Ozarks Onslaught Page 3

“You don’t understand. None of us really want to hurt you. Well, except for Sister Argent. But she hates men on general principle. If it were up to her, there wouldn’t be any.”

  “A world of women,” Fargo said, and winked at her through the crack. “I wouldn’t mind being the last man left alive. But not the first to go.”

  “Oh, you’re not the first—” Lavina said, and caught herself.

  “You’ve killed others?” Fargo had regarded the whole affair as little more than misguided silliness, but now it acquired a new, decidedly darker dimension.

  Lavina said hastily, “Not me personally, no, but—” Again she stopped. Again she glanced at the farmhouse. “I can’t. I’m truly sorry but I just can’t.”

  “Put yourself in my boots. You know I’m not from around here. Is it too much to ask that someone tell me what in hell is going on?”

  “I don’t blame you for being angry. I would be too.” Lavina gnawed on her lower lip, then stepped close to the crack. “All right. You deserve that much. You made the mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “It was wrong of me to help Clover?”

  “No, not at all. That was awful decent. I only meant that you’ve blundered smack into the middle of a war that’s been wagin’ for months now, with no sign of it endin’ any time soon.” Lavina did not sound happy about it.

  “Strange I haven’t seen army troops anywhere,” Fargo dryly commented.

  “It’s not that kind of war,” Lavina clarified. “This one is different.” She paused. “This is a war between women and men.”

  Fargo simply stared. It never failed, he thought. Just when he figured he had heard every preposterous notion there was, along came someone with something so idiotic, it defied belief. “You’re serious?”

  “Never more so. Four women have been murdered and more of our blood will be spilled before it ends. Mark my words.”

  “How did it start?”

  Before Lavina could answer, the back door to the house opened and out strode Argent, others in her wake. Lavina promptly turned and leaned on her rifle and pretended to be interested in the sunset.

  “Did my eyes deceive me? Were you just talking to him?” Argent demanded. “After I expressly forbid it?”

  Lavina shook her head. “I would never go against your wishes, you know that, Sister Argent. He wanted food and water, is all.”

  Argent placed her big hands on her broad hips and bobbed her double chin at the chicken coop. “Open the door.”

  The other women spread out. Clover was with them, armed with a rifle like the rest. But she was the only one who didn’t wedge it to her shoulder when Fargo emerged and brushed pieces of straw from his shirt.

  “What now, ladies? Do you still plan to make me do a strangulation jig?” Fargo would go down fighting before he would let them place a rope around his neck.

  “As much as I would like to,” Argent said, “I’ve been persuaded to be lenient. You get to ride out so long as you agree to our conditions.”

  Fargo glanced at Clover but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “What might they be?” He considered wresting a rifle from the nearest woman, but now that they were letting him go, there was no need.

  “You’re to leave and never come back. If we ever spot you in our neck of the woods again, we’ll shoot you on sight. You can take your horse but your rifle and pistol stay with us,” Argent recited.

  “I’m not going anywhere without my guns.” It wasn’t that Fargo couldn’t buy others. It was the principle of the thing.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Argent said, “you don’t have a say. We hold all the high cards. You’ll do as we tell you or learn to breathe dirt.”

  Clover broke in with, “Please, mister, do as she wants. You’re gettin’ off easy. If you were a Jackson you would be buzzard bait by now.”

  Outnumbered and surrounded, Fargo had no choice but to let them usher him around the house to the hitch rail. More women and a number of small girls watched from the front porch. Unwrapping the reins, he placed a boot in the appropriate stirrup and swung up, the saddle creaking as he straightened.

  “Remember,” Argent warned, “don’t let us catch you anywhere in these mountains or you’ll regret it.” She gripped the bridle. “Were it up to me, we would keep your horse, too. But the others are feeling generous after what you did for Sister Clover.” Pointing toward the trail out of the valley, she said, “Fan the breeze. And remember. We’ll have you covered the whole time.”

  Fargo wheeled the Ovaro and jabbed his spurs. He was boiling inside. They were running him off like a whipped cur with its tail between its legs. No one had ever done that to him before and he did not like it one little bit.

  It wasn’t that they were women. Fargo had never been one to think of females as inferior, as a lot of men were prone to do. It was being run off that grated. He had never backed down from anyone or anything in his life, and he would be damned if he would start now.

  He shifted in the saddle. They were staring after him, many with their rifles aimed at his back. Movement in some maples he was passing alerted him to a lookout he had not noticed on the way in, a sandy-haired girl with a squirrel gun. She grinned at him, the squirrel gun fixed on his torso.

  Grazing cattle moved out of his way. A calf frolicked close to the Ovaro but pranced off again. Soon Fargo came to the trail head. He wasn’t at all surprised when he rode around the bend and there were Prudence and Evangeline, waiting. “Ladies,” he said, touching his hat brim. “I can’t say it’s been fun.”

  Prudence motioned with her rifle. “Just keep ridin’, outsider,” she gruffly commanded.

  “We’re just following orders,” Evangeline said. “I’m sorry we had to treat you as we have.”

  “Quit grovelin’,” Prudence snapped. “We don’t owe him an apology. He’s male, ain’t he? That’s reason enough.”

  Fargo rode on around the next bend. Breaking the stallion into a trot, he traveled for a quarter of a mile, then veered into the underbrush. He had gone far enough; he was out of sight and out of earshot.

  The sun had relinquished its fiery reign to the cool of night and a myriad of stars sprinkled the firmament when Fargo climbed down and tied the reins to a sapling. Bending, he removed his spurs and placed them in his saddlebags. Then he turned and cat-footed back the way he came. A sliver of moon rose to the east, providing enough light for him to go faster.

  He heard the two women before he spotted them, seated cross-legged under a tree. They thought him long gone and were at ease, their rifles across their legs. Crouching, he crept through the undergrowth until he was close enough to overhear.

  “—handsome devil, I’ll grant you that,” Prudence was saying. “But we couldn’t let his looks sway us.”

  “A girl could lose herself in those eyes of his,” Evangeline breathed. “And those shoulders! I’ll see him in my dreams from now on.”

  “Hussy,” Prudence said, but she was grinning. “Don’t let Sister Argent catch you talkin’ like that or she’ll have you on kitchen duty for a month.”

  Evangeline shrugged. “Let her. I’m tired of spendin’ hours every day out here waitin’ for an attack that never comes.”

  “It will,” Prudence said. “Bramwell and his father won’t take this lyin’ down. Their authority has been challenged. They’ll by God crush us or die tryin’.”

  “So Sister Argent keeps sayin’,” Evangeline commented. “But between you and me, she’s so smitten with herself, she wouldn’t know the truth if it jumped up and bit her on her big ass.”

  Prudence glanced toward the valley and put a finger to her friend’s lips. “Hush, consarn it. Our relief will be here any minute, and if they were to hear you and report back to her, she might banish you.”

  “I don’t care if she does,” Evangeline said. “I refuse to be scared of her, like some are. She’s a woman, same as us.”

  “But one who can lift you over her head and snap your spine acros
s her knee without half tryin’,” Prudence said. “She’s stronger than most men I know.”

  Fargo wanted to hear more but just then footsteps pattered lightly in the gloom and around the bend came two women, rifles cradled in their arms. The dark hid their faces so he did not recognize Clover until she spoke.

  “Sorry we’re late. Argent was rakin’ me over hot coals.” Clover leaned her rifle against the tree. Burnished metal gleamed in the starlight, and Fargo gave a start. It was his Henry. “You would think I let myself be taken on purpose, the way she carries on.”

  “She hates it when things don’t go how she’d like them to go,” Evangeline said. “Which is why we’ll be stuck in this valley until hell freezes over.”

  Prudence stood. “Quit talkin’ like that. You know how much I miss my husband. I’d as soon this whole mess was over and done with so things can go back to how they were. The sooner, the better.”

  “Maybe things will never be the same,” Evangeline said forlornly. “Maybe we’ve gone too far, what with the killin’s and all.”

  “Are you comin’ with me?” Prudence had started up the trail. “Or are you content to sit out here all night feelin’ sorry for yourself?” The inky veil swallowed her and she was gone.

  “Wait for me!” Evangeline yelped, shooting to her feet. “You know I don’t like walkin’ in the dark alone.” She bounded off, saying over her shoulder, “You girls keep your eyes skinned. We don’t want your throats slit like the others.”

  Fargo was in motion the moment the brunette disappeared. As silently as a wraith, he stalked toward the tree, toward the Henry. It was a stroke of luck, Clover bringing it, and he would make the most of fate’s whim.

  The woman who had accompanied Clover sat in the same spot Prudence had, and leisurely stretched. “What do you say we take turns? Wake me in four hours and I’ll spell you.”

  “We’re not supposed to sleep when we’re standin’ watch,” Clover said.

  “Since when did you become a stickler for followin’ Sister Argent’s orders? Sneakin’ off on your own like that was far worse than catchin’ forty winks.”

  “I had to try to mend fences, Harriet. This war has gone on long enough. I thought Bramwell would listen to reason but he has hardened his heart against us. He took me straight to his pa to be judged.”

  Invisible in the shadows, Fargo was only fifteen feet from the tree. He slowed, placing each boot with deliberate care. Once he got his hands on the Henry, there would be an accounting.

  Harriet placed her rifle beside her legs and laced her fingers behind her head. “You were graspin’ at straws. The men don’t want peace restored. They want to lord it over us like always.” She yawned and her chin dipped to her chest. “Now be a dear and be quiet so I can get some sleep.”

  Fargo abruptly halted and hunkered. Movement had registered off in the woods. Something, or someone, was out there. Grass rustled, and a twig snapped.

  Clover was instantly alert. “Did you hear that?”

  “Will you relax?” Harriet rejoined. “I didn’t hear a thing. It’s your nerves playin’ tricks on you.”

  She could not have been more wrong. Out of the dark rushed four stealthy shapes, and before Clover or Harriet could think to cry out, they were seized and flung bodily to the ground.

  4

  Fargo was about to spring from concealment when a fifth and then a sixth shape materialized on the other side of the trail, their rifles glinting in the moonlight. He stayed where he was. So far he had gone unnoticed and he would like to keep it that way.

  Harriet was resisting with the fierce frenzy of a bobcat, kicking and biting and struggling mightily. But she was no match for the two men on top of her, and her arms and legs were soon pinned.

  Strangely enough, Clover did not lift a finger to defend herself. She gave up as docilely as a week-old kitten.

  Both women were hauled to their feet and half dragged, half carried over to the pair by the trail.

  “Cousin Clover,” Bramwell Jackson said grimly. “As I told you before, there is no escape from us this side of the grave.” Turning, he clamped his hand onto Harriet’s chin. “And you, cousin. How will you justify your betrayal when you’re taken before the judgement seat?”

  “I did what I believed was right,” Harriet answered.

  “You turned on your own kin. Worse, you and all those other misguided females now stand accused of seven counts of foul murder.”

  “Us?” Harriet screeched. “What about the four women that you and yours have sent to their reward?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” Bramwell said.

  “Liar! Is there no end to your wickedness?” Harriet shook her head in disgust. “If anyone is to blame, it’s your high-and-mighty father, not us.”

  Bramwell’s hand was a blur. There was the sharp crack of a powerful slap, and Harriet’s head snapped back. He raised his arm to strike her again but Clover intervened.

  “Enough! Punish us if you think you must, but not like this. Beatin’ us only proves we’ve been right all along.”

  Bramwell still might have struck Harriet again if not for young Samuel, who lowered his rifle and clutched his father’s sleeve.

  “Don’t do it, Pa. She’s right. We have no call to hurt them.”

  “Unhand me, son,” Bramwell said sternly. “They’ve given us all the cause in the world. The problem is, they won’t accept the consequences of their actions.” He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “But I shouldn’t be surprised you would take their side. You’ve always been too soft. I blame your mother. She wouldn’t let me be as strict as I should have when you were a boy.”

  “You were plenty strict,” Sam said.

  “I spared the rod too many times at her insistence. Iron is forged in a furnace, not in a field of flowers.” Bramwell gestured. “This isn’t the time or place to talk about that right now. We have more important matters to attend to.”

  Fargo’s Henry was still propped against the tree. So tantalizingly close, he started to slink toward it but froze again when one of the men turned and gathered up the weapons. The others bound Clover’s and Harriet’s arms behind their backs.

  “What now?” Clover asked. “You’ll never reach the farmhouse. We’re not the only lookouts. Even if you did, Argent and the rest will put up a fight, and there aren’t enough of you to beat them.”

  “I wouldn’t think of tryin’,” Bramwell said. “Not yet, anyhow. Rest assured that when the time comes, every last male kin you have will take part.”

  The hillmen led their two captives back up the trail in single file.

  Unknown to them, they had company. A dozen yards into the vegetation, Fargo kept silent pace. They had left their horses a lot closer than the Ovaro, and after they mounted and rode off, with Clover and Harriet forced to ride double, Fargo raced to the Ovaro and lit out in pursuit. He had gone about a mile when he spotted them in the distance. He stayed well back so as not to give himself away, stopping often to look and listen. He assumed they would ride all night in order to reach Jacksonville by dawn but along about midnight flames leaped to life, forewarning him they had stopped and made camp.

  Drawing rein, Fargo dismounted and slunk the rest of the way on foot. He covered the last fifty yards on his elbows and knees. A coffee pot had been put on to boil, and all the men save one ringed the fire. The exception was by the horses, standing guard.

  The women were curled on their sides, the firelight playing over their anxious faces.

  “You’re takin’ a risk,” Clover said. “The others will come after us.”

  “I happen to know Argent only has four horses left,” was Bramwell’s calm reply. “Our raid last week was a success.” His busy beard parted in a mocking grin. “At any rate, you won’t be missed until daylight. We’ll reach Jacksonville long before they can reach us.”

  “You have it all figured out,” Clover bitterly remarked. “Typical. Porter and you always think you know everyt
hing.”

  “Oh, please,” Bramwell said. “Your petty spite is uncalled for. We’re not the ones who started this ruckus. We’re not the ones who broke four hundred years of clan tradition.”

  “What holds in the Old Country doesn’t hold here,” Clover said. “This is the New World. New ways. It’s high time you and your pa realize that.”

  Fargo was searching for the Henry. None of the men by the fire had it. Nor was it on the ground or propped on a saddle.

  “That’s not you talkin’,” Bramwell said. “That’s Argent Meriwether puttin’ words in your mouth.”

  “Amen to that,” echoed Orville.

  “You blame her for openin’ our eyes?” Clover arched her eyebrows. “For showin’ us the difference between right and wrong.”

  “No, I blame myself for ever agreein’ to your loco notion about hirin’ a schoolmarm,” Bramwell said. “Pa and I should have known better. But you’ve always had a persuasive tongue, Clover Jackson. Too damn persuasive for our own good.” He suddenly turned. “Samuel, you’re awful quiet tonight. Something eatin’ at you, boy?”

  “Nothin’, Pa,” Sam said with a complete lack of sincerity.

  “What have I told you about lyin’?” Bramwell snapped. “Your ma and me raised you better, God rest her soul.”

  The hillman guarding the horses was pacing back and forth to keep awake, judging by his repeated yawns. His next step brought him near enough to the fire for Fargo to recognize the rifle he was holding: the Henry. Fargo began circling the string, glad the wind had died so the horses wouldn’t catch his scent.

  Sam squirmed like a worm on a hook, then reluctantly said, “I just don’t like this, Pa. I don’t like what’s become of us. I don’t like all the killin’ and everyone hatin’ everyone else.”

  “And you think I do?” Bramwell indignantly asked.

  “Of course not. But the feud has gone on too long. We have to return things to how they were.”

  It was Clover who spoke. “Wishful thinkin’, cousin. We can never go back to the old ways. Once a person has seen the light, they can’t go back to livin’ in darkness.”