betrayed our father. You’re out to destroy the rest of us. You are a vile, mean, petty little man who hid his true nature from us all these years with false smiles and false friendship.”
“Oh, please. I was a whipping boy, good for running errands and attending to legal matters and nothing more.”
“We’ve treated you like one of the family ever since I can remember.”
“The family dog, perhaps.” Pickleman gestured at Jacques. “Enough of this. None of them found the chest so I have no further need of them. Do as I’m paying you to do and finish them off.”
“Do you have a preference as to the order?”
“Eh? No. Just kill them and be done with it.”
“As you wish, monsieur.”
20
The whole time they were talking, Fargo had slowly placed his hands flat on the ground. He dug the fingers of his right hand into the soil, uprooting a clod of dirt. It wasn’t much but it was all he had and he would be damned if he was going to go down without a fight.
Jacques was taking aim at Samantha but glanced up at a sudden racket in the undergrowth.
Roland Clyborn stumbled into the open. He had been pushed from behind and was pushed again.
“Keep moving, monsieur,” Julienne commanded. She saw her brother and smiled and nodded and Jacques smiled in return.
Roland fell to his knees. He had taken a fierce beating. His right eye was swollen nearly shut, his nose was broken and bleeding, his mouth dripped blood and his face was marked black-and-blue. From the way he was holding his arm, it was either sprained or broken. Pain etched his face as he looked at Theodore Pickleman and said simply, “Traitor.”
The lawyer was momentarily dumbfounded. Sputtering, he croaked, “What is the meaning of this, Julienne? You were to have killed him by now while your brother attended to these others.”
“What stopped you?”
Roland Clyborn managed to smile through his pulped lips. “Me. I said the magic words.”
Theodore angrily shook a finger at him. “What are you prattling about? There’s nothing you could say that would keep you alive.”
“I found the chest.”
The lawyer stiffened. “What’s that?”
“You heard me, you bastard. I found the chest with the last page of Father’s will.”
“Where is it? I don’t see it on you.” Pickleman glanced at Julienne. “Do you have it?”
“
“Then where the hell is it?”
Julienne shrugged. “He didn’t have it with him.”
“Then he’s lying,” Pickleman practically shouted. “He tricked you into sparing him so you would bring him to me, you stupid sow.”
Jacques turned and placed the muzzle of his Remington against the lawyer’s head. “Have a care, monsieur. You will talk to my sister with respect or, employer or no, I will splatter your brains.”
“Jacques, no,” Julienne said. “He has a right to be mad if I have been made a fool of.”
Jacques slowly lowered the Remington. “Very well. But he must watch his words. No man insults you while I still breathe.”
Fargo had glanced at Roland and Roland at him. They understood each other without having to say anything. Fargo nodded, and Roland nodded, and Fargo tensed for what he had to do.
Pickleman was saying, “It doesn’t matter if he did find the chest. So long as no one else knows we can carry on with my original plan. You’ll kill them, I’ll blame their deaths on Tom, and become executor of their father’s estate. It’s simple as can be.”
“Except for one thing,” Roland said.
“What would that be?”
“I took the chest to the hunting lodge and turned it over to Jarvis and the other servants for safekeeping.”
“You’re lying.”
“You would like to think so, wouldn’t you? But if you have us murdered now, you face the gallows.”
“To the contrary,” Pickleman said. “You’ve just made my alibi foolproof. I’ll say that Tom went berserk when you told him you dug up the chest. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing the inheritance and snapped. It’s perfect.”
Tom had been quiet but now he pushed to his feet and furiously declared, “You rotten scum.”
“Shoot him,” Pickleman said to Jacques.
The brother started to raise his revolver.
Fargo couldn’t hold off any longer. He exploded up off the ground and flung the dirt in Jacques’s face. Jacques instinctively ducked and sidestepped and swung the Remington toward him. Fargo sidestepped, too, as the six-gun went off. He dived, hitting Jacques low in the legs and bringing him down. He grabbed Jacques’s wrist and Jacques grabbed his, and they grappled.
Pickleman was screeching for Jacques to kill him and for Julienne to help. Only Julienne couldn’t.
Out of the corner of his eye Fargo glimpsed her on the ground, struggling with Roland. Despite his wounds, Roland had tackled her. He was trying to pin her and received a jolting blow to the jaw.
“Hang on!” Tom cried, and leaped to help his brother.
Fargo winced as a knee caught him high on his leg. It had missed his groin by inches. He returned the favor and Jacques grunted but his grip didn’t weaken.
Hissing, the young assassin bared his teeth. “I have wanted a rematch with you.”
Jacques drove his forehead against Fargo’s chin.
The world burst into fragments of swirling colors. Fargo lost his hold. A blow to his chest knocked him onto his side. His vision cleared, and he saw Jacques already rising and the revolver being pointed at him. He was about to die and there was nothing he could do.
That was when Theodore Pickleman darted in and grabbed Jacques by the arm. “Kill them!” he shrieked. “You must kill them, do you hear?”
“Let go, you fool!” Jacques threw him off .
By then Fargo was up. He seized Jacques by the wrist just as the revolver went off and the lead dug a furrow in the earth. Pivoting, Fargo heaved and threw his foot out. Jacques’s legs and head switched places and Jacques’s arm gave a terrific wrench and a
Jacques screamed.
“Brother!” Julienne cried.
Fargo glimpsed her battling Roland and Tom. She had lost her pistol and had a knife in each hand. It was two against one but Fargo knew they were no match for her. He had to help, only he wasn’t give the chance.
Jacques came up off the ground with a knife of his own. He stabbed at Fargo’s chest and Fargo twisted aside. Jacques came after him, cutting, slashing, trying to bring Fargo down.
Samantha called out Tom’s name in horror.
Fargo glanced over. Tom was down, crimson misting from a wound in his side. Now only Roland prevented the sister from coming to the aid of her brother, and Roland wouldn’t last long alone.
A grim grin curled Jacques’s mouth. His next several swings were intended to keep Fargo at bay until Julienne could spring to his side.
Jacques had dropped the Remington when Fargo broke his arm, and apparently forgotten about it. Fargo hadn’t. There it was, almost at his feet. He kicked at Jacques, forcing Jacques back, and dropped to his knee.
