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Authors: Jon Sharpe
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Sacramento.”
With that, he turned and headed his horse down the trail after the wagon.
Fargo tracked the wagon down the road to within one mile of Sacramento. The three remaining robbers on horseback, including Daniel, seemed to be riding along beside or behind the wagon.
Fargo felt weaker with every passing mile and passing hour, and he could feel that his wound was bleeding again. He was going to need a doctor a lot sooner than he had thought.
The wagon trail branched and the wagon left the main road and headed south on a rarely used road that eventually led back up into the hills. One rider didn’t join the wagon, but instead headed into the city spread out below the ridge.
Fargo stared down the road, then at the city below him. It was getting toward dusk and the lights of the city were starting to come on as people lit up the lamps. He could hear the faint sounds of the saloons echoing over the water of the river.
Fargo sat at the intersection in the trail, studying the tracks. He was running out of light, and unless it rained, he could track that wagon tomorrow just fine. And more than likely there was some hideout up in the hills that the bushwhackers called their camp. He would settle the score with them tomorrow, after he was patched up some.
And he would find Daniel and ask him why he had done what he did. Why attack his own father, and maybe even kill him?
Fargo turned the Ovaro toward Sacramento, and within an hour, after making sure his horse was fed and taken care of, he was in the doctor’s office hearing the exact things every other doctor had told him over the years.
He was lucky to be alive.
He knew that.
If the lead had hit a little farther in one direction or another, it could have killed him.
He knew that as well.
He needed to rest.
He definitely knew that. Every bone and muscle in his body was shouting that at him.
Fargo just hoped the doctor in Placerville was telling Cain the same thing.
4
Fargo found a cheap hotel off to one side of town. He didn’t want to go back to where he and Cain had stayed last time. He needed to hide and to rest. He didn’t want Sarah Brant or anyone else to know he had survived just yet.
He barely remembered dropping on the bed and the next thing he knew the sun was burning through his eyelids. The town outside the window was slowly coming alive with the sounds of morning activity.
He eased himself up out of bed, wincing at the pain. It felt as if a cattle stampede had run over his body. He checked the wound on his shoulder where the bullet had gone in and then used a mirror to check the wound on his back where the bullet had left him. Neither wound had bled through the bandages, so for the moment he didn’t need to go back to the doctor.
He carefully moved his left shoulder around, feeling for any restriction in movement. Other than the pain from pulling on the wounds, it seemed that the doctor had been right and he had been lucky. The bullet hadn’t ripped any muscle or smashed any bone. It had just gone through him. In a week he wouldn’t even notice it much, besides the two new scars.
What he wished he could do was head back to Placerville, see if his good friend had survived, and let Anne tend to him in that big, soft feather bed of hers.
But that would come soon enough. Right now he had a score to settle. And he had to find Daniel.
He eased on a clean shirt that didn’t have blood and bullet holes, then buckled his Colt back to his hip and headed out. After a quick stop to check on the Ovaro, he headed for Marshal Davis’s office, keeping his hat down low over his eyes to try to avoid anyone recognizing him. At least one of the bushwhackers was in town somewhere and for the moment he wanted them thinking he might be dead, along with Cain. It would make them bolder and more careless in whatever play they were making for Cain’s mine.
The marshal actually seemed glad to see him, and a little worried. “You all right? One of Cain’s men
With that, he turned and headed his horse down the trail after the wagon.
Fargo tracked the wagon down the road to within one mile of Sacramento. The three remaining robbers on horseback, including Daniel, seemed to be riding along beside or behind the wagon.
Fargo felt weaker with every passing mile and passing hour, and he could feel that his wound was bleeding again. He was going to need a doctor a lot sooner than he had thought.
The wagon trail branched and the wagon left the main road and headed south on a rarely used road that eventually led back up into the hills. One rider didn’t join the wagon, but instead headed into the city spread out below the ridge.
Fargo stared down the road, then at the city below him. It was getting toward dusk and the lights of the city were starting to come on as people lit up the lamps. He could hear the faint sounds of the saloons echoing over the water of the river.
Fargo sat at the intersection in the trail, studying the tracks. He was running out of light, and unless it rained, he could track that wagon tomorrow just fine. And more than likely there was some hideout up in the hills that the bushwhackers called their camp. He would settle the score with them tomorrow, after he was patched up some.
And he would find Daniel and ask him why he had done what he did. Why attack his own father, and maybe even kill him?
Fargo turned the Ovaro toward Sacramento, and within an hour, after making sure his horse was fed and taken care of, he was in the doctor’s office hearing the exact things every other doctor had told him over the years.
He was lucky to be alive.
He knew that.
If the lead had hit a little farther in one direction or another, it could have killed him.
He knew that as well.
He needed to rest.
He definitely knew that. Every bone and muscle in his body was shouting that at him.
Fargo just hoped the doctor in Placerville was telling Cain the same thing.
4
Fargo found a cheap hotel off to one side of town. He didn’t want to go back to where he and Cain had stayed last time. He needed to hide and to rest. He didn’t want Sarah Brant or anyone else to know he had survived just yet.
He barely remembered dropping on the bed and the next thing he knew the sun was burning through his eyelids. The town outside the window was slowly coming alive with the sounds of morning activity.
He eased himself up out of bed, wincing at the pain. It felt as if a cattle stampede had run over his body. He checked the wound on his shoulder where the bullet had gone in and then used a mirror to check the wound on his back where the bullet had left him. Neither wound had bled through the bandages, so for the moment he didn’t need to go back to the doctor.
He carefully moved his left shoulder around, feeling for any restriction in movement. Other than the pain from pulling on the wounds, it seemed that the doctor had been right and he had been lucky. The bullet hadn’t ripped any muscle or smashed any bone. It had just gone through him. In a week he wouldn’t even notice it much, besides the two new scars.
What he wished he could do was head back to Placerville, see if his good friend had survived, and let Anne tend to him in that big, soft feather bed of hers.
But that would come soon enough. Right now he had a score to settle. And he had to find Daniel.
He eased on a clean shirt that didn’t have blood and bullet holes, then buckled his Colt back to his hip and headed out. After a quick stop to check on the Ovaro, he headed for Marshal Davis’s office, keeping his hat down low over his eyes to try to avoid anyone recognizing him. At least one of the bushwhackers was in town somewhere and for the moment he wanted them thinking he might be dead, along with Cain. It would make them bolder and more careless in whatever play they were making for Cain’s mine.
The marshal actually seemed glad to see him, and a little worried. “You all right? One of Cain’s men
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