“Just like putting it under his mattress,” Fargo said, laughing.
Two hours later, while the sun was still high overhead, Fargo climbed on his big Ovaro and headed back into town. They had found Brant’s deed to the mine and his personal papers. Jim said he could copy the signature easily, so tomorrow morning they would appear in front of a judge with a paper stating that Brant was signing over all interest in his mine and all his property to the men and women who owned Sharon’s Dream.
And the official story was that Fargo chased Brant and his daughter off in the middle of the night, letting them live only if they signed the paper.
No one would believe that, of course, but there would be no one to challenge it, and the bodies were so well hidden, Fargo wondered if the devil himself would run across them.
Again, he went into the Wallace through the saloon batwings. Anne Dowling looked up at him and smiled. She came around the bar and in front of a dozen men playing poker, kissed him hard and long.
When she broke it off, she got a round of applause from the men and some somewhat off-color remarks. She just smiled at the men in the room and took Fargo by the hand and led him into her office, where without a word she kissed him hard and long once again.
When she finally pushed back, he said, “Now, ma’am, I sure hope you don’t greet all your customers like that. You’re apt to wear out those lips.”
She laughed and kissed him again. Then she said, “I can see in your eyes that it’s over.”
“You can?” he asked.
“Skye Fargo, I can read you like a professional poker player reads a rube. The anger is gone. You want to tell me about it?”
“Long story,” he said. “How about over a steak? It feels like I haven’t eaten for a week.”
“Sounds great to me,” she said.
“Tonight, though, I’m buying.”
With him escorting her, they went through the bar, into the hotel, and then into the dining room, where by the time the dessert was served, he had told her everything that had happened since he’d left her bed that morning.
“A mine full of boxes of gold ore?” she asked. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“Nope, not kidding. But I need a favor from you again.”
“Anything,” she said, squeezing his hand.
“I need you to arrange that same judge tomorrow to transfer the ownership.” He told her what Jim was doing in Henry Brant’s handwriting.
She laughed. “I’ll set it up in the morning. I’m sure there won’t be a problem. And I think everyone in town will be happy the explosions have stopped so we can all get some sleep.” Then suddenly she looked serious and a little sad. “When are you heading out on the trail again?”
They both knew he would leave. Any thought of staying in one place too long made him feel like he was living in the bottom of that box canyon with walls trapping him. But this time he smiled at her question instead of ignoring it.
“Sharon’s Dream has hired me to guard all their shipments to Sacramento. And after what they found in that canyon, and their normal production, I’m going to be around for a while yet.”
Again her face lit up and her green eyes sparkled. “Then we have some time together?”
“We have some time,” he said, smiling.
“Well, I suggest we make the most of it, then. I’ll be right back.”
He sat, sipping the last of his drink. He had lost one old friend, but gotten closer to another old friend. Sometimes the balance in life was just that way.
Anne came back across the dining room toward him, smiling.
She noticed that his glass was empty and motioned for the waiter to bring him another. Then she sat down.
“What did you need to do?”
She touched his hand and smiled. “I figure that if I get another drink in you, I might be able to convince you to come back to my room and crawl in that wonderful bathtub of mine with me once again. So I had it filled.”
“You expect me to take two baths in the same week?” He laughed, looking into those sparkling green eyes. “Are you trying to turn me into a gentleman or something?”
She smiled at that, then reached forward and kissed him softly, then whispered, “I just like it when you watch me bathe.”
He swallowed hard, remembering the last time they had been in that tub together. “And how long will it take them to fill the tub?”
She laughed. “About one drink’s worth of time.”
“I can drink real fast.”
LOOKING FORWARD!
The following is the opening
section from the next novel in the exciting
THE TRAILSMAN #325 SEMINOLE SHOWDOWN
“Don’t move, mister, or I’ll blow your damn brains out.”
The big man in buckskins stood absolutely still. A touch of amusement lurked in his lake blue eyes as he asked, “What about my hands? Do you want me to put my hands up?”
“Uh . . . yeah, that’d be good, I reckon. Put your hands up.”
Skye Fargo lifted his hands to shoulder level. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his wide mouth, nestled in the close-cropped dark beard. But he was wary at the same time, because even though he could tell from the voice that the person who had threatened him was undoubtedly young and probably inexperienced,a bullet fired by such a person could still take his life.
“You want to be careful with that gun, whatever it is,” Fargo advised. “Don’t let your finger rest on the trigger, or you’re liable to shoot before you really mean to. And I don’t think either of us wants that.”
“You just let me worry about when I shoot. Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“A friend,” Fargo answered. “I’m looking for Billy Buzzard.”
That brought a sharply indrawn breath from the youngster behind him. “You’re a friend of Billy’s?”
“That’s right. We rode together a while back, doing some scouting for the army.”
“Oh, my God. You’re him. You’re the Trailsman.”
Fargo had to grin at the tone of awe in the kid’s voice. That was one of the advantages—or drawbacks, depending on how you wanted to look at it—of having a reputation.
“Some call me that,” he admitted. “But my name is Skye Fargo.”
“You wouldn’t be lyin’ to me?”
“Nope.”
“Well, then, I, uh, I reckon you can put your hands down, Mr. Fargo. I’m sorry I pointed this here—”
The sudden roar of a shot drowned out whatever the boy had been about to say.
Fargo felt as much as heard the wind rip of the bullet’s passage close beside his right ear. He whirled around, thinking that the boy had accidentally pulled the trigger, just as Fargo had warned him he might.
He caught a glimpse of the youngster’s face, though, which looked even more surprised than Fargo expected,
