Beartooth Incident by Jon Sharpe Page A

counted the steps off. He could see the toothpick but it might as well be on the moon for all the good it was doing him.
    Tull could see it, too. “What is that?” he demanded as he warily came over. He kicked the chair aside, and squatted. “Well, lookee here.” He held the toothpick high so the blade caught the candle glow.
    Fargo sensed what was coming and braced himself. “So this is what I get for sparing you? A knife in the gizzard?” Tull rose. “You miserable son of a bitch.”
    Mary tried to say something through her gag.
    “Shut up, cow,” Tull snapped. He tossed the toothpick onto the table and advanced on Fargo, a vicious sneer curling his cruel face. “I’ve changed my mind, mister. If Cud wants to know who you are and what you were doing here, he can ask you in hell.”
    Fargo tried to dodge the boot rising toward his gut but he was too slow. Pain brought him to his knees. He flung out his arms to ward off a second kick and never saw the sweep of the Colt but he felt the blow to his temple. The next he knew, he was on his side with the killer gloating over him.
    “Any last words, mister? Any begging you care to do? It won’t change anything but you can grovel if you want.”
    Fargo glared.
    “Tough bastard, is that it? Well, we’ll see. It’s been a while since I stomped anyone to death.”
    Over in the corner Mary and Nelly were trying to speak and thrashing wildly about.
    “You’re going to be a long time dying.”
    Jayce began kicking the wall.
    “Cut that out!” Tull growled, not taking his eyes off Fargo. “All that fuss to keep me from kicking your teeth in. They must like you, mister. When I’m done, I’ll give each of them a tooth as a keepsake.”
    Fargo placed his hands flat on the floor. He had one chance and one chance only.
    “This is going to be fun,” Tull said, and raised his boot.

7
    Fargo stood no chance in a fight. He was too weak to last long. Tull knew it but he had overlooked one thing. Fargo didn’t have to last if he could bring Tull down quickly. So as Tull raised his leg to stomp him, Fargo resorted to the dirtiest trick there was; he drove his fist up and in, slamming his knuckles into Tull’s groin.
    The killer cursed and staggered back. Sputtering, he clutched himself. His face became red, almost purple. “You’re dead, you bastard.” He tried to raise his pearl-handled Colt.
    Fargo heaved off the floor. The movement made him light-headed, but he lashed out, swatting Tull’s wrist just as the Colt went off. The revolver thundered loud in the confines of the cabin. The slug missed him and struck a wall.
    “Kill you!” Tull railed, and thumbed back the hammer to try again.
    Fargo punched him, a short, brutal chop to the throat that sent Tull crashing onto his side.
    Now the sounds that came from Tull’s throat weren’t words. They were gurgles and snarls. He’d dropped the Colt and now he grabbed for it, his fingers rigid claws.
    Bending, Fargo punched him again, in the side of the neck. Not once, but three times, and after the third blow Tull broke out in convulsions and loud whines burst from his gaping mouth.
    Fargo reached for the Colt. He moved as slow as a turtle but he got it in his hand. He cocked it and placed the muzzle against Tull’s forehead. “You shouldn’t treat a lady like that.” He squeezed the trigger.
    The commotion in the corner had ceased. Mary and her young ones were gaping at the brains and hair and gore. Nelly made gagging sounds. Jayce laughed with glee.
    Wincing, Fargo reclaimed his toothpick and shuffled over. “I’ll have you free in a moment.” Since he couldn’t trust his legs, he sat down. Mary was on her knees, staring at him, and there was a question in her eyes. He removed the gag and threw the cloth aside. “Did he hurt you any?”
    “No. I’m more worried about you. You’re as white as a sheet.”
    Fargo nodded at the brains and the blood. “Sorry about the mess.”
    “He didn’t give you a