Read Online Nevada Vipers' Nest by Jon Sharpe - Free Book Online

did a double take when he noticed the star pinned to Fargo’s buckskin shirt.
    â€œI see you’ve tied down your holster,” Fargo goaded. “I reckon you’re about half rough, huh? One of those fearsome pistoleros?”
    â€œIs there some law against a man tying his holster down?”
    â€œNope. You can tie it to your dick if you’ve a mind to. No law against watching a man from a public street, neither.”
    â€œThen how’s come you’re rousting me,
deputy
?”
    Again Fargo smiled his mirthless smile. “Now that’s 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. I’m eccentric that way.”
    â€œLynch you? Good luck proving it in court.”
    The vigilante tried to brush past Fargo, but a grip on his gun arm like an eagle’s talon trapped him.
    â€œTell me something, pistolero. Just why do you and your pals have such a keen interest in Skye Fargo?”
    â€œListen, Fargo, it ain’t a smart idea to be playing cock of the dungheap around here. That tin star ain’t worth a kiss-my-ass. Ask Sheriff Vance what happens to fools who try to buck Iron Mike Scully and his boys.”
    â€œOh, I’ll be killing Scully, all right,” Fargo said in an amiable tone. “All in good time. But not before I find out what you sage rats are up to.”
    â€œYou’re off your chump. We ain’t up to nothing. We just keep the peace out at the camp.”
    His hand moving swift as a striking snake, Fargo snatched the thug’s 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.
    â€œLissenup, Baron of Gray Matter,” he said, dropping the amiable tone. “So far, I got nothing personal against you, and if you play your cards smart you might live. I don’t go out of my way to fill new graves. But I don’t like being spied on and lied to, and I’m giving you one last chance to spill the beans.”
    â€œFuck you. And give me that gun back or you’ll live to regret taking it.”
    Fargo nodded. “So that’s your final word? Well, here’s how it is: the next time I spot you around here, you’ll be shoveling coal in hell. Sitch, keep an eye out for passersby.”
    Fargo drove a savage uppercut into the thug’s 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 man’s gun belt. “Catch,” he called to Sitch, flipping the belt to him. “Now you got a decent sidearm.”
    â€œAll right, but isn’t that outright theft?” said the unrepentant horse thief without a trace of irony.
    â€œNow 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 I’m a lawman, right?”
    Sitch grinned and buckled on the gun belt, holstering the Remington. “Right as rain. Say, you didn’t kill him, did you?”
    â€œNah,” Fargo replied. “Dead men don’t moan.”

7
    The new deputy and his disreputable companion found an eating house on one of Carson City’s 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 sheriff’s office to leave word where he’d be and, under cover of the grainy darkness, the two men pitched camp.
    â€œNo wood for a fire,” Fargo said, “and it’ll get