Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860) Read Free Page A

felt Jules wrench free and braced for the sting of the blade.
    â€œWhat the hell is going on here?” a familiar voice demanded.
    Suddenly the weight was off of Fargo’s chest. He shook his head to clear it and saw Jules scrambling over the fence into the corral. Pushing to his knees, he palmed his Colt. Before he could fire, Jules was in among the horses. Fargo lost sight of him. Rising, he spotted a figure going over the rails on the far side. “Damn.”
    Vin Creed came up, a pearl-handled derringer in one hand, an unlit cigar in the other. “I repeat,” he said. “What the hell was that about?”
    â€œYou tell me and we’ll both know.” Fargo shoved the Colt into his holster and turned. “He would have stabbed me if not for you. I’m obliged.”
    â€œWhat are friends for?” Creed’s arm moved and the derringer disappeared up his sleeve.
    Fargo had known the gambler for a few years now and considered him one of the best of the breed. But he still had to ask. “What are you doing out here?”
    Creed raised the cigar. “I wanted a smoke and you know how fussy Ginny is.”
    Fargo grunted. He did indeed know that she couldn’t abide the habit; cigar smoke made her ill. The senator had to smoke on their balcony or the porch.
    â€œI came over to the stable and thought I heard someone out back,” Creed went on. “Reckon I showed up at just the right time.”
    Fargo told him about the earlier attempt.
    â€œRanson and Jules, you say?” Creed scratched his chin. “I seem to recollect hearing those names around. Hired muscle, you could call them. They beat up renters behind on their rent. That sort of thing. This is the first I’ve heard of them killing for pay.”
    â€œThey’re moving up in the world.”
    â€œWhy murder you?”
    â€œYou tell me and we’ll both know,” Fargo said again. He was disgusted with himself at how Jules had almost gotten the better of him.
    â€œYou should tell Marion,” Creed advised.
    â€œAlready did.”
    â€œHe has no idea either?”
    Fargo shook his head and rubbed his chest where Jules’s knee had gouged him.
    Creed proceeded to light his cigar. When the tip was glowing he let out a few puffs and remarked, “You know, it’s not as if you haven’t made a few enemies. Maybe one is trying to pay you back.”
    Fargo had thought of that. Most of his enemies, though, were dead. The few that weren’t were either behind bars or far away. “I don’t think it’s someone I know.”
    â€œThen I reckon all you can do is wait for them to try again.”
    â€œThat’s the hell of it,” Fargo said.

5
    Fargo liked to stay at the mansion instead of the hotel. The hotel was close to the saloon where the game was held but the mansion had more to offer, not the least of which was a four-poster canopy bed. Lying on it was like sinking into a sea of feathers. He had removed his boots and gun belt and hat and plopped onto his back when someone knocked.
    â€œYou in there, good-looking?” Lacey Mayhare said.
    Her tantalizing perfume wreathed him as Fargo opened the door. He admired the long sweep of her legs and how her lustrous golden hair cascaded over her shoulders. “To what do I owe the honor?”
    â€œI’m not ready for bed yet.” Lacey brushed past and moved to a chair. “I thought you might like some company.”
    Fargo shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed and regarded her suspiciously.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’re up to something.”
    â€œMe?” Lacey batted her eyes and laughter spilled from her smooth throat. “Whatever do you mean?”
    â€œAll you care about is winning,” Fargo said. “You’ll do anything to make sure you do.”
    â€œIt’s against Marion’s rules to try to influence the outcome in any way,” Lacey