Wyoming Winterkill Read Free Page B

skedaddle.”
    A heavy coat hung on a hook on the wall. Margaret took it down, shrugged into it, and held her carpetbag to her bosom. “I’m ready.”
    Fargo stepped out and she slipped by. A blast of cold air hit them as he opened the back door.
    Levering a round into the Henry’s chamber, Fargo moved to the corner.
    â€œYou shouldn’t need to use that,” Margaret said.
    Fargo led her to the lean-to. He untied the Ovaro’s reins and brought the stallion out and turned to give Margaret a boost.
    â€œDid you hear something?” she whispered as she settled behind the saddle.
    The Ovaro raised its head and pricked its ears.
    Fargo saw Lector running toward the lean-to with a pistol in his hand. Lector was looking at her and the Ovaro but apparently hadn’t spotted him. Stepping out, Fargo slammed the Henry’s stock against Lector’s head and Lector folded and pitched forward.
    â€œGoodness,” Margaret gasped. “Was that really necessary?”
    Fargo quickly climbed on. He shoved the Henry into the scabbard, reined around, and resorted to his spurs.
    They were past the trading post and almost to the brush when a shout blasted. Someone had found Lector and was yelling. It sounded like Hector.
    Fargo felt Margaret’s arm loop around his waist and squeeze tight. He went about a hundred yards at a gallop, then reined to the northwest and rode at a trot for a while. By then he was half a mile from the trading post and didn’t see anyone after them.
    â€œI think we did it.”
    â€œAnd no blood was spilled,” Margaret crowed. “Thank you for trying my way instead of yours.”
    â€œIt’s your conscience.”
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œIf I’m right, you and your husband and that old couple weren’t the first folks they’ve killed and robbed. And you won’t be the last. They’ll keep at it until someone plants them.”
    â€œI hadn’t thought of that,” Margaret said quietly. “Anyone they harm in the future, it’s on my shoulders, isn’t it?”
    Fargo grunted.
    â€œI don’t like that notion,” Margaret said. “What can I do?”
    â€œFile a report at Fort Laramie.”
    â€œWhat can the army do? It’s a civilian matter.”
    â€œI’ll see that Colonel Harrington gets word to a federal marshal,” Fargo said. It was the best he could do since she wouldn’t let him do what he should.
    â€œI’m glad that’s settled.” Margaret shivered and pressed against him. “Mercy me, it’s cold. And that wind.”
    Fargo had slowed to a walk. Since no one was after them, he saw no reason to ride the Ovaro into the ground.
    The sun slowly climbed in the cloudless pale sky. The later it grew, the more the wind picked up. Occasional gusts whipped the pines and the cottonwoods.
    â€œI’m freezing,” Margaret said.
    So was Fargo. He had an eye out for a likely spot to camp. It had to be out of the wind, and where their fire wouldn’t be seen from afar.
    He considered a stand of saplings, a dry wash, a ring of boulders.
    The sun was low on the horizon when he spied a bluff. It wasn’t all that high or big but it blocked most of the wind. He drew rein midway along the east side where a cluster of trees had sprung up and sparse grass grew.
    Fargo dismounted and helped Margaret down. They both moved stiffly, their limbs half frozen. It was only after he’d gathered firewood and had a small blaze crackling that he began to feel like his usual self.
    Margaret held her hands to the fire and did more shivering. “I don’t know as I’ll ever warm up.”
    Fargo opened his saddlebags and took out a bundle of pemmican. He offered some to her and she looked at it as if she’d never seen it before.
    â€œWhat’s this?”
    â€œBuff meat ground to a powder and mixed with fat and chokecherries.”
    Margaret