Trailsman #251, The :

From behind a tree twenty-five yards from the cabin, Skye Fargo studied the dwelling for signs of life. The door was closed, the curtains were drawn. He heard nothing to indicate anyone was inside. It appeared to be empty, deserted. But he couldn’t shake a vague premonition it wasn’t.

“What are we waiting for?” Charlie Vrittan asked. “It’s broad daylight. Even if some of the Dirt Breathers are in there, the sunlight will blind them when we kick in the door.”

“That’s right,” Moran chimed in. “Bokor and me can go bustin’ on in there before those devils know what hit ’em.” He glanced at Bokor, who grinned and hefted a Sharps. “Just say the word, Charlie. The longer we wait, the worst it’s bound to be for Olivia.”

“There’s no telling what those monsters are doing to her,” mentioned a woman old enough to be Dixon’s mother.

Fargo would rather they take it nice and careful, but he didn’t object when Charlie Vrittan nodded and gestured.

“Go ahead, Moran. But Bokor and you be careful, hear? We’ve already lost Higgins and Clark. We can’t afford to lose one of you, too. Remember how devious and deadly Sarah’s bunch can be. If it’s an ambush, get right back out again. We’ll cover you.”

The pair crouched, glanced at each other, then raced toward the cabin in a zigzag pattern to make themselves harder to hit.

“I only pray the Dirt Breathers haven’t taken Olivia underground,” Charlie somberly commented. “Down there, they are in their element. They know those tunnels even better than I do.”

Moran and Bokor reached the cabin. Moran had said something to Bokor as they covered the final ten yards, and now they lowered their shoulders and slammed into the plank door side by side. It buckled under their combined impact. The next moment they were inside, swallowed by darkness. Several seconds of silence ensured.

Just then a hellacious racket raised the rafters. Shouts and curses mixed with bloodcurdling screams and fierce shrieks. The Sharps thundered. So did Moran’s revolver.

“They’re in trouble!” Charlie cried, and leaped from concealment. “Come on! We’ve got to help them!”

In Fargo’s opinion Vrittan was compounding one mistake by making another, but he charged toward the cabin with the rest. They hadn’t covered a third of the distance when the uproar abruptly ceased. He took several more loping strides when suddenly the burlap curtains parted and a rifle muzzle was shoved out. Instantly, it spat smoke and lead.

“Take cover! Take cover!” Vrittan hollered, springing to help the wounded man. “They were waiting for us! It was a trap!”

The snout of another gun protruded from the shadowy doorway, and whoever held it blasted away.

Fargo backpedaled, returning fire as he retreated. He put two slugs into the center of the curtains and sent two more into the door jamb within inches of the second gun. Both weapons were jerked back. The Air Breathers regained cover without anyone else being wounded or slain.

The man who had taken a slug in the shoulder was bleeding but not severely hurt. The bullet had penetrated just below his collar bone, and exited out his upper back without severing a major artery or breaking bone.

“You were lucky, Fred,” Charlie told him while one of the women tore a makeshift bandage from her own shirt. “You lie here and rest while we take care of things.”

“Like hell,” Fred responded. He wasn’t much over twenty and had a lantern jaw and big, bony hands. “Moran and Boker are my friends, and Olivia is like a sister to me. I’m not sitting the rest of this out.”

The old man smiled and affectionately patted Fred’s arm. “Your father would be so proud of you if he were still alive. You can help, but I don’t want you taking any reckless chances. I refuse to lose anyone else. Preserving your lives is more important than getting revenge.”

Fargo realized more than ever why Charlie Vrittan was held in such high esteem by those who had taken his side in the dispute. The old-timer was as decent a human being as could be. As decent, in fact, as he originally thought Sarah Arvin was. Yet they couldn’t be more different if they tried. One was the epitome of goodness, the other harbored every wickedness known to man in her heart.

“They want to parley,” Charlie said, and rose to go. “Cover me in case it’s another of their damnable tricks.”

The person waving the pillow case stepped outside. It was Sarah Arvin. As arrogant as ever, she bestowed a look of smug contempt on Vrittan. “When will you learn, you miserable dwarf, that I can outthink you any day of the week? I knew you’d try to rescue sweet Olivia and had a reception waiting.”

“I’ve slapped her around some to put her in her place, but that’s all,” Sarah disclosed, and shifted her attention to Fargo. “You’re even more like that stallion of yours than I thought. Some of my boys saw you and her lying together, buck naked.” Sarah laughed bitterly. “So tell me, lover. Now that you’ve had both of us, which of us was better?”

“Cat got your tongue?” Sarah teased. “Very well. Play the gentleman. It won’t change anything. In the end the little bitch will get hers. So I hope she enjoyed herself with you as much as I did. It’s the last lovemaking she’ll ever experience.”

Charlie Vrittan was stupefied by the revelation. “You bedded bo—” he gaped at Fargo, then checked himself and shook his head. “Forget all that for the moment. Where are Moran and Bokor, Sarah? Are they alive?”

“Moran is,” Arvin replied. “He’s lost a few teeth and his nose is broken, but he’s a lot better off than Bokor, who is on the floor next to my table with an axe sticking out of his head.”

“He got what was coming to him, you pompous old goat. Either would have killed me given half the chance.” Sarah crumpled the pillow case and angrily flung it into Vrittan’s face. He made no attempt to catch it and it fell at his feet. “But then you’ve always been a hypocrite, haven’t you, Charlie? Always pretending to have our best interests at heart when you were only concerned with your own.”

“You offered us a pittance, you old bastard,” Sarah spat. “Too bad for you that I had more gumption than the rest. I was willing to fight for more. And now I have complete control of the mine, the gold, everything.” She quirked her lips at Fargo. “That includes your horse, handsome. Which I’ve decided to hold onto until it’s time for me to bid these mountains so long.”

“Then you won’t be going anywhere,” Fargo responded, and pointed off through the trees to where the Ovaro was tethered by the creek.

Sarah gave a start and took half a step. “You got him back? How? What about Clarence and the men I sent to keep watch?”

“I took the pinto right out from under their noses,” Fargo rubbed it in. “And your son is still alive, last I saw.” He had to keep in mind the youth might show up at any minute, and stay on the lookout.

Once again the terrible transformation occurred. Sarah’s features contorted into a flinty mask of unleashed hatred. “So you think you’ve gotten the better of me, do you? You think you’ve spoiled my plans? But I’m nothing if not adaptable. Just ask the dwarf, here.” Suddenly scurrying indoors, she said over a shoulder, “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Charlie said quietly. Fargo didn’t like the rifle muzzle trained on them from the window, or the revolver visible from a few feet inside pointed squarely at his chest. He heard a voice raised in protest, then the sound of a slap. Out of the murky interior stalked Arvin. This time she had Moran by the hair and was holding a dagger to his throat.

Arvin halted and jabbed the tip of the double-edged blade into Moran’s neck deep enough to draw blood. “Shut up and back off, old man, or so help me, your friend will wind up exactly like Bokor.”

Fargo was tempted to resort to his Colt. Moran was a wreck; his nose had been crushed, his lips pulped, and half his front teeth were either shattered or missing. In addition, one eye was discolored and swelling, and there were welts all over his face. The Dirt Breathers had beaten him within an inch of his life.

Vrittan did as Sarah had instructed, and she brought Moran past the doorway. The dagger never wavered. “I want the stallion,” she gruffly announced.

“Oh?” Sarah dug the knife in deeper. Moran winced and whimpered, too weak and dazed to resist. “This pig is a goner unless you agree. Your horse for his life.”

Charlie glanced at Fargo in silent appeal. They were both aware it was no bluff. Just as they were both aware that without the pinto, their prospects of reaching civilization were slim. Fargo tried to think of a way to stall. “I’ll agree to the trade on one condition. Moran and Olivia must both be handed over.”

Sarah bared her teeth like a wolverine about to bite. “You’re in no position to make demands. It’s Moran for the horse. Take it or leave it.”

“Forget her!” Sarah was practically beside herself. “Are you hard of hearing as well as stunted? Have the stallion brought over right this minute or Moran goes to meet his Maker.” To stress her point, she flicked the dagger across the Air Breather’s jaw, cutting deep into his flesh.

Crimson spurted, and Moran automatically reached up, only to have his palm slashed from his little finger to his thumb.

“I told you not to move!” Sarah raged. “So much as twitch a muscle and I’ll slit your throat anyway!” She shook the dagger at Fargo. “See this blood? It’s on your shoulders. His life will be, too, if you don’t get a damn move on!”

“Simmer down. We’ll go fetch him,” Fargo said. Nudging Vrittan, he backed away and waited until they were out of earshot to say, “There’s no way in hell I’m turning my horse over to her. We need an idea and we need it now.”

“I’ll ride the stallion to the cabin and tell her I won’t hand him over until she lets go of your friend. The moment she does, have one of your people pick her off.”

“What about the rest of the Dirt Breathers? They won’t take kindly to Arvin being shot. They’ll kill Moran before he can take two steps, and will be hankering to do the same to you.”

“I’ll get Moran out of there,” Fargo promised, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. They had to cover a lot of open space to reach the woods.

Charlie sighed and commented, “I wish there were another way. I told you before. I don’t believe in killing for killing’s sake.”

“You’re forgetting Olivia. The Dirt Breathers will kill her out of spite if we harm a hair on Sarah’s insane head.”

Fargo was tired of bickering. Vrittan was a well-meaning coot but indecisive as hell. Yes, risks were involved, but something had to be done. Since Vrittan didn’t have the stomach for it, the course of action was up to him. “Would you rather take Arvin alive?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Charlie answered, “If it’s at all possible, yes, by all means. With her our prisoner, the Dirt Breathers will do whatever we demand.”

“Can you handle her by your lonesome while I keep the Dirt Breathers busy?” Fargo needed to know.

“Tell the others to be ready to rush the cabin,” Fargo directed. “I’ll get my horse.” He deemed it best not to tell the prospector that what he had in mind might get some of them killed. The time had come to end the feud once and for all, with or without Vrittan’s cooperation.

Before stepping into the stirrups, Fargo shoved the Henry into the saddle scabbard. For close-in work the Colt was best. He kneed the Ovaro into a slow walk, taking his sweet time just to annoy Arvin. The angrier she was, the less the chance she might suspect he was up to something.

Charlie was waiting at the tree line. “We’re all set. At my signal the others will come to our aid.”

Fargo rode on by. “Stay behind me and be ready.” Switching the reins to his left hand, he rested his right on his hip. Arvin was watching them like a hawk watching prey, her dagger gouging into the side of Moran’s neck. The rifle still poked from the window, the revolver from the doorway.

Fargo saw her whisper over her shoulder to whoever held the revolver. They were as transparent as glass. Arvin had no intention of honoring her end of the swap. Once he reined up, the Dirt Breathers inside would blast him from the saddle and riddle Charlie and Moran, leaving Sarah free to do as she pleased with the Ovaro.

Smiling and giving a little wave as if he were the world’s biggest idiot, Fargo casually lowered his hand closer to his Colt. When he reached the cabin he would need a distraction, something to gain him two or three seconds before the Dirt Breathers cut loose. And he had just the thing.

“Not until I’m holding the pinto’s reins,” Sarah countered. She was showing more teeth than a politician who has just been reelected. As well she should, given that she believed she had them right where she wanted them.

Fargo gauged the narrowing distance carefully. He had to put his plan into effect at just the right instant. Continuing to playact, he said, “After you have my horse, maybe you’ll be willing to talk about releasing Olivia.”

“Looks like this is good-bye, big fella,” Fargo said, bending as if to pat the Ovaro’s neck. Suddenly hauling on the reins, he jabbed his spurs against its rear legs. The stallion did as he had been trained it to do, and reared. Now neither the man in the window nor the one on the doorway had a clear shot at him. Another jab of his spurs sent the pinto prancing forward.

“Don’t shoot!” Sarah Arvin shrieked at her assassins. “You might hit the horse!”

Kicking his boots free of the stirrups, Fargo gripped the saddle horn and shifted his weight. The stallion started to drop onto all fours, and as it did, he reined sharply to the right, causing it to swing into Arvin and Moran. Both were bowled over. At the selfsame instant, he drew the Colt and pushed clear.

In midair Fargo triggered two shots into the Dirt Breather’s chest. Landing on his boot heels, he whirled just as the other gunman burst outside. The man raised his Smith and Wesson but Fargo triggered a shot faster. Wrenching free of the other’s grasp as the Dirt Breather toppled, he hurtled indoors, a revolver in each hand.

Pale figures filled the cabin. Fargo blasted an onrushing apparition in the face. He downed a knife-wielding attacker on his left, shot a woman brandishing an axe on his right. More Dirt Breathers swarmed toward him and he fired as fast as his fingers could work the Colt, five, six, seven shots in supremely swift succession. At each shot a Dirt Breather fell. Within heartbeats the floor was littered with convulsing specters.

“Olivia?” Fargo bellowed. He aimed at a Dirt Breather about to descend the ladder, but the Smith and Wesson clicked on an empty cylinder. The Colt was also empty. He needed to reload before the Dirt Breathers realized it.

From outside came yells and the drum of boots and shoes. Into the cabin flew several Air Breathers, two men and a woman. In their haste they nearly tripped over some of the bodies. One gaped in astonishment and exclaimed, “My God!”

The last of the Dirt Breathers was poised at the edge of the cellar, about to jump. Each Air Breather fired, and each missed. In the blink of an eye the Dirt Breather was gone.

Dropping the Smith and Wesson, Fargo reloaded the Colt. As soon as he slid the last cartridge into the cylinder, he ran to join the three Air Breathers at the root cellar. They were arguing over whether they should follow their enemies into the tunnel.

One gripped the top of the ladder to start down, but Fargo put a hand on the man’s arm. “What if they’re waiting for us just out of sight?”

Pulling back, the Air Breather licked his lips. “I suppose it would be best to wait until we can do it together.”

“Wait here and make sure they don’t try anything,” Fargo directed. “I’ll go see how Charlie is doing.”

Vrittan and Moran had taken Sarah Arvin prisoner. Vrittan had a gun on her. Moran had her own dagger pressed against her neck. The prospector’s face was bleeding from where she had raked him with her nails, and Moran was leaking blood from the cuts in his neck though he seemed not to care.

“A lot of them made it underground,” Fargo reported. “To end this, we have to go down after them.”

Sarah started to cackle but stopped when Moran shifted the point of the dagger to under her chin. She was splotched with dust, her hair disheveled, but otherwise none the worse for wear. “I hope to hell you do go into the mine! Not one of you bastards will make it out alive!”

“She has a point,” Charlie conceded. “The Dirt Breathers will have an advantage. They know every branch, every fork. They can lead us in circles while picking us off as they see fit.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Fargo said. “Olivia wasn’t in the cabin. They must have taken her underground with them. We have to go after her.”

“Not necessarily,” Charlie said, and nodded at Arvin. “The Dirt Breathers will do whatever we demand now that we have their leader. We’ll order them to bring Olivia up.”

“It won’t be that simple, runt,” Sarah sneered. “They’ll only take orders from me and I’m not about to have them do any such thing.”

“Or what? You’ll have me shot?” Sarah tittered. “Honestly, you old fool. Everyone knows how tenderhearted you are. You couldn’t kill me if your life depended on it.”

Moran wagged the dagger before her face. “But I could! I can cut you from ear to ear and not bat an eye, bitch.”

Sarah gave him a look of utter disdain. “Sure you could. But Charlie isn’t about to give the order, and you won’t so much as spit without his say-so.”

Fargo slid the Colt into its holster. Here they were, bickering again, wasting valuable time. “I’ll lead a rescue party underground myself. Send to town for more of your people.”

“Very well, but be advised I can’t command them to go with you,” Charlie said. “It’s not my decision to make. It’s theirs. We’ll hold a meeting and take a vote to find out how many are willing to join you.”

That would take hours. Not bothering to hide his frustration, Fargo walked across the clearing to where the Ovaro was cropping grass. First he would picket the pinto, then he was going after Dixon if he had to do it alone. About to reach for the reins, he spied a hulking figure crouched among the trees. “Step out where I can see you!” he hollered, yanking the Henry from the saddle scabbard.

Clarence shuffled into the open, one arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun’s harsh glare. Squinting toward the cabin, he whined like a puppy.

Fargo scanned the woods but saw no trace of the other Dirt Breathers from the grotto. Maybe they were waiting for nightfall to return. Or maybe the gunfire had scared them off.

“You want to go to your mother, is that it?” Fargo asked, and the giant nodded. “I don’t see why not. Walk in front of me. And keep your hands where I can see them at all times.”

Happily bobbing his great misshapen head, Clarence extended both arms and hustled past. For all his immense size and strength, he had the mind and heart of a child. Of all the Dirt Breathers, he was the only one Fargo felt any sympathy for.

Charlie and Moran had their backs to the woods, and didn’t realize Clarence was there until he was almost on top of them. Startled, they glanced around. Shock and fear rooted them for a second, then Moran raised the dagger for a lethal thrust.

“But it’s him!” Moran bleated. “The monster! The worst of the lot! He’s killed more of us than all the rest combined.”

Clarence gazed lovingly at Sarah, his huge body stooped over like that of a dog currying its master’s favor. He whined some more, and tentatively held out an enormous hand.

Arvin was as stunned as the others had been, but not for the same reason. “You dare come back here?” she demanded, slapping Clarence’s fingers away. “You dare show your misbegotten face after letting me down?”

“I gave you a simple job!” Sarah railed. “All you had to do was guard the stallion and keep it hidden! But you botched it! And now you come walking in here to beg my forgiveness when you should be trying to help me. Have you no brains whatsoever?”

Clarence withered under her verbal onslaught, his immense size and strength rendered impotent by the one thing he was powerless to resist. His own love.

“It’s moments like these that make me wonder why I didn’t drown you the day you were born,” Sarah plunged her verbal knife deeper. “Until you came along I lived a perfectly ordinary life. But ever since then it’s been a living hell. Perhaps your father had the right idea. Perhaps I’m better off without you.”

Sarah rounded on him in fury. “What the hell do you know? You didn’t bring this abomination into the world. You didn’t abide his never-ending bumbling and bungling.” Straightening, she bestowed an imperious stare on her offspring. “Here’s your chance to make good, Clarence. Prove my trust in you isn’t misplaced. Kill these three fools.”

Sarah ignored them. “What are you waiting for, son? If you truly care for me as much as you would like me to believe, then prove it. Take care of these bastards so we can be on our way.”

Clarence groaned, as if in pain, his huge hands rising to either side of his face. For a few moments he was a virtual statue. Then he dropped his arms to his sides, let out a bestial roar, and attacked.