Flathead Fury by Jon Sharpe Page B

own affair.”
    â€œI ask you to reconsider,” Big Mike said.
    â€œAnd if I don’t?”
    Durn snapped his fingers. Instantly, Tork and Grunge and the others turned with their rifles leveled or their revolvers out and pointed.
    Fargo froze.
    â€œIf you don’t,” Durn said, still acting polite as could be, “I will snap my fingers again and my men will turn you into a sieve.” His cold smile widened.
    â€œIt is your choice.”

7
    Fargo had a contrary streak in him a mile wide, and he showed it now. He clamped his jaw and said nothing.
    Mike Durn arched an eyebrow. “I have heard of stubborn but you are ridiculous. Or is it something else?” His forehead knit in perplexity.
    Fargo stayed silent.
    â€œWhether you are or you aren’t, you are damned clever,” Durn paid him the same compliment Birds Landing had. “But I can be clever, too.”
    The others were grinning or smirking.
    A sharp jab in the small of Fargo’s back explained why.
    â€œRemember me?” Kutler said. “Give me an excuse and I will bury my bowie all the way in.”
    Fargo inwardly swore. He had not kept an eye on what was going on behind him, and had paid for his mistake.
    â€œI commend your timing,” Durn said to his lieutenant.
    â€œWe came back for a change of mounts,” Kutler said. “Ours were tuckered out.”
    â€œAny sign of her yet?”
    â€œNot a trace. I sent men to her village but they won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.”
    â€œYou have done well,” Durn said. He walked up to Fargo. “Now then. What to do about you?”
    â€œLet me blow his head off,” Tork requested. “He doesn’t use it much anyway.”
    Some of the men laughed.
    Durn reached out and plucked the Colt from Fargo’s holster. “I will hold on to this for a while. You don’t mind, do you?”
    More laughter, and Fargo grew warm with rising anger.
    Kutler asked, “Want me to finish him here and now, Mr. Durn? Or take him outside and gut him so I don’t make a mess of your floor.”
    â€œNeither,” Durn said. “Not until I learn why he is here. If my suspicions are right, and we kill him, it will confirm their suspicions.” Durn stepped back and gave the Colt to Tork. “Now then,” he addressed Fargo. “I will ask you one last time. Did you have a hand in spiriting that squaw away tonight?”
    Fargo did not respond.
    â€œYou are becoming tedious,” Durn said. “Killing you is not the only choice I have. You would do well to consider that.”
    â€œDo what you have to,” Fargo said.
    Mike Durn cocked his head and scratched his chin. “You puzzle me. You truly do. I will get it out of you one way or another. You must know that.”
    â€œI know you love to hear yourself talk.”
    Durn sighed. “Why make it hard on yourself?” He waited, and when Fargo did not say anything, he sighed again. “Very well. We will play this out the way you want. Mr. Kutler, step back. Mr. Tork and a few of you others, push these tables and chairs out of the way.”
    The men were eager to comply.
    Fargo suspected what was coming and focused on the man with the huge hands. He turned out to be right.
    â€œMr. Grunge, he is all yours.”
    Grunge unbuckled his gun belt and set it on the bar. Flexing and unflexing his thick fingers, he came over and regarded Fargo as he might a puppy he was about to kick. “How bad do you want me to hurt him, Mr. Durn?”
    â€œBad,” was Durn’s reply. “I want him in pain for a week.”
    â€œYou heard him, mister,” Grunge said, and balled those enormous fists of his.
    Fargo did not care how big the man’s hands were. So what if they could shatter doors? So long as he did not let them connect, he could hold his own. And he was considerably quicker than most.
    â€œYou don’t seem