Outlaw Trackdown (13 page)

31

Fargo had often heard men say that if they lived to be a hundred, they'd never understand women. In his case it was two hundred. Just when he thought he had a woman figured out, she nearly always proved him wrong.

An old prospector once told him that “Females are the most fickle critters in all creation. They're as contrary and stubborn as my mule. Why the Almighty saw fit to make 'em as a help-meet for Adam, I'll never know. They're not helpers. They're nags. Maybe it's that rib business. The Good Lord should have made Eve from Adam's nose or big toe instead.”

“Let me get this straight,” Fargo said. “You
want
me to make love to you?”

“That's why you've taken me, isn't it? And yes, so I can get back to Luther that much sooner.”

“You won't feel just a little bit guilty?”

“Why should I? You're doing the ravishing, not me. It'll be like in that book I read where the fair damsel was abducted by a dashing highwayman.”

“Books again.”

“I don't see what you have against them. They're wonderful for the imagination. Why, the first time I set eyes on you, I imagined all sorts of naughty things.”

“Yet you say you're in love with Coltraine?”

“What does love have to do with romantic notions? Being ravished is romantic but it's not love.”

Fargo had no reply to that.

“So when do we start? The ravishing, I mean?”

“I'll think about it,” Fargo said.

“What's to think about? We do it and you take me back. That's what Gentleman Dick Durpin would do.”

“Who?”

“That dashing highwayman I just told you about. He was polite as anything and always took the ladies right home.”

“You do know that books aren't real life?”

“Please. I'm not stupid. But there's no reason we can't make real life like what we read, is there?”

“I need a drink.”

“You're a peculiar man. Here we are, the two of us on the same saddle, as intimate as can be, and all you can think of is liquor?”

“A lot of it would help right about now.”

“I'll never understand an attitude like that. Whiskey is no substitute for wanton behavior.”

Fargo had to admit she had him there. Fortunately, she lapsed into silence, giving him time to think. He was still thinking when a dark line of vegetation loomed out of the night. Threading into the trees, he soon came to the ribbon of a creek and drew rein. “Hop off.”

“Ladies don't hop. They slide with dignity and grace.”

“Then slide your dignified ass off.”

Amanda harrumphed and put on a show of daintily turning and easing to the ground as if she were setting foot on a velvet carpet. “See?”

Fargo hooked a leg over the saddle horn and sat there with his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hands. “You need to be set straight on a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Proper ladies don't bed the town marshal.”

“Oh, I'm sure ladies bed people all the time. They're just discreet about it. That's why they're ladies.”

Fargo tried a different angle. “What you have isn't true love. Another word for it is sex.”

“You're suggesting that all Luther really cares about is my body? Oh, please. He's told me he loves me a hundred times or more.”

“He would if he wants sex.”

“Will you listen to yourself? Haven't you ever been in love? Really and truly in love with someone?”

“Yes,” Fargo admitted. “I have.”

“Then you know. I'm in love with Luther. I don't care about our age differences. I'll always love him, and can't wait for him to ask me to marry him.”

“When is that going to happen?”

Amanda frowned. “Well, you see, he can't because of my folks. They'd be dead set against it. My father might have him fired. All sorts of awful things would happen.” She brightened slightly. “So for the time being we sneak around behind their backs. But I'll be honest. I'm tired of the sneaking.” She looked down at the gurgling water and said in a little-girl voice, “I'm hungry and thirsty, too.”

Fargo dismounted. He opened a saddlebag and took out a bundle of jerky and offered it to her.

“This is the best you can do?” Amanda said as she took a piece.

“In the morning I'll shoot a buck and serve you venison with all the trimmings.”

“You will not. You're poking fun again.” She took a bite and chewed with about as much enthusiasm as if she were eating mud. “I never have liked dried and salted meat. It tastes like leather.”

“It'll fill your belly.” Fargo motioned at the creek. “And that will slake your thirst.”

“Drink out of there?”

“It's water.”

“But there are all sorts of nauseating things in it. Fish and salamanders and bugs and other stuff.”

“It won't make you sick.”

“You can't be sure. Fish do their functions in it, for God's sake.”

“Functions? Is that a word you picked up with all that reading you do?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine,” Fargo said. “Go thirsty.” Hunkering, he dipped a hand in and cupped some water and loudly sipped.

“You're doing that to get my goat,” Amanda said.

Fargo dipped and sipped again and let out a contented, “Ahhhh.”

“You're mean, too.”

“I'll spread out my bedroll and you can get some sleep,” Fargo offered, rising. “I'm taking you back in the morning.” Or close enough to town that she could walk in while he watched to make sure she got there safely.

“What about the ravishing?”

“There's not going to be any.” Fargo stepped to the Ovaro and went to undo one of the ties to his bedroll.

“You don't want to have your way with me?” Amanda asked, sounding disappointed.

“You're in love, remember? It wouldn't be right.” Fargo undid the second tie and squatted.

“That's not the real reason, is it?” Amanda said. “Admit it. You don't find me attractive.”

“I find you damned silly,” Fargo said.

“Well, I never. First you abduct me and now you insult me. Hoby Cotton treated me better than you do and he's an outlaw.”

“Did you want him to ravish you too?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Amanda said. “It wouldn't be proper. Hoby Cotton is Luther's son.”

32

Fargo could have been floored with a feather. “The hell you say.”

“As God is my witness. Why would I make it up? Didn't you wonder why Hoby wouldn't let his gang touch me when they took me from the bank?”

Fargo had wondered but he'd never imagined anything like this. “Back up a bit. If Hoby is Coltraine's son, why don't they have the same last name?”

“Hoby took his ma's name. I don't know all the particulars but she never told Hoby that his real pa wasn't Sam Cotton the whole time he was growing up. It wasn't until a couple of years ago that she finally broke down and did, on her deathbed.”

“Son of a bitch,” Fargo said.

Amanda had more to impart. “I guess it came as a shock. By the time he was fourteen, Hoby had set his course on the wrong side of the law. He robbed. He killed. And then to hear that his father was the famous Luther Coltraine.”

“His brothers are Coltraine's too?”

“Oh, no. Semple's and Granger's pa is Sam Cotton.” Amanda lowered her voice as if confiding a great secret. “Their mother was married to Sam when she and Luther, well, you know. That's why she never told Hoby. She was ashamed.”

“This was down in Texas?”

“Sure. Luther was born and raised there. It's where he made his reputation. But he decided to leave and come here.”

To Fargo it made no sense that a man would leave where he was widely respected for a backwater town in the middle of nowhere. “Why Horse Creek, of all places?”

“When my father and the town council decided they needed a lawman, they put an ad in some newspapers. One was a Texas paper. Luther read it and applied, and who could say no to a great man like him?” Amanda smiled dreamily. “It was fate's way of bringing us together.”

To Fargo it still made no sense but he went on to something else. “Did Hoby show up at the same time Coltraine did or later?”

Amanda knit her brow. “About six months or so after, I think. Luther never let on, though, that Hoby was his son. I found out by accident one night when I snuck to the jail to see him and there they were together.”

“And the Cotton Gang has been terrorizing the territory ever since.”

“What's your point?” Amanda asked. “Luther can't control Hoby any more than my parents can control me. He told me that he wishes Hoby would go back to Texas or anywhere but here but Hoby won't.”

“He's doing it to spite his pa?”

“You'd have to ask him,” Amanda said. “I did, but Hoby refused to say. I told him flat out he was being unfair to Luther by causing so much trouble and Hoby laughed and said he was doing what was best for everyone.”

“What did he mean?”

“How would I know? You saw how Hoby is. Everything is a game to him. He does as he pleases and hang the consequences.” Amanda stifled a yawn. “Goodness, I'm tired. I really should turn in.”

Fargo finished spreading the blankets and stepped back. “They're all yours.”

In the distance a coyote yipped and Amanda gazed fearfully into the dark. “I never have liked the wilds. Especially at night. Who knows what's out there waiting to pounce.”

“I'll keep watch,” Fargo said.

“Keep a good one.” Amanda lowered onto her side with her hand for a pillow and closed her eyes. “This has been a week I'll never forget. First Hoby spirits me away and now you. Luther must be worried sick. He'll scour the countryside until he finds me.”

“Get some rest.”

Amanda nodded, and not two minutes later her deep, regular breathing told him she had succumbed to her fatigue.

Fargo wished that he could. Shucking the Henry, he moved closer to the trees, and sat.

The night was peaceful. No roars or screams shattered the serenity. It made staying awake that much harder.

Fargo tried his best. When his eyelids grew leaden he tossed his head and swung his arms and once he got up and went to the creek and splashed water on his face. It helped for a while but eventually all that he had been through the past couple of days caught up to him. He dozed off, sitting up.

The piercing squawk of a jay woke him when the eastern sky was just starting to brighten with the promise of the new day. He sat up and shook himself and tried to spur his sluggish mind into working.

“Have a good sleep?”

Fargo looked up, and froze. For once again his sharp senses had failed him. Concealing his surprise, he said, “Morning.”

Hoby Cotton's boy-man face split in a huge grin. He was sitting cross-legged, flanked on either side by Semple and Granger with their six-shooters drawn and cocked.

Behind them stood Timbre Wilson. He had acquired another revolver somewhere, and his hand was on it. “Say the word and I'll gun him.”

“Don't start with that again,” Hoby said. “You'll kill him when I say you can and not before.” He made a teepee of his fingers and bestowed another smile on Fargo. “You must be wonderin' how we found you.”

“Lucky hunch?”

“I do have more than my share. But no, Timbre followed you out of town. He stayed well back so you wouldn't spot him, and then came to fetch me when you and her settled down for the night.”

“Tricky cuss,” Fargo said to Timbre.

“Wasn't much to it,” Wilson replied. “I stopped and listened a lot. Almost lost you when you turned north.”

“Hoby,” Semple said. “His guns.”

“I'm gettin' to that,” Hoby said, and flicked a finger at the Henry and the Colt. “Shed yourself of them if you don't mind and even if you do.”

Fargo was mad at himself. This made twice they'd gotten the drop on him. He slid the Henry to one side and eased the Colt out and set it down beside the rifle. “What's in store for me this time? More bear bait?”

Hoby chuckled. “I learn from my mistakes. This time will be different.” He flicked the same finger at Granger. “There. His claws have been pulled. Happy now, Semple?”

“You take too many chances,” Semple said.

“I like livin' dangerous,” Hoby replied. To Fargo he said, “We're not alike, my brothers and me.”

“Must come from having different fathers.”

Hoby lost his smile and glared at the sleeping form of Amanda Brenner. “Someone has been flappin' her mouth when she shouldn't, sounds like.”

“So I know. So what?” Fargo said.

“So you shouldn't.” Hoby got up and walked around him and over to Amanda. None too gently he poked her with his toe. She moved her arm but otherwise didn't rouse. “I could be a redskin about to lift her hair and she'd just lie there. If females aren't plumb worthless I don't know what is.” He hiked his leg as if to stomp on her head.

“I hear you were close to your ma,” Fargo said quickly.

Hoby slowly lowered his boot. “Is that what she told you? The stupid cow. My ma and me were never that close.”

“You must have been a hellion.”

“Weren't that,” Hoby said. “I was a reminder of somethin' she'd done, and she hated me for it.”

“That when she slept with Luther Coltraine she was married to Sam Cotton?” Fargo said.

Hoby darkened with barely contained fury. “The little bitch told you that, too?” He paused. “She just ruined any hope you had that I might change my mind about killin' you. Make no mistake. This is your last day on God's green earth.”

33

It was then that the sound of the voices finally brought Amanda around. Blinking and rubbing herself, she sat up and looked about her in confusion. “What's going on?”

“This,” Hoby said, and whirling, he slapped her across the face.

The blow knocked Amanda down and jolted her awake. “Hoby!” she cried. “Why'd you do that? I thought we were friends.”

“You thought wrong,” Hoby growled, and raised his hand to strike her again.

“Before you get into it,” Semple said, “we should tie them.”

“Fine,” Hoby snapped. “But only him.”

“Why not her?”

“Because I said so.”

Once again Fargo had to submit to having his wrists bound. This time they didn't bother with his legs. As Granger stepped back, Fargo tried to divert Hoby from Amanda Brenner by saying, “I'm curious. Why did you come all this way from Texas? To follow Coltraine?”

“He
is
my pa,” Hoby said.

“Who didn't have much to do with you when you were a boy, from what I hear.”

“He didn't know my ma got pregnant,” Hoby said. “She never sent him word she'd had a kid. The first he heard of it was when I showed up on his doorstep.”

Semple broke in with, “You should have left it be, Hoby. So what if Ma had an affair? So what if Coltraine was your real pa?”

A troubled expression came over the boy-man. “I had to meet him. I had to find out what he was like.”

“What did it matter?” Semple asked.

“It mattered to me,” Hoby said. “How was it he was so straight arrow and I was ridin' the owlhoot trail? It seemed to me we were nothin' alike yet he was supposed to have sired me.”

“I would have left it be, is all,” Semple insisted.

Hoby looked at Fargo. “You can see how it was, can't you? It ate at me, not knowin'. Sam Cotton wasn't much. A clerk and a nobody. But Luther Coltraine. Everybody in Texas knew about him. One of the best lawmen alive. Everyone said so. And I was the fruit of his loins.”

Amanda chose that moment to say, “He was glad you looked him up. He's told me so.”

“What do you know?” Hoby replied.

“I know I love him. I know that one day I'll be his wife.”

“Oh, will you?” Hoby said. “And what, be my new ma, to boot?” He laughed uproariously yet with an edge. “You are so stupid, it's pitiful.”

“Why are you being so mean to me?”

“Because you're a cow. Because he's doin' it again and you're so dumb you don't see it.”

“Who's doing what?”

Hoby took a half step toward her and balled a fist. “Who are we talkin' about, girl? The great Luther Coltraine. The tin star who can do no wrong. Who all the folks look up to because he's so good and pure.” Hoby gazed to the south as if he could see all the way to Texas. “But they don't know the real him. The womanizin' bastard who trifles with females right and left. Who diddled my ma. Who's poked more fillies than you can count. To him you're nothin' but a notch on his pecker.”

“You're pulling that out of your hat,” Amanda said, shocked.

“What for? To hurt your feelin's? I don't give a damn about you. The only reason I took you from the bank was to get to know you. To find out what you were like, and how he got up your skirts. He did it the same as he always does. He impresses females with how famous he is, then beds them.”

“His love for me is special,” Amanda said. “He's said so plenty of times.”

“And you believe him.”

Amanda appeared close to tears. “It can't be true. It just can't. Maybe your ma lied. Maybe she never really slept with him but told you she did so you might change your ways.”

“She was dyin' of consumption,” Hoby said. “She was close to meetin' her Maker and said she wanted to come clean with me. Don't you dare insult her again or I'll shoot you where you sit.”

“Speakin' of which,” Timbre Wilson said. “How much more jabber will there be before we get to it?”

“Shut your piehole,” Hoby said. “This is important to me.”

A wave of insight washed over Fargo. Here was this boy who'd strayed off the straight and narrow, who'd become a killer by fifteen, who'd learned that his natural father was one of the most upstanding men alive, who went to meet the paragon and found out that Luther Coltraine wasn't the monument to virtue everyone praised him for being. Who discovered that the one man he thought might be someone he could look up to, was, in fact, as human as everybody else. No wonder the boy was so bitter.

Hoby drew his Colt and pointed it at Amanda.

Recoiling, she thrust out a hand. “What are you doing?”

“Savin' you from him,” Hoby said. “Sparin' you the misery he gave my ma all those years.”

“But I don't need saving,” Amanda exclaimed. “I like being with him and he likes being with me.”

“Oh? Does he do it out in the open where everyone can see? Or does he have you skulkin' around in the dead of night so he can make love to you?”

“Please,” Amanda said. “Lower the gun. I don't want to die.”

“I'm doin' you a favor.”

“And Coltraine, too,” Fargo said.

Hoby glanced over. “How is it any favor to him?”

“No one will ever know,” Fargo said. “You'll have killed the only proof you have that he's no account.”

“There's other proof,” Hoby said, but he let the Colt fall to his side and stared hard at Amanda Brenner. “The scout has a point, though. If folks found out about you, they'd be more likely to believe the rest of it.”

“I'm not about to tell anyone,” Amanda said.

“You will if you want to go on breathin'. Or, better yet”—Hoby leveled his Colt at Fargo—“if you want him to.”