Texas Tornado by Jon Sharpe Page B

to spirit Carmody Wells away, and that was all. Now it was different. Now it was personal.
    He’d do a lot more than free her before he was through.
    Marshal Mako left after half an hour. So did Deputy Clyde.
    Gergan sat at a desk reading or dozing until he was relieved about midnight by Brock.
    The big deputy closed and bolted the front door and came over to the cell.
    â€œSo you’re the hombre who got on the mayor’s bad side?”
    â€œIs that a fact?” Fargo said.
    â€œMister, he plumb hates you.” Brock grinned and winked. “I hear tell it has something to do with that daughter of his taking a shine to you.”
    Fargo grunted.
    â€œYou’re taking it awful calm,” Deputy Brock said. “Or don’t you know he could sentence you to a year or more at hard labor for what you’ve done?”
    â€œHe thinks so,” Fargo said.
    â€œYou’d better get it through your head that Mayor Stoddard is the next thing to God around here. What he wants, he gets.”
    â€œOne of these days he’ll get more than he bargained for.”
    â€œListen to you.” Brock laughed. “Haven’t you seen the prisoners out in the barracks? You’ll be there before too long, wearing a chain just like they do. That will take you down a peg.”
    â€œWhat about my horse?” Fargo thought to ask.
    â€œIt’s at the livery, I was told. It’ll stay there until after the trial. Likely as not, the mayor will put it up for sale to defray the costs of your incarceration, as he likes to say. Or maybe he’ll keep it for himself.”
    â€œOver my dead body.”
    â€œThat can be arranged, too,” Deputy Brock said, and turned. “You go to court at nine in the morning, by the way.”
    â€œThat quick,” Fargo said.
    â€œThe mayor doesn’t let grass grow under him when it comes to new workers.”
    The deputy lumbered off.
    Fargo continued to fume. Making sure that Brock wasn’t watching, he slipped his hand into his boot and reassured himself the Arkansas toothpick was snug in its ankle sheath. They’d frisked him and taken his poke and bandanna, but they hadn’t searched his boots.
    Their carelessness would cost them.
    For now, there was nothing Fargo could do except bubble with impatience as the night crawled on turtle’s feet. His sleep was fitful. When a rooster crowed to herald the new dawn, he felt as if he’d barely slept a wink.
    Marshal Mako showed up at six. The deputies went through the morning routine with the prisoners in the barracks, and the wagon departed.
    Only then did Mako come over. “Your trial is today.”
    â€œSo I heard.”
    â€œAct up in court and it will go hard for you,” Mako warned.
    â€œIt’s going to go hard for somebody,” Fargo said.
    â€œThere you go again. That mouth of yours will get you five years if you’re not careful.”
    Deputy Clyde brought a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of milk, but Fargo didn’t touch either.
    â€œAny chance of getting some whiskey?”
    Clyde tittered and shook his head in amusement. “You’re a regular hoot.”
    At a quarter to nine, Marshal Mako stepped to the gun rack and armed himself with a short-barreled shotgun. He passed out one to Gergan and one to Clyde.
    It was Gergan who unlocked the cell.
    â€œNice and easy does it,” Marshal Mako said. “You don’t want to give us an excuse.”
    Fargo strode out. He wasn’t in the best of moods. In addition to everything else, his head had a dull ache and his wrists were chafed from having the cuffs on all night. “Can’t say much for your hospitality.”
    â€œFlap your gums while you can,” Mako said. “Once you’re sentenced, you don’t get to speak unless you’re spoken to.”
    Fairplay didn’t have a courthouse. Trials were conducted in a side room off the mayor’s office.
    Fargo was