Free California Carnage by Jon Sharpe Page B

reckon it has to be, whether we can explain it or not.’’ His voice held a touch of dry humor as he added, ‘‘Unless we both had more tequila to drink at supper than I remember us having.’’
    ‘‘That . . . whatever it was . . . has made me rather nervous. I don’t think I want to go back down to the tack room alone. Do you mind if I stay up here with you until your watch is over?’’
    ‘‘You may be a mite tired in the morning, but it’s all right with me,’’ Fargo told her.
    ‘‘Maybe I’ll stretch out on that pile of hay after all.’’
    Fargo thought at first that she might be about to try to seduce him again, but with a slight rustling of the hay she lay down, and within a few minutes, he heard her deep, regular breathing and knew she was asleep. She hadn’t been so disturbed by the mysterious light that weariness hadn’t been able to claim her.
    He was in no danger of dozing off, though. Fargo was sure of that as he stared with narrowed eyes at the distant mission.
    He let Belinda sleep until it was time to wake her father to take his turn on guard duty. Fargo roused her from slumber first, telling her that she needed to return to the tack room while Grayson was still asleep.
    She stretched and said in a sleepy murmur, ‘‘I had the strangest dream, Skye. I dreamed there was this odd light moving around the mission. . . .’’ Her voice trailed off as she sat up. ‘‘It wasn’t a dream, was it?’’
    ‘‘No, I saw it, too,’’ Fargo told her. ‘‘And I don’t have any more idea what it was now than I did then.’’
    She shook her head. ‘‘I’m still glad I came up here, mystery lights and all. Glad I got a chance to tell you how I feel about you. I just wish . . .’’
    ‘‘Another time,’’ Fargo said.
    ‘‘Soon?’’
    ‘‘Soon,’’ he promised with a smile.
    He took her hand and helped her to her feet. She brushed hay off the skirt of her traveling outfit. ‘‘That was more comfortable than I thought it would be. And I don’t seem to have been bothered by bugs . . . or rats.’’
    Fargo took a last, quick look around from the loft window, then followed Belinda down the ladder. She gave him a hug and retreated to the tack room, easing the door shut behind her. Fargo went over to Grayson’s bedroll and knelt beside him.
    ‘‘Huh? What?’’ Grayson exclaimed as Fargo gave his shoulder a light shake. ‘‘Mr. Fargo! What is it?’’
    Fargo could tell by the man’s confusion that he had been sleeping soundly. ‘‘Your turn to stand guard, Mr. Grayson,’’ he said. ‘‘You sure you’re up to it?’’
    Grayson sat up and rubbed his eyes with his fists. ‘‘Yes, I’m fine,’’ he said in a half whisper so he wouldn’t disturb Sandy and Jimmy. He got to his feet and followed Fargo over to the ladder.
    Fargo pressed the Sharps into his hand. ‘‘Ever use one of these before?’’
    ‘‘As a matter of fact, I have. They’ve got a kick like a Missouri mule, don’t they?’’
    Fargo smiled. ‘‘Yes, but you don’t have to worry about precise aim. Hit a man anywhere with a shot from one of these and he’s going to be knocked off his feet.’’
    Fargo gave Grayson some extra rounds for the carbine, then waited until the man had climbed to the loft before heading for his own bedroll. He fell asleep a short time later, not bothered by Sandy’s snoring, the small noises made by the horses as they shifted around in their stalls, or the memory of that mysterious light at the mission.
    The rest of the night passed without any trouble. The next morning, while Sandy and Jimmy were tending to the horses, Fargo asked Belinda, ‘‘Sleep well?’’
    ‘‘Surprisingly well,’’ she said. With a smile, she added, ‘‘After a certain point, anyway.’’
    They ate breakfast at the cantina, then got ready to hit the trail again. Fargo left saddling the Ovaro until last. When he went into the stable he found the hostler combing the big