Read Online The Trailsman 317 by Jon Sharpe - Free Book Online Page B

up, scream your lungs out.”
    Binder was nervously fidgeting. “Why don’t we wait until daylight? I can’t see in the dark.”
    â€œNeither can your friends. It is better now. Skagg and the others will be asleep.”
    â€œThat is what you think. They like to stay up late drinking and having fun with the women.”
    Fargo wagged the Henry. “Lead the way.”
    â€œI am sorry I ever made the offer,” Binder bellyached. “Your pigheadedness will get us killed.”
    The woods were black as pitch. There was no moon, and what little starlight penetrated to the forest floor did not relieve the gloom. Fargo made no more noise than an Apache but Binder rustled brush and stepped on twigs and once blundered smack into the trunk of a tree.
    â€œYou must have eyes like a cat,” he grumbled.
    â€œTake your time. Feel your way with your hands,” Fargo advised.
    â€œWhat do you think I have been doing?” Binder swore. “I have half a mind to say forget it and take my chances with Skagg. I will tell him I had a change of heart and beg him to let me live.”
    â€œHe does not strike me as the forgiving sort,” Fargo observed.
    â€œHe sure as hell isn’t,” Binder agreed.
    There was no more talk of changing his mind.
    The cabins and lean-tos and tents were all dark but light glowed in the trading post window. Through the burlap that covered it came rowdy voices and lusty mirth. Some of the voices were female.
    â€œWhat did I tell you?” Binder said.
    â€œWhere is your horse?”
    Binder peered at the hitch rail, and swore some more. “Someone has taken it. Skagg, most likely.” He scanned the Landing from end to end. “I bet he has it hid.”
    There was no stable or barn. The only place to hide a horse was behind one of the buildings, or off in the trees.
    â€œStick with me,” Fargo said, and circled until he had a clear view of the rear of the trading post. A horse was picketed close to the back door. “Would that be yours?”
    â€œIt would,” Binder said, brightening. “But there has to be a lookout.”
    The very next moment, two men stepped from the shadows near the horse and looked about them. One was puffing on a pipe. Both bristled with rifles and revolvers and knives.
    â€œWhat did I tell you, mister?” Binder whispered. “Now we can forget your loco notion, right?”
    â€œWrong. There are only two of them.”
    â€œIt only takes one bullet,” Binder said. “I am not taking another step and that is final.”
    â€œNo horse, no hundred dollars, no Denver,” Fargo told him.
    â€œJust so you know, I hate you.”

8
    Fargo tucked at the knees. “Stay put. I will deal with them.” He did not wait for a reply but silently stalked forward. The two lookouts were staring toward the Untilla River, the man with the pipe blowing smoke rings into the air. Fargo moved as quickly as he dared, freezing whenever one or the other so much as moved an arm or leg. To his left was a lean-to plunged in darkness. To his right, farther off, a cabin.
    â€œâ€”waste of our damn time,” the man without the pipe was saying. “Binder isn’t about to come back here with Skagg out to nail his hide to the wall.”
    â€œWe don’t have any proof he was conniving to get hold of the reward money,” said the pipe-smoker.
    â€œSkagg thinks he was and that is all that counts.” The other man’s teeth flashed. “If you don’t think it is right, you can always take it up with him.”
    â€œAnd have Skagg gut me or bust my skull?” The smoker blew another smoke ring. “I am fond of breathing.”
    â€œRight or wrong, I won’t shed any tears over Binder,” the other said. “He is about as likeable as poison oak.”
    Firming his hold on the Henry, Fargo carefully placed his right foot in front of him, then his left. The