Backwoods Bloodbath Read Online Free PDF Page B

would understand if he kept her waiting, Fargo shadowed the shadower. It was not hard to do in the crowded street.
    Fargo thought, with some annoyance, that Draypool had brought this on himself. The man’s expensive clothes and hat, the gold watch, the costly shoes, practically screamed that Draypool had money, a lot of money, and that he was likely to carry a wad of bills well worth stealing.
    It was four blocks to the Sunflower, a new hotel that catered to those with Draypool’s refined tastes. Fargo had never been inside, but he had been told that the lobby boasted a crystal chandelier, plush carpet, a mahogany front desk, and brass fixtures. The rooms cost more than those at any other hotel—rooms so luxurious that each had a sterling silver chamber pot.
    Arthur Draypool was strolling along without a care in the world. Now and then he slowed to gaze in store windows or gaze at the stars or gaze at people passing by, but not once did he think to gaze behind him, which was typical for an Easterner. They always assumed places like Kansas City were the same as cities in more civilized parts of the country, relatively safe.
    To be fair, even Eastern cities had their share of two-legged wolves, but the farther west one went, the more violent the wolves were prone to be. As Draypool would, no doubt, soon find out.
    Fargo quickened his pace. The man in the dark suit was matching Draypool stride for stride, and as yet not ready to close in. Fargo figured the man would wait until they came to a section of street where there were fewer lights.
    Draypool passed a dance hall. Every window blazed, and tinny music blared to the heavens. A constant flow of men and women entering or leaving forced Draypool to slow yet again and thread through them.
    The man in the dark suit had to do the same. As he passed under the large lamps on either side of the entrance, Fargo got his first clear glimpse of his quarry, and he was surprised by what he saw.
    The would-be robber did not have the seedy, predatory air of most of his kind. In fact, he looked perfectly respectable. His suit was clean and pressed, and while not immaculately tailored like Draypool’s, it was a cut above what most other men were wearing. To Fargo it indicated the man was good at his illegal trade. Fargo did not see evidence of a weapon, but the robber was bound to be a walking armory.
    A woman came out of the dance hall. She was looking down and did not notice the man in the dark suit until she nearly collided with him. Startled, she drew up short, and the man doffed his hat and said something that brought a smile. He let her go on past before resuming his stalk of Draypool.
    Now Fargo had seen everything. A gentleman footpad. And why not? he asked himself. He knew men who would knife or shoot others at the slightest provocation, but who were as polite as polite could be the rest of the time.
    Fargo reached the dance hall. The music was so loud it nearly drowned out the babble of voices. He tucked his chin to his chest so if the man in the dark suit happened to look back, it would give the impression that Fargo had no interest in him.
    Just then, out spilled a rowdy crowd of ten to fifteen people. Joking and laughing and having a grand time, they enveloped Fargo like a human cloud, and before he knew it, he was surrounded and hemmed in. He tried to press through them, but a brunette in an invitingly tight dress and a floral hat hooked her arm through his and held on.
    “Whoa there, handsome! What’s your hurry?”
    Fargo smiled and tried to pry her arm loose. “I have something to do.” But she would not let go.
    “It can wait. My name is Nanette. What would yours be?”
    “I don’t have time for this.” Fargo glimpsed the man in the dark suit, the gap between them widening with every second of delay.
    “Oh, posh.” Nanette squeezed tighter and brazenly pecked him on the cheek. “I’ve taken a shine to you. What do you say to the two of us going off to have a