pulled the wagon slightly off to one side to let them pass.
Everything seemed fine, but Fargo had a gut sense it wasn’t, so he moved a little higher so he could keep an eye on the three for a little farther down the road.
And he had been right.
The three men went on ahead, moving at a normal pace around a bend in the approaching narrow canyon. Then Fargo caught a glimpse of them stopping their horses and dismounting where the road went between two rock ledges along a mostly dry streambed not far from the wagon at all, pulling carbines from their sheaths.
Fargo glanced back at Cain. The wagon would be on the bushwhackers before Fargo could get down the hill.
Fargo grabbed his Colt and fired into the air twice to get the wagon to stop and to warn his party as he headed down through the rocks toward them as fast as he could.
Suddenly, from the direction of Placerville, seven more men appeared and rode at the wagon hard and fast, guns drawn, dust kicking up behind their horses.
Cain had heard the warning shots and then heard the men pounding down on them from behind. He directed the team and wagon off the road and into some rocks. Then he and his men took cover as the robbers burst upon them.
It sounded like a small war going on as Fargo rode hard and fast for the fight, pushing his Ovaro over the rough ground. He had his carbine out and in his hand. All he had to do was get into range.
At the same time as the men on horseback were attacking the guards and Cain, the three men who had passed the wagon moved quickly back up the road to join in. Two of them saw Fargo coming and leveled shots at him, even though he was mostly out of range.
Suddenly, something hit his shoulder, the force stunning him. The impact spun him backward and off his horse, knocking the wind out of him as he hit the ground hard, facedown.
It took him a second through the echoes of gunfire to realize he had been shot. He gasped for air as stabbing pain coursed through him.
From what he could tell, the bullet had gone through his shoulder. He’d been shot before. He knew when a wound was bad and when it wasn’t. This one, if he got to a doctor soon enough, would be all right.
He ignored the pain and took the deepest breath he could to clear his head. Then he grabbed his handkerchiefand stuffed it against the wound, pushing hard against the intense pain to stop the bleeding.
He grabbed the Henry that had fallen beside him and crawled up on a boulder just enough to rest the carbine and get a shot at the men below.
From the looks of it, three or four of Cain’s men were still alive and fighting. Fargo couldn’t tell if one of them was his friend.
Fargo took another painful breath to calm himself, then pulled off a shot at a man working his way around behind the defenders. The man went over backward and Fargo slammed another shell into the chamber.
His next target was a man on a horse. This one spun off his mount and into a large rock as Fargo’s aim proved true.
Three of the robbers turned and fired at him, forcing him off the rock to get cover.
“Get the wagon,” one man shouted, his voice echoing up the hill. “Let’s get out of here.”
Fargo poked his head back up and took another quick shot at another robber. The man slumped to the ground like someone had cut off his legs. From the rocks, Cain’s other guards renewed their fire and took down another robber, but by now one man was on the wagon with the gold, heading the team down the road.
Fargo pulled off a shot at the driver, but his lead went into the buckboard seat beside the man, sending splinters flying. The driver ducked and pushed the team even harder. By the time Fargo could get another shot off, the man was out of range.
He was about to turn the Henry on one of the stragglers when he recognized him. It was Daniel, Cain’s son.
Fargo couldn’t believe that Daniel would rob his own father. How had the kid gone that bad that fast?
Fargo knocked the last robber beside Daniel off his horse with one last shot and let Daniel get away.
The robbery was over.
Fargo slumped to the dirt and leaned against the rock as he tried to catch his breath against the pain. This had gone wrong so fast, he couldn’t believe it. He had lost the gold, and who knew how many good men were dead down there?
Suddenly he realized he hadn’t seen Cain in the last few moments of that fight.
He whistled for the Ovaro, who showed up a moment later. Using his horse to steady himself as he stood, he managed to get mounted and slowly work his way down the hill, not really wanting to look at what lay ahead.
But he did.
Six of the ten bushwhackers were down. It looked like three of the six men from the mine were also down. And Fargo could see the three remaining men crouching beside a man in a red plaid shirt. Cain.
It took Fargo only a moment to get out of the rocks and to the road.
It turned out that two men were dead and Cain was seriously wounded. Fargo knelt beside his friend. Cain was out cold and his breathing was shallow from the wound in his upper chest. The men had already tried to stop the bleeding. Cain might live if they got him help.
Fargo stood, ignoring his own wound and pain.
The gold was gone. Daniel, Cain’s own son, had led the attack. Why would a good kid like Daniel turn on his own father? None of this made sense.
Fargo knew what he had to do. He turned to the three surviving guards and picked the biggest one, Hank, who seemed smart and had gun sense. Cain trusted Hank; now Fargo was going to trust the big man with Cain’s life.
“Hank, can you get him back to Placerville on your own if Cain’s on your horse?”
Hank glanced at his boss and nodded. “I can get him there in just over an hour.”
Fargo just hoped Cain would live that long.
“Good. Don’t take him to the mine. We need the Brants, who are the people behind all this, to think Cain has been killed.”
“That was Daniel with them as well,” Hank said, shaking his head. “Makes no damn sense.”
Fargo didn’t disagree. “Take Cain to the back door of the Wallace Hotel and ask for Anne. Tell her I told you to put Cain in my room and swear her to secrecy. Then get the doc to fix him up and swear the doc to secrecy as well. Then, if Cain makes it through, be darned sure he stays in that room until I get back there, even if you have to tie him to the bed. Guard him with your life. Understand?”
“Got it,” Hank said.
Fargo and the other three men turned back to work on Cain to get him ready to travel.
“Get that shirt off him, and his hat. Switch them with another man’s.”
They quickly followed his instructions. Cain moaned slightly as they boosted him up on Hank’s horse and tied him in sitting up behind Hank, making sure that his wounds weren’t bleeding badly. Both of Cain’s legs were roped to the saddle, and he had a rope tied around his stomach holding him tight against Hank. With a hat pulled down low over his face, no one would recognize him.
Cain moaned again as Hank started back up the road toward Placerville. Moaning was a good sign as far as Fargo was concerned. He didn’t want to think of what would happen if his good friend died.
Fargo then turned to the other two men, one of which was the big muscled kid named Walt. “Round up the horses and get these bodies to the morgue in Sacramento. Then report to Marshal Davis about what happened. Tell him I’ll be contacting him shortly. If he asks, or anyone asks, no matter who it is, Cain is dead. Understand?”
Both men nodded.
“Find a place to lay low and tell the marshal where you’ll be. Tell no one what happened. Don’t leave until I find you.” He handed both of them enough money to cover their rooms and a few drinks and meals, and again they both nodded.
With that, Fargo climbed up on his horse, ignoring the pain in his shoulder.
“Where are you headed?” Walt asked. “You need to get that shoulder looked at.”
The kid was right. At some point he was going to have to get his shoulder looked at and cleaned up. He’d do that in Sacramento.
