California Crackdown

2

You don’t just bring dead bodies into a town without there being some questions asked. The next morning, the inquest with the marshal in front of a magistrate took less than a half hour, with Cain and one of his men giving their side of the story after Fargo gave his. They were all cleared and the judge actually thanked them for taking care of the problem.

Fargo had no doubt that this gang of thieves wasn’t the main problem. More than likely, by getting rid of them, he was going to force Brant into hiring more experienced and dangerous men to go after Cain’s gold.

After dinner the night before, Fargo had asked around and it seemed that no one recognized the men lying in coffins in the morgue, and no one had inquired about their horses or their gear. He hadn’t expected anyone to, but it never hurt to ask.

Outside the stone courthouse, on the edge of the dusty street, Marshal Davis stopped Cain and Fargo. He stood about the same height as Fargo, slightly taller than Cain, and looked like he would be a formidable foe in a fight, even though gray was touching his hair on the sides. He had on a black suit jacket and a wide-brimmed hat. The matching Colts that the marshal carried comfortably in leather on his hips told Fargo the man could shoot with both hands, probably with deadly accuracy. And from what Fargo had heard about Marshal Davis, the man was harsh but fair, and kept the streets of Sacramento pretty much under control.

“Fargo,” the marshal said, staring directly into Fargo’s eyes. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. You mind? I got a question for you.”

“Fire away, Marshal. Not sure I have an answer, but I’ll do my darnedest.”

Marshal Davis smiled. “Are you working the Placerville road for Mr. Parker?”

“I am,” Fargo said.

Cain laughed. “Thank all the heavens that he is. It would be me and my men lying in that morgue without him helping me out.”

Marshal Davis nodded. “Glad you’re on the job. I need all the help I can get on that road with all the robberies going on and the amount of gold being transported into town. And from the looks of them, I doubt these men are the main problem.”

“I have the same hunch,” Fargo said.

Cain laughed again and slapped Fargo on the back. “I trust your hunches, Skye. You’re the only one who can get my shipments through. They’re the ones that seem to be getting attacked the most.”

“I’ve noticed that as well,” Marshal Davis said. “That’s why I’m glad Fargo is with you. That alone should cut down on some of the problems on that road. Your reputation precedes you, sir.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” Fargo said. “Kind of like a bad smell.”

Placerville had expanded down a valley and spread out like an ugly weed over the hillsides. Tents, shacks, and lean-tos surrounded the two-story buildings that formed the town’s core. Mine tailings dotted the hills like scars in all directions and there wasn’t a tree in sight left standing.

By the time Fargo left Cain at his mine and rode into town, it was getting close to dark. The heat of the day still hovered over the buildings, keeping everything feeling dusty and tight.

Cain had been hoping that Fargo would stay with him in his big, empty house, but Fargo had declined, saying it just wasn’t his style. Cain had laughed and said he knew that, but had to offer. Then Cain had suggested that Fargo stay in the nicest hotel in town and put it on his tab. Fargo intended to take him up on his offer. While he preferred sleeping on the trail, he wasn’t about to turn down an occasional hotel and well-cooked food.

The Wallace Hotel filled a corner and part of one block of the boomtown. It had been built with rough stone and painted wood, with large windows and a covered wooden porch and sidewalk area that wrapped around the big building. On one street was the entrance to the saloon; around the corner on the other street was the entrance to the hotel.

Fargo went in the hotel entrance and looked around. The hotel had a lobby that was separate from the saloon, and like the hotel in Sacramento, there was a grand staircase made out of marble and polished wood that soared upward in a wide curve over the stuffed chairs and couches of the lobby.

There was a separate dining area off of the lobby and a door that marked the entrance into the saloon and kept the noise in the lobby down. The smells coming from the dining area were inviting and Fargo set his mind on a good dinner, then maybe a little poker and a drink to round off the evening.

He arranged for a bath to be drawn in his room as he checked in. Before going upstairs, Fargo poked his head in to the saloon to take a look around. The place had a number of what looked like high-stakes poker games going and a stage for dancers later in the evening. It smelled of cigar smoke and whiskey and felt inviting. A brass spittoon sat near every table and behind the long wooden bar. The wall was full of bottles arranged around a huge ornate mirror. Fargo had no doubt he could spend many a comfortable evening in the place.

He was about to head to his room when a woman in a dark dress with pink trim stepped into the saloon from a back room. She had long brown hair, beautiful white skin, and green eyes that could hold a man firmly in place no matter what the occasion. Fargo knew that for a fact, since he had spent many a pleasurable night staring into those eyes in Colorado a few years before.

Her name was Anne Dowling, and she was the widow of Wallace Dowling. Wallace had been a rancher and had been killed by rustlers. Anne had run the ranch for years before Fargo met her. They had become lovers and he had helped her out with two of her ranch hands who were threatening her and trying to take over her ranch.

Her bubbling personality made her one of those people whom it was almost impossible to say no to. And she had been a lover like none he had known since.

Fargo stared, taking in her beauty and flowing movements as she headed behind the bar like she owned the place. Then it dawned on him that likely she did. This was the Wallace Hotel. Her husband had been named Wallace.

He moved through the saloon, watching her work on something on the back counter. He finally reached the bar and stood staring at the white skin of her neck above the collar of her dress. He had loved the feel of her skin. The memory was as if they had made love yesterday, not four years before.

The bartender approached him. “What will it be, sir?”

“A simple hello from a beautiful woman would be a nice start.”

The bartender frowned and started to say something when Anne spun around, all smiles. “Skye!”

She moved to the bar, took Fargo’s hands, and squeezed them, then almost climbed up on the bar to kiss his cheek.

Her green eyes sparkled with excitement at seeing him. He had to admit, he was excited in more ways than one at seeing her again as well.

“What are you doing in Placerville?”

“I was about to ask you the same question,” Fargo said, laughing.

“Long story.” She squeezed his hands again, her smile beaming just as he remembered it. “Have you had dinner?”

“Just going up to my room to drop off my gear, get cleaned up, and do exactly that.”

“Wonderful,” she said, laughing. “Mind if a woman invites herself to your table?”

“Anne, it would be my pleasure,” he said, bowing slightly.

She released her grip on his hands and turned to the bartender. “Reg, this is the Trailsman. He doesn’t pay for a drink in here.”

Reg smiled and nodded to Fargo, clearly recognizing the name. “Nice meeting you, sir. Anne has spoken of you often and I’ve heard many other stories. It is an honor and a pleasure.”

“A bartender who serves me free drinks,” Fargo said, shaking the bartender’s solid hand and smiling. “I think the pleasure is all mine.”

“Anything to keep you around a little longer,” Anne said, laughing.

“Oh, I might be here awhile,” Fargo said. Then, before she could ask, he said, “Long story. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. Give me thirty minutes to clean off a week’s worth of trail dust for such wonderful company.”

She half climbed up on the bar again and kissed his cheek for the second time. “I’ll be in the dining room. Don’t keep a girl waiting too long. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Then she winked and turned and headed for the back room.

Fargo watched her go, his mind filled with memories of all their nights together.

“She’s quite a woman,” Reg said.

“You’ve known her for a while then?”

“Tried to get her to marry me—that’s how well I’ve known her.” Then he smiled. “Oh, don’t worry. Those days are long behind me. Mostly just my daydreams more than anything else. To her I’ve never been more than a friend. Sort of like a big brother. But you”— he smiled—“all she does is talk about you. Skye this and Skye that. She has her own daydreams when it comes to you.”

“Well, I’ve had a few about her too.”

“You don’t strike me as the settling-down kind.”

“No. I’m not. But once in a while she makes it very tempting. All these years go by and I still think of her. Then I run into her—”

Reg had to move down the bar to serve a pair of new customers. He was a burly, quiet gent, one of those men whose presence had a calming effect on people. A real asset in the bartending business, especially given the nature of Western saloons, where fights were as common as beers. Fargo imagined that when a brawl broke out Reg had two weapons—the ball bat behind the bar and his own assertive presence.

When Reg came back, he said, “You’ve probably noticed we’ve got a lot of crazy people running around these streets of ours.”

“Gold?”

Reg nodded. “Sort of ugly what gold does to people. You take a nice, decent feller everybody trusts— he gets a little gold and suddenly he sees everybody as his enemy. He’s got to protect the gold. I’ve seen it over and over. Works the same way from the other side too. You have two friends and one of them gets a strike and the other doesn’t. The one without the strike gets jealous. A lot of time—and I’ve seen this happen too—he gets so jealous that some night he’s all drunked up and he kills his old friend in cold blood. That’s the kind of effect gold has on people.”

“And then you’ve got one mine owner trying to take over another mine owner.”

“That’s what’s going on around here. Already been a lot of men killed. The more gold, the more killing.” He laughed. “That’s why I’m happy to stay behind the bar here and mind my own business.”

Reg had to serve a few more customers. Fargo looked around the place. Lamps were lowered over poker tables. A man in a funny little hat and red sleeve garters was sitting down to play the piano. Three men at one table were rolling dice.

Boomtown. You’d find men here from Europe, from Asia. All trying to get rich. Reg was right. Otherwise decent, reasonable, realistic men would leave their homes and families to come west to search for gold. And when they got out here, something happened to them. They changed, no longer decent, reasonable, or realistic. Too many of them changed into hungry wolves.

Reg came back. “This probably sounds kind of crazy, giving advice to the Trailsman. But this is one of those towns where it’s hard to know who to trust. I want Anne to be happy. I doubt she’ll get you to the altar but she’s got a chance as long as nobody turns you into a corpse. So just watch yourself. I don’t want to see that little gal disappointed.”

This time when Reg went down the bar, there was an air of sadness about him. Fargo figured that despite his earlier words, the man was still painfully in love with Anne. It must have been hard for him to talk to Fargo about the woman he loved—the woman who loved Fargo and not him.

But Reg was one of those rare people—he put the wishes and needs of his friend Anne above his own wishes and needs.

Anne was lucky to have a friend like Reg.

Fargo hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in a long time. The steak cooked exactly the way he liked it, the potato soft and moist, the waiters around only when needed. But it was the company of Anne that made the meal memorable.

After they had eaten, they talked far into the night over fine wine, far after the restaurant was closed to the regular guests.

As he had guessed, she was the owner of the hotel. She had sold her ranch after one rough winter and headed west, ending up here with enough money and the right timing to build Placerville’s largest and nicest hotel and saloon. She hadn’t remarried and had no intention to.

“You spoiled me, Fargo,” she said at one point, putting her hand on his and looking into his eyes. “Not only for other men, but you showed me that there was more to living than just a ranch and cattle.”

“So, are you happy here?”

“More than I ever thought possible,” she said. “Sure, I have my problems, but I also have far more good days than bad. And this place is a gold mine without having to lift a shovel.”

“And what happens if the mines start to play out?” Fargo asked. He couldn’t begin to count the number of towns that had boomed and then vanished into dust over the years when the gold or silver ran out. Or the railway passed the town by. Or the water went bad.

“I’ve been watching,” she said, her eyes and expression serious for the first time in the conversation. “If it starts to look like it’s going to dry up, I’ll sell out quickly and Reg and I and a dozen others who came with me from Colorado will move to another city, build another place, and start again.”

“You’ve sure got a good friend in Reg.”

“I sure do,” Anne said. “He took over as ranch foreman after you left. He’s now my hotel manager, the person I trust to run this place. He’s almost my business partner. He designed this place and helped build it. He gets a share of the profits as well.”

“He still loves you, you know.”

Anne looked directly into his eyes. “And I’m still in love with you.”

Someday down the road, if he ever got too old for moving around, Anne might be the one he would come back to. But he wasn’t that old yet, and she knew that.

“So,” Anne said, sipping her wine and sitting back, “what’s this long story that brought you to Placerville?”

He told her everything, including what had happened on the Placerville road yesterday.

She nodded, even though there was worry in her eyes. “Cain is a good man. Very well respected around here. He treats his men well and plays fair. It makes sense he would be your friend. But some of these other mine owners you want to stay clear of.”

“I’d be grateful for any local knowledge I can get,” Fargo said.

Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice just to make sure no one could hear, even though the dining area seemed clear and their table candles were the only ones still burning in the room. “What do you know of Henry Brant?”

Anne looked disgusted at the very mention of the name. “The worst of the worst. And his daughter is as bad as they come as well. I won’t even allow his men to drink or eat in here. He’s known to play poker over at the Benson Saloon. I hear Cain’s son is mixed up with the daughter. Doesn’t seem right to me.”

“I heard that too,” Fargo said.

“So why the hushed tone and the question?” Anne asked.

Fargo told her about his brief meeting with Sarah Brant, and then about the horses and gear that the robbers had been using. “It doesn’t add up completely, but it sure points a finger.”

“And I wouldn’t put it past the Brants to be behind the robbery attempts on Cain’s shipments,” Anne said. Then she too lowered her voice to a whisper. “There are rumors that the Brants’ mine has mostly played out and they’re working underground toward Cain’s tunnels that are still hitting vein. But they’re only rumors and there’s no way of proving it until something happens underground and Brant breaks through into one of Cain’s tunnels.”

Fargo nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time there’s been a war between mines underground.”

After another half hour of talking business, Anne stood and stretched. “It’s getting late and a lady like me needs her beauty sleep.”

Fargo could feel the disappointment hit his stomach as he stood. He had hoped for another ending to this evening.

Anne smiled at Fargo and pulled him closer to her. He was a good foot taller than she was and she pressed in close and looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. She smelled great and he could feel her ample breasts pressing into him as a reminder of good times in the past.

“To really get my beauty sleep, I could use a good man to tuck me in.”

“I’ll be as good as I can be,” he said.

She eased up on tiptoe to kiss him. “I’m counting on that.”

She took him by the hand and led him through the kitchen to the back staircase. Only a dishwasher was still at work and he didn’t look up as they passed. Her room was an unmarked door at the end of the hallway, about five doors down from his room. She let him in.

A large dresser and mirror filled one wall beside an oversized white bathtub. A huge bed with an ornate headboard was against another wall, and a large closet led off to one side of the dresser. There was also a comfortable-looking reading chair between two corner windows and a stand with a number of books on it beside the chair. Drapes had been pulled across the two windows and the only light in the room came from a lantern turned low on the nightstand.

She had gone from a large sprawling ranch house in Colorado to this room, and yet this room felt as comfortable to him as her house had been. It seemed that anywhere Anne lived, he felt at home.

She locked and bolted the door, then with a rush was in his arms.

“Skye, I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought of you,” she said breathlessly between passionate kisses.

Fargo didn’t lie when he said he had thought about her a lot as well. And right now his body was responding to her as she pressed against him, rubbing up and down with every kiss.

Finally, during one long kiss, he swept her off her feet and carried her to her large feather bed, easing her down onto the beautiful pink satin quilt that covered the sheets. Then he slowly undressed her, kissing every new inch of exposed soft skin until she finally lay there naked and panting.

He stood and began peeling off his clothes, never taking his gaze from her.

Her beauty took his breath away. Her large nipples heaved up and down with every breath, just begging to be kissed again and again. Her stomach was flat and firm, almost like a much younger woman’s would be, but her wider hips showed her longer years. He loved every detail of her, from her soft hair to her tiny feet.

She spread her legs, exposing herself slightly. “You are sure taking your time getting undressed,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. She had a look in her eyes of hunger and lust. He remembered that look, that unbridled passion she always expressed toward him. That look alone had kept him thinking about her over the years.

When he shoved his pants down and his hard, thick member sprang free, she couldn’t wait any longer. Before he could kick one leg out of his pants, she sat up on the edge of the bed and grabbed his manhood, licking it and playing with him.

The sensation of her kisses and her warm lips almost knocked him over before he could finally get a leg loose from his britches and get his balance.

Then, suddenly, she stopped and pulled him down on top of her.

With a quick, experienced hand, she directed him inside her moist tunnel.

He filled her up completely and she gasped.

All he wanted to do was lay there for a moment, memorizing the feeling of being inside her. But she would have none of that.

She moved under him, forcing him to move.

He raised himself up on his arms so he wasn’t crushing her and so that he could see her beautiful face in the dim light from the bedside lamp. She had her eyes closed and a pink flush filled every inch of her face and soft skin.

She moved slowly at first as he held himself there, grinding her hips up and down into his, taking him completely one moment, then almost losing him the next.

Finally, he let himself join her movements, and together they slowly picked up speed. The expression on her face gained intensity and her movements became more demanding.

He leaned down and buried his face in her soft brown hair and the smooth skin on her neck as he pushed back against her.

Like a locomotive building up steam, they went faster and faster, never seeming to miss a beat, always in unison, holding each other in all ways.

It felt so perfect, so intense, that there was no holding either of them back and they both reached their peaks in hard, fast, flesh-slapping unison.

Fargo couldn’t remember being so out of breath before. Somehow, he managed to ease up on one elbow to watch Anne gasp for breath as well, her chest heaving up and down, her body still clamped tight around his manhood.

There had been a number of special women in his life, but none like this woman under him now. Everything about her filled him with the desire to stay with her, even though he knew he wouldn’t. But maybe this job with Cain and the miners might last a while, give them some real time together.

Anne opened one eye and squinted up at him. “It’s been a long time. That was better than I remembered it.”

He kissed her and smiled. “Yeah, and a great dessert after a great meal.”

She opened the other eye and stared at him. “Who said anything about dessert there, mister? That was just the appetizer.”

With that, she pushed him over sideways and without losing him inside her, she rode up on top of him, settling down on his manhood like a rider settling into a saddle.

He could feel himself responding, filling her up as he again grew into the task at hand.

“You got yourself a really hungry woman here,” she said, smiling down at him as her long hair framed her face like a beautiful picture. “Let’s work on the main course before we talk about dessert.”

“Just don’t expect a seven-course meal,” he said, smiling at her.

She laughed, then slowly moved on him, up and down, easing herself along his shaft, letting the juices between them flow as she ground down, then lifted up again. “We’ll see about that,” she said, smiling that hungry, loving look he had come to like so much.

Then she picked up speed and all thought of a witty response left his head.

Fargo had just walked out of the hotel when the bullet sang past him, digging its way into the wood of a slender pillar. Behind him a woman in the lobby screamed as a second bullet smashed through the glass of the front door. By this time Fargo was in a crouch with his gun drawn. Even in a town as rough as this one, gunfire on Main Street alarmed everybody.

He got a glimpse of the gunman just before the man disappeared behind the false front of the general store across the street. Fargo should have been easy pickings. But given all the street traffic—wagons, buggies, as well as people—it was probably difficult to kill Fargo without risking killing somebody else.

A small crowd started to form immediately. The hotel lobby was filled with shouting, cursing people who made it sound as though the earth was coming to an end. You’d expect more control from people who lived in a mining town.

But Fargo’s only concern now was getting the gunman. He pushed his way through the people who’d stopped in the middle of the street to see what was going on. He knew he had only a minute or two to find his man. The shooter would have a horse waiting for him. He’d be in the saddle as soon as he worked his way down off the flat roof of the general store.

Fargo was almost across the street and ready to run to the alley that divided the general store from the druggist’s when somebody shouted, “Look out, mister!”

Fargo heard the horse before he saw him. And when he saw him he realized that the gunman wasn’t his only problem. Something had spooked the big animal. No surprise after gunfire and all the calamity in the street. Horses weren’t any different from humans in that respect. When they got scared, their natural instinct was to flee. And that’s what this bucking, whinnying animal was trying to do.

The girl riding the paint was now as spooked as the horse, trying to bring it under control. Fargo moved away from the hooves of the animal so that he was in no danger, but he couldn’t just let the young girl get thrown off and hurt.

Fargo knew a trick a wise Virginian stable owner had once taught him. When you’re dealing with a spooked horse, the fastest and surest way to get it unspooked is to grab the reins and force it to point its head down. Most spooked horses have their heads raised to the sky. Lowering the head calms the animal and takes its attention away from whatever spooked him.

Fargo ran to the girl. She was screaming for help. All her confidence in handling her horse was gone. All that was left was fear. Every time the animal bucked she screamed louder. Fargo’s first instinct had been to shout his instructions to the girl. But he could see she was too panicked to hear him.

He reached up and grabbed the reins himself. He pulled on them firmly and said, “Calm down, boy; calm down.” The girl kept on screaming, which didn’t help a whole hell of a lot.

But after keeping his hand on the reins and repeating, “Calm down, boy,” several times, the paint began to respond enough that Fargo could grab the girl and lower her to the ground while keeping control of the animal.

Fargo patted the horse’s neck and continued speaking to him in a soothing voice. Head lowered, breathing starting to sound normal again, the paint became the trustworthy family horse it usually was.

The onlookers were impressed. He felt many pats on his back and shoulders. The young girl was crying but thanking him over and over. Two or three men offered to buy him a drink.

Fargo’s attention was fixed on the general store across from him. The gunman would be long gone. But he might have left some clues about his identity.

Fargo walked into the general store. The various smells were intoxicating. New denim, leather, licorice, tobacco, flour—no wonder the old ones liked to sit in general stores and play checkers all day.

The small Swede in the rimless glasses behind the counter said, “I seen it all, mister. Them shots somebody took at you, I mean. And I want you to know I didn’t have nothing to do with it. We was workin’ on the roof the last couple days and left a ladder in back. That’s what the sonofabitch used and I want you to know I’m sorry.”

“Good enough.” The Swede had answered Fargo’s first question. No complicity. The gunman had used the roof because of its location directly across from the hotel. And he’d even had a little help, a ladder left innocently against the back of the store. “I guess I’ll check out the roof myself.”

“I sure hope you catch him, friend. This town’s got enough troubles without people shootin’ at people right here on Main Street.”

The roof wasn’t any help in figuring out who the shooter had been. He’d been smart enough to take his shells and whether on purpose or not his boot prints were lost in the boot prints of many other men. Fargo stood in the position the gunman had taken. He had to change his mind about the prowess of the man. Even given all the street traffic, killing Fargo should have been an easy task. Fargo had paused on the top of four steps. Easy to see day or night. One shot should have killed him. Two should have made sure the job was done properly. But the man had missed both times.

Fargo walked to the back edge of the roof. Escape had been easy. A prairielike stretch of grass behind the store led to a stretch of deep timber. No problem losing yourself in there.

Fargo wondered who’d hired the man. He had a pretty good guess. Fargo grinned. He’d probably paid a fair amount of money for the shooter. But he sure hadn’t gotten his money’s worth.