did a double take when he noticed the star pinned to Fargoâs buckskin shirt.
âI see youâve tied down your holster,â Fargo goaded. âI reckon youâre about half rough, huh? One of those fearsome pistoleros?â
âIs there some law against a man tying his holster down?â
âNope. You can tie it to your dick if youâve a mind to. No law against watching a man from a public street, neither.â
âThen howâs come youâre rousting me,
deputy
?â
Again Fargo smiled his mirthless smile. âNow thatâs mite unspiritual of you. I just came over to palaver with you. See, I always take a special interest in greasy bastards who try to lynch me. Iâm eccentric that way.â
âLynch you? Good luck proving it in court.â
The vigilante tried to brush past Fargo, but a grip on his gun arm like an eagleâs talon trapped him.
âTell me something, pistolero. Just why do you and your pals have such a keen interest in Skye Fargo?â
âListen, Fargo, it ainât a smart idea to be playing cock of the dungheap around here. That tin star ainât worth a kiss-my-ass. Ask Sheriff Vance what happens to fools who try to buck Iron Mike Scully and his boys.â
âOh, Iâll be killing Scully, all right,â Fargo said in an amiable tone. âAll in good time. But not before I find out what you sage rats are up to.â
âYouâre off your chump. We ainât up to nothing. We just keep the peace out at the camp.â
His hand moving swift as a striking snake, Fargo snatched the thugâs Remington from its holster and handed it to Sitch. There was an alley at the corner of the mercantile, and before the red sash realized what was happening, Fargo had dragged him into it.
âLissenup, Baron of Gray Matter,â he said, dropping the amiable tone. âSo far, I got nothing personal against you, and if you play your cards smart you might live. I donât go out of my way to fill new graves. But I donât like being spied on and lied to, and Iâm giving you one last chance to spill the beans.â
âFuck you. And give me that gun back or youâll live to regret taking it.â
Fargo nodded. âSo thatâs your final word? Well, hereâs how it is: the next time I spot you around here, youâll be shoveling coal in hell. Sitch, keep an eye out for passersby.â
Fargo drove a savage uppercut into the thugâs chin, slamming his head back hard into the building. Next he drove a straight-arm left into his sternum, then finished him off with a powerful roundhouse right. The vigilante collapsed into a heap as if his bones had suddenly gelled.
Fargo removed the manâs gun belt. âCatch,â he called to Sitch, flipping the belt to him. âNow you got a decent sidearm.â
âAll right, but isnât that outright theft?â said the unrepentant horse thief without a trace of irony.
âNow how could a man as young as you have such a shaky memory? You won that rig in a friendly game of chance, remember? I was there as a witness, and Iâm a lawman, right?â
Sitch grinned and buckled on the gun belt, holstering the Remington. âRight as rain. Say, you didnât kill him, did you?â
âNah,â Fargo replied. âDead men donât moan.â
7
The new deputy and his disreputable companion found an eating house on one of Carson Cityâs three cross streets and ordered beef and biscuits and big slabs of apple pie. Just before sunset they retrieved their horses and Fargo selected a campsite almost within hailing distance of the town, a little hollow ringed with boulders and with plenty of grass for the horses to graze.
He rode back to the sheriffâs office to leave word where heâd be and, under cover of the grainy darkness, the two men pitched camp.
âNo wood for a fire,â Fargo said, âand itâll get
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