Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860) (5 page)

Toothpicks were different from most knives in that most had a single sharp edge but toothpicks were double-edged and came to a fine point.

Fargo inserted the tip into the keyhole. It went in a quarter of an inch and he felt it press against the mechanism.

He pushed but nothing happened. He twisted to the right with the same result. He twisted to the left and thought he could feel something give but the cuff didn't come unfastened.

Fargo did more swearing. He sat back and noticed a gleam on the quilt where Lacey's head had been; it was the silver hairpin.

Fargo slid the Arkansas toothpick into its ankle sheath and snatched up the hairpin. A lot of women used them but not many could afford hairpins made of sterling silver. He slid it into the keyhole on the cuff and moved it from side to side and twisted one way and then the other. Once again nothing happened. He slid it a fraction farther and turned it as he would a key and there was a slight click. Elated, he pulled on the cuff but it stayed fastened.

Fargo slumped on the pillow. He didn't know how much time he had but it couldn't be a lot. He had to get the cuff off and get to the Cosmopolitan or he'd forfeit his five thousand dollars and any chance of winning. His temper flared, and in a burst of anger he stuck the hairpin into the hole and pushed harder and twisted almost savagely.

There was a louder click and the cuff popped open.

Quickly, Fargo found his shirt and was soon dressed with his gun belt around his waist. He opened his door and ran to the stairs. Someone was in the parlor, humming. He was more interested in the grandfather clock in the hall. “Seventy thirtyseven,” he said out loud, relieved. He'd thought it was a lot later.

“Who's there?” a female voice said, and out of the parlor came young Roselyn Deerforth, as cute as could be in a pink dress with a matching pink bow in her hair. “Oh. Mr. Fargo. Are you feeling better?”

“How's that again?” Fargo said.

Roselyn smiled sweetly. “Miss Mayhare told my parents and me that you were feeling poorly.”

“She did, did she?”

Roselyn nodded. “She said you had too much to drink last night and it made you sick.” Roselyn pointed her left forefinger at him and ran her right forefinger along the top of it. “Shame on you.”

“The bitch,” Fargo said.

“Mr. Fargo!” Roselyn put a hand to her throat and took a step back.

“What else did she say?”

Roselyn looked scared. “Only that we weren't to disturb you no matter what. My father wanted to go up but Miss Mayhare said you were passed out in a stupor. That was her very word. Stupor.”

“Is the senator here?”

“No, he left for his saloon a while ago. Mother is, though. She's in the kitchen with Garvin. Want me to take you to her?”

“No, thanks.” Fargo touched his hat brim and hurried outdoors. The bright glare made him squint. He crossed to the stable and went down the aisle to the Ovaro's stall. Opening it, he slipped on the bridle and brought the stallion out. He threw on the saddle blanket, smoothed it, and grabbed hold of the saddle. As he was about to swing it up and over, the Ovaro nickered and feet slapped the ground behind him. He turned just as the man called Jules sprang at him with a knife raised to stab him in the back.

Fargo jerked the saddle up and the blade bit into the cantle. He shoved the saddle at Jules, let it fall, and swooped his hand to his Colt. Before he could draw, arms wrapped around him from behind. Instinctively, he drove his head back and smashed it into the face of his second attacker. The man cursed and the arms slackened. Fargo glanced down, saw a boot, and brought his heel down on it while thrusting his elbow back as hard as he could. The next instant he was free.

The second man was Ranson. Blood smeared his nose. Reaching behind him, he produced a knife.

Jules was in a crouch, poised to pounce.

At the front of the stable someone screamed. Roselyn, with her face twisted in horror.

Ranson and Jules glanced at her and Ranson said a strange thing. “Not now.” With that they bolted for the rear of the stable.

Fargo would be damned if he'd let them get away again, and started after them.

“Skye! Wait!” Roselyn yelled.

Fargo stopped.

Ranson made it through the back door, Jules a step behind him.

Fargo raised the Colt. He could easily put a slug into the man's back. Instead, he snapped the Colt down and said, “Damn me all to hell.” Wheeling, he shoved the Colt into his holster.

Roselyn was running down the aisle. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

“Was that all you wanted?”

His gruff tone stopped her in her tracks. “I was afraid for you. I thought they were going to kill you.”

“They keep trying,” Fargo said. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“I came out to tell you that you better hurry into town,” Roselyn said. “I forgot to mention that Miss Mayhare was trying to get Father to start the tournament early today.”

“What?”

“You should have seen her,” Roselyn related. “She was touching him and rubbing against him and Mother didn't like it one bit.”

Fargo made himself a promise, then and there. “Let's get you inside.”

Just then a man as tall as a redwood and as wide as a wall entered the stable. He wore a brown hat and a brown vest and work clothes, but no revolver. His square face was framed by spikes of dark hair. “What's going on in here? What was that scream about?”

“Garvin!” Roselyn exclaimed. “Some men were trying to hurt Skye.”

Garvin Oster lumbered toward them. “Fargo,” he said curtly by way of greeting. “The senator told me what happened out at the corral. He asked me to keep an eye on things.”

“You're doing a good job,” Fargo said.

“Hey, now.” Garvin balled his huge fists. “I don't like your tone.”

“Watch her,” Fargo said, with a nod at the girl. He figured it was pointless but he ran to the rear door. Ranson and Jules were nowhere to be seen. Simmering, he returned to the Ovaro and picked up his saddle.

Garvin Oster and Roselyn hadn't moved.

“What do you reckon it's all about?” the foreman asked.

“Find those two bastards and I'll find out.” Fargo swung the saddle on and bent to the cinch.

“You shouldn't cuss in front of Roselyn,” Garvin told him.

“It's all right,” Roselyn said.

“No, it's not.” Garvin gently placed a hand on her arm. “You're almost a grown lady. Anyone doesn't treat you right, I'll break them in half.” He looked meaningfully at Fargo.

“My father swears now and then,” Roselyn said.

“He shouldn't.”

“Oh hell,” Fargo said. He was finished with the saddle and stepped into the stirrups. “You might want to get her inside and search the plantation for those two sailors.”

“How do you know that's what they do?”

“Their clothes, their caps,” Fargo said. “They sure as hell aren't farmers.”

“There you go swearing again.”

“Give my regards to your mother,” Fargo said to Roselyn, and tapped his spurs. He trotted out of the stable and brought the Ovaro to a gallop.

The air helped clear his head. By the time he reached town and drew rein at a hitch rail, he had his temper under control.

Or thought he did until he barreled into the Cosmopolitan, and there was Lacey Mayhare.

Senator Deerforth and Lacey were talking and laughing over by the bar. The senator was saying something in her ear when Fargo walked up, unnoticed, and motioned for the bartender to bring him a drink. As soon as he had the glass in his hand, he stepped over to them.

“Remember me?”

Lacey started and turned. “Skye!” she exclaimed, as if she was happy to see him. “This is a delightful surprise.”

“I'll bet,” Fargo said, and upended the glass over her head.

Shock riveted her and everyone who had seen it.

“What on earth?” Senator Deerforth blurted. “What's gotten into you?”

Fargo smacked the glass on the bar. “The next time you handcuff a man to a bed, don't leave this lying around.” He fished the silver hairpin from his pocket and smacked it down next to the glass.

Lacey sputtered and dabbed at the whiskey running down her face and neck. “You—you—you—” She couldn't seem to find a word fitting enough.

“What was that about handcuffs?” Senator Deerforth asked.

“She tried to make me late so I'd miss the tournament,” Fargo enlightened him.

“Oh, Lacey,” Deerforth said.

“I did no such thing!” she snapped, and spit out whiskey that had trickled into her mouth.

“You claim he's lying?” the senator said.

“What proof does he have?” Lacey accepted a towel the bartender offered.

“I have to tell you,” Senator Deerforth said, “that I've known this man a good number of years now, and I've never heard him tell a falsehood. He has his faults but lying isn't one of them.”

“What faults?” Fargo said.

“It's his word against mine,” Lacey told Deerforth, “and I say I didn't do it.”

“Are you behind those two men trying to kill me, too?”

“I don't know what in God's name you're talking about, you big lummox.”

“You want to win more than anything,” Fargo said. “You told me so, yourself.”

“I'd never resort to
murder
.”

“I wouldn't put anything past you,” said someone else, and out of the crowd strolled Vin Creed, a deck of cards in his hand. “Fargo's right, my dear. You'd drown your own mother to win a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Go to hell,” Lacey rejoined.

The gambler laughed. “I have no doubt I will. And when you show up, I'll have a table reserved.”

Lacey glared at them and at the senator and marched toward the back, pushing and shoving anyone not quick enough to get out of her way.

“Isn't she beautiful?” Creed said.

“I'll have to disqualify her,” Senator Deerforth said. “The rules are clear. Participants aren't permitted to interfere with other players in any way.”

“No,” Fargo said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don't kick her out of the tournament.”

“She cheated.”

“There's a shock,” Vin Creed said.

The senator glanced at him in annoyance and turned back to Fargo. “She cheated yet you want her to stay in? What am I missing?”

“It must be love,” Creed said.

“Don't you have something to do?” Deerforth asked in exasperation.

“No.”

“Well, go do something anyway.” To Fargo the senator said, “I'm waiting for an explanation.”

“I'd rather beat her fair.”

“It
is
love,” Creed said.

Deerforth drummed his fingers on the bar. “Are you drunk, Mr. Creed?”

“I wish to hell I was,” Creed said wistfully. “But I never drink on days I play cards.”

“That's quite commendable.”

“Commendable, hell. I play piss-poor when I drink and I can't afford to lose.”

Senator Deerforth turned back to Fargo. “Where were we?”

“You were going to ask to be best man at his wedding,” Creed said.

“I give up,” Deerforth declared.

“Lacey stays in?” Fargo wanted to know.

“If that is your wish, yes. However, any more shenanigans on her part and out she goes.” Deerforth stared at Creed. “Now if you'll excuse me, for some reason I feel like I need a drink.”

“Does Mrs. Deerforth know you're a lush?” Creed asked.

The senator went, “Harrumph,” or made a sound to that effect, and stalked off muttering.

“Some folks have no sense of humor,” Vin Creed said.

Fargo's day had started lousy and it got worse. An hour into day two of the tournament he was down half his stake. He bet heavy on three kings and lost and bet heavier on a flush and lost again.

Dandy Dan from Saint Louis was across from him. On his right was a timid player who nearly always folded at the first cards dealt and on his left a man who was much too reckless.

Fargo concentrated on Dandy Dan. Dan was a professional, a veteran with thirty years at the tables. His face was a blank slate and he bet with a casual detachment that made him impossible to read.

The reckless player was the first to lose his chips. He went all in on a straight. Unfortunately for him, Dandy Dan had a full house.

The timid player clung on. Now and then he'd open but he always buckled if they raised.

Fargo had an idea but he had to wait almost an hour for the cards to fall his way. He was dealt a pair of aces. The timid player opened and Fargo stayed in but didn't raise. Fargo asked for three cards and got another ace. The timid player raised.

Fargo pretended to mull it over and after a long interval he announced, “I'm going all in.”

The timid player gulped. He looked at his cards and at the pile and at his cards again and he forced a nonchalant grin and said, “I'll call.”

It turned out he had two pair, queens and jacks.

“Nicely done,” Dandy Dan said as Fargo raked in his winnings. “Now it's just the two of us.”

“And in a while it will just be me.”

Dandy Dan smiled. “I admire a man with confidence, even when it's misplaced.”

For the next three hours the advantage seesawed back and forth. One or the other would get ahead only to lose most of what he had gained.