Nevada Vipers' Nest by Jon Sharpe Page B

deputy.”
    â€œNo need to have a hissy fit, old roadster. I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. I was just curious, is all.”
    â€œWell, it would sound a mite queer to an outlander. But if you stick around the valley long enough, you’ll likely become a believer.”
    Fargo thanked Peatross again for the loan, and he and Sitch hoofed it toward the bathhouse.
    â€œDamn, Fargo,” Sitch opined, “that’s Duffy, the sheriff and old Peatross who believe this area is spooked.”
    â€œSheriff Vance didn’t actually say he believes it,” Fargo gainsaid. “And the whole thing is a crock of shit. But somebody is sure’s hell working mighty hard to convince these folks—and I got a hunch it’s the miners they’re looking to drive out, not the townies. I just can’t help thinking it’s somehow tied into what happened to the Hightower family—and maybe into this sudden interest the red sashes have in sending me under.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Even when soaking in a tub of hot, sudsy water Fargo kept his weapons within reach and never took his eyes off the curtained doorway leading into the bathhouse.
    â€œThis is more like it,” Sitch said from the tub beside him. “You have to admit, Fargo, towns have some advantages over the high lonesome.”
    â€œI admit it,” Fargo said. “A cold glass of beer, a poker game, a friendly woman, a box of ammo—towns got their uses. I’ve been to some big cities, though, that I wouldn’t trade an old dog turd for.”
    â€œI like big cities. All the stirring and hullabaloo lifts my spirits.”
    â€œBully for you.”
    â€œWell, you can’t stop progress,” Sitch insisted.
    â€œThere we agree. I don’t try to stop it—I just try to avoid it.”
    â€œOh yeah? I notice you carry a flint and steel in that little rawhide bag on your belt, but you light your cigars with matches.”
    â€œA match is just gunpowder on a stick, and gunpowder’s been around for centuries. The ‘progress’ you’re talking about will mostly benefit the rich at the expense of manhood and freedom. When the frontier is finally all mapped and settled, the New York land hunters and the railroad and mining barons will divvy it up amongst themselves. And the common men will turn against each other just to get some crumbs off their tables.”
    â€œI guess there’s something to that,” Sitch allowed. “The railroads east of the Missouri take all the land they want, and Congress kisses their asses and takes their bribes.”
    Fargo just grunted. This was no revelation to him. The two men finished their baths, dusted off their clothing and went back onto the street. By now it was well into the afternoon, the sun starting to throw long shadows.
    â€œWell, now,” Fargo remarked, glancing across the wide, dusty main street, “looks like we got us a guardian angel.”
    He had spotted a man wearing a red sash on his belt. His back was propped against the front of a mercantile, and he was obviously closely watching the Chinese bathhouse. He was not one of the three men who had taken Fargo and Sitch prisoner.
    â€œLet’s go pay our respects,” Fargo suggested as he crossed the street.
    The man turned and started to leave, but Fargo’s long legs propelled him quickly onto the boardwalk, cutting the man off.
    â€œI can’t tell you how honored I am,” Fargo greeted him, “to know you boys from Rough and Ready are watching over me.”
    â€œYou’re crazy as a loon. I was just resting for a spell.”
    Fargo smiled with his lips only, his penetrating, direct-as- searchlights eyes sending a different message. “Hogwash. Scully sent you to town to spy on me.”
    â€œDo tell?” the sash replied. He had the eyes of a sullen animal in a face that was all shrewd angles and planes. He