“Right now I have a wagon to follow and a debt to settle. Just do as I ask and I’ll find you in Sacramento.”
With that, he turned and headed his horse down the trail after the wagon.
Fargo tracked the wagon down the road to within one mile of Sacramento. The three remaining robbers on horseback, including Daniel, seemed to be riding along beside or behind the wagon.
Fargo felt weaker with every passing mile and passing hour, and he could feel that his wound was bleeding again. He was going to need a doctor a lot sooner than he had thought.
The wagon trail branched and the wagon left the main road and headed south on a rarely used road that eventually led back up into the hills. One rider didn’t join the wagon, but instead headed into the city spread out below the ridge.
Fargo stared down the road, then at the city below him. It was getting toward dusk and the lights of the city were starting to come on as people lit up the lamps. He could hear the faint sounds of the saloons echoing over the water of the river.
Fargo sat at the intersection in the trail, studying the tracks. He was running out of light, and unless it rained, he could track that wagon tomorrow just fine. And more than likely there was some hideout up in the hills that the bushwhackers called their camp. He would settle the score with them tomorrow, after he was patched up some.
And he would find Daniel and ask him why he had done what he did. Why attack his own father, and maybe even kill him?
Fargo turned the Ovaro toward Sacramento, and within an hour, after making sure his horse was fed and taken care of, he was in the doctor’s office hearing the exact things every other doctor had told him over the years.
He knew that.
He knew that as well.
He definitely knew that. Every bone and muscle in his body was shouting that at him.
Fargo just hoped the doctor in Placerville was telling Cain the same thing.
4
Fargo found a cheap hotel off to one side of town. He didn’t want to go back to where he and Cain had stayed last time. He needed to hide and to rest. He didn’t want Sarah Brant or anyone else to know he had survived just yet.
He barely remembered dropping on the bed and the next thing he knew the sun was burning through his eyelids. The town outside the window was slowly coming alive with the sounds of morning activity.
He eased himself up out of bed, wincing at the pain. It felt as if a cattle stampede had run over his body. He checked the wound on his shoulder where the bullet had gone in and then used a mirror to check the wound on his back where the bullet had left him. Neither wound had bled through the bandages, so for the moment he didn’t need to go back to the doctor.
He carefully moved his left shoulder around, feeling for any restriction in movement. Other than the pain from pulling on the wounds, it seemed that the doctor had been right and he had been lucky. The bullet hadn’t ripped any muscle or smashed any bone. It had just gone through him. In a week he wouldn’t even notice it much, besides the two new scars.
What he wished he could do was head back to Placerville, see if his good friend had survived, and let Anne tend to him in that big, soft feather bed of hers.
But that would come soon enough. Right now he had a score to settle. And he had to find Daniel.
He eased on a clean shirt that didn’t have blood and bullet holes, then buckled his Colt back to his hip and headed out. After a quick stop to check on the Ovaro, he headed for Marshal Davis’s office, keeping his hat down low over his eyes to try to avoid anyone recognizing him. At least one of the bushwhackers was in town somewhere and for the moment he wanted them thinking he might be dead, along with Cain. It would make them bolder and more careless in whatever play they were making for Cain’s mine.
The marshal actually seemed glad to see him, and a little worried. “You all right? One of Cain’s men said you were wounded.”
“Took one in the shoulder,” Fargo said, “but I’ve had worse.”
Marshal Davis nodded. “Sorry to hear about Cain. He was a good man.”
Fargo glanced around to make sure no one was in the jail who could overhear the conversation. He trusted his sense about this man, and he knew this marshal’s reputation. The man could be trusted.
“Cain was shot, but he may not be dead just yet,” Fargo said. “I don’t honestly know. I sent him with one of his men to hide in a hotel in Placerville. I don’t know if he made it or not, but I figured it was the better hand to play, letting the bushwhackers think he was dead.”
The marshal looked confused. “Why?”
Fargo spent the next few minutes telling the marshal everything he knew about Henry and Sarah Brant, and all the details, including Daniel’s presence among the robbers.
“The kid’s using the neighbor’s mine to make a play on his father,” the marshal said, clearly disgusted.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Fargo said. “Before he joined in with the Brants, Daniel was a good kid. A little gold hungry, but still a good kid. I think Sarah Brant is the one pulling his strings.”
“Henry Brant is known for cutting corners and taking shortcuts. And I’ve heard his mine is starting to play out. It would make sense he’s using the kid.”
“I heard the same thing about the mine,” Fargo said. “And there are rumors that they’re digging underground toward Cain’s tunnels. But to confirm all that, I have to find Daniel.”
“If he’s still alive,” Marshal Davis said. “If Henry Brant thinks that Cain is dead, it would be simple to kill Daniel and take over the Cain mine.”
“My thinking exactly,” Fargo said. That was his biggest worry outside of Cain living. Daniel didn’t have a very long life ahead of him if Fargo didn’t get this cleared up.
“So what can I do to help?” Marshal Davis asked.
Fargo had been hoping the marshal would ask that question. “I’ve got some ore to recover, so I could really use your help looking through town for Daniel, if you know what he looks like.”
“I’ve met him. You think he’s here?”
“I’m not sure, but one of the robbers left the wagon and came into town. I’m guessing it was Daniel. If I don’t find him with the gold, he’s either here or already dead.”
“What do you want us to do with him if we find him?”
“Don’t arrest him,” Fargo said. “That would tip them off to what you know. Just keep an eye on him until I get back and can work some truth out of the kid.”
“You got it,” the marshal said. Then he smiled. “Your men are down at the Mine Shaft Saloon near the river. You need a few more men to go with you on your recovery operation? I could spare a few to join you. I wouldn’t mind coming along myself, to be honest.”
Fargo shook his head. “No, thanks. This one is personal. I’m going to go it alone. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Can’t say as I blame you, Fargo,” the marshal said. “Good hunting.”
Two hours later, after a good breakfast, Fargo turned south at the intersection off the Placerville road, once again following the wagon tracks.
Three miles south of Sacramento, the tracks turned off the main trail and headed back east and into a deep valley coming down out of the mountains. There was no doubt that this trail dead-ended up this valley. The trail had obviously been seldom used, so it would have almost no traffic. Fargo had to respect the choice of a hideout by the robbers. It was close enough to town and the Placerville road, yet isolated and easy to defend and guard.
