that if Keytano ever went bad, it would be Geronimo all over again.”
“I guess you’ve got a point there,” Sheriff Corbin said.
“Besides,” Falcon added, “Fargo Ford and those sons of bitches with him need killing.”
“You’ve got a point there too,” Sheriff Corbin said again.
CHAPTER 13
Ponci Elliot’s leg hurt him. There was no denying the pain that had by now infested his whole leg. But he wasn’t nearly as crippled or as out of it as he had been pretending to be. Although it was painful to do so, he could still walk, and ride, and stay alert.
Ponci had exaggerated his condition around the others for one reason. He had done it to put them, and especially Fargo Ford, off guard. He hadn’t even been hitting the laudanum as hard as everyone thought, but was saving it for later, when he would need it.
This entire ruse was all a part of his plan to steal the money during the first opening he had. His only problem was finding the right chance. Then, last night, the opportunity was handed to him on a silver platter. He was very pleasantly surprised when the others went upstairs with their whores and Fargo figured that, somehow, the money would be safer with him. It was all he could do to keep his face expressionless over the gift that was dropped in his lap.
“What do you think about that, horse?” Ponci asked his mount. “They were going to leave me in Oro Blanco without the money. Did you know that? Well, let’s see how they like it now.” He chuckled. “Damn me, if I wouldn’t enjoy bein’ a fly on the wall when ole Fargo discovered his money’s all gone, though.”
Ponci had ridden out of town right after midnight, and rode hard through the long, dark hours, putting as much distance between himself and Sassabi Flat as he could. Now, as the sun rose over the Quigotoa Mountains, he slowed his horse to a more leisurely pace. After all, there was no sense in killing his animal, and he doubted that Fargo was even awake yet.
Back in Sassabi Flat, Fargo Ford was awake. So were Dagen, Casey, and Monroe. They were not only awake, they were already aware that Ponci had taken the money. The four of them hurried down to the livery to claim their horses. That was when they saw that Ponci’s horse was gone.
“Son of a bitch!” Fargo swore loudly. “I didn’t think the bastard could even get mounted without help. Son of a bitch!” he said again in his anger.
“Hey!” Monroe shouted to the stableman. “You! Come here!”
The stableman was an older man with white hair and a white beard.
“The roan,” Monroe said, pointing to the stable. “Where did the roan go?”
“I do not know, Senor. I did not see him leave.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t see him leave, you ignorant bastard? It’s your job to see people leave when they take a horse,” Fargo said angrily. “Otherwise, why do we pay you to watch after our horses.”
“I do not know, Senor,” he said again.
“Ahh! You don’t know shit!” Fargo said, shoving the old man roughly. Then to the others: “Let’s get saddled and get after him.”
“Get after him? Get after him how? We don’t even know which way he went,” Dagen said.
Fargo smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “We know which way he went.”
“We do?”
“He went north,” Fargo said resolutely.
“How do you know that?”
“I know that he did ’cause he’s got hisself a whore up in Mesquite,” Fargo said. He chuckled. “Oh, yeah, he figures he can get up there, lay low with his whore while he’s gettin’ his leg fixed, and we won’t know nothing about it.”
“Yeah, he’s talked about that whore from time to time, but who knows if she is real?” Casey asked. “I mean, when you think about it, I can’t picture Ponci with no woman, be she whore or not.”
“Most of the time that is true,” Fargo agreed, “but I know that this one is real.”
“How do you know this one is real? How do you know he ain’t makin’ this one up like he does all the others?” Casey asked.
“I know this here one is real ’cause she’s my sister,” Fargo said.
“Your sister?” Casey said in shock.
“Yeah, you got anything to say about that?” Fargo challenged.
“No,” Casey said quickly. “No, I don’t reckon that I do.
“Come on,” he said. “Get your asses in the saddle and let’s go.”
Within minutes after saddling and mounting, Fargo Ford and the others were riding north out of Sassabi Flat. By now it was incredibly hot and even the breeze, what little there was of it, emphasized the terrible heat. When the wind did blow, which was seldom, it did little by way of amelioration. Quite the opposite, in fact, for it was like a breath of air from a blast furnace, rattling the tinder-dry grass and shifting the sand about in abrasive clouds.
The four men were riding in single file, even though there was plenty of room for them to ride abreast. Fargo was at the head of the file, pushing them hard to catch up with Ponci.
