Terror Trackdown, page 9
“There’s nothing to jaw about.”
“Says you,” Trayburn said. “But I paid—” He glanced at Strake. “How much was it again?”
“A thousand dollars.”
“That’s right. I paid Harold Pulanski a thousand dollars for a horse he claimed was his. And now you want me to hand it over on your say-so that it’s yours?” Trayburn’s scar twitched. “Do you have proof?”
“I don’t carry a goddamned bill of sale around with me.”
“That’s too bad. Because now it’s your word against his. I suppose I’ll have to send for him and the three of us can hash it out.”
“He can’t do much hashing,” Fargo said, “unless dead men can talk.”
“You killed him?” Trayburn said, and laughed.
“And two of your quick-draw artists who weren’t so quick.”
Trayburn’s mirth died. “Are we missing anyone?” he said to Strake without looking at him.
“Lute and Branham were supposed to be back from Estes Park last night but never showed.”
“Well, now,” Trayburn said, and his green eyes glittered. “They weren’t infants. Who are you, mister?”
Fargo told him.
“Heard of you,” Trayburn said after a moment, and the strangest expression came over him. He smiled and said, “Please. Take a seat. This puts a whole new complexion on things.”
Fargo was surprised by the friendly smile. He glanced at the ring of protectors and Trayburn immediately shifted in his chair to say, “Boys, there’ll be no gunplay. This man is not to be harmed. Anyone who tries answers to me. And you know what that means.”
Apparently they did because they retreated to the wall. Some of them glared at Fargo. The news about Lute and Branham had them mad.
Fargo hooked the chair with his boot and pulled it out farther. He turned it and straddled it so he was face on to Kiley Strake, the most dangerous of the bunch. Then it occurred to him that he’d never seen Trayburn use a pistol, or heard a word about whether he was quick or slow. All folks said was that you never, ever crossed him. Which made him wonder if Trayburn might be as dangerous as Strake.
“You study things,” Ransom Trayburn said. “I admire that. I study on things myself.”
“We’re not blood brothers,” Fargo said.
“We’re not enemies, either, unless you want us to be,” Trayburn said with that annoying calmness. “It wasn’t me who stole your horse. I bought it from Pulanski in good faith.”
“Noble of you.”
Instead of being insulted, Trayburn chuckled. “You bite down and don’t let go. I admire that, too. But the truth is, Pulanski showed up as I was about to leave Estes to come back to Denver. He’d about ridden his own horse into the ground. He said he knew that I’d sent Kiley to his place, and he wanted to make good on the debt he owed me, and would I take a look at a horse he’d come into and was it worth anything to me.”
Kiley Strake threw in, “That’s exactly how it was. I’d seen the horse in Pulanski’s corral, and mentioned that to Mr. Trayburn.”
Fargo supposed they could be telling the truth. How were they to know the Ovaro was his?
“The dirt farmer even had a bill of sale,” Trayburn said. “As a matter of fact . . .” He slid a hand inside his jacket and Fargo flicked his hand to his Colt. Trayburn chuckled and said, “Quick hands.” He pulled out a leather billfold. Opening it, Trayburn thumbed through a lot of bills and folded pieces of paper, saying, “I haven’t been back all that long and I believe I still have it with me. Ah. Here we go.” He held out a piece that looked as if it had been torn from a tablet. “See for yourself.”
The scribble was hard to read. It was short and to the point, “Sold my horse for five hundred dollars to Harold Pulanski.” It was signed “Rufus Crone” and dated a month and a half ago.
“Harold wrote this himself and came up with the name to trick you,” Fargo guessed.
“I was suspicious,” Trayburn said. “A man like him, with a horse like that. He wouldn’t have known good horseflesh if the horse bit him on the ass.” Trayburn paused. “And that Ovaro is about the finest animal I’ve ever set eyes on.”
“My animal,” Fargo said.
“I believe that now, yes.”
“You do?”
“What was it you said to me a bit ago?” Trayburn rejoined. “Oh. Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “It wouldn’t do to take me for stupid.”
“I want him back,” Fargo said.
“And you shall have him,” Trayburn replied.
“Just like that? No fight? No fuss?”
“What purpose would that serve?”
“You’ll be out a thousand dollars.”
Trayburn motioned at the saloon. “On good nights I make that much in an hour at this establishment alone. And in case you haven’t heard, I have other businesses that bring in just as much, and more. To me a thousand dollars is no more than a dollar is to you.”
“So, you’re just going to hand him over to me?”
“I am,” Trayburn assured him.
“Well, hell,” Fargo said.
23
Fargo hadn’t expected Ransom Trayburn to be so reasonable. After all the things he’d heard, he’d reckoned he’d have to spill blood to get the Ovaro back. “I didn’t think it would be this easy,” he admitted.
“I’m a businessman,” Trayburn said. “I know when to cut my losses. And besides, I did say I’ve heard of you. Several newspaper accounts, as I recollect. It seems you’ve shot a lot of people.”
“Well, hell,” Fargo said again.
“Mr. Strake, here, has shot a lot of people, too. But he doesn’t get into the newspaper nearly as much. You should share your secret.”
“My secret is that I don’t want them to write about me but the peckerwoods do it anyway. And they don’t always get it right.”
“Journalists never let the facts get in the way of their stories,” Trayburn said. “I’ve had some things written about me, not all of it flattering. It’s led me to the conclusion that all writers are liars. The good ones will say so. The rest have their heads so far up their asses, they don’t hear their own lies.”
Fargo couldn’t help laughing.
“Now as to your horse,” Trayburn said. “I don’t see many Ovaros. Not around here, anyway. I understand they’re more common down along the border country.”
“Where is he? I’ll go fetch him.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Fargo was instantly suspicious. “So much for handing him right over.”
“I would if I could,” Trayburn said. “But the truth is, he’s not here.”
“Goddamn it.”
“I have a ranch a considerable piece northeast of Denver. I sent him on ahead as I would any horse I buy. I’m not trying to renege or trick you. You’re welcome to come with me and claim him.”
“I am?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I’d heard that you keep your ranch a secret,” Fargo said.
“You, of all people, should know not to believe everything you hear,” Trayburn said. “People love to gossip.” He paused. “I don’t go around telling everyone where it is, and why the hell should I? I like my privacy. And why invite trouble when my stock would give a horse thief wet dreams?”
“Makes sense,” Fargo said.
“I leave in the morning. You can accompany us, if you like.”
“In one of your special carriages with no windows?”
“Heard about those, have you?” Trayburn said, and grinned. “I hold races from time to time. One is coming up, in fact. That’s how my guests are brought. But again, it’s to safeguard my privacy and protect my animals. I have no need of that with you. You can ride whatever you are using at the moment.”
“You don’t care that I’ll know where your ranch is?”
“Why should I? None of the newspaper accounts said you’re a horse thief. Or have you taken up a new calling?”
Fargo snorted, and had a thought. “What about your two gun hands?”
“What about them? The pair in Estes Park braced you on their own account. I can hire men to replace them just like that.” Trayburn snapped his fingers.
“I have to ask,” Fargo said. “Folks say your races aren’t really races. That you throw in wolves and bears and more.”
“Preposterous,” Trayburn said. “Do you honestly think that someone who loves good horseflesh as much as I do, who paid a thousand dollars for your Ovaro and has paid a lot more than that for others, would put them in peril?”
It did seem preposterous. But Fargo had no reason to suspect Phoebe made it up.
Trayburn was shaking his head. “The horses at my ranch are well treated. Better so than at most ranches, I dare-say.”
“That’s good to hear,” Fargo said. The Ovaro would be well taken care of until he got there.
“You still haven’t said. Is it yes or is it no?”
“Do you even have to ask? I’d go through hell for that horse.”
“Would you, indeed?” Trayburn said. “It’s rare to find someone so devoted to his mount.”
Fargo had met more than a few cowhands and others who were as fond of their horses as he was of the Ovaro. “You must not get out much.”
“If I sleep in the same bed two nights in a row, it’s unusual,” Trayburn said. “Be in front of the Grand Hotel at eight tomorrow morning. We’ll head out from there.” He stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”
The hired guns closed in and formed a phalanx around him. Red had recovered, and glowered.
Kiley Strake was the last to depart. He paused near Fargo’s chair and said, “Craig Lute was my pard.”
“Was he the tall one or frog voice?” Fargo said.
“Frog,” Strake said. “We hooked up five years ago. It’s too bad Mr. Trayburn is bending over backwards for you. I’d like to do to you as you did to Lute.”
“You’d try,” Fargo said.
“Just so you know. If Mr. Trayburn changes his mind about you, I’ll come after you, and I’ll be on the prod.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“You won’t feel so grateful with lead in you.” Strake placed his hand on his pearl-handled Remington. “For two bits I’d do you now.”
Fargo fished out a coin and tossed it on the table. “Start the dance.” For an instant he thought Strake would. But no, the shootist shook his head and strolled off with a last taunt over his shoulder.
“Be careful what you wish for, mister.”
All Fargo wished for was the Ovaro. That his run-in with Ransom Trayburn had gone so smoothly bothered him. It was his experience that when things were too easy, he should take that as an omen that worse was yet to come.
24
“I was telling the truth, consarn you,” Phoebe said heatedly. “Call me a liar again and I’ll scratch your eyes out.”
They were at her table in the kitchen. Fargo had returned thinking to get a good night’s sleep and she informed him she had supper waiting. He told her she shouldn’t have but she took him by the arm and hustled him down the hall, and here they were.
“I don’t care what Trayburn claims,” she went on. “You can believe him or you can believe me but I don’t want to hear it if you don’t believe me.”
Fargo forked a piece of pork chop into his mouth. She’d also whipped up potatoes with gravy, and peas. A plate of sliced bread and a butter dish were to one side.
“You don’t believe him, do you?” Phoebe asked, sounding hurt.
“He’s too slick by half,” Fargo said.
“I saw what I saw that day,” Phoebe insisted. “Naturally he’s not going to admit it. Besides, you said he’d heard of you. It could be he doesn’t want to draw the attention of your friends by harming you.”
Fargo hadn’t thought of that. Not that he had all that many friends.
“You be careful, you hear? Don’t turn your back to him if you can help it.”
“I’ll be on my guard,” Fargo said, and bit into a piece of bread. He’d need eyes in the back of his head to watch Strake and all those kill-for-hires but he wasn’t about to change his mind.
“Anyway,” Phoebe said sulkily, “I didn’t go to all this bother for us to argue. I’ve been thinking your offer over.”
“I made an offer?” Fargo said in mock innocence.
“You damn well know you did,” Phoebe retorted. “And I’d like to take you up on it.”
Suddenly Fargo understood why she was so gussied up. She’d done her hair and had on a dress more fitting for a dance hall than house chores. “Would you, now?”
“Don’t smirk like that. It doesn’t become you.”
“It’s the only smirk I know how to do.”
Phoebe laughed, and the tension between them faded. “After we eat there’s dessert.”
Fargo stared at the fine swell of her bosom. “Right there is all the dessert I need.”
“That’s more like it,” Phoebe said, and wriggled girlishly so that her breasts jiggled.
So much for turning in early, Fargo thought. He dipped the bread in the gravy and savored each chew.
“I never saw a man who likes to eat so much,” Phoebe remarked.
“Wait until you see me between your legs.”
She burst out in more laughter and her jugs did more jiggling. “I’m looking forward to this.”
So was Fargo. It would take his mind off the Ovaro and the problem he faced if she was right and Ransom Trayburn was lying through his perfect teeth.
“You don’t want a slice of pie, then? It’s peach. A friend of mine, a farmer’s wife, gave me some of her preserves a while back.”
“Bring a slice to the bedroom,” Fargo suggested.
“What on earth for?”
“You’ll see.”
Fargo took his time eating. They had all night. He caught Phoebe eyeing him now and again. She was eager for him to get done and kept fidgeting.
“You know,” she commented at one point, “you’re taking an awful chance going to Trayburn’s ranch. Once you’re there you’ll be at his mercy.”
“And he’ll be at mine,” Fargo said.
“I was there, remember? He has gun sharks all over the place. You can’t go for a stroll without one of them latching on to you.”
“I don’t expect it to be a cakewalk.”
“If you make it back alive no one will be happier than me but I’m not counting on it.”
“Be careful,” Fargo said. “You might build my confidence too high.”
Phoebe went to the counter and came back with the peach pie and a small plate and a carving knife. She cut the pie into sections and lifted a triangle onto the plate. She sniffed the piece and said, “Makes my mouth water.”
Fargo stared at her ass. “Mine too.” He ate the pie and and drained the last of his coffee.
“Would you care for more of anything?”
Fargo stared at the junction of her thighs. “I do but it’s not food.”
“Oh my.”
Phoebe stacked the dirty dishes and left the pots and pans on the stove and came over and took his hand.
“Want something?” Fargo said.
“I have a nice soft bed waiting.” She tried to pull him out of the chair.
“Do you, now?” Suddenly standing, Fargo clasped her hard against him and molded his mouth to hers. Her lips parted and her tongue met his. She groaned when he cupped her bottom. She gasped when he scooped her off her feet, turned, and placed her on her back on the table.
“What in the world . . . ?”
Fargo cupped a tit and squeezed and she writhed and kissed his neck and his ear. He cupped her other tit and pinched both nipples through her dress. Her legs rose and wrapped around him and she began to pry at his belt buckle.
“God, I want you in me.”
“Not so fast.”
“What? Why not?” Phoebe said, and then she saw the piece of peach pie he had saved in his hand. “What are you fixing to do with that?”
“You can’t guess?” Fargo hiked at her dress and the chemise she had on underneath, sliding them above her knees and then her thighs and her hips. He held the slice so she could see what he was about to do.
“You wouldn’t,” Phoebe gasped.
Fargo did.
25
The Grand Hotel lived up to its name. The doors were gilded in bronze and there was a doorman in a purple uniform. A sign on the roof that could be seen from a quarter mile away was in cursive, and it was one of the tallest buildings in the growing city.
None of which Fargo gave a damn about. All he had on his mind was the Ovaro. He got to the hotel twenty minutes early and drew rein down the block.
The hotel didn’t surprise him, given Ransom Trayburn’s taste for elegance. Five equally elegant carriages were parked in front. They had canvas over the windows so no one could see in or out.
A large group of obviously well-to-do men and women was gathering. The men with flashy stickpins and gold chains for their watches, and canes. The women were in bright dresses with a lot of lace and frills, and hats that only women would wear.
Also present and lounging about but plainly there to see that no one bothered the rich crowd were a number of two-legged wolves with revolvers high on their hips or worn for a cross-draw.
At about five minutes to eight, Ransom Trayburn strolled out of the hotel with Kiley Strake and more protectors in his wake. Red, the man Fargo had struck with his Colt in the saloon, was one of them.
Only then did Fargo gig the roan.
Trayburn greeted him with a smile and a bob of his head. “You’re right on time.”
“What’s this?” Fargo said, with a bob of his own at the carriages and the well-to-dos.
