Fargo 17 by John Benteen

Author:John Benteen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: soldier of fortune, western ebook, piccadilly publishing, john benteen, the us old west, a fargo western, jim fargo
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Seven

For five incredible days, with Fargo and Amy virtually prisoners in the wagon, daring to come out only at night, they crisscrossed Death Valley with the twenty mule team. They were winding, Fargo thought, all over hell, through brutally rough country, and all seemingly in total aimlessness. Sometimes they traversed shimmering desert, alkali flats, lava beds, sand dunes. At other times, Charlie wound up into bleak mountains, then came down again. And always, the sun was like a curse. And there was no sign of Mace.

There was, Fargo realized, a method in the old man’s madness. Only twice did they strike water, and both times in hidden places, where only a man who knew the Valley thoroughly could have found it. Otherwise, Charlie’s meandering course kept them miles clear of waterholes. They were equipped to haul water; Mace was not. In a sense, Fargo thought admiringly, Charlie was doing what any good general would have: stretching his enemies’ supply lines until they snapped. Mace had to keep riding back to the water holes he knew. Charlie knew a dozen more and used that knowledge to keep Mace off balance, bound to the few springs and wells he could find on maps.

Nevertheless, the Lopez brothers were out there, and they needed little water. Once Charlie came to rest at last, they would pinpoint him, then bring up Mace ...

Amy Raines was quiet most of the time, affected by the awful heat, despite the tarp’s shade. Fargo, making conversation with a purpose, inquired about her life at school, but she rebuffed most of his questions. Finally their time was spent in long silences.

After nearly a week of circles, half-circles, crazy twists, and lunatic detours, they were camped a few miles southeast of Bad Water, the lowest point in the United States, with the dry bed of the Amargosa River just out of sight over the horizon. Charlie built a fire, cooked a meal, passed it in to Fargo and Amy in the wagon, then joined them. “Well,” he said, “I reckon we’ve fair worn Mace out.”

“You ain’t worn him out,” Fargo said. “He’s restin’ by the water, gatherin’ strength, waitin’ for the Lopez brothers to report.”

“Well, you’re to see to it that they don’t. Tomorrow, we’re headin’ up into the mountains. Them ole Black Mountains yonder.” He chewed a biscuit. “Back in ’93 some perfersser from back East, a gee-ologist, come through and we camped together a coupla nights. Told me them mountains yonder’s full of magnesium, and the sun shinin’ on it so bright turns ’em black. And then ... ” He looked into the distance, really into the past. “And then ole Pres Rogers, he useta love it out here. There’s somethin’ about the Valley gits to a man. The sunrises, sunsets, the raw, nekkid beauty of it ... Pres couldn’t wait to git out here ever year. Said the space and loneliness kinda restored his soul.”

He fell silent, looking embarrassed to have revealed that side of himself; but Fargo knew what he meant.

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