New Mexico Madman (9781101612644) by Jon Sharpe Page A

interceded. “A man born under the influence of Mars is bellicose, certainly. But even worse is a Capricorn. They—”
    â€œMiss Barton has no interest in your inane prattle,” Lansford Ashton cut in harshly. “Nor do the rest of us. I prefer an honest pickpocket to your ilk.”
    Kathleen ignored all of this, still watching Fargo. “It has occurred to me, Mr. Fargo, that you are facing great danger to protect me. I hope you realize I’m grateful.”
    Her tone implied that she was praising a servant for getting the carpet extra clean.
    â€œI’m getting good wages for it,” Fargo replied. “It’s just a job.”
    He grinned when he saw scarlet points suddenly appear on her finely sculpted cheeks. She stiffened, then abruptly returned to the coach.
    Interesting, Fargo thought.
    The Concord swift wagon resumed its trek toward the station at Los Pinos. Booger tipped his flask now and then and belted out bawdy verses while Fargo kept a close eye on the surrounding valley. Booger suddenly burst out laughing, slapping his tree-trunk thigh.
    â€œOh, Skye, Her Nibs will likely have a catfit when we get to Los Pinos. You know the place?”
    Fargo shook his head. “Why? What about it?”
    But Booger only smiled mysteriously. “Why, you’ll see.
I’m
not the boy to ruin a surprise.”
    â€œYou’re mighty rough on that gal. Why’n’t you ease off a bit?”
    â€œI, rough on the Quality? That’s a libel on me, long-shanks. Why, she’s a reg’lar peach of a woman. I’m merely having a bit of sport with her.”
    Booger cracked his blacksnake over the leaders. “Gee up, you lazy animules! Get up! Hi yi! Fargo, straight arrow now: Do you b’lieve this Ashton yack works for Lomax?”
    â€œI think he’s shiftier than a creased buck, and I’d never leave my horse with him. I ain’t so sure he’s with Lomax, though. He can’t be unless Lomax knew which coach Kathleen was taking.”
    â€œFargo, is your brain any bigger than your pee hole? First the bomb, then the attack today—ain’t it obvious as a third tit that Lomax knows the very coach she’s on?”
    â€œ
Now
he does, sure. But recall that gunslick at the Vado station—he coulda been there as a spotter. The real poser is—did Lomax know
before
the coach pulled out of El Paso? That’s the only way he could plant a man on it.”
    Booger said, “Look here, catfish—Lomax is s’pose to be deader than a dried herring. What if it ain’t him behind all this?”
    â€œHe’s the only one that fits the known facts. There’s no proof he’s dead, either.”
    Fargo was silent for a minute, thinking. “Could your boss—Addison Steele—be bought?” he finally asked. “Paid off to tell Lomax what stage she was taking? It was in the newspapers that she was coming to Santa Fe from El Paso.”
    â€œYes, he could be bought like most men, but not in any plan to kill a woman. And
this
woman? Addison owns stock in Overland—why, if anything happens to America’s Sweetheart on an Overland run, it could sink the company. And Steele would be cashiered, for a surety.”
    Fargo nodded. “That rings right. But he’s not the only one Lomax could bribe, is he?”
    â€œNaw. Overland is packed up the wazoo with pus-guts and board walkers—assistant managers, clerks and such. The green eyeshades, I calls ’em. Why, I’d say it’s an even bet Lomax knew in time to put a curly wolf on the passenger list. And Ashton—I like him for it.”
    â€œMm. If so, it’s not his job to kill the actress. Seems like Lomax wants that pleasure for himself. Most likely, it’s Ashton’s job to kill me if the others come a cropper.”
    â€œHappens that’s so, why, he’ll have to kill old Booger, too.”
    â€œWell, he’s got