Free Utah Terror : Utah Terror (9781101606971) by Jon Sharpe Page B

Han, not Lo Ping, or any of the Tong, so much as batted an eye. They took the death with the same detachment they would the swatting of a fly.
    â€œAre you satisfied?” Han asked Fargo.
    â€œYou did this for me?” Fargo said.
    â€œIt was you Nan Kua and his companions tried to slay. It is only fitting you witness his punishment.”
    Fargo watched a pool of scarlet spread under the body.
    â€œWhat about those friends of his?”
    â€œThey, too, have been punished although not as severely,” Han said. “Since he was the instigator, his was the most severe.”
    â€œWhat did you do to them?”
    â€œEach of them has had a hand chopped off.”
    Fargo stared.
    â€œYou act surprised,” Han said. “They were a party to the insult. They had to atone.”
    â€œI wasn’t insulted—” Fargo began, but Han cut him off with a wave of a hand.
    â€œOh, the insult wasn’t to you. When I give orders they are to be followed. After I learned of your fight with Nan Kua and the others over the boy who took the ax, I gave word that you were not to be interfered with in any way. By defying me, Nan Kua insulted me. And insults cannot be borne by a man in my position.”
    â€œI reckon not,” Fargo said. The blood was within inches of his boots.
    â€œI ask you again,” Han said with a smile. “Are you satisfied? Have I redeemed my honor and made my sentiments clear?”
    â€œI savvy you down to your bones,” Fargo said.
    â€œExcellent. Then there are no hard feelings between us?”
    â€œWhy would there be?”
    Han appeared enormously pleased. “Our business is concluded. Lo Ping will guide you out.” He waited until Fargo started to turn to add, “I should imagine you have no reason to stay in camp. A prudent man would be on his way in the morning.”
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind,” Fargo said.
    Han smiled. “Please do so. And if your travels should ever bring you near Hunan again, you are welcome to pay us a visit.”
    Fargo started to turn, but stopped. He’d had a troubling thought. “What happened to the boy?”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œThe boy who was chopping wood. What happened to him?”
    â€œDo you remember his name, by any chance?”
    â€œHe never told me what it was,” Fargo lied.
    â€œAh. Well, stealing is discouraged, most strongly. When I find out who he is, he will be punished.”
    Fargo looked at the hatchet sticking out of the dead Tong’s head. “He’s just a kid.”
    â€œHis age is irrelevant. It is the insult. I trust I have demonstrated they are not to be borne.”
    Fargo got out of there before he uttered one.
    They were almost to the bottom of the stairs when Lo Ping said, “If I were you, I would take my master’s advice.”
    â€œI don’t aim to stick around any longer than I have to,” Fargo said.
    Lo Ping’s cat smile widened. “You are being more reasonable than I gave you credit for.”
    â€œI can be reasonable as hell every blue moon or so.”
    â€œBlue moon? You Americans have the most peculiar expressions.”
    Fargo strode out. Climbing on the Ovaro, he reined in the direction of the O’Briens’, and when he had gone forty or fifty feet, he stopped and looked back. Near as he could tell no one was following him.
    â€œReasonable, my ass,” Fargo said to himself, and gigged the Ovaro to the bridge.
    Every window in the House of Pleasure was lit. A pair of painted dolls stood out front, enticing passersby.
    Fargo reined on up the street to an open grassy space between cabins. Halting the stallion next to a spruce, he tied the reins. He sat and removed his spurs and placed them in his saddlebags.
    Loosening the Colt in its holster, Fargo glided around the cabin and on to the rear of the House of Pleasure. He was worried the door might be bolted but it creaked open. He