she'd lead him to Hoby Cotton and he could end this.

If the boy didn't put an end to him first.

28

Fargo had to hand it to her. Amanda Brenner was good at hugging the shadows and melting into doorways whenever anyone came anywhere near her. She slowed as she came abreast of the saloon and moved with extra caution until she was past it.

Another block and she reached her destination.

The marshal's office? To say Fargo was puzzled was putting it mildly. He saw her peek in the front window, rap on the glass, then turn and dart around to the side and on to the rear.

Fargo had stayed half a block back. Now he closed the gap, paused long enough to be sure the space between the marshal's office and the butcher's was empty, and went down it. A tapping sound warned him to be careful.

Amanda was at the back door to the jail, her arms folded, impatiently tapping her foot on the steps. The door opened, flooding her with light, and she lowered her arms and said, “About time.”

Marshal Coltraine had his hat off and a newspaper in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

Fargo ducked back as Coltraine started to lean out and look both ways.

“You shouldn't be sneakin' around at this time of night,” the lawman said. “What if your folks find you missin'?”

“It's important, damn it,” Amanda said.

“Don't use that kind of language,” Coltraine said. “You know I don't like it when a lady cusses.”

“I'm no lady and you know it.”

“Miss Brenner, please.”

“Cut it out, Luther. No one is around. Don't be so formal.”

Fargo deemed it safe to peek out again. Coltraine was staring at the girl as if he couldn't make up his mind what to do about her.

“You know the rules,” the lawman said.

“Your rules, not mine,” Amanda said. “Are you going to let me in or not? And if not, you can go to hell and take your badge with you.”

“Don't talk like that,” Coltraine said. “You know how it is.”

“Oh, I know, all right,” Amanda said harshly. “Perish forbid that the great Luther Coltraine should turn out to be as ordinary as everyone else.”

“Now you're insultin' me. What's so important, anyhow, that it couldn't wait until mornin'?”

“Not two minutes after you left, I heard stones hit my window and looked out thinking it was you but it was that scout.”

“Fargo?”

Amanda nodded. “He asked me was I sweet on Hoby and made it plain he's out to do Hoby in.”

“Damn him, anyhow.” Coltraine took her by the arm. “You'd better come in and we'll hash this over.”

“Gladly.”

Fargo waited about a minute after the door closed to go over and try the latch. It barely scraped and the hinges didn't creak. He pushed the door open just enough to peer in.

Marshal Coltraine and Amanda Brenner were kissing.

As Fargo watched, Amanda melted into Coltraine and he wrapped his arms around her and cupped her bottom and pulled her hard against him. She let out a tiny moan.

Backing away, Fargo returned to Main Street. He went around to the Ovaro at the hitch rail and coughed and took his time climbing on so that Coltraine would look out and see him leaving town.

He rode east, mulling this latest development.

How could he have been so wrong? he asked himself. He was sure that Amanda and Hoby Cotton were fond of each other. But Amanda and the marshal? Coltraine had to be twice her age. He recollected her saying that she liked older men. And why would a straitlaced lawman like Coltraine risk his job and his reputation by diddling the daughter of the town's leading citizen?

Just when Fargo thought he had it figured out, the situation became more confusing than ever.

One thing he did know. He wasn't slinking off with his tail tucked between his legs. He would see this through, come what may.

To that end, once he was clear of town, he circled and approached from the south. By way of side streets and alleys, he reached the empty lot near the Brenner house without being seen. Climbing down, he led the Ovaro into the stand of oaks and settled down for the night. He was tired and sore and hurting, and he fell asleep almost as soon as he curled on the ground. Some folks found sleeping on the ground hard to do but not him. He'd done it so many times, it seemed more natural than a bed.

He couldn't say how long he had been out when something roused him. A sense of movement. It wasn't enough to wake him entirely and he had almost drifted under again when he was poked in the shoulder and an all-too-familiar voice growled his name.

“Wake up, mister. We have unfinished business.”

Fargo opened his eyes. Just out of his reach stood a dark figure holding not one but two revolvers. He stabbed a hand to his holster and found it empty.

“Lookin' for this?” Timbre Wilson said, and wagged Fargo's Colt. “I snatched it while you were sleepin'.”

Fargo lay still and tried to collect his wits.

“Hoby sent me in to keep an eye on that damn nuisance of a girl,” Timbre said. “Can't tell you how surprised I was to see you come ridin' up.” He laughed. “Wishes do come true. I've been hopin' to run into you again.”

“Tell me something,” Fargo said. “Are Hoby Cotton and the Brenner girl fond of each other?”

“What a stupid thing to ask,” Timbre said. “By fond do you mean is he stickin' his tongue down her throat?”

Fargo grunted.

“You're a jackass. You don't know the kid like I do. He wouldn't try to poke her in a million years.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not here to talk about him,” Timbre said. “I'm here to do what I should have done out on the prairie but Hoby wouldn't let me. What happened to Abe, by the way? When he never showed up, we figured you had somehow gotten free and done him in.”

“He's done in, all right,” Fargo said. Secretly he was moving his left hand under him to prop his arm for the lunge he was about to make.

“Hoby and his damn games. When someone needs killin' you kill them. You don't tie them to trees and smear them with honey.”

Fargo didn't say anything.

“He's always doin' stuff like that. One time he staked a fella out near some red ants and put butter on him so the ants would think the fella was a picnic.”

Fargo was calculating. If he moved fast enough, if he threw himself at Wilson's legs and could upend him before Wilson got off a shot, he might turn the tables.

“You're not sayin' much,” Timbre said. He trained both revolvers on Fargo's head. “No last words before I put windows in your skull?”