Nevada Nemesis Read online

  “I’ve never been shy about squeezing the trigger when I had to,” was all Fargo would say.

  “And now you’ve taken it on yourself to pilot the Sloane party to California? How do they feel about it?”

  “How they feel doesn’t count,” Fargo said.

  “I see.” Granny grinned. “You do what you want and everyone else be damned. Some folks might say that’s wrong but I admire your sand. Too many men these days aren’t fit to wear britches.”

  Jared had something else on his mind. “Granny, aren’t you afraid living way out here by yourself?”

  “I wasn’t brought up in the woods to be scared by owls. At my age, there’s nothing I’m afeared of. Not even dying.” Granny patted the Walker Colt. “And I’m a pretty fair hand with this cannon.”

  “It’s not like the Paiutes to give up a captive,” Fargo mentioned.

  “For a hundred dollars worth of trade goods they’ll do just about anything,” Granny said. “The truth be known, I bought the girl from them. Cost me some knives and blankets, a jug of coffin varnish, and a rifle, but it’s worth it to have her safe.”

  “You gave a rifle to a hostile?” Jared’s tone implied she had done a grievous wrong.

  “An old Sharps,” Granny said. “I only had four shells so it’s not like Lame Bear will wipe out the white race.”

  Fargo was more interested in the other item she mentioned. “You sell whiskey? Where and how much?” He fished in his pocket for his money.

  Granny grinned and said, “You remind me of my George. He never met a bottle he wouldn’t suck down. A drummer sold me a case of whiskey a while back. I sell it to the Paiutes for ten dollars a bottle and most others for four dollars. But you can have one for two.” She motioned. “I reckon it’s all right for you to go in. Just don’t wake up sweet little Mandy.”

  Fargo had never seen a trading post so tidy and clean. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. The floor was spotless. All the trade goods were neatly arranged in piles, stacks, or rows.

  The whiskey bottles shared shelf space with bottles of rum, Scotch, and vodka. There were even a few bottles of wine.

  Leaning the Henry against the counter, Fargo took a bottle down, opened it, and indulged in a long swig. A familiar burning sensation spread down his throat to the pit of his stomach. Smacking his lips, he grabbed the Henry and was near the door when there was a loud yelp and the patter of feet.

  “Mr. Flint!” Mandy squealed. Throwing herself at his legs, she wrapped her arms tight and started crying, she was so happy.

  Tucking the bottle under one arm, Fargo pried her loose and squatted. Her face was streaked with grime and the tracks of dry tears. Her nightshirt was dirty but otherwise she appeared to be fine. “Did they hurt you?”

  Mandy shook her head. “Lame Bear said so long as I behaved nothing would happen to me.”

  “He speaks English?”

  “A little.” Mandy hugged him, her cheek on his shoulder. “He scares me, Mr. Flint. Scares me something awful.”

  “He’s gone now,” Fargo assured her.

  “Lame Bear has a necklace made of teeth from all the white people he’s killed. He hates us. He told me so himself. He’s meaner than anyone I’ve ever met.” Mandy shivered, and not because she was cold. “Granny gave him a lot of stuff so he would set me free. He wouldn’t do it until she gave him a rifle. They argued and argued.” Mandy drew back. “She’s a nice lady. She fed me and tucked me in and said the rest of you would show up soon. And here you are.” She glanced at the door. “Where’s Ma?”

  “I came on ahead.” Picking her up, Fargo turned to the door.

  “She’ll be here soon, won’t she?” the girl anxiously asked.

  “Tomorrow or the next day,” Fargo predicted. With her in one arm and his rifle and the bottle in the other, he awkwardly pried at the latch and pushed the door open with the toe of his boot.

  Granny took one look, raised the Walker Colt, and thumbed back the hammer. “I thought I warned you not to wake her up.”

  9

  For a few seconds Skye Fargo thought Grandma Barnes would squeeze the trigger. A steely glint came into her eyes and her jaw muscles twitched and her trigger finger started to tighten. Then she laughed and lowered the Walker Colt and carefully let down the hammer.

  “Come here, child, and let Granny give you a hug!”

  Fargo set Mandy down and she ran into the older woman’s arms. Tossing off another swig of whiskey, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

  “Yes, sir,” Granny said, looking at him over Mandy’s shoulder. “More and more like my George by the minute. He had the manners of a goat, too. But I did so love him despite his flaws.” Holding Mandy at arm’s length, she said, “Mr. Flint and Mr. Fox came to take you back. Or you can wait here if you would like until your mother and the wagon train arrive.”

  The suggestion irritated Fargo. Sarah must be half out of her mind with worry, and would want to see her daughter as soon as possible.

  Mandy turned. “What do you think, Mr. Flint? Should I go with you or wait for my ma?”

  “If you ask me, child,” Jared butted in, “you’re safer here than anywhere else. The Paiutes won’t bother you. And you have a roof over your head and all the comforts of home.”

  “But my ma,” Mandy said.

  “Is hurrying to you even as we speak,” Jared answered. “So why not wait here out of the heat and the dust?”

  Fargo quickly said, “If she stays, you stay.” He figured that Jared would rather be with his sister.

  “Don’t you trust her with me?” Granny took exception. “I would never let anyone harm a precious hair on her pretty head.”

  “Her mother would feel better knowing one of us was with her,” Jared said, and straightened. “Very well, Mr. Flint. I’ll remain here. But be sure to tell Cathy this wasn’t my idea.”

  Granny cheerfully pinched Mandy’s cheek. “You and I will have lots of fun. We can knit. We can play checkers. I have a deck of cards somewhere, and dominoes. All children your age love dominoes.”

  Mandy glanced at Fargo. “What do you think I should do?”

  “It’s your decision.” Fargo did not want to appear too tenderhearted so he gruffly added, “Just make up your mind so I can be on my way. The faster I get back, the faster I can bring her to you.”

  “I’ll stay, then, I guess,” Mandy said, but she was not happy about it.

  Fargo walked to the hitch rail and led the Ovaro toward the spring. A fence surrounded it, and the only way in was through a wide gate which was padlocked. “What the hell?” he grumbled.

  “Did you think the water was free?” Granny had come up behind him without him noticing. For an older woman she was exceptionally light on her feet. “I charge for it just like I do everything else. Fifty cents for two-legged critters, a dollar for horses, cows, oxen, and mules.”

  “Trying to outdo Midas?”

  Granny grinned. “Having money never hurt anyone. I was here first. I have the right to do as I want.”

  “The Paiutes were here first,” Fargo corrected her. “Do you charge them too?”

  “I’m not stupid, Mr. Flint. There are limits to how far Indians can be pushed. They get to drink and graze their ponies for free provided they behave themselves.” Granny produced an iron key and slid it into the padlock. “They never use much though. Wagons trains are another matter. They drink until they’re fit to burst, then fill up their water barrels with more. That doesn’t count the water for their animals. To me it’s only fair to have folks pay for the privilege.”

  Fargo let the Ovaro drink first. He was more interested in the tracks in the soft earth at the water’s edge. Footprints of men, women, and children, and animals of all kinds, jumbled together like the pieces of a jigsaw.

  “I don’t suppose you’re interested in a job?” Granny asked out of nowhere.

  “I have one,” Fargo said.

  “Piloting is a lot of hard work and long hours,” Gra
nny mentioned. “Why go through all that when you don’t have to?”

  “What would I do?” Fargo did not see where she needed help.

  “Whatever I want. There are always odd jobs to be done. Chinks in the walls to fill in. Sweep the floor. Carry heavy goods I can’t manage on my own. That sort of stuff.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Fargo said, but he had no intention of giving her offer a second thought. Squatting, he dipped his hand in the spring and sipped from his palm. The water was deliciously cool. He scooped a second handful, and a third. “How much does my fifty cents buy me?”

  “All day and all night. I’m not greedy.” Granny stroked the Ovaro’s neck. “Nice critter you have here. I haven’t seen many quite like him. Would you consider selling?”

  “Not while I’m still breathing.” Fargo removed his hat and lowered it into the spring.

  “You have a weakness for horses as well as children. Interesting.”

  “Who says?” Fargo upended the hat over his head and the water spilled down over his face and under his shirt in front and in back. For a while, at least, he would be wonderfully cool.

  “Don’t deny you’re fond of the girl,” Granny said. “I could see it on your face. You’re not as tough as you make yourself out to be.”

  Fargo jammed his hat back on and rose. “Cross me,” he told her, “and you’ll find out.” He paid her and forked leather. As he rode past the porch Mandy waved at him. He glanced back to be sure Granny Barnes could not see him, and waved. Then he applied his spurs.

  Fargo had a lot to think about. He had established there was indeed a trading post and there might well be a trail over the Sierra Nevadas he had never heard of, but the big question still went unanswered: what had happened to the missing wagon trains?

  Engrossed in thought, Fargo was only a hundred yards shy of the canyon mouth when his instincts flared. Once again a shadow flitted from boulder to boulder along the west rim, pacing him.

  Pretending not to notice, Fargo held the pinto to a walk until he reached the end of the canyon. Then, abruptly reining the Ovaro, he headed up a steep slope as fast as the stallion could manage. Clods of dirt and rocks clattered out from under its driving hooves. Above him a face stared down in surprise. In a twinkling it was gone, its owner in flight.

  Bending forward to distribute his weight more evenly, Fargo slapped his legs against the Ovaro’s sides. The slope had become more treacherous and the stallion was fighting for purchase. Twenty more yards and they reached the top, and Fargo palmed his Colt.

  The skulker was in full flight, weaving among the boulders with a speed and agility worthy of an antelope.

  Fargo gave chase; whoever it was might pose a threat to Mandy. His quarry wore a baggy brown shirt and pants and a brown hat that blended into the terrain, but Fargo would be damned if he would lose sight of him. The stallion swiftly gained.

  Suddenly the skulker looked back, the upper half of his face shrouded by the shadow of his hat brim, and bent at the waist so he was harder to spot. It did him no good. Bit by bit Fargo whittled the other’s lead until he was only a few yards behind him. His quarry was winded and running slower.

  Vaulting from the saddle, Fargo broke into a run. He was close enough to hear the rasp of the other’s labored breaths and the thap-thap-thap of the other’s shoes smacking the hard ground. Fargo poured on a last spurt of speed and slammed the Colt against the man’s side.

  Knocked off balance, the skulker careened against a boulder, cried out, and sprawled forward. His hat went flying.

  Fargo cocked the Colt and pressed it against the back of the man’s head. “Stay right where you are.”

  The man froze.

  “Who are you and what are you up to?”

  In a voice as melodious as music, the lurker replied, “Granny told me to hide until you were gone. We knew you were coming. She told me that you’re the hombre who made buzzard bait of Raskum.”

  “I’ll be damned.” Gripping her by the shoulder, Fargo rolled her over. “You’re female.” She had sandy hair cropped short and a round face with hazel eyes. He guessed her age to be between twenty and twenty-five. “What’s your name?”

  “Melissa Barnes. I’m Granny’s granddaughter.” Melissa stared at the Colt and cringed. “You’re not fixing to shoot me, are you?”

  “Not unless you run off again,” Fargo said dryly. Shoving the Colt into his holster, he hauled her to her feet.

  Melissa had lost some of her fear. “Granny will be mad at me. I was supposed to lie low but I was curious. We don’t get many visitors.”

  “You will once word of the Barnes Trail spreads,” Fargo mentioned to see what she would say.

  “Most likely,” Melissa said, and smoothed her shirt. In doing so, she inadvertently accented the swell of her breasts and the flair of her hips. Under those baggy clothes was a sleek but voluptuous body.

  Fargo tore his gaze from her chest to her face. “Tell your grandmother I didn’t know who you were or I wouldn’t have ridden you down.”

  “You must be kidding? She’ll take a switch to my hide if she finds out. I won’t say a thing if you don’t.”

  “You have my word.” Fargo turned to retrace his steps to the Ovaro. Sarah would be anxiously awaiting word of her daughter.

  Melissa skipped to his side, “Will you take me down with you? On your horse, I mean?”

  “To the trading post? I thought you didn’t want your grandmother to know we’ve met?”

  “Just to the mouth of the canyon,” Melissa said. “I’ll walk back from there.” She scampered ahead and regarded the Ovaro with delight.

  “He’s beautiful, mister! I love horses. Granny does, too. But she won’t let me have one of my own.”

  “Why not?” Fargo had never heard of someone her age being denied the right to ride.

  “She thinks I’ll get into too much trouble.”

  “Oh. The Paiutes,” Fargo thought he understood.

  “Lame Bear and his bunch?” Melissa giggled. “They don’t dare lay a finger on me. Not if they know what’s good for them. No, Granny is afraid I’ll head off for Denver or San Francisco or some place like that to find me a man.”

  “Looking to get hitched, are you?” Fargo asked as he climbed on.

  “Mercy me, no. Not for five or ten years yet, if then.” An impish grin curled Melissa’s lips. “I just like men, is all. Had this hankering ever since my—,” she caught herself, then said, “ever since this fella did me one night in the woodshed about ten years ago.”

  Fargo lowered his arm. She gripped it with both hands and he swung her up behind him. Her breasts brushed his back as she leaned against him, her arms around his shoulders.

  “My, you’re a big one.” Melissa squeezed his biceps. “And all these muscles! How about if you show them to me?”

  “You’re not one for beating around the bush.”

  “Life is too short to pussyfoot around,” Melissa said. “I learned at an early age that if you want something in this world, you have to reach out and grab it while it’s there to be had. Men included.”

  “Some other time,” Fargo said.

  “Why not now?” Melissa asked, rubbing her cheek across his back. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

  “I can’t. I have to do a friend a favor.”

  Melissa straightened. “It has something to do with that girl Lame Bear brought, doesn’t it? Oh well. You’ll be back this way, I reckon, and I’ll still be here.”

  The steep slope spread out below them and Fargo started down. He leaned back to make it easier on the Ovaro and in doing so pressed against Melissa, who did not seem to mind one bit.

  “Tell me something, mister. Have you ever been to those places I mentioned?”

  “Both, and many more,” Fargo said.

  “Are they all I’ve heard? Do the ladies wear elegant dresses and ride around in fancy carriages and go to the theater and balls and stuff like that?”

  “Some do. Som
e work themselves to the bone and can barely afford a new dress once a year.”

  “That won’t be me,” Melissa confidently vowed. “I aim to live in grand style. Which city would you recommend? Out of all the ones you’ve been to?”

  Fargo answered without hesitation, “New Orleans.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a lot of old money. French and Spanish families who were there before it became part of the United States. There’s a lot of new money, Americans who have struck it rich and want to live where their riches can buy them the best there is to be had. A pretty woman like you could go far.”

  “Pretty? Me?” Melissa removed her hat and fluffed at her hair. “I don’t get told that nearly enough.”

  She was silent until they reached the bottom and Fargo twisted to lend her a hand climbing down. Clinging to him, she traced tiny circles in his palm. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to change your mind?”

  Fargo thought of Sarah and reluctantly shook his head.

  “Until we meet again, then, handsome. Don’t let those pesky Paiutes get you.” Tittering, Melissa pranced on up the canyon.

  An interesting pair, Granny and her granddaughter, Fargo thought to himself as he trotted off. In more ways than one.

  10

  Fargo knew something was wrong the moment he saw the prairie schooners. There were eight, not nine, creaking and rattling their way toward the Blood Red mountains.

  Peter Sloane saw him coming and brought the lead wagon to a halt. The rest followed suit. Sloane’s wife averted her face, as if she were embarrassed. Sloane placed a hand on the rifle beside him on the seat and said, “So you’re back. I was sincerely hoping we had seen the last of you. Where’s young Jared?”

  “Waiting at the Barnes Trading Post.” Fargo looked down the line. “Whose wagon is missing? Did someone break a wheel and fall behind?”

  “Nothing like that,” Sloane said. “Sarah Yager refused to break camp this morning. I warned her that we would leave her if she didn’t hitch her oxen and get ready to move out, but all she did was sit there crying.”

  “You left her?” Fury boiled up in Fargo like scalding hot water boiling up in a pot. “After what happened to her daughter?”