Wyoming Winterkill by Jon Sharpe Read Free Book Online Page B

cellar.
    Wilbur’s back was to the opening in the floor. He raised the meat cleaver.
    Springing into the air, Fargo kicked him in the chest.
    Wilbur tottered on his heels. Squawking, he frantically pinwheeled his arms but it did no good. He squawked again as he went over the edge.
    Whirling, Fargo ran to the Colt. He sank to a knee and scooped it up as Wilbur hurtled up out of the cellar. “Drop it!” he warned, but Wilbur was too far gone to heed.
    Wilbur charged.
    Fargo fanned the Colt once, twice, three times. By then Wilbur was only a few feet away, and buckling. His body slid to a stop barely a foot from Fargo’s leg, the meat cleaver brushing his boot.
    â€œDamn,” Fargo said. He rolled Wilbur over and felt for a pulse to be sure.
    â€œIs he dead, mister?” Jessie Cavanaugh asked.
    Fargo turned. She was in the doorway, looking remarkably calm for a little girl who had just seen a man gunned down. “He’s dead.”
    â€œGood,” Jessie said. “He was a bad man like those others.”
    â€œI told you to stay up front.”
    â€œI couldn’t,” she said. “I was too afraid.” She looked hopefully about the kitchen. “Can I have some food now? My tummy hurts, it’s so empty.”
    Fargo considered dragging the body out and decided not to. She didn’t seem disturbed by it, and she was starved. “Have a seat,” he said, with a nod at a chair by the table.
    Instead Jessie came over and stared at George Wilbur. “Do you know what he said to me?”
    Fargo shook his head while reloading.
    â€œHe said he wished I was older. Why did he say a thing like that?”
    Fargo wasn’t about to tell her.
    â€œHe wasn’t as mean as that lady or the other man but he wasn’t nice, either. Not after Grandpa and Grandma—” Jessie stopped.
    â€œHave a seat, I said.”
    Jessie fixed her moist eyes on him. “Why did it happen, mister? Why did God let them die with my grandpa begging and my grandma screaming like she did?”
    â€œHell, girl,” Fargo said. “Ask God.”
    â€œI did,” Jessie said. “When I was in the root cellar. I prayed like Grandma taught me and I asked why they had to die.”
    â€œAnd?” Fargo prompted when she didn’t go on.
    â€œI never got an answer.”
    Fargo twirled the Colt into his holster. He gently moved Jessie to the chair, and she sat without complaint. He was going to cook some venison but when he opened a cupboard he found a bowl with a dozen eggs. “I reckon I’ll join you,” he said.
    Once the stove was hot enough, he scrambled the whole dozen. He also buttered slices of toast and brewed coffee.
    Jessie watched everything he did. She didn’t take her eyes off him once, as if she were afraid he might disappear.
    â€œDo you hear that?” she asked as he brought their plates over.
    Her stomach was rumbling.
    â€œDig in,” Fargo said. He was famished, too, and wolfed his food before she was halfway finished. “I have to go check on something,” he said. Or, specifically, someone—he’d left Margaret alone too long.
    â€œNo!” Jessie cried, gripping his hand. “Wait! Please. I’m almost done.”
    Against his better judgment, Fargo gave in. When she forked the last morsel of egg into her mouth, he grabbed her hand and hastened to the front door.
    The Ovaro and the other horses were where he had left them.
    Margaret and her horse weren’t.
    Fargo rose onto his toes but he didn’t see her.
    â€œWhere’s the bad lady?” Jessie asked.
    â€œLet’s find out.” Only then did something occur to him. “Do you have a coat? And can you ride?”
    â€œI think the woman had my clothes in her closet. And yes, I can ride a little. Grandma was teaching me.”
    â€œYou’ll have to ride double with me then.”
    â€œI’d like that.”
    They found her bag