“We’re practically engaged. In fact, he’s waiting for me in San Francisco. I’ll introduce you to him when we get there. I’ll tell him all about all the men you’ve killed. I know most gunfighters would be afraid of him. But I’ll bet you’re not.”
He offered no good-bye. He jammed his pint of rye back into his suit coat, tamped his derby down, and headed for another empty seat. The rest of the trip she sat blissfully alone.
It took Fargo less than twenty-four hours to track down Miss Brant. The entire town had heard about Cain’s will, so he knew she and her father had heard the news as well. It appeared she had done exactly what Fargo had expected her to do. She had headed to Sacramento to hire more guns to work for her.
From a rock high on the ridge he watched her leave her ranch, riding in a two-seater black buggy with five guards. Ten minutes behind her, he and his Ovaro stallion hit the Placerville road to follow. Four miles down the trail, he cut off to a high ridge on the right, riding fast to get ahead of her.
The black buggy was pulled by two horses and she didn’t seem to be in any hurry, instead deciding to take the bumps and turns in the road a little slower to smooth the ride. She sat comfortably on a padded bench behind a driver, shaded from the sunlight by a fold-up roof. Two guards on horseback in front of the buggy, two behind.
Fargo knew every inch of the Placerville road, and knew exactly the best place to capture the woman. And he got there easily ahead of her.
He stood waiting patiently behind a tall rock near the edge of the road as the buggy and riders approached.
The two lead riders passed him, their guns in leather, their carbines in sheaths. Obviously, no one in this group had been expecting trouble.
As the buggy came level with him, Fargo stepped from behind the boulder and said, “Lot more of you than there are of me. But I can take at least two of you out before you can get your guns out of their holsters.”
“Fargo, you bastard,” Sarah Brant snapped.
“Fargo?” one of the men said. “You mean the Trailsman?”
“He’s not as tough as you’d think,” she said, “and anyway, I don’t pay you to be sissies.”
Fargo saw that he had the edge, at least momentarily. They looked impressed with the man confronting them. Or at least, as Sarah Brant had implied, impressed with his reputation.
“One at a time, drop your guns, starting with you.”
He nodded for the first lead rider to lift his six-shooter from his holster. Then he said, “Now the carbine.”
“Some man you are,” Sarah Brant said to the guard.
It took several minutes before the men were shorn of their weapons. Then Fargo said to the driver, “You stay.” Then to the others he said, “I want all the rest of you to get the hell out of here.”
“We’re comin’ back for you, mister,” one man snapped.
“Bring some guts when you do.”
Sarah Brant laughed at Fargo’s joke. She enjoyed seeing these cowed men humiliated even more.
But the men rode off.
Fargo spoke to the driver. “Move the buggy slowly off the road this way, then get down and tie off the horses.” Then he turned to the passenger. “Miss Brant, would you please remain seated and do not move. I would love to have an excuse to shoot you.”
Fargo stayed to the side and in clear view of both of them as the driver moved the horses and buggy as he had been told to do.
“What do you want from me, Fargo?” Sarah Brant asked, her voice almost a hiss. “I’ve done nothing to you.”
Her driver climbed down and tied off the horses. Fargo continued to make sure that he could see both of them every second.
“I have a bullet hole through me that says otherwise,” Fargo said. “And you killed a good friend of mine and his son.”
“I had nothing to do with any of that,” she said, glaring at him.
“Of course you didn’t,” Fargo said. “I’m sure all of this was your father’s idea.”
She continued glaring and said nothing.
“Now, please step down from the buggy. Leave your bag.”
“Why should I?” she asked.
“Because if you don’t, I’ll have to drag you down. And I don’t think you’d like that.”
Reluctantly, she stood and climbed to the ground. He motioned that she should move over and stand beside her guard and she did. The guard stepped a half step away from her, glaring at her. Fargo had no idea what that was about, and didn’t much care.
Fargo took a thin rope he had hanging from his belt and tossed it to the guard. “Tie her up, feet to her hands, nice and tight.”
“I will not be trussed up like a common criminal,” she said.
“But you are a common criminal,” Fargo said. “Just because you’re a woman doesn’t excuse you from what you’ve done. Now sit down and let him tie you up.”
“I will not.”
He smirked at her. Then he walked over to her, slid his arm around her shoulders, and kicked her feet out from under her. He moved so quickly that she didn’t have time to put up any kind of fight.
She looked like a humiliated little girl sitting next to her guard. Her cheeks flamed. Her lips formed unladylike words. Her eyes burned with rage.
Fargo bent down and started to tie her up, chuckling to himself, yanking the cord tight, making sure that she wouldn’t get free.
“My father will kill you for this.”
But Fargo’s attention was now on the driver. He ignored Sarah Brant and her anger.
He glared at the driver and said, “How’d you get hooked up with somebody like this, anyway?”
The driver shrugged. “Well, first of all, she’s not a bad-looking lady. And she’s got a lot of money. But when they started talking about attacking Sharon’s Dream, with you on the other side, I decided I was going to have no part of it. I was headed down the trail once I got to Sacramento. That is, if I could get away before she shot me in the back.”
“Hand me your gun,” Fargo said.
The driver handed it over, looking worried, and Fargo quickly dumped the shells out of the chamber, then handed the gun back to the driver. It was a special Colt with a nice handle that the man had clearly taken good care of.
“Thanks,” the driver said, looking relieved. “It was a gift from a good friend from home and I wouldn’t have liked losing it.”
“Don’t do anything stupid and you won’t die with it on your hip today.”
The man nodded.
Fargo stared at the driver. He didn’t feel completely right about the man, but he couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him. He looked young, not more than midtwenties, but he had an air about him that gave Fargo a sense the kid had been some places and seen some things already.
“What’s your name and what was she paying you?”
“Name’s Kip. Twenty a month plus room and board.”
“Would you work for Sharon’s Dream for twenty-five?” Fargo asked.
“Tell him no, Kip,” Sarah Brant snapped.
Kip smiled at her. “Doesn’t look like you’re in charge of me anymore, Miss Brant. I told you I didn’t want any part of raiding Sharon’s Dream. I had a couple good friends in that mine. Now’s a good time to say good-bye.”
“I’ll have to check with the owners, but I’m sure something can be arranged,” Fargo said. “I hope none of the men who took off were your friends.”
Kip shook his head. “Those four would have rather shot you than look at you. Miss Brant was on her way into Sacramento to hire more of the same type.”
Fargo had already figured that, but it was good to have it confirmed.
“My father’s going to take care of you too, Kip.”
“Sounds like your father’s going to be mighty busy.” Fargo grinned.
Miss Brant cursed, wiggling in the dirt, trying to get her bindings loose. They ignored her and pulled the buggy even farther off the trail and down behind some rocks where it would be completely hidden. Then they unhooked the horses and brought them back up to the road.