Wyoming Winterkill by Jon Sharpe Read Free Book Online Page A

an awful long while.”
    â€œI’ll carry you,” Fargo said, and did, up the steps and across the kitchen and down the hall to the bar. He set her on the end, steadied her, and said, “I’ll be right back.” He turned, but she clutched his arm.
    â€œDon’t leave me alone. Please.”
    â€œI have to get the man in the kitchen.”
    â€œI’ll go with you.”
    â€œI’ll only be a minute. I’ll drag him out here and tie him and then we’ll be on our way.”
    â€œI’d sure like a bite to eat first,” Jessie said. “I’m so hungry.”
    â€œI suppose I can fix you something. But we can’t take too long.”
    â€œI understand,” Jessie said. “You’re worried about the other man.” She paused. “Which one is it, anyhow?”
    â€œFletcher.”
    At the mention, new terror twisted her face. “Him!” she exclaimed. “He used to come down and sit and tell me all the things that Blackjack Tar was going to do to me.” She shuddered.
    â€œHe doesn’t know it yet but he doesn’t have very long to live,” Fargo assured her. “As soon as you’re safe, I aim to track him down.”
    â€œBetter be careful,” Jessie said. “Once he bragged that he’s killed seventeen people. Do you think that’s true?”
    â€œLet’s forget about him for now.” Fargo went to go but she held on.
    â€œI’m scared.”
    â€œI know.” Fargo patted her shoulder. “It will only take me a minute. I’ll be right back.”
    â€œPromise?”
    Fargo nodded.
    Reluctantly, Jessie let go. Only then did he notice that her wrists had been scraped raw by the rope and realized the pain she must be in.
    A sadness came over her, a sorrow beyond her tender years. “I didn’t know people could be so terrible,” she said softly.
    â€œStay put,” Fargo said. He smiled and hurried down the hall. He was thinking of what she had gone through and not about what he was doing, and he’d taken several steps into the kitchen before he saw that George Wilbur wasn’t lying by the root cellar. “What the hell?” he blurted.
    That was when Wilbur charged from behind the stove waving a meat cleaver.

8
    Fargo barely had time to raise the Henry to ward off the blow. Wilbur was stronger than he looked. Fargo was knocked back a step and nearly lost his hold on the rifle. He swung the stock at Wilbur’s head but Wilbur ducked and slashed the cleaver at his chest. Skipping aside, Fargo slipped. He tried to regain his balance, and couldn’t. He came down hard on his back and went to level the Henry but Wilbur was already on him.
    The meat cleaver sheared at Fargo’s face. Again he got the Henry up. Metal rang on metal.
    Wilbur was red with rage. His mouth was working but all that came out were bestial growls. He kicked at the Henry and it went flying.
    Fargo rolled and heard the
thunk
of the cleaver as it bit into the floor. He rolled several more times as fast as he could and pushed to his feet.
    With a fierce bellow, George Wilbur attacked. Fargo threw himself to one side to keep from being split like a side of meat. He clawed for his Colt—and spotted it lying where he had fallen.
    Wilbur found his voice. “I’ve got you!” he roared. “I’ve got you, you bastard!”
    Fargo retreated. He cast about for something to use as a weapon but all he spotted was a broom by the sink. He grabbed it anyway.
    Wilbur rushed him, the cleaver gleaming in the lamplight. Fargo raised the broom, only to have it shatter under the impact. He threw the pieces at Wilbur and retreated.
    Wilbur came after him. The man was beside himself; his eyes were pits of hellfire, his face contorted; spittle dribbled from a corner of his mouth.
    The cleaver clipped Fargo’s hat, nicked his shoulder. He dodged, and realized they were next to the root