Nevada Nemesis Read online

  “That’s why we had to keep going,” Sloane tried to justify what he had done. “We’re too easy to pick off out here on these damned flats. As leader, it’s my responsibility to do what is best for the common good. I can’t put everyone in peril because of one person.”

  “You damn coward,” Fargo growled. “If anything has happened to her, you’ll answer to me.” He began to ride off but Mrs. Sloane thrust a hand at him.

  “Wait! Please! What about Mandy? Did you find her?”

  “She’s safe at the trading post.” Fargo got out of there before he pulled Peter Sloane from the seat and beat him senseless. As he passed the other wagons Cathy Fox and Jurgensen called out to him but he galloped on by. They were as much to blame as Sloane; they should have refused to abandon one of their own.

  Fargo tried not to think of what the renegades would do if they found Sarah first. Lame Bear hadn’t touched Mandy but Mandy was a child. A grown woman would not be so lucky.

  It was hours before the white canvas hump appeared in the distance. Fargo’s dread mounted when he saw the oxen a hundred yards from the schooner, their massive heads hung low. “Sarah?” he hollered when he was still a ways out but she didn’t appear. Then he saw her, under the wagon at the rear. He slowed, his blood becoming ice, and yanked the Henry out. A quick scan of the alkali flats revealed no other riders. Dismounting, he crouched to peer underneath.

  Sarah was on her back, her long hair half over her face. There was no blood, no wounds or marks. Fargo couldn’t tell if she was breathing. “Sarah?” he said softly, and touched her leg.

  Uttering a sharp cry, Sarah rose on her elbows and frantically scrambled backward. She blinked sleep from her eyes, stopped, and blurted, “It’s only you! I dozed off and dreamed a Paiute was after me.” She came scrambling toward him. “What about Mandy? Did you find her? Where is she?”

  Fargo grasped her outstretched hand and pulled her out from under the wagon. “She’s fine. I left her at the trading post.”

  Sarah gripped his shirt. “How could you? Why didn’t you bring her? I’ve been half out of my mind!”

  Fargo explained about Granny Barnes, and Jared, and the fact Melissa Barnes was there, as well.

  “So there are women watching over her?” Sarah said, her panic fading. “Then my baby is really and truly all right?” Slumping against him, Sarah clung to his shoulders and burst into great racking sobs. She cried and cried until she had cried herself dry, and then she stepped back and wiped a sleeve across her face, saying, “Sorry. I’ve been holding a lot in. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t hardly sleep.”

  “You’re exhausted,” Fargo said. “I’ll hitch the team. You climb in the wagon and get some rest.”

  In half an hour they were under way, the Ovaro tied to the rear of the wagon. Now and then Fargo heard Sarah’s snores above the rattle of the wheels and the dull shuffle of the plodding oxen. He was tired himself and could not resist an occasional yawn.

  Fargo had a lot to ponder. Foremost was his next step once Sarah and Mandy were reunited. The army was counting on him to solve the disappearances, and once he took a job, he saw it through to the end.

  Judging by the tracks, the other wagon trains had made it as far as the trading post. Whatever befell them took place after they left it. The army suspected the renegades were to blame, but Lame Bear and four warriors couldn’t wipe out that many emigrants. Not without a lot of help. Maybe, Fargo speculated, there were more renegades involved than anyone suspected.

  Another possibility was that disaster struck somewhere along the Barnes Trail. The emigrants might have run out of water, although the odds of that happening to all four wagon trains were high.

  Fargo mentally swore at himself for being too hasty in getting rid of Swink, the one man who might have all the answers. He should have questioned him. Should have made Swink tell all he knew.

  Hours dragged by. Nightfall found them still on the flats. Fargo pushed on another hour and a half to reach the foothills and halted the wagon between two hills, safe from searching eyes.

  Sarah had slept the day away. Fargo let her go on sleeping as he gathered dry brush for a fire. A few eggs were left in the flour barrel. He also found the last of her bacon. Then he put on a pot of coffee to wash it all down.

  The air was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of their meal when Fargo climbed onto the wagon. He had to shake her several times before she stirred.

  “How long have I been out?” Sarah sleepily asked. Sitting up, she stretched, her breasts like ripe melons waiting to be plucked. “It’s nighttime? Why didn’t you get me up sooner?”

  “You needed your rest.” Fargo assisted her onto the seat and from there she swung lithely to the ground, her dress swirling about her thighs.

  “You shouldn’t have stopped. I want to reach the trading post as quickly as possible.”

  “Your horses are about played out,” Fargo observed. “They need their rest, too. We’ll reach the post by ten or so tomorrow morning.”

  “I can’t wait that long,” Sarah protested, angrily stamping a foot. “I can’t bear to be separated from Mandy. She’s all I have left in this world. All I live for.”

  “By now the wagon train is there. Your daughter will be fine.” Fargo indicated a blanket he had bundled near the fire for her to sit on. Forking eggs and strips of sizzling bacon onto a plate, he gave it to her.

  “You can cook in addition to everything else?” Sarah’s sense of humor had returned. “You’ll make some woman a find husband one day.”

  “I’m not settling down until I’m sixty,” Fargo said. If then. He filled his own plate and ravenously dug in.

  Sarah stared about them. “So it’s just the two of us? Alone, all night long? What will we do with ourselves, Mr. Flint?” Her teeth shone white in the night.

  “I’m sure we can think of something.” Fargo filled her cup with hot black coffee, then filled his and swallowed half of it in two gulps. The jolt to his system was like being kicked by a mule. He ate with relish, had two more cups of coffee, and sat back, more than a little drowsy.

  “I was so afraid,” Sarah said. She had stopped eating and was picking at her eggs. “More afraid than I’ve ever been. If those Paiutes—” She stopped and put a hand to her forehead. “I don’t know what I’d have done.”

  “It’s over,” Fargo said. Rising, he moved around the fire and sat next to her, deliberately rubbing his arm against hers. “You need to stop thinking about it and get on with your life.”

  “I’ll never make a mistake like that again,” Sarah declared. “I’ll never leave her alone when I shouldn’t.”

  Fargo slid an arm across her back. “Don’t blame yourself. Blame Lame Bear. He’s the one who will answer for stealing her.”

  “Are you going after him?”

  “Once you’re at the trading post.” Fargo couldn’t let the renegades go on harassing emigrants. “It will be days before the wagon train moves on.” More than enough time for him to track the Paiutes down.

  Sarah placed her hand on his. “You’re taking it on yourself on our account?”

  “Something has to be done,” Fargo said. Now, while Lame Bear’s band was still in the vicinity.

  “Sloane can’t figure you out,” Sarah mentioned. “He and some of the others think you’re a ruthless killer. I know better. There’s more to you than you let on. A part of you that you’re hiding.”

  “There’s more to everyone,” Fargo blunted her sally. “I’m helping you because I like you. It’s that simple.”

  “I’m flattered, but I’m not stupid. I’ll take what I can get, and when we part company, I won’t have any regrets but one.” Sarah’s fingers tightened. “And we will part ways, won’t we?”

  Fargo nodded.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But I thank you for being honest with me.” Sarah took her plate from her lap and placed it on the ground. “It doesn’t change anything, though. I can’t help how I feel.” She pressed closer
and glued her mouth to his in a long, languid, delectable kiss.

  The night stood still. To the northwest a coyote raised its plaintive cry. To the southeast a mountain lion screamed.

  Fargo could taste the eggs and bacon on her tongue. He ran a hand through her silken black hair down to the small of her back and around her hip to her thighs. She opened them to admit his questing fingers and he caressed her from her knees to her inner thigh.

  “Mmmmmmmm,” Sarah moaned. One of her hands imitated his. At the top of each caress she would cup his manhood.

  A constriction formed in Fargo’s throat. The hills receded into a haze. His world consisted of her and him and the sensations she sent rippling through his body. He tingled from toe to head.

  Sarah whispered in his ears, “The whole time we’ve been eating I’ve been thinking about the other night. Remembering your hands on me. Remembering how it felt to have you inside me.” She licked his earlobe. “I want you inside me again. I want to forget what I’ve been through. Forget the horror.”

  Fargo silenced her with a kiss. He lowered his other hand and massaged and kneaded her legs. She spread them wider, her dress hiking to the middle of her thigh. Sliding his right hand up and under, he soon had his middle finger where he wanted it. She was wet for him, wet with desire and need. A tiny mew issued from her throat and her nails bit into his thigh.

  Fargo shifted to accommodate the growing bulge in his pants. Sarah pulled him toward the ground but he broke their kiss and said, “Let me fetch a blanket.”

  “We don’t need one.” Her fingers pried at his gun belt and then at his pants and within moments Fargo felt air on his manhood. Her fingers were next. Enfolding him, she stroked up and down.

  The walnut in Fargo’s throat became an apple. He licked and kissed her neck until she wriggled and sighed and tried to shove him inside of her.

  “Let me,” Fargo said. He slowly rubbed his member up and down her womanhood, heightening her anticipation.

  “Oh, yesssss,” Sarah whispered. “I want you. I want you so much.”

  Inch by slow inch, Fargo slid himself into her. When he was all the way in he held himself motionless.

  Not Sarah. She moved under him, her breasts grinding into his chest, her hips grinding into his. Another moan started and did not stop. It went on and on, rising in volume as she grew more and more aflame with the heat of passion.

  On a nearby hill a warbler gave voice to its distinctive cry.

  Slowly rocking on his knees, Fargo nibbled an ear, kissed her forehead and her cheek.

  “You feel so good,” Sarah husked. “Do you know that?”

  Fargo gripped her hips for better leverage. The ground hurt his knees but he didn’t care. He had a cramp in his left leg but he didn’t care. His pants had bunched up low on his legs and were uncomfortable as hell but he didn’t care. He thrust harder but not as hard as he could, not yet, not until they reached the summit.

  The same bird twittered again.

  Sarah’s hands entwined in his hair and his hat fell off. A handful in each hand, she yanked so hard he thought his hair would come out by the roots. “Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

  The breeze had picked up and was cooling the sweat on Fargo’s skin. He moved faster, instinct taking over. His mind drifted on a sea of sensation. He gave no thought to the Paiutes or the army or the missing wagon trains or anything or anyone other than the throbbing deep in his core.

  “Oh, Flint!” Sarah said. “I’m there!” Her release was a wild paroxysm of thrashing and moaning and gushing.

  Fargo had to hold on to keep from being bucked off. She drenched him, and drenched him again, her hips a blur, her inner walls contracting and rippling and squeezing. He lasted half a minute more. Then there was no plugging the dyke. The hills and the stars turned topsy-turvy. His breath caught in his throat. He impaled her over and over until, totally spent, he collapsed on top of her, his head cushioned by her heaving breasts.

  Gradually they stopped panting and their slick bodies stilled.

  Sarah nipped his cheek, then sighed contentedly. “I needed that more than you can possibly imagine. I’m not mad anymore that you left Mandy at the trading post. It was the right thing to do.”

  Once more the warbler sounded, closer now. But this time the warble came from the north, not the south, as the other cries had. An answer came from the west, then an echo from the east.

  Only then did Fargo realize they were not birds at all.

  11

  Skye Fargo had been caught with his pants down before and it was not an experience he cared to repeat. Quickly rolling onto his shoulder, he pulled them up and buckled on his gun belt. Reclaiming his hat, he drew his Colt and peered intently into the darkness, seeking the sources of the birdlike cries.

  The Ovaro, Fargo now noticed, was facing the hill to the west in an attitude of alert watchfulness.

  “What is it?” Sarah whispered. She had slid to one side and was pulling herself together. “What’s out there?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” Taking hold of her wrist, Fargo skirted the fire, snatched up the Henry, and shoved it at her. He would not need it. At night, at close range, a pistol was just as effective. Backpedaling into the dark, he crouched. “Get under your wagon.”

  Sarah obeyed without argument. Crawling behind the front wheel, she poked the Henry between the spokes.

  Fargo crept to the south a dozen yards, and hunkered. To his right a twig snapped, to his left a rock was dislodged and rolled down the slope. Whoever was out there was either overconfident or possessed all the stealth of a tree stump. Which made him doubt it was the Paiutes.

  The ratchet of a cartridge being fed into a chamber warned Fargo another bushwhacker was somewhere in front of him. He looked for a moving shadow, for a target of any kind, but saw none.

  Then, out of the brush to the north of the prairie schooner came a shout. “You there! Throw down your guns and come out where we can see you with your hands in the air!”

  Fargo saw Sarah poke her head out. She had lost sight of him and was unsure what to do. He hoped she had the presence of mind to stay where she was.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” the man bellowed. “We have you surrounded! Do as we say, and do it now!”

  On the hill to the west someone cackled. A rifle spanged, the slug kicking up dirt near the fire. “That’s just a warning!” the shooter warned.

  Fargo had located two of them but he still could not see anyone. The soft crunch of a stealthy footstep remedied that. A vague shape was coming down the hill to the east in short, jerky steps. Fargo took aim but didn’t shoot. He wanted the man closer so he couldn’t miss.

  A shout from Sarah, though, caused the man to freeze. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “We’re federal law officers,” replied the one to the north. “Do as we say and no one will be hurt.”

  It was a trick. Fargo hoped to God Sarah didn’t believe him. The territory didn’t have duly appointed federal officers yet.

  “If you’re law officers,” Sarah responded, “why are you sneaking up on us? Why didn’t you come right up to our fire?”

  “And be shot in our tracks? Throw your guns down and we’ll come out in the open, but not before.”

  “A true law officer would not be afraid to show himself,” Sarah argued.

  The man had an answer for everything. “If you have nothing to hide, why did the man you’re with disappear? Where is he?” His tone hardened. “For the last time, lady. Step out where we can see you. Both of you. We don’t want to hurt you but we will if you force us.”

  Again Sarah looked around for Fargo. He dared not say anything, dared not wave to attract her attention, not with the others so close.

  “We won’t wait forever,” the alleged lawman threatened.

  “A real marshal would never shoot a woman,” Sarah held her own. “If you’re who you say you are, go away and come back in the morning. We’ll still be here.”

  A
nother pebble rattled down the east hill. The shape Fargo had spotted was crossing an open space. A rifle glinted dully in the gloom.

  On the west hill the rifleman who had fired was also in motion, angling toward the wagon, and Sarah.

  That left the gunman to the south. Fargo thought the man was farther away than he was, for suddenly a dark form loomed against the stars and trained a rifle on the wheel Sarah was crouched behind. This one was short. Five feet tall, if that, and wore a cowhide vest and a low-crowned hat.

  “Drop it,” Fargo whispered.

  The short gunman mimicked mesquite but he didn’t let go of his rifle. Moonlight played over his pudgy face as his beady eyes shifted back and forth. “There you are,” he grunted. “You must be part Apache.”

  Fargo held the Colt so the man could plainly see it. “I won’t tell you twice.”

  “Go ahead and shoot. I swear I’ll put a bullet into your woman friend before I go down,” the short man said, none too quietly. “You’re the one who had better drop his hardware if you know what’s good for you.”

  The man on the east slope heard and swung toward them. The shooter on the west hill checked his descent.

  “What will it be, mister?” the short one demanded.

  Fargo shot him. Not in the head or the heart but high in the right shoulder. The impact spun the short gunman completely around. His rifle thudded to the ground and the man crumpled.

  Almost instantly the shooter on the west hill cut loose, firing twice as rapidly as he could work the lever.

  Fargo dived flat as leaden hornets buzzed by.

  “Don’t shoot, damn you, Thorn!” the short one wailed, holding his shoulder. “You’ll hit me!”

  That did not stop the man on the west hill. He fired twice more and one of the rounds drilled into the earth inches from Fargo’s face.

  “Stop shooting!” the short gunman screeched. “Dix, make him stop!”

  Fargo snapped off a shot at the man to the west, twisted, and snapped off another at the gunman to the east. Both melted into the shadows. He glanced at the prairie schooner just as Sarah started to rise from under it. “Stay down!” he bellowed, and had to hug the ground as rifles blasted on both sides and dirt stung his cheeks and neck.