Death Devil (9781101559666) by Jon Sharpe

Mind you, I’m not takin’ sides, neither. Orville has a temper, so it wouldn’t surprise me a lick if he was the one started things. But a complaint is a complaint and I have to act.” He started to walk off.
    â€œWait,” Belinda said. “You haven’t heard about Old Man Sawyer, have you?”
    â€œWhat about that old coot?”
    Belinda gave an account of the slaughtered animals and the strange scream. “We never did see sign of him,” she finished up. “He might be lyin’ off in the woods somewhere, scalped.”
    â€œIf it ain’t chickens, it’s feathers,” Gruel said. “I’ll let the sheriff know.”
    â€œIsn’t it your job to go see?”
    â€œI’m the marshal, Doc. My jurisdiction is Ketchum Falls. Anything outside the town limits is county jurisdiction, and Old Man Sawyer lives as far out as you can go. It’s a job for county law. That would be Sheriff Baker.” Gruel touched his hat brim to her, stared hard at Fargo, and waddled off down the dusty street.
    â€œI don’t think he likes you very much,” Belinda commented.
    â€œThe ten minutes are up,” Fargo said, and strode toward the livery.
    â€œWait.” Belinda hustled to overtake him. “Will you do me a favor? Will you not get into an altercation with Mr. Simpson?”
    â€œThat depends on Simpson.”
    As they neared the livery a buckboard rattled from behind it with the liveryman in the seat. Tied to the back of the buckboard was the physician’s horse. Simpson came to a stop next to them and patted the seat. “I’ve got my tools in the back. You can ride with me if you’d like, ma’am.”
    â€œWhy the change of heart?” Belinda asked.
    Simpson glared at Fargo.
    â€œOh. Yes. Well, in any event, I’m grateful.” Belinda clambered up.
    â€œI’ll follow you,” Fargo said. “And I’m obliged, too.”
    Simpson scowled. “To her I’ll be nice but you can go to hell, gun hand.” He flicked the reins and the buckboard clattered on.
    Fargo retraced his steps and climbed on the Ovaro. On the way out of town he passed the marshal’s office. Gruel was at the window and watched him go, scowling.
    The day was hot. Fargo wanted a drink and was hungry as hell. A couple of times he started to doze and shook his head to stay awake.
    Halfway there, they encountered the patent medicine man coming from the other direction in his van. Charles T. Dogood smiled and waved to Simpson and the doctor. But as he went past the Ovaro he scowled.
    â€œIt’s a regular epidemic,” Fargo said.
    With his help it took the liveryman no time to right the buggy but half an hour to replace the broken spokes. As soon as he was done, Simpson climbed on his wagon, wheeled it around, and headed back.
    Fargo mentally bet himself that he’d get another scowl.
    He won the bet, and sighed.
    â€œSomething the matter?” Belinda asked.
    â€œI don’t recollect ever meeting friendlier folks anywhere,” Fargo said.
    â€œI can get back on my own. But I do want to thank you for all your help.” Belinda offered her hand and he shook it. “I’m hoping you’ll let me repay you by coming to my house for supper tonight instead of us going out to eat.”
    Fargo let his gaze roam from the swell of her bosom to her long legs. “I never say no to a free feed.”
    â€œGood.” Belinda told him how to find her place, climbed in, and picked up the whip. She went to flick it, and paused. “You’ll be careful, won’t you? You’ve made a few enemies today, I’m afraid.”
    â€œI’m collecting them,” Fargo said.
    â€œI can’t help but feel it’s mostly my fault.”
    â€œYou can’t cure jackasses.”
    â€œThey’re not bad people,” she said. “They’re close-minded, is all.”
    â€œYou can make