crackers!” Buckshot exclaimed when the two men were alone. “She’s gonna send for me, Skye! You don’t think—”
“No, I don’t.” Fargo cut him off. “She’s up to something though.”
“Huh. You’re just jealous ’cause she picked me first for the old slap ’n’ tickle. You heard her say there was character in my face.”
“And rocks in your head. Keep your damn voice down, wouldja? Those ‘palace guards’ of hers can’t talk, but they can sure hear. And never mind the damn frippet—we gotta figure out how to wangle out of this deal without getting our wicks snuffed.”
Fargo was already examining the whitewashed side wall, but it seemed solid as a revetment. He sniffed the air. “You can still smell castor oil. This room was used to store packs of beaver pelts, all right.”
“Speaking of beaver—that Jenny is silky-satin, sure enough,” Buckshot said. “But holy Christ! She makes Tammany politics look like Sunday school. The hell’s she up to, Skye?”
“I’ve never learned to read sign on the breast of a normal woman let alone a scheming hellcat like her. One thing’s certain sure: we need to clap the stopper on her.”
Fargo’s tobacco hadn’t been taken. He lit one of his skinny Mexican cigars in the candle flame. “We can’t count on our horses staying put forever. And if we lose them, we lose our rifles—the only weapons we got left unless we find our short guns.”
“Them sons-a-bitches took Patsy,” Buckshot snarled. “Skye, the
hell
is that pert skirt doing? First she tells us she wants us to kill them three sage rats for her. Then she tells them we’re gonna be ransomed and kilt.”
“It’s a stumper. My guess is she’s hedging her bets. It could be she does want us to kill those ‘lieutenants’ of hers because she’s smart enough to know that she’s dancing on dynamite if she lets them live much longer. But this ransom deal—it was worked out too careful in her mind to just be a spur-of-the-moment lie.”
“Yeah, that shines, don’t it?” Buckshot agreed. “That business just now about how her and us might come to ‘more agreeable terms’—you think mebbe she’s got us in mind to replace them other three as her top dirt workers?”
“Yeah, I thought about that. It could be. A woman that beautiful is used to turning men into her lap dogs. If that’s her drift, we need to play along.”
“What’s your size-up on McDade and them other two sidewinders?”
“Butch is a hothead and a bully, and according to Jenny he’s a quick-draw artist, which makes him dangerous. Waldo Tate is only a threat if you turn your back to him. But I’ll warn you right now, old son—
don’t
underrate that Mexer or he’ll cut you to trap bait in a heartbeat. His six-gun’s just for show. It’s his blade that kills.”
“Mister, we’re rowed
way
the hell up Salt River,” Buckshot said. “No horses, no guns or ammo, and it ain’t just these two bodyguards and them three snake-shits we gotta fret—this whole cockchafin’ gulch is filled with hard cases licking Jenny’s hand. And it’d be easier to tie down a bobcat with a piece of string than to figger her out.”
“’Fraid so,” Fargo agreed. “She’s holding a candle for the devil, all right. Matter fact, she might even be his mistress.”
* * *
The two men sat on their pallets and played five-card draw for the next hour or so while they tried—fruitlessly—to figure a plan of action. Now and then El Burro or Norton poked his head in to check on them.
“Both them dickless bastards give me the fidgets,” Buckshot said. “They’re itchin’ for a chance to point our toes to the sky.”
Fargo nodded, slapping down a card. “They’re more dangerous than Butch and those other two.”
The next time the curtains parted, however, Jasmine stepped into the room with El Burro behind her.
“Mr. Brady,” she said, “Miss Lavoy wants to play mahjong now.”
Buckshot sent Fargo a
“No, I don’t.” Fargo cut him off. “She’s up to something though.”
“Huh. You’re just jealous ’cause she picked me first for the old slap ’n’ tickle. You heard her say there was character in my face.”
“And rocks in your head. Keep your damn voice down, wouldja? Those ‘palace guards’ of hers can’t talk, but they can sure hear. And never mind the damn frippet—we gotta figure out how to wangle out of this deal without getting our wicks snuffed.”
Fargo was already examining the whitewashed side wall, but it seemed solid as a revetment. He sniffed the air. “You can still smell castor oil. This room was used to store packs of beaver pelts, all right.”
“Speaking of beaver—that Jenny is silky-satin, sure enough,” Buckshot said. “But holy Christ! She makes Tammany politics look like Sunday school. The hell’s she up to, Skye?”
“I’ve never learned to read sign on the breast of a normal woman let alone a scheming hellcat like her. One thing’s certain sure: we need to clap the stopper on her.”
Fargo’s tobacco hadn’t been taken. He lit one of his skinny Mexican cigars in the candle flame. “We can’t count on our horses staying put forever. And if we lose them, we lose our rifles—the only weapons we got left unless we find our short guns.”
“Them sons-a-bitches took Patsy,” Buckshot snarled. “Skye, the
hell
is that pert skirt doing? First she tells us she wants us to kill them three sage rats for her. Then she tells them we’re gonna be ransomed and kilt.”
“It’s a stumper. My guess is she’s hedging her bets. It could be she does want us to kill those ‘lieutenants’ of hers because she’s smart enough to know that she’s dancing on dynamite if she lets them live much longer. But this ransom deal—it was worked out too careful in her mind to just be a spur-of-the-moment lie.”
“Yeah, that shines, don’t it?” Buckshot agreed. “That business just now about how her and us might come to ‘more agreeable terms’—you think mebbe she’s got us in mind to replace them other three as her top dirt workers?”
“Yeah, I thought about that. It could be. A woman that beautiful is used to turning men into her lap dogs. If that’s her drift, we need to play along.”
“What’s your size-up on McDade and them other two sidewinders?”
“Butch is a hothead and a bully, and according to Jenny he’s a quick-draw artist, which makes him dangerous. Waldo Tate is only a threat if you turn your back to him. But I’ll warn you right now, old son—
don’t
underrate that Mexer or he’ll cut you to trap bait in a heartbeat. His six-gun’s just for show. It’s his blade that kills.”
“Mister, we’re rowed
way
the hell up Salt River,” Buckshot said. “No horses, no guns or ammo, and it ain’t just these two bodyguards and them three snake-shits we gotta fret—this whole cockchafin’ gulch is filled with hard cases licking Jenny’s hand. And it’d be easier to tie down a bobcat with a piece of string than to figger her out.”
“’Fraid so,” Fargo agreed. “She’s holding a candle for the devil, all right. Matter fact, she might even be his mistress.”
* * *
The two men sat on their pallets and played five-card draw for the next hour or so while they tried—fruitlessly—to figure a plan of action. Now and then El Burro or Norton poked his head in to check on them.
“Both them dickless bastards give me the fidgets,” Buckshot said. “They’re itchin’ for a chance to point our toes to the sky.”
Fargo nodded, slapping down a card. “They’re more dangerous than Butch and those other two.”
The next time the curtains parted, however, Jasmine stepped into the room with El Burro behind her.
“Mr. Brady,” she said, “Miss Lavoy wants to play mahjong now.”
Buckshot sent Fargo a
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