The Trailsman 317 Read Free Page A

falter and run when my life is threatened.”
    The black bear chose that moment to rear onto its hind legs. Still sniffing, it lumbered a step nearer.
    â€œOh, Lordy!” Mabel bleated, and had the Remington half out when Fargo’s hand clamped on her wrist.
    â€œI said no and I meant no.”
    â€œLet go!” Mabel fumed, and sought to wrench free. In doing so, she wrenched too hard, lost her balance, and started to fall from her saddle.
    Only Fargo’s hold on her wrist kept her in place. He glanced at the black bear and hollered, “Shoo!”
    Clutching at her saddle horn, Mabel urged, “You have a rifle! Use it, for heaven’s sake.”
    â€œI had no idea you were so bloodthirsty.”
    That was when the black bear uttered a loud grunt, dropped onto all fours, and barreled off into the brush. Presently the crackling and snapping faded, leaving the woods uncommonly still except for the chirping of a sparrow.
    Fargo let go of her wrist and rode on. He did not look back when she called his name. The drum of hooves heralded her return to his side.
    â€œThat was mean.”
    â€œNo meaner than you wanting to kill a bear that did not need killing,” Fargo said.
    Mabel’s green eyes studied him intently. “What kind of scout are you? I remember hearing about two of your kind who shot hundreds of buffalo in one day just to see who could kill the most.”
    â€œYour point?” Fargo asked. Not that he cared. His interest in her, despite her obvious physical charms, was waning.
    â€œKilling is what you do. Animals, redskins, white men, you name it. Or so I have been led to believe.”
    â€œI take life only when I have to,” Fargo informed her. “I don’t kill for the sake of killing. If that is the kind of man you want, then catch up to Cyst. He would have shot that bear just so he could make a necklace of its claws.”
    â€œYou are very strange,” Mabel Landry said.
    Fargo did not reply, and thankfully she fell silent and slowed to follow along behind him. He stayed alert for signs of Cyst and Welt even though their tracks showed they had hurried on, almost as if the pair wanted to get to Skagg’s Landing well ahead of him.
    The sun dipped to the tops of the mountains that formed the backbone of the Sawatch Range. Soon twilight would descend. Fargo began watching for a spot to camp and chose a small clearing. Swinging down, he arched his back to relieve a cramp.
    â€œHere?” Mabel said critically. “But there is no water.”
    â€œThe horses can go one night without,” Fargo said. “There will be plenty at Skagg’s Landing.”
    â€œI was not thinking of them. I was thinking of me. I could use a bath. I was not comfortable with the idea of taking one when I was with Mr. Cyst and Mr. Welt.”
    â€œBut you are comfortable taking one with me around?” Fargo marveled.
    â€œI want to look my best when we arrive tomorrow,” Mabel said. “I must impress on them how earnest I am.”
    â€œThey will be more impressed by you being female,” Fargo bluntly told her. “There aren’t many women there, and those there are—” He caught himself. “Well, you will find out for yourself.”
    â€œAre you suggesting I should be concerned for my virtue?” Mabel Landry asked.
    â€œIf by that you mean someone might try to have their way with you whether you want them to or not, the answer is yes.” Fargo left her to mull his comment while he walked into the trees to gather wood for their fire. He felt little sympathy for her. She had brought whatever happened to her down on her own head by not heeding his advice. But that was the problem with Easterners. They always thought they knew better than anyone else, even those, like him, who had lived west of the Mississippi River most of their lives.
    When Fargo returned he was pleasantly surprised to find she had stripped her mare.