“Afraid I will dig my way out?”
Dawson laughed. “We had a girl, a Nez Perce, try to claw through the wall. She broke all her nails and tore her fingers up something awful. When Big Mike had her tossed into the pit, Caesar smelled the blood and went right for her.”
When Fargo did not say anything, Dawson lapsed into silence. Fargo waited a couple of minutes, then resumed his assault on the bottom hinge. He sliced slowly, wary of arousing Dawson’s suspicions. As a result it took a lot longer.
Fargo lightly put his ear to the door. It was impossible to tell if Dawson was still near it or had drifted down the hall. He decided to find out. “Can you hear me out there?”
“I haven’t gone anywhere.”
“What is the chance of my getting a glass of water? It is stuffy in here and my throat is dry.” Fargo coughed to be convincing.
“I cannot leave this spot,” Dawson said. “I will have my gizzard carved out if I do.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Leave me be.”
“But I am really thirsty.”
Dawson swore. “I will ask the next person who comes by to get you a glass. Now hush. Big Mike was right. You are a blamed nuisance.”
Fargo carefully removed his hand from the door. It stayed upright. Backing off a few steps, he lowered his left shoulder, dug in his heels, and hurtled forward. He hit the door at a full run and it fell outward. A thud and a smothered cry rewarded his effort.
The door had crashed down right on top of Dawson. Fargo stooped and gripped the edge. They were bound to have heard in the saloon; he had only seconds in which to act.
A powerful heave, and Fargo had the door off. Dawson was on his side, his cap crumpled beside him, bleeding from a gash in his head. The Remington was under him.
Fargo would rather have his Colt, but the last he had seen of it was when Kutler took it from him at the meadow. Yells galvanized him into rolling Dawson over. Dawson groaned, but did not come around. Snagging the revolver, Fargo thumbed back the hammer just as the door at the saloon end opened.
“The son of a bitch has broken out!”
Backpedaling, Fargo shot the loudmouth as the man was drawing. The next cutthroat flourished a six- shooter, and Fargo shot him, too.
“Stop him, damn it!” Big Mike Durn roared. “I will not be made a fool of a second time!”
Fargo wheeled and ran. He did not have cartridges for the Remington and must conserve his shots.
Behind him, gun muzzles belched smoke and lead. Ahead, a Flathead woman poked her head out of her room and promptly pulled it back again.
Fargo was eight or nine feet from the back door when it opened and another of Durn’s men was framed in the doorway.
“What is all the shooting ab—?”
Fargo bowled him over with a straight arm to the throat. Then he was outside and blinking in the bright glare of the new day. For a few seconds he was blinded.
Someone seized his wrist.
16
Fargo went to strike out with the revolver but just then his vision cleared and he beheld lustrous golden hair and an hourglass shape in a pretty print dress. “Sally?”
“I heard they had caught you and was coming to help,” Sally Brook said, glancing nervously at the saloon.
From deep within came a bellow of fury that nearly shook the walls. “After him, you yellow curs! After him, or by God you will answer to me!”
“Hurry!” Sally urged, taking Fargo’s hand. They fairly flew between the buildings and out to the main street. Keeping in the shadows, they raced toward the millinery. Judging by the ruckus, Durn’s men were pouring out the rear of the saloon and spreading out to hunt for him, but as yet none had thought to look out front.
They reached her shop. Sally quickly shut the door after them, and pulled the shades.
Fargo slipped the Remington into his holster. He looked up just as her arms encircled his neck and she pressed her cheek to his chest.
“I was so worried. Durn has been hinting at some sort of vile thing he would do to you if he ever got his hands on you again.”
In brief detail, Fargo told her about the pit.
“He is an animal, that man.” Sally’s eyes grew moist. “I feared I would be too late and you were already dead.”
Fargo had not realized she cared so much. “I am here and I am all right, thanks to you.”
Sally impulsively pecked him on the cheek.
“Do it right,” Fargo said, and kissed her full on the mouth. She stiffened, but then relaxed, parting her lips to admit his tongue. Her own was velvet sugar, swirling around and around in delightful arousal. “You can kiss,” Fargo commented when they broke for breath.
Sally giggled. “It doesn’t take a lot of talent.”
Fargo begged to differ. He recollected all the women he had run across whose idea of a kiss was to have their mouth clamped tight shut. He bent to kiss her again but suddenly it was his turn to stiffen.
The din had spread to the main street. Shouts and the pounding of heavy boots warned that Durn’s men were going from building to building.
Sally spun toward the door. “They will be here in a minute, and I would not put it past them to demand to search the premises.”
“I will hide in the back,” Fargo suggested, and turned to go.
“No.” Sally held onto his arm. “If I know Durn, they will look in every closet, and even under the bed. We need a hiding place they would not think to check.”
“If you can find a ladder I will climb up on the roof.”
“I have something better,” Sally said, and pulled him toward a corner. “It is perfect.”
Fargo did not know what she was getting at. In the corner stood a mannequin of some kind. The top half consisted of the carved wooden likeness of a woman; the bottom half, from the waist to the floor, was made up of wide hoops, each slightly larger than the one above it. Fine strands of wire linked them.
“I use this when I am sewing some of the dresses,” Sally said as she bent and gripped the bottom hoop. A slight pull upward, and the hoops folded in on themselves. She raised them as high the mannequin’s waist. “Crawl under them,” she directed.”
Fargo did not argue. The shouts and the pounding were louder. But there was barely enough room for him to sit with his knees tucked to his chest and his arms around his legs.
“That will do.” Sally lowered the hoops. She had to push on a few to get them to go down. Then she darted to a table and brought over a dress that she proceeded to slide over the top of the mannequin and down over the hoops so it hid Fargo from view. “What do you think?”
Fargo thought it was damn clever of her, and said so.
“Thanks. Now be still. I am going to open up, as I normally would, so they will not be suspicious.”
Fargo heard her move off. He did not like not being able to see. Hoping she would forgive him, he drew the Arkansas toothpick, reached between the top two hoops, and cut a slit at eye level. Prying the cotton apart, he peeked out.
Sally was lifting a shade. She hung an OPEN sign on the window, then smoothed her dress and went to the
