38

It was becoming a habit. Every time Fargo turned around, he was trussed up like a lamb for slaughter. He should be thankful that Hoby Cotton hadn’t simply shot him, but the rope biting into his wrists and legs was a painful harbinger that he didn’t have long to live, anyhow.

Timbre Wilson watched the Cottons ride out. Semple led Coltraine’s horse, with the lawman facedown over the saddle.

Amanda lay near petrified with fear. She couldn’t take her eyes off Wilson. Clearly, she yearned to rise and run but she was still too weak to do more than say, “Lay a hand on me and you’ll regret it.”

“You don’t say,” Timbre Wilson replied.

“Violating a woman will get you hung,” Amanda tried again.

Timbre glanced at her and licked his lips. “Who’s to know? The scout, there, will be rottin’ in the dirt. You won’t be around, neither.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Amanda said. “All because I fell in love.”

“What I don’t believe in is that,” Timbre Wilson said.

“In what?”

“In love, you jackass. It’s a fancy word folks use who like to strip bare and go at it. To me a poke is just a poke.”

Amanda tried another angle. “You were nice to me once. Back when Hoby took me from the bank.”

“I had to be,” Timbre said, still watching his friends fade into the far-off haze. “Hoby’s orders. He wanted to study on you and said the rest of us were to treat you like we would our own sisters.” He chuckled at that.

“Why did he want to study me?”

“He was tryin’ to figure you out. He couldn’t savvy how you could be so stupid as to give yourself to Coltraine.”

“He doesn’t believe in love either?”

“The kid? Sure he does. He’s not as practical as me. Give him a few years and he’ll learn better.”

Fargo was trying to slip his fingers into his boot but the rope around his ankles was too tight. He’d have to find another way.

“Now then,” Timbre said, turning at last. “I reckon we should get to it.” He drew his six-gun. “A pill to the brainpan for him and then you and me will do it until the cows come home.”

“I’m not in any shape for that,” Amanda said. “I’ve lost too much blood. All I’d do is lie here.”

“So?” Timbre said, and laughed. “That just means you can’t scratch my eyes out.”

Amanda looked at Fargo. “All I ever wanted was to be happy. Is that too much to ask of life?”

Fargo tensed his legs without being obvious. He’d be damned if he’d go out meekly. He needed Wilson to come a couple of steps closer, though.

“Now that’s somethin’ you and me have in common, girl,” Timbre Wilson was saying. “I like bein’ happy, too.”

“You just told me that you don’t believe in love,” Amanda replied. “What else is there that makes someone truly happy?”

“Killin’ and stealin’.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ain’t ever been more serious in my life,” Timbre said. “Nothin’ makes me happier than killin’ someone. Or helpin’ myself to a sack full of money.”

“You forgot havin’ your way with helpless females.”

Timbre Wilson took a step toward her. “It ain’t smart to provoke me. Make me mad and you’ll suffer more.”

“The mere touch of you will be suffering enough,” Amanda declared defiantly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it makes me violently ill.”

“I’ll just wait until you’re done bein’ sick and start in again.”

“And when you do, I’ll think of him,” Amanda said.

“What?”

“You heard me. When you put your filthy hands on me, I’ll shut you out by thinking of Luther and all the wonderful times we’ve had.”

“If you don’t beat all.”

“That’s right,” Amanda said. “I’ll think of my love for him, and nothing else. You won’t exist. Do what you want to me, you animal, and it will be as if I’m not even here.”

“Oh, you’ll be here, all right,” Timbre said, and laughed.

“Shows how much you know,” Amanda said. “But then, I doubt you have much of an imagination. Dullards usually don’t.”

“Quit insultin’ me.”

“Does it hurt your feelings? You don’t like being reminded that you’re as intelligent as a tree stump?”

“I’m warnin’ you.”

“You see me quaking, don’t you?” Amanda sarcastically retorted. “Hoby wants to make a laughingstock of Luther but you’re the real laughingstock. Why, I bet you can’t make love half as good as Luther does.”

“Don’t you . . .” Timbre Wilson growled, and he was red in the face.

Amanda went on raking her verbal claws. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll compare you to a real man? When you pull down your britches, I’ll laugh at how puny you are.”

Wilson took another step. He was so mad, he’d forgotten about Fargo. “One more insult, bitch. Just one.”

“And what? You’ll shoot me and deprive yourself of all that fun? Just because you’re afraid I’ll remind you that you’re not much where it really counts?”

“That does it.”

Fargo was ready. When Timbre Wilson took another step and raised his six-shooter to club her, he exploded into motion. He rammed both feet against Wilson’s left knee and there was a sharp crack.

Wilson cried out and his leg buckled and he pitched forward, almost on top of Amanda. Instantly, he twisted and went to point his revolver at Fargo.

Shrieking like a banshee, Amanda Brenner flung herself at the outlaw. She wasn’t as weak as she’d let on. Her hand streaked, her fingernails digging deep. She’d gone for one of his eyes.

A howl tore from Timbre Wilson’s throat. He threw himself back, or tried to.

Fargo kicked him in the head. He didn’t hold back. It was kill or be killed. Wilson fell prone but he didn’t lose his hold on the revolver and he snapped off a shot.

Maybe it was the blood welling in one eye or the blow to the head, but Timbre Wilson did something he probably hadn’t done at that range since he was old enough to pick up a pistol: he missed.

Snapping his legs as high as they would go, Fargo brought his heels, and his spurs, smashing down onto Wilson’s gun hand.

Timbre screamed in rage. He jerked his hand away and grabbed at the revolver with his other hand and sought to rise.

Fargo couldn’t let him. Once the outlaw was up and out of reach, it was over. He drove his boots at Timbre’s face but Timbre shifted and his boots glanced off the man’s shoulder.

In doing so, Wilson put himself closer to Amanda. She struck again, at his other eye, trying to blind him.

Fargo had to hand it to her. She knew just what to do. But this time she missed and Timbre Wilson clubbed her.

“And now for you, scout!” the outlaw cried.