Free Trailsman #377 : Bounty Hunt (9781101604007) by Jon Sharpe Page A

Tassy said. “The part whites can pronounce.” She rimmed the top of her glass with a fingertip. “You must be good, mister, if you ran into him and you’re still breathing.”
    â€œWe played hide and seek. He won.”
    â€œListen, handsome,” Tassy said, “if he’s out to get you, sooner or later he will. You want my advice? You’ll make yourself scarce while you can.”
    â€œTuck tail and run?” Fargo grinned. “What do you take me for?”
    â€œSmart,” Tassy said. “Tangling with Niyan is dumb. He’s killed more men than you have fingers and toes.”
    â€œHow would you know that?”
    â€œAsk around. Everyone says he has.”
    â€œAh, well, if everyone says it, it must be true.”
    Tassy shook her head. “God Almighty, you’re—what’s the word? Cynical. That’s the one. You’re cynical as hell.”
    â€œI have my cynical moments,” Fargo agreed. He took another swig. “I have my randy moments, too.”
    â€œDo you, now?” Tassy replied with a smirk.
    â€œI’m having one at the moment,” Fargo said. He didn’t tell her he wanted to question her about Cord Blasingame and his gang, and he figured she’d be more open about it after she’d gushed a few times.
    â€œThis early?” Tassy said.
    â€œWhen a man has to fuck,” Fargo said, “a man has to fuck.”
    Tassy laughed and sipped and coughed. “I know I said I’d never let you poke me but I was angry at the time. I felt as if you were picking on me. Truth is, I wouldn’t fight you off.”
    â€œI wouldn’t fight you off, either.”
    Tassy laughed.
    â€œMy place or yours?” Fargo said, and snapped his fingers. “Wait. I don’t have a place.”
    â€œMine it is. Although I hear you’ve taken a room with the Hemmingses.”
    â€œI have,” Fargo admitted since it would be pointless to lie. “And one of her rules is no getting sweat on her sheets.”
    â€œThat sounds like her. But you can get all the sweat you want on my sheets.”
    â€œLead on, madam.”
    â€œYou sure are playful. I hope you’re the same once our clothes are off.”
    â€œThere’s one way to find out.”
    Her boardinghouse was a block from the saloon. A sign said that all the rooms were taken.
    â€œMine’s on the top floor,” Tassy informed him. “And hide that bottle. If the landlady sees it, she’ll have a fit.”
    Fargo held it against his side until they’d climbed to her room and she’d opened her door and motioned for him to go in. “Care for some?”
    â€œNo, thanks.” Tassy closed the door and stood with her back to him, her head bowed.
    â€œSomething the matter?”
    â€œYes.” Tassy turned.
    In her right hand was a knife.

11
    â€œWhat the hell?”
    Fargo barely got the words out of his mouth when Tassy hissed like a kicked rattler and came at him swinging. Her first swing struck the whiskey bottle and sent it flying; the bottle struck a wall and shattered.
    Her second swing nearly took his fingers off.
    Retreating, Fargo sidestepped a stab at his ribs. He took another step back and collided with a small table. The next he knew, he was flat on his back.
    â€œI won’t let you!” Tassy shrieked, and threw herself on top of him.
    Fargo grabbed her wrist as the knife sheared at his neck. Cursing, she clawed at his face with her other hand, trying to rake his eyes. She missed and ripped open his cheek instead.
    Her attack had caught him flat-footed but now Fargo was mad. He flung her off and she came down on her knees. As she whipped her arm overhead to stab him in the chest, he kicked her in the gut. She cried out and doubled over, giving him time to scramble to his feet.
    â€œI won’t let you!” she wailed again, and swung at his legs.
    Fargo dodged.
    Tassy’s fury was a