determined to end the madman’s reign of terror.”
“Your personal life is your own.”
“Ordinarily I would agree. But it is important that you understand. That you not take me for a fanatic, or a vigilante.”
“What I take you for is the gent who is going to pay me ten thousand dollars,” Fargo said.
“It always comes back to the money, doesn’t it? Somehow I expected more.”
“You’re the one who wants the Monster killed,” Fargo reminded him.
“Touché. Yes, I do, and yes, that is hardly a proper sentiment, but when a person loses a loved one, proper sentiments fly out the window with mercy and compassion. Revenge is all you think about. Revenge is all you live for.”
Fargo could recollect a few such instances in his own life.
“So if I seem too cold and callous, that’s why. When Bethany was little I rocked her on my knee. Now she is six feet under, thanks to a beast in human guise. A rabid animal who deserves the fate of all rabid animals.” Draypool wagged a finger. “I daresay you would shoot a rabid skunk, or a rabid coyote, or a rabid wolf. Yet you won’t bring yourself to shoot him.”
The man would not let it drop.
“I’ll make up my mind when the time comes to squeeze the trigger.” It was the best compromise Fargo could make.
They did not stop at midday. They did not rest at all. Draypool insisted on pushing on until sunset. He wanted to make camp at the side of the road, but Fargo roved among the trees and discovered a clearing where their fire would not be seen by anyone passing by.
Bryce Avril kindled it. He also filled a coffeepot with water from their water skin and put the coffee on to brew. He then left to find Vern Zeck. Twilight had about succumbed to darkness when the underbrush crackled and the two men reappeared. Zeck immediately went to Draypool to report.
“They stopped for the night about half a mile back, sir. If you ask me, they have no intention of overtaking us anytime soon.”
Since they did not want a gunshot to give them away, supper consisted of salted beef, potatoes, and bread.
Fargo ate sparingly and washed the food down with two cups of scalding black coffee. Draypool did not say much all evening; he was preoccupied, wrestling with an inner problem. He did instruct Avril and Zeck to take turns keeping watch. Fargo offered to help, but Draypool would not hear of it.
Shortly past ten, Fargo turned in. He was not tired, but he gave the impression he was by yawning a lot and pretending he could not keep his eyes open. He deliberately arranged his blankets near the horses, removed his spurs, and lay on his side facing the fire, with his hat brim pulled low, but not so low that he could not watch the others. Soon Draypool pleaded sleepiness. Since Zeck had the first watch, Avril chose a spot close to their employer and presently was snoring.
Vern Zeck took his job seriously, but he had been up all day, and along about midnight fatigue took its toll. He was feeding bits of a broken branch to the flames, and his chin drooped. Twice he snapped his head up and shook himself. The third time sleep would not be denied.
Slipping from under his blanket, Fargo padded past the horses and on into the woods. He did not have far to go, and he could be much quieter on foot. When he reached the road he turned south and adopted a dogtrot.
Something strange was going on, and it was high time he had some answers.
6
The acrid scent of smoke drew Fargo into the benighted woods on the left side of the road. He had gone about twenty yards when he spied the red glow of burning embers and heard a horse nicker. Instantly, he crouched, then stealthily stalked forward until he saw two horses in a small clearing. At the center was the fire, or what was left of it. On either side lay a huddled figure in a blanket.
It struck Fargo that the pair were not expecting trouble or one of them would have been standing guard. Granted, Missouri was not the Rockies, but there were plenty
“Your personal life is your own.”
“Ordinarily I would agree. But it is important that you understand. That you not take me for a fanatic, or a vigilante.”
“What I take you for is the gent who is going to pay me ten thousand dollars,” Fargo said.
“It always comes back to the money, doesn’t it? Somehow I expected more.”
“You’re the one who wants the Monster killed,” Fargo reminded him.
“Touché. Yes, I do, and yes, that is hardly a proper sentiment, but when a person loses a loved one, proper sentiments fly out the window with mercy and compassion. Revenge is all you think about. Revenge is all you live for.”
Fargo could recollect a few such instances in his own life.
“So if I seem too cold and callous, that’s why. When Bethany was little I rocked her on my knee. Now she is six feet under, thanks to a beast in human guise. A rabid animal who deserves the fate of all rabid animals.” Draypool wagged a finger. “I daresay you would shoot a rabid skunk, or a rabid coyote, or a rabid wolf. Yet you won’t bring yourself to shoot him.”
The man would not let it drop.
“I’ll make up my mind when the time comes to squeeze the trigger.” It was the best compromise Fargo could make.
They did not stop at midday. They did not rest at all. Draypool insisted on pushing on until sunset. He wanted to make camp at the side of the road, but Fargo roved among the trees and discovered a clearing where their fire would not be seen by anyone passing by.
Bryce Avril kindled it. He also filled a coffeepot with water from their water skin and put the coffee on to brew. He then left to find Vern Zeck. Twilight had about succumbed to darkness when the underbrush crackled and the two men reappeared. Zeck immediately went to Draypool to report.
“They stopped for the night about half a mile back, sir. If you ask me, they have no intention of overtaking us anytime soon.”
Since they did not want a gunshot to give them away, supper consisted of salted beef, potatoes, and bread.
Fargo ate sparingly and washed the food down with two cups of scalding black coffee. Draypool did not say much all evening; he was preoccupied, wrestling with an inner problem. He did instruct Avril and Zeck to take turns keeping watch. Fargo offered to help, but Draypool would not hear of it.
Shortly past ten, Fargo turned in. He was not tired, but he gave the impression he was by yawning a lot and pretending he could not keep his eyes open. He deliberately arranged his blankets near the horses, removed his spurs, and lay on his side facing the fire, with his hat brim pulled low, but not so low that he could not watch the others. Soon Draypool pleaded sleepiness. Since Zeck had the first watch, Avril chose a spot close to their employer and presently was snoring.
Vern Zeck took his job seriously, but he had been up all day, and along about midnight fatigue took its toll. He was feeding bits of a broken branch to the flames, and his chin drooped. Twice he snapped his head up and shook himself. The third time sleep would not be denied.
Slipping from under his blanket, Fargo padded past the horses and on into the woods. He did not have far to go, and he could be much quieter on foot. When he reached the road he turned south and adopted a dogtrot.
Something strange was going on, and it was high time he had some answers.
6
The acrid scent of smoke drew Fargo into the benighted woods on the left side of the road. He had gone about twenty yards when he spied the red glow of burning embers and heard a horse nicker. Instantly, he crouched, then stealthily stalked forward until he saw two horses in a small clearing. At the center was the fire, or what was left of it. On either side lay a huddled figure in a blanket.
It struck Fargo that the pair were not expecting trouble or one of them would have been standing guard. Granted, Missouri was not the Rockies, but there were plenty
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