Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860) by Jon Sharpe Page B

don’t understand.” Ginny bowed her head and turned and took a few steps away from him.
    Garvin Oster had two loops of rope around his ankles and was winding a third. “I have an idea,” he said. “How about if I give you five thousand dollars and you let us go?”
    â€œKeep trying.”
    â€œTen thousand, then. That’s a hell of a lot of money.”
    â€œAnd have the law after me? I’m not as dumb as you.”
    â€œNo one would ever know,” Garvin said. “Hide it in your saddlebags. Tell Moleen we gave you the slip.”
    â€œWe?” Fargo said. “I’m taking Ginny and Roselyn back where they belong.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t have butted in,” Garvin said. “We could have gotten clean away if not for you.” He stopped winding. “All right. Twenty thousand, but that’s as high as I’ll go.”
    From behind Fargo, Ginny said, “That’s too much.”
    Fargo hadn’t heard her come up. Suddenly his head exploded in agony and a black pit yawned and he pitched into it and the world blinked out.

28
    Pain brought him around.
    Fargo lay still, collecting his senses. He was on his belly on the ground. His head throbbed. The back of his neck felt strange. Gingerly, he reached up. There was a gash as long as his little finger. Dry blood matted his hair and covered his neck.
    â€œSon of a bitch.”
    He eased onto his side. His hat was next to him, partially crumpled. Wincing, he sat up. Ginny had hit him. He didn’t know what to make of it; this whole damn business got crazier by the minute. He picked up his hat and reshaped it and carefully placed it on his head.
    Judging by the sun, he had been unconscious for a couple of hours. He looked around. The women and Oster were long gone.
    It was a wonder Garvin hadn’t killed him.
    Fargo put a hand down to prop himself so he could stand.
    He had to try twice. Swaying, he managed to stay up. He looked for the Henry but it wasn’t there. He glanced at his holster; his Colt was gone, too.
    Gritting his teeth, he walked slowly along the base of the bluff. The Ovaro was where he had left it, thank God. He climbed on and sat still until the waves of pain lessened.
    Fargo rode back to where he had been struck. Their tracks led to the northwest. He resumed his pursuit, at a walk. He supposed he should be thankful he was still breathing. Oster had the perfect chance to kill him and hadn’t. Was that Ginny’s doing? But if so, why had she knocked him out?
    The whole affair was a tangled knot that he was in no shape to unravel. He didn’t bother to try. He rode until noon and stopped and rested. Seated on a flat rock, he chewed jerky and mulled over all that had happened since he arrived in Deerforth.
    He recollected that Ranson and Jules had latched on to him almost as soon as he rode in. Since the pair worked for Garvin Oster, that told him two things. First, that Oster had been planning to steal the money for some time. Second, that Oster wanted him out of the way so he couldn’t track him.
    That still left the question of the women. Had Oster been planning to abduct them all along too? If so, why? Why not just steal the money and ride hell-bent for leather to parts unknown? The women slowed Oster down. They made escaping that much harder.
    Fargo finished eating and climbed on the Ovaro. He’d find out what it was all about eventually. Oster had made another mistake in taking his guns and leaving him alive. He wasn’t the forgive-and-forget type.
    Evening came, and he hadn’t caught up to them. They were pushing a lot faster. He debated riding into the night but decided to camp. His head could use the rest. He kindled a small fire and sat and ate more jerky and listened to the coyotes. He turned in early and had no trouble falling into an undisturbed sleep.
    Dawn found him in the saddle again. He felt invigorated. His head was a little sore but not