The Trailsman (Giant): Idaho Blood Spoor

It was not unheard of in the deserts of the southwest for a man to wake up with a rattlesnake under his blankets. Like all reptiles, rattlers were cold-blooded, and in the chill of the night, the warmth a human body gave off was to a rattler’s liking. Nor was it unheard of for settlers to find that a rattlesnake had strayed into their cabin or house after a door was carelessly left open.

But it was unheard of for a rattler to find its way into a hotel in the middle of a bustling settlement. Even more improbable that one should somehow reach the second floor unnoticed by the hotel’s patrons.

So Fargo could be forgiven the momentary shock that gripped him. Had he thrown himself aside the instant he set eyes on it, the snake would not have had time to strike. But he hung there over the side of the bed, riveted in disbelief, as the rattler reared until its head brushed the bottom of the bed. Out darted its forked red tongue, the tip nearly touching Fargo’s face.

They were eye to eye, just as Fargo had been eye to eye with the grizzly by the river. But where grizzlies were unpredictable and might flee or attack as bestial whim moved them, rattlesnakes were as predictable as they were deadly. When they felt threatened, they lashed out, sinking their venomous fangs into whatever threatened them. Movement usually triggered an attack. Any movement at all.

Fargo froze, refusing to so much as blink, as the rattlesnake’s tongue flicked out a second time. The brown blotches that ran down its back, each edged by black, pegged it as a common Western rattler. Some grew to be over five feet in length and as thick around as a man’s forearm. This one looked to be only three to four feet long, but that did not make its venom any less lethal.

Its mouth opened again, and the snake hissed. Fargo saw its fangs, saw drops of venom glisten on the tips. He fought an instinctive urge to scramble away. He was fast, but he was not faster than a striking rattler when the rattler was so close.

As he hung there, every nerve tingling, an image seared into Fargo’s mind—the image he had witnessed when he opened his door: Silky Mae Pickett on her hands and knees on the floor by the bed. Fury coursed through him, but he willed himself to stay calm.

The rattlesnake lowered its broad triangular head to the floor and began to slither from under the bed. To do so, it had to pass directly under him.

Fargo’s skin prickled as he watched the snake’s scales slide by. He thought he felt his hair brush the snake’s back, and he braced for the brittle rattling that gave the viper its name. But the serpent continued to slowly crawl.

Suddenly the bed seemed to move. With a start, Fargo realized his weight was causing the quilt to slide toward the floor—directly on top of the rattler. He loosened his grip slightly and the quilt stopped sliding—but for how long?

Fully half of the snake was still under the bed. Band after scaly band crept past Fargo’s face with awful slowness.

Again the quilt moved. Not much, but enough to send Fargo’s blood rushing. He could definitely feel his hair brush the rattler’s back but the rattler did not appear to care.

Then the snake’s tail slid into view, and Fargo could not quite credit his senses. Rattlesnakes always had rattles—horny segments that, when shaken, produced the distinctive buzz that was the bane of every horseman. A snake as big as the one under the bed should have big rattles to match its size. But this snake had none. Its rattles were missing.

Hardly had this registered than the quilt shifted again. Fargo’s weight and gravity conspired to pitch him headfirst to the floor. Twisting as he fell, Fargo thrust the quilt at the rattler. He felt something strike the underside of the quilt near his right hand, and again near his head. Then he was in a crouch and in the clear, and a quick bound carried him onto the bed.

Fargo drew his Colt, then thought better of it. Walls and floors were notoriously thin. The slug might go all the way through and hit someone below.

Fargo launched himself into the air. He brought his knees up close to his chest; then, at the apex of his spring, he drove both legs straight down and locked them. Like twin sledges, the heels of his boots slammed down on the top of the rattler’s head, splintering its thin skull and smashing the skull to a pulp.

By rights the snake was dead. But Fargo had seen where a rattler with its head half blown off had coiled and struck again and again, just as headless chickens sometimes flapped their wings and ran madly about. So instead of stepping off the snake, he sprang back onto the bed.

He need not have bothered. The rattler was as limp as a wet cloth, and as lifeless as the bed itself.

Picking the snake up by the severed end, Fargo spread the quilt and wrapped it inside. Then he went out into the hall. A pair of Zared’s bodyguards were at the landing, as usual. They gave him puzzled looks as he approached with the quilt tucked under his left arm.

“The third down on the left, sir,” said the taller of the two. “But you just missed them. They left a couple of minutes ago.”

“I’m obliged,” Fargo said. He tried their door. Instead of one bed there were two. A hairbrush on a pillow gave away which was Silky Mae’s. He moved her pillow, unwrapped the quilt, and placed the dead rattler where her pillow had been. Then he put the pillow on top of the snake, careful not to disturb the hairbrush. Stepping back, he nodded. She would not suspect a thing.

Fargo took the quilt back to his room and threw it in a corner. At the thought of how close he had come to being bitten, his fury resurfaced. He needed to get out, to do something. Accordingly, he was soon crossing the lobby toward the entrance. He happened to glance out a window, and who should he see standing on the porch but the Picketts, talking to Pike Driscoll.

Billy Bob and Silky Mae had their backs to the door and did not hear Fargo quietly open and close it. Stepping lightly so his spurs would not jingle, Fargo was behind them in two long strides. Driscoll saw him but did not guess his intent as, smiling, Fargo tapped Billy Bob Pickett on the shoulder.

His right fist balled at his side, Fargo said, “I have something for you.” On “have,” he drove his fist into the pit of Billy Bob’s stomach and had the satisfaction of doubling him in half. Billy Bob clutched his gut and tried to backpedal but Fargo was not about to let him. He landed a solid blow to the cheek, which crumpled Billy Bob’s legs.

“Leave him be!” Silky Mae screeched, and flung herself at Fargo, her fingernails hooked to slash.

Catching hold of her wrists, Fargo shoved. He only meant to push her back but she tripped over her brother and fell.

“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” Pike Driscoll roared, and came to their aid by drawing his revolver and swinging it at Fargo’s temple, trying to do to Fargo as Fargo had done to him in the sitting room earlier.

Ducking, Fargo slipped in close and planted his knee where it hurt a man the most. Pike Driscoll cried out and covered himself. Billy Bob was dribbling saliva down his chin. Only Silky Mae was in any condition to fight back, and she did.

Fargo nearly lost an eye to her raking fingernails. He rarely ever struck a woman, but after the rattlesnake he was in no mood to go easy on her. He back-handed her full across the mouth, knocking her against the rail. Shocked, she put a hand to her face, then snarled like a feral cat and clawed for a knife at her hip.

Benjamin Zared’s bellow could probably be heard from one end of Fort Hall to the other. He was in the doorway, livid with anger. “What in God’s name is going on?” He strode toward them. “Why are you fighting amongst yourselves?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Benjamin said when no on answered him. “What is the meaning of this outburst?”

“Well?” Benjamin addressed Silky Mae. “Why is there blood on your lip, young lady? What brought this on?”

“I have no idea,” Silky Mae said, moving to help her brother stand. “We were standin’ here, mindin’ our own business, and he attacked us without warnin’.”

“I’ll vouch for them, sir,” Pike Driscoll said, his eyes twin barbs of hatred directed at Fargo. “They were talking to me when this bastard marched out and started swinging away. I tried to help them, but—”

“I must say, Mr. Driscoll, I am severely disappointed in your performance,” Benjamin Zared said. “Once again you have proven unequal to the occasion. Should there be a third such incident, your employment is in jeopardy.”

“Now then,” Benjamin turned. “What brought this on, Mr. Fargo? I was led to believe you are an even-tempered, reasonable man. But your actions since your arrival prove differently.”

Silky Mae and Billy Bob nearly shouted in unison, “We did not!” and Silky Mae added, “Why in blazes would we want you dead? After we offered to have you throw in with us?”

“I paid Mr. Fargo here a visit and we talked it over some,” Silky Mae said. “And a little bit more than talk.”

“Forget that,” Benjamin Zared said. “I’m trying to understand why violence was resorted to.”

“The Picketts know,” Fargo said, and made for the steps. He would not justify himself. The Picketts would only deny it. It would be their word against his, and prove nothing. There was the dead snake, but he would rather it stayed where it was than show it to the Zareds.

Pike Driscoll took a step after him. “Hold on there, mister. Mr. Zared isn’t done with you.”

“Yes, he is.” Fargo did not glance back, and no one tried to stop him. He went straight to the general store for the items he needed and, after buying them, checked on the stallion at the stable. He was in no hurry to return to the boardinghouse, and spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the settlement, thinking about all that had happened and whether he should take part in the hunt for Gideon Zared or light a shuck for less dangerous climes.

Common sense said there was nothing to be gained by sticking around. Sure, he could use the money, but money was not everything. He did not know Gideon Zared personally and was under no obligation to try to find him.

But it rankled Fargo to turn tail, which was essentially what he would be doing. He had never turned tail in his life.

Then there was the girl to think of, Gideon Zared’s betrothed, Tabor Garnet. If she was still alive, if she had been taken captive by hostiles, if he could track her down, he might be able to bring her back to civilization. If, if, if, Fargo thought. The odds were long, but while there was any hope at all, he should try.

Fargo had an affliction, as he liked to think of it, common to many men. He could never refuse a damsel in distress, a habit that had brought him no end of trouble. But he could no more deny the urge than he could deny the need to eat or sleep.

Toward evening Fargo strayed into a bustling restaurant. Or so the sign out front advertised. Long plank tables were crammed with hungry, gold-crazed Easterners about to push off into the mountains, confident they would soon strike it rich. The truth was that over 90 percent would not find so much as a grain of the precious ore, and scores would lose their lives.

Fargo had steak and potatoes and washed it down with piping hot black coffee. He was about done when he noticed two buckskin-clad figures rise from end of a far table: Kip Weaver and No-Nose Smith. They had not seen him. Weaver was talking and gesturing, and Smith was shaking his head.

Quickly paying, Fargo followed them. Their argument became heated. He could not hear what they were saying, but at one point, Kip grabbed No-Nose by the arm and No-Nose slapped his hand away. Finally they came to a corner and stopped. Kip said something that made No-Nose clench his fists. Then Kip Weaver spun and stormed off in the direction of the boardinghouse.

Fargo caught up with Smith, who glanced at him but did not say anything. “What was that all about?”

“This is off to a bad start, James. Kip has become money-hungry, and the Picketts tried to kill me earlier.”

“You must be getting soft. I can remember when anyone who tried to rub you out was turned into maggot fodder two seconds after they did it.” Smith grinned, then sobered. “But I agree. It’s a bad start. We’re all at each other’s throats.”

“That’s comforting to know,” No-Nose said. “I’m not out to harm you, either, Skye. But I need that twenty thousand—need it more than I have ever needed anything in all my born days.”

“Maybe. But he’s not after the same thing I am. He wants the twenty thousand so he can give up being a scout. He wants to move to Florida or some such place and live out his days without having to worry about being scalped or killed.” No-Nose smiled at a pair of women they were passing and the women veered aside as if he were a leper. “I can’t blame him for that.”

“I’m not turning on anyone. I need to go it alone and earn the full twenty grand so I can live a normal life again.” No-Nose sighed. “You have no notion of what it’s like. You saw those gals just now? I go through that a dozen times a day. I’m a freak. An outcast. No one wants anything to do with me because I’m so damn hideous.”

“Thanks, but I’m not a simpleton. Hell, when I look in the mirror, even I think I’m hideous.”

“Easy for you to say, when you’re about the most handsome galoot who ever pulled on britches. Women flock to you like geese to corn.”

They came to a store with a glass window, and No-Nose Smith halted and indicated their reflections. “Look there. You, just as good-looking as can be. Me, a monster who gives people nightmares.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Fargo said. “You’ll do to ride the river with, and that’s what counts.”

No-Nose gestured at the flow of passersby. “Not where these folks are concerned All they care about is how a person looks. A man can be the worst scum alive but if he has a nice face he is treated better than I am.”

“I’m tired of being a monster, Skye. Tired of folks staring. Tired of how women won’t let me anywhere near them.”

“I never paid for it before I was mutilated. I damn well refuse to pay for it now,” No-Nose said. “I did try once, though. I went to Madam Marcy’s in Denver. You know, the place with the red walls and red furniture and all the women wear red.”

“I thought so, too, after hearing how the customers are treated like kings. So about six months after I lost my nose, I went there one night. Yes, I was a fool. But it had been so long since I had been with a woman, I was going out of my mind. Ever had that feeling?”

“Madam Marcy was sweet as could be. She offered me the pick of her girls,” Smith related, his tone softening. “There was this one. Pearl, her name was. I don’t think it was her real name but that’s not important. She was so pretty, she took your breath away. Golden hair, emerald eyes, and lips like ripe berries. I wanted her so much, I was scared.”

“Things went swell until she took me up to a little red room to get down to business,” No-Nose said. “She tried hard. I’ll give her that. But when she kissed me, she couldn’t keep from shaking. So she closed her eyes, claimed the light was bothering them, even though the lamp was turned down low.”

“Why not? I’ve gone this far.” No-Nose touched the patch over the cavity where his nose had been. “We were kissing and hugging and things were going well until somehow or other Pearl bumped my patch and it slid off. You should have seen the look on her face. The terror. She couldn’t help herself. She screamed.”

“It brought Madam Marcy. She was mad as a wet hen at Pearl but I wouldn’t stand for Pearl being yelled at or slapped. It wasn’t her fault, I said, and to prove it, I took off the patch right there in front of Madam Marcy.” No-Nose chuckled. “You will never guess what she did.”

“Louder than Pearl. Oh, she apologized over and over and offered me any of the other girls I wanted but I wasn’t interested. I was dead inside, if that makes sense, and I’ve been dead inside ever since.”

Fargo had not expected the other scout to reveal so much. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said for want of anything else.

“I don’t need your pity. I hate pity. I feel even less of a man when people pity me.” No-Nose touched the patch again. “You just have no idea what it’s like.”

“I want to be normal. I want my life back. I want to be able to hold a woman and not have her be sick to her stomach. That’s why I need the twenty thousand. That’s why I aim to claim it no matter what.”

Smith was quiet a while. Then he said, “There’s a gent over in France. A doctor, a surgeon who can work miracles, they say. He has operated on dozens of freaks like me and made them whole again.”

Fargo did not see how even the best surgeon in the world could repair the damage done to Smith, but then, soldiers were sometimes fitted with artificial legs and arms.

“I don’t know all the particulars about how he works his miracles. But my sister wrote to him, and he answered her that he could give me a new nose, and while it won’t be the same as having my own, I’ll be able to walk down a street without having people gawk. He gave her his word on that.”

“I have to go to him. I have to go to Paris and the fancy institute he works at, and he’ll operate there. He says I’ll need to stay at least six months, and there might be more than one operation.” Smith paused. “He says it will cost me fifteen thousand dollars.”

Fargo whistled softly. That was more than most people earned in ten years. “Why so much?”

“He’s the best there is at what he does, this Monsieur Gaston. It takes a lot of skill, and I guess he figures if folks want to be fixed that bad, they’ll pay his price.”

“So now you know why I must find Gideon Zared. Why it must be me and no one else.” No-Nose stopped and looked at Fargo. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Drop out. Tell Zared you’re not interested. Leave it to me and Kip and those brats.”

“After I’ve bared my soul to you? After I’ve explained? Damn it. This means everything to me, and I won’t let you or anyone else stand in my way.”

“He wants me to be his partner and split the money fifty-fifty. But half of twenty is ten and ten is not enough for the operation. So I told him no.”

“He wouldn’t care. He needs the money himself. But I figured you would be different. I figured you would help me by not taking part in the search. Kip is good but he’s not as good as me, and those Southerners don’t impress me much. You’re the one who stands the best chance of finding Gideon. So I’m asking you. No, I’m begging you. Please. For my sake. Step down.”

“I have a better idea,” Fargo said. “We’ll work together. If we find Gideon, you keep all the money.”

“That’s wouldn’t be right,” No-Nose said. “I’m not much to look at but I have my pride.”

So did Fargo. But there was more to it. A lot more. “I’m sorry, James. But I have to see it through.”

“And I took you for a friend,” Smith said in disgust. “Fine. If that’s how you want it, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Kip. From here on out, it’s every coon for himself. Get in my way and I’ll bury you.”