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

something like that, too, especially through mist or fog. But this is pitch-dark, and the moon sure’s hell doesn’t make rainbows.”
    â€œYou don’t think—?”
    â€œDoes your mother know you’re out?” Fargo scoffed.
    â€œYou needn’t sound so cocksure. There’s plenty of things that can’t be explained.”
    â€œSure there are. I’ve seen streams in the Black Hills that flow uphill. I’ve seen sand in New Mexico that glows green in the dark. Does that mean spooks are causing it?”
    A minute later the lights disappeared.
    â€œOut near the mining camp,” Fargo mused aloud. “And that blood-drained corpse Peatross carried on about—also found near Rough and Ready.”
    â€œAll right,” Sitch conceded. “But how could the red sashes be doing all this?”
    â€œThat’s a poser,” Fargo allowed. “But the real question is
why
they’d be doing all this.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    The next day, the second after the vigilantes had taken Fargo prisoner, he played his deputy role to the hilt. The two men stalled their horses at the livery and Fargo patrolled the town on foot, letting the populace see their new badge toter. Sheriff Vance was right—Carson City was no outlaw hellhole, and the only incident requiring Fargo’s intervention was a brawl that erupted in the middle of Main Street. He defused it with amiable humor and a minimum of violence, desirous of maintaining good relations with the denizens of Carson City.
    In reality, Fargo was searching everywhere he could for that copper-haired beauty. If she had taken refuge in Carson City, she’d have to support herself somehow. He poked his head into milliner’s shops, cafés, clothing stores, anyplace that might hire a woman in a boomtown.
    â€œAt least I haven’t noticed any red sashes following us,” Sitch remarked.
    â€œScully is no fool,” Fargo retorted. “After what happened yesterday, the next man he sends to watch us won’t be wearing his sash. Just watch for the same face showing up too often.”
    The two men made their first visit to the town’s most bustling saloon, the Sawdust Corner. The place seemed opulent compared to most frontier watering holes. The long, S-shaped bar was of polished mahogany with a sparkling brass rail. One half of the saloon was occupied by green baize poker tables, billiard tables in good repair, and the crooked faro rig Sheriff Vance had mentioned. The other half was a large, sawdust-covered dance floor. A fancy, brass-inlaid piano was tucked into one corner with a neatly turned out man in a bowler hat pounding the ivories with evident skill.
    â€œLook at those dime-a-dance gals,” Sitch marveled as the two men paused just inside the batwings to get the lay of the place. “Most of them look like pretty schoolteachers.”
    The unequivocally overweight and ugly barkeep, however, was another story. He had a fat and folding face, and his linen pullover shirt outlined chest muscles that had turned into drooping tits.
    â€œIf Moses could have seen
that
face,” Sitch jibed, “there’d be an eleventh commandment.”
    â€œHe has to be the owner,” Fargo speculated. “Nobody would hire a bar dog that scares off business. He looks like a friendly cuss, though.”
    â€œWhat’s yours?” he enquired when both men bellied up to the bar.
    â€œHow much is a jolt of whiskey?” Sitch asked.
    â€œSix bits.”
    â€œSix . . . Christ, that’s highway robbery!”
    â€œI don’t serve panther piss here, gents, just top grade. We— Say, long-tall, is that a star on your chest?”
    â€œI’m your new deputy, at least for a spell,” Fargo replied. “How much is beer?”
    â€œTwenty cents, but it’s a big mug.”
    â€œWe’ll take two,” Fargo decided, fishing into