“You’re damned right you shouldn’t have.”
“I just want to say something to you.”
She sighed impatiently. “Then go ahead. I need to get back inside.”
“I love you.”
And when she didn’t say anything, simply stared at him as if he’d spoken in a language she’d never heard before, he said: “Maybe I made a mistake. Throwing in with you, Sarah. I guess I’ll be heading out now.”
The panic in her eyes surprised him. Now it was her hand on his arm. “Oh, Daniel. Daniel, you misunderstood me. We need to talk this over in bed. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I really didn’t. It’s just that I have so much to do, I guess I don’t realize when I’m not treating you right.”
“But those two men who came up—”
She pressed herself against him, her soft breasts making his need for her almost frightening. He knew what had happened. He’d threatened to leave. He’d meant it. He hadn’t known what else to say or do. But he was obviously a part of her plan and she didn’t want to let him go.
In that moment, he knew that she was using him. That she didn’t give a damn about him at all.
And the terrible thing was he didn’t care. He’d take her on any terms he could have her.
“You won’t leave me, will you, Daniel?” she said, her warm breath like a balm on his neck.
“No,” he said. “No, I won’t leave you.”
Two days later, Cain was ready with another shipment into Sacramento.
So with a long and very tender kiss good-bye from Anne, Fargo again left her soft feather bed for the cold predawn air. Part of him regretted leaving; part of him felt good about being back on his big Ovaro stallion again, doing what he did best.
Fargo set up the guards and the wagon movement the same as the time before. He scouted ahead, watching for any activity or trap, staying wide of the road, often moving along a ridgeline above and ahead of the wagon.
After three dull hours of sitting his horse, rolling and smoking cigarettes and reliving some very pleasant memories of Anne, trouble finally struck around the middle of the afternoon.
One glance at the gunnies ready to rob the gold shipment told Fargo that the Brants had stepped up in the world. These were hardened killers, ready to do whatever was necessary to take the gold.
Ten of them.
Their plan was simple and hard to see coming. The Placerville road had a decent amount of traffic in the afternoon. Since Fargo had the gold shipment moving slowly to give him time to scout ahead, it had been passed numerous times by other wagons and men on horses.
As Fargo watched from a low ridge just over a rifle shot away, three men came riding up from behind the wagon, their rifles in sheaths, their guns on hips. They nodded hello to the men guarding the wagon and Cain even pulled the wagon slightly off to one side to let them pass.
Everything seemed fine, but Fargo had a gut sense it wasn’t, so he moved a little higher so he could keep an eye on the three for a little farther down the road.
And he had been right.
The three men went on ahead, moving at a normal pace around a bend in the approaching narrow canyon. Then Fargo caught a glimpse of them stopping their horses and dismounting where the road went between two rock ledges along a mostly dry streambed not far from the wagon at all, pulling carbines from their sheaths.
Fargo glanced back at Cain. The wagon would be on the bushwhackers before Fargo could get down the hill.
Fargo grabbed his Colt and fired into the air twice to get the wagon to stop and to warn his party as he headed down through the rocks toward them as fast as he could.
Suddenly, from the direction of Placerville, seven more men appeared and rode at the wagon hard and fast, guns drawn, dust kicking up behind their horses.
Cain had heard the warning shots and then heard the men pounding down on them from behind. He directed the team and wagon off the road and into some rocks. Then he and his men took cover as the robbers burst upon them.
It sounded like a small war going on as Fargo rode hard and fast for the fight, pushing his Ovaro over the rough ground. He had his carbine out and in his hand. All he had to do was get into range.
At the same time as the men on horseback were attacking the guards and Cain, the three men who had passed the wagon moved quickly back up the road to join in. Two of them saw Fargo coming and leveled shots at him, even though he was mostly out of range.
Suddenly, something hit his shoulder, the force stunning him. The impact spun him backward and off his horse, knocking the wind out of him as he hit the ground hard, facedown.
It took him a second through the echoes of gunfire to realize he had been shot. He gasped for air as stabbing pain coursed through him.
From what he could tell, the bullet had gone through his shoulder. He’d been shot before. He knew when a wound was bad and when it wasn’t. This one, if he got to a doctor soon enough, would be all right.
He ignored the pain and took the deepest breath he could to clear his head. Then he grabbed his handkerchiefand stuffed it against the wound, pushing hard against the intense pain to stop the bleeding.
He grabbed the Henry that had fallen beside him and crawled up on a boulder just enough to rest the carbine and get a shot at the men below.
From the looks of it, three or four of Cain’s men were still alive and fighting. Fargo couldn’t tell if one of them was his friend.
Fargo took another painful breath to calm himself, then pulled off a shot at a man working his way around behind the defenders. The man went over backward and Fargo slammed another shell into the chamber.
His next target was a man on a horse. This one spun off his mount and into a large rock as Fargo’s aim proved true.
Three of the robbers turned and fired at him, forcing him off the rock to get cover.
“Get the wagon,” one man shouted, his voice echoing up the hill. “Let’s get out of here.”
Fargo poked his head back up and took another quick shot at another robber. The man slumped to the ground like someone had cut off his legs. From the rocks, Cain’s other guards renewed their fire and took down another robber, but by now one man was on the wagon with the gold, heading the team down the road.
Fargo pulled off a shot at the driver, but his lead went into the buckboard seat beside the man, sending splinters flying. The driver ducked and pushed the team even harder. By the time Fargo could get another shot off, the man was out of range.
He was about to turn the Henry on one of the stragglers when he recognized him. It was Daniel, Cain’s son.
Fargo couldn’t believe that Daniel would rob his own father. How had the kid gone that bad that fast?
Fargo knocked the last robber beside Daniel off his horse with one last shot and let Daniel get away.
The robbery was over.
Fargo slumped to the dirt and leaned against the rock as he tried to catch his breath against the pain. This had gone wrong so fast, he couldn’t believe it. He had lost the gold, and who knew how many good men were dead down there?
Suddenly he realized he hadn’t seen Cain in the last few moments of that fight.
He whistled for the Ovaro, who showed up a moment later. Using his horse to steady himself as he stood, he managed to get mounted and slowly work his way down the hill, not really wanting to look at what lay ahead.
But he did.
Six of the ten bushwhackers were down. It looked like three of the six men from the mine were also down. And Fargo could see the three remaining men crouching beside a man in a red plaid shirt. Cain.
It took Fargo only a moment to get out of the rocks and to the road.
It turned out that two men were dead and Cain was seriously wounded. Fargo knelt beside his friend. Cain was out cold and his breathing was shallow from the wound in his upper chest. The men had already tried to stop the bleeding. Cain might live if they got him help.