California Carnage Read Free Page B

attackers spun around and staggered into the street like he was doing a crazy dance. The other man stumbled but stayed on his feet, lurching to the side and disappearing. Fargo figured he had ducked into a recessed doorway, or even a narrow space between buildings.
    The man in the street jerked the trigger of his gun again, but the barrel pointed down now. The bullet thudded into the dirt in front of him. He dropped the gun, clutched at his midsection, then doubled over and collapsed.
    That made three men lying in the street with Fargo’s lead in them. He didn’t know where the fourth man had gone, but no more shots rang out.
    Curious yells sounded, though, as several men appeared on the street and hurried toward the hotel to see what all the shooting was about. Men came out of the hotel, too, and as Fargo glanced in that direction, he thought he caught a glimpse of Belinda Grayson casting a worried look through the front window. She had to be wondering if the shots had been directed at him.
    A man hurried up, swinging a lantern in one hand. In the other he carried a shotgun. Fargo got to his feet and holstered the Colt, not wanting the fellow with the Greener to get trigger-happy.
    ‘‘Hold it right there!’’ the man shouted at Fargo. ‘‘Don’t move, damn it!’’
    ‘‘I don’t intend to, Sheriff,’’ Fargo said as he stood with his hands in plain sight.
    ‘‘It’s Marshal,’’ the heavyset man said as he puffed to a halt in front of Fargo. The light from the hotel reflected off the badge pinned to his vest. Fargo had seen that reflection and guessed the man was the local law. ‘‘What the hell’s goin’ on here? Are those bodies in the street?’’
    ‘‘Bushwhackers,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘They laid for me over there in that alley and opened fire as I stood on the hotel porch.’’
    The marshal stared at him. ‘‘And you downed all three of them?’’ He sounded as if he had a hard time believing that.
    ‘‘There were four of them. One got away.’’
    The lawman rubbed at his jaw as he thought about that. After a moment he said, ‘‘Better give me your gun.’’
    ‘‘I’d just as soon I didn’t,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘Like I told you, one of those bushwhackers got away. He might come back.’’
    ‘‘Not with me here,’’ the marshal blustered. ‘‘Now gimme that gun.’’
    Fargo wasn’t prepared to fight the lawman over it. He shrugged, slid the Colt from leather, and extended it butt-first to the marshal, who took it and stuck it behind the belt that encircled his ample waist.
    ‘‘Now we’ll take a look at them hombres,’’ the marshal declared. He glanced at the men who had gathered in the street. ‘‘Ed, Tom, I’m deputizin’ you. You’ll help me in case any more trouble breaks out.’’
    The two townsmen didn’t look too happy about having that responsibility thrust upon them, but they nodded.
    ‘‘Larch, you go fetch the undertaker,’’ the sheriff went on to another man. ‘‘Tell him he’ll have plenty o’ work to do this evenin’.’’
    ‘‘How do you know those gents are dead, Marshal?’’ the man he had just spoken to wanted to know.
    The lawman looked at Fargo and narrowed his eyes. ‘‘Because I recognize this hombre who shot ’em,’’ he said.
    The marshal carried the lantern over to the nearest of the bodies and raised it so that the yellow glow washed over the corpse. Sightless eyes stared upward. The face was familiar to Fargo. He wasn’t surprised that he recognized the man.
    ‘‘You know him?’’ the marshal asked.
    ‘‘Yeah. I don’t know his name, but I was told that he works for an hombre named Stoddard. I had a run-in with him and three other men just a little while ago.’’
    ‘‘You reckon them other two are part of the same bunch?’’
    ‘‘I’d bet on it,’’ Fargo said.
    His hunch turned out to be correct. He recognized the other bodies when the marshal checked on them. They were just as dead as