Nevada Nemesis Read online

Some of the emigrants were asleep in the open, some under their wagons, still others inside. Loud snores drowned out whatever sounds the outlaws and the renegades made. Weapons at the ready, they waited until a budding golden glow gave them ample light to see by.

  Peter Sloane was the first to be taken. He was sprawled on his back beside his wagon, a jug upended beside him, his mouth open wide enough for a prairie dog to crawl in, his snores loud enough to be heard in St. Louis. Dixon, Thorn, and Swink surrounded him, and while Thorn kept him covered, Dix clamped a hand over his mouth and jerked him up so that Swink could bind his hands behind his back. It was accomplished in seconds, Sloane so befuddled he offered no resistance. Nor did he think to cry out as Swink was applying a gag.

  Sloane’s wife and children stirred, and suddenly the Paiutes played their part. Snatching the mother and her offspring, the warriors hauled them to the porch where they were swiftly bound and gagged.

  “Pretty slick, huh?” Shorty said. “We have it down pat.”

  Quietly, methodically, with almost military precision, the rest of the emigrants were taken captive. The men were too hung over to lift a finger to defend themselves or their loved ones until it was too late. One of the women threw back her head to shout but Lame Bear was on her in a heartbeat, his bronzed hand over the lower half of her face.

  Only the Yagers and the Jurgensens had slept in their wagons. The sun was up when Sarah climbed from the rear of hers, a bucket in her hand, and was promptly seized. Mandy heard her mother’s stifled outcry and poked her head out, right into a Paiute’s waiting arms.

  The outlaws didn’t wait for the Jurgensens to wake up. Dix knocked on the side, saying, “Rise and shine in there!”

  “What’s that?” Jurgensen sleepily leaned out to see who it was, and was grabbed and wrestled to the ground. Awake in an instant, he struggled, shouting, “Martha! My gun! I need my gun!”

  A rifle jutted from the wagon. Mrs. Jurgensen, unaware of how many she was up against, pointed it at Swink, saying, “Release my husband or suffer the consequences!”

  Lame Bear motioned at a tall warrior. In a lithe bound the Paiute was on the wagon seat. Another bound, and he was in among the family. Their two children screamed, and then the warrior hauled Mrs. Jurgensen from the wagon. In the blink of an eye she was subdued.

  “And that’s the last of them,” Shorty said, nudging Fargo onto the porch where the emigrants were now trussed up like calves for the slaughter. Their ankles had been bound as well as their wrists, and each one silenced by a gag.

  Sarah and Mandy were near the rocking chair, Mandy fearfully huddled against her mother. Cathy was by herself, sitting straight and tall. Of Jared there was no sign.

  Dixon and the others gathered by the steps. Lame Bear and his renegades squatted well back, their arms across their knees, as inscrutable as statues.

  “What now?” Fargo asked Shorty. “Do you line us up and execute us or give us to the Paiutes?”

  “You think you have it all figured out, but you don’t,” Shorty said.

  The front door opened and out stepped Granny, her big Walker Colt in her hands. “What have we here?” she demanded, and grinned. “Well done, Dixon. I couldn’t be more proud of you boys if I tried.”

  “Thank you, Grandma,” Dix said.

  “Grandma?” Fargo repeated.

  Granny Barnes sat in her rocking chair and placed the Walker Colt in her lap. “You don’t see the resemblance? About the eyes and the chin? His full name is Dixon Barnes. He’s the oldest of the brood. Preston, Shorty, Zeke, Caleb, they’re all my grandsons. Not Mr. Swink, though. His last name is Gattes. I pay him to use his silver tongue to lure the wagon trains here.”

  The sheer diabolical deviltry of her scheme slowly sank in. Fargo wanted to beat his head against the porch post for not realizing the truth sooner.

  “Don’t forget Raskum,” Shorty said bitterly.

  “Ah, yes.” Granny clucked like a biddy hen. “He never could listen, never do exactly as I told him, and now he’s maggot bait.”

  Shorty jabbed Fargo. “Thanks to this gob of spit. I say we pour dirt down his throat until he chokes to death.”

  Granny’s eyes acquired a steely cast. “Since when do you give the orders around here, grandson?”

  “It was just an idea.”

  “When I want a suggestion from you I’ll ask for one,” Granny said curtly. To Fargo she said, “What do you think of our flytrap, Mr. Flint?”

  “How long have you been doing this?” Fargo asked so she wouldn’t suspect how much he knew.

  “This makes the fifth wagon train in two years. I always wait until the night before they plan to pull out and let them have all the free whiskey they can drink. It makes the job a lot easier.”

  Fargo nodded at the trading post. “All this just so you can steal people blind?”

  “Just so we can steal folks blind, yes.”

  “There is no Barnes Trail?”

  “Never was, never will be.”

  “All the trade goods inside are from the other wagon trains?”

  “You catch on quick,” Granny complimented him. “Their money and jewelry and whatnot are in the root cellar. Another two or three wagon trains and we’ll have enough to live in grand style wherever we want.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Fargo wondered.

  “You impress me, Mr. Flint. Mr. Raskum always fancied himself fast with a pistol but you’re faster or you wouldn’t be here. How would you like to replace him?”

  Shorty forgot himself and took a step. “You can’t be serious, Grandma! He’s the one who killed Raskum.”

  “What better proof that he’s the better man?” Granny asked.

  “Raskum and me were friends,” Shorty objected. “It doesn’t seem right, us working with the hombre who blew out his wick.”

  Thorn moved onto the porch. “I agree with Shorty, Grandma. This bastard snuck up behind me and damn near stove in my ribs.”

  “But he didn’t kill you,” Granny debated them. “He left you alive to relay a warning. Which shows me he’s smart as well as tough, and we can always use a man who uses his head.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Thorn said.

  Shorty wasn’t done complaining either. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Grandma?” He touched his bandaged shoulder. “This bastard put a slug through me. Your own kin. Maybe you can forget that but I sure as hell can’t.”

  “I’ll thank you to watch your tone, young man,” Granny scolded. “And no, I haven’t forgotten. But the fact he didn’t shoot you dead when he could have tells me he’s not trigger-happy, which was another fault of the late Ira Raskum.”

  Dixon had been studying Fargo since the argument began. Now he commented, “I’ve never doubted you, Grandma. You know that. But I’ve got an uneasy feeling about this one. How can we be sure he won’t turn on us?”

  Granny smiled. “By putting him to a test.”

  “It better be a good one,” Dix said.

  Shifting in her chair, Granny pointed at Mandy. “Take that child ten steps from the porch and leave her there.”

  Fargo’s gut balled into a knot.

  A cry of despair tore from Sarah’s throat as three of the Barnes converged. She reared up and tried to butt Dixon but Zeke and Caleb held her while Dixon picked up a struggling Mandy and carried her the required distance.

  The child lay sobbing in the dirt and looking in mute appeal to her horror-struck mother.

  “Now what?” Shorty asked.

  “Why, it’s simple,” Granny responded. “We cut Flint loose, we give him a gun, and he shoots her.”

  16

  Skye Fargo had guessed what Grandma Barnes had in her devious mind before her own grandsons did. He was beginning to understand just how unbelievably vicious the seemingly sweet and kindly woman truly was. Now, as Thorn and Preston trained rifles on him and Shorty drew a folding knife and cut the rope that bound his wrists, he racked his brain for a way out of the corner
Granny had boxed him in.

  “All you have to do to prove yourself is walk over to that cute little child and blow her sweet young brains out.” Granny wagged the Walker Colt. “You can use my pistol.”

  Tears were streaming down Mandy’s face.

  Sarah was striving fiercely to break free of Zeke and Caleb but they held fast to her arms. The rest of the emigrants could do nothing, not bound as they were and covered by the Barnes clan.

  Granny began unloading the Walker. “In case my grandsons are right about you, Mr. Flint, I’m only leaving one cartridge in the cylinder. That’s all you need to get the job done.”

  “What does shooting a kid prove?” Fargo tried to dissuade her.

  “Where your true sentiments lie,” Granny said. “If you’re cut from the same cloth we are, killing her should be easy as can be. The Paiutes could do it. My grandsons could do it. I could do it. Now prove to us you can.”

  Shorty pushed Fargo toward the rocking chair. “Get moving. And remember. One wrong move and the buzzards will feast on your carcass.”

  Fargo threaded through the sprawled emigrants. All eyes were on him. Some, like Sloane’s, were filled with hate. Some, like Jurgensen’s, were mirrors of worry. Only Sarah and Cathy suspected the truth, and their eyes were pools of sympathy.

  To stall, Fargo asked, “Is this how you’ll dispose of the rest? Shoot them one by one?”

  “Oh please,” Granny said. “Give me more credit than that. Bullet holes are dead giveaways. If the army ever found the remains, they would know foul play was involved. No, I have a much more practical method.” She laughed sadistically. “We’ll do as we did with the pilgrims from the other wagon trains. We’ll take them and their wagons off into the middle of nowhere and leave them to die of thirst and hunger. Everyone will think their own stupidity killed them. That they tried to find a new route to California and never made it.”

  “With their hands tied behind their backs and gags in their mouths?”

  Granny made that clucking sound again. “How stupid do you think I am, Mr. Flint? After they die, my grandsons take the ropes and the gags. There’s no evidence of wrongdoing so no one will ever be the wiser.”

  “And you keep whatever is valuable.”

  “For goods for the trading post. Exactly. The rest of their belongings stay in the wagons.”

  Shorty snickered. “My grandma has it all figured out. She’s smarter than you and me and all these sheep combined.”

  Fargo had to admit their scheme was well planned. “What do you do with the animals? Leave them to die too?”

  “Some,” Granny said. “Some go to Lame Bear. He’s becoming a rich man by Paiute standards thanks to me.”

  A thought struck Fargo as he glanced at the renegades. “You had him steal Mandy on purpose, didn’t you?”

  Granny chuckled and winked at her grandsons. “What did I tell you, boys? This one is mighty clever.” She nodded. “I have Lame Bear steal a child from all the wagon trains and bring the kids to me. That way, when the emigrants show up, they think I’ve done them a big favor. Makes it easy to earn their trust.”

  Peter Sloane angrily sat up and managed to spit out the strip of cloth that had been shoved in his mouth. “You’re a fiend, woman! How can you do this to innocent men, women, and children?”

  “There aren’t any of us innocent, Mr. Sloane,” Granny rebutted. “But to answer your question, I do it because I can. Because I like to. Because it beats having to work for a living.”

  “You would rather practice deceit and murder than live by the honest sweat of your brow?” Sloane railed. “What kind of monster are you?”

  Dixon went to strike him with a rifle butt but Granny shook her head. She was quiet a while, then she said, “I’ll do you the courtesy of answering you honestly, Mr. Sloane.”

  “Why should I believe you when everything else you’ve told us was a bald-faced lie?”

  “Not everything, Mr. Sloane,” Granny said. “But maybe I’m expecting too much. You’ll never understand because you don’t think right.”

  “Me?” The farmer was incredulous.

  “Yes. You. Like a lot of people, you think everyone should think the same way you do. You think they should believe the same things. Do the same things. But that’s not how life is. What seems wrong to you can seem perfectly natural to someone else.”

  Sloane snorted in contempt. “You’re bandying words. Wrong is wrong and right is right and that’s all there is to it.”

  Again Granny was quiet a bit. “Mr. Sloane, when my daughter and her husband died, I was left with eight mouths to feed, counting my own. Jobs for women are scarce. Jobs that pay well enough to feed and clothe a family our size are even scarcer. I had to make do the best I could.”

  “So you embarked on a spree of murder and robbery?”

  “We lived in Indiana at the time. We were wearing rags and short on food. One day a man and his wife stopped at our farm and asked for water. They were on their way west in a covered wagon. I told him he could have all he wanted for fifty cents. Fifty measly cents. But do you know what he did? He cursed me and insulted me. He said he had never heard of anyone charging for water before. He went on and on until I couldn’t take it anymore and I took my squirrel gun from inside the house and shot him dead. Then I had to shoot his wife when she came at me with a carving knife.”

  “How horrible.”

  “How enlightening,” Granny said. “Their wagon was loaded with things we could use. Clothes. Furniture. Food. It gave me a lot to think about. That night I buried the bodies and we loaded up our few effects and off we went. From time to time we killed a few other folks, just to get by. We were at Fort Bridger when I got the idea of setting up my own trading post and came up with the story of the Barnes Trail as bait.”

  “You are scum, woman! You and this whole evil family of yours. You deserve nothing less than to be strung up by the neck.”

  “Some people don’t have the intelligence of a turnip,” Granny said testily. “Shut him up, Dix.”

  Sloane tried to roll aside but Dixon was on him in a twinkling. The rifle descended, there was the sound of wood connecting with flesh and bone, and Sloane slumped to the porch.

  Granny turned. “Now then, Mr. Flint, where were we? Is there anything else you would like to know?”

  Fargo shook his head. He had learned all he needed to, and then some.

  “Then let’s get on with it, shall we?” Granny held the Walker Colt out to him. “Here you go.”

  Just then the trading post door opened and out shuffled Melissa. She was half-awake, her hair tousled, her feet bare. Stifling a yawn, she gazed disinterestedly at the prone forms all around her. “You started without me, Grandma.”

  “What else did you expect, you lazy layabout,” Granny replied. “You sleep more than anyone I know.”

  “Don’t start,” Melissa said.

  Granny was growing impatient. “What are you waiting for, Mr. Flint? If you want to join our enterprise, take this and get it over with.”

  The Walker was twice as heavy as Fargo’s own revolver. The instant he touched it, Shorty, Dix, Thorn, and Preston trained rifles on him. He avoided looking at Sarah as he went down the steps and over to where Mandy was weeping and sniffling. She gazed up at him, at the revolver, but she did not show the least bit of fear.

  “I have ten dollars that says he won’t do it,” Thorn said.

  “I’ll take that bet,” Swink spoke up. “I was there when he killed Raskum. He’s as cold-blooded as they come.”

  Fargo pointed the Walker at Mandy’s forehead and curled his thumb around the hammer. He had made a decision. As every frontiersman learned, the most effective way to kill a snake was to chop off its head. Grandma Barnes was the head of the clan. She was the brains of the bunch. Without her, the rest might take to bickering and fighting amongst themselves. Perhaps even break up. It would cost him his life to kill her but it might bring an end to the murders.

  “Wel
l?” Granny goaded. “What in tarnation are you waiting for, Mr. Flint? The girl to pull the trigger herself?”

  “My name isn’t Flint,” Fargo said.

  “No? Then what is it?”

  “Skye Fargo. I was sent by the army to ferret you out. A patrol will be here tomorrow or the next day to check on this wagon train.” Fargo’s mix of truth and lie produced the result he intended: it shocked them so much, they were a shade slow in reacting when he raised the Walker Colt and fired at Granny’s chest. He had her dead to rights. The slug should have cored her heart and left her pumping her life’s blood out on the porch. But no shot rang out. There was a click, and that was all.

  “Damn you!” Thorn raged, taking a bead.

  “No!” Granny hollered. “Whoever shoots him will answer to me.” Rising, she walked out from under the overhang. “My revolver, if you please, Mr. Fargo.” She accepted it and opened her other palm to show the bullets she had removed. “I took them all.”

  “You didn’t trust me after all,” Fargo said.

  “I trust no one until they prove they deserve it.” Granny started reloading. “But that’s not important right now. What is important is the claim you just made. You’re really Skye Fargo? The one folks say can track an ant over solid rock?”

  Thorn did not wait for Fargo’s answer. “He’s trying to trick us, Grandma. Say the word and his fooling days are over.”

  “Not so fast,” Granny cautioned. “We can’t dismiss him out of hand. The army was bound to investigate the disappearances sooner or later.”

  “So they sent one man instead of a whole company?” Shorty said. “I’m not buying it.”

  “If that one man is the best there is at what he does, it makes sense,” Granny replied. She walked in a slow circle around Fargo, her chin bowed. When she was once again in front of him, she straightened. “Even if he is who he claims, we stick to our original plan. Only now we have one more to kill.”

  “And if the army does come?” from Preston.

  “They’ll find me in my rocking chair, knitting,” Granny said. “The rest of you will lie low until they’re gone.” She turned to Melissa. “Except for you. You’ll charm whoever is in charge into thinking you’re the cat’s meow and keep his mind off why he’s here.”