Nevada Vipers' Nest Read Online Free PDF Page B

you got nothing but green on your antlers and you’d be a liability to me what with the job I’ve got ahead of me.”
    â€œI can be more useful than you might think, Fargo. I’m a master pickpocket, and I could sell a double bed to the Pope,” he boasted. “Never underrate a good grifter.”
    â€œI don’t have too many meetings with the Pope,” Fargo barbed as he tossed the blanket and pad on the Ovaro. “I suggest you quit while you’re behind.”
    â€œI admit I’m no frontiersman like you, but I’m tougher than you give me credit for. I grew up an orphan in Manhattan’s notorious Five Points area and ran with the gang called the Plug-uglies.”
    â€œAn orphan, huh?” Fargo said as he tossed on his saddle and tightened the girth. “That’s a tough break,” he added, knowing something about that himself. “But I don’t need a grifter. You cheat at cards and you steal horses—those are both killing offenses out west. A man can’t trust your word or your actions.”
    â€œI admit that neither gospel nor gunpowder will put me on the straight and narrow. I refuse to live as a common wage slave—why, most men bust their humps for twelve hours a day just to earn a measly dollar. But I never rook widows, old folks or the poor—or any man I call my friend. And I call you a friend.”
    â€œNo need to slop over,” Fargo shot back sarcastically.
    â€œAll right—but look here, Fargo,” McDougall hastened to add, opening a saddle pocket. “A man like me who’s often on the dodge has to be mighty resourceful.”
    He pulled out an impressive array of fake beards and mustaches with a bottle of spirit gum to affix them, spectacles with clear glass, even a priest’s collar.
    â€œI’m a disguise artist, too. In two minutes I can change my appearance so you wouldn’t even recognize me, even with this homely face of mine. Think how handy that could be if you needed a man to do some eavesdropping for you.”
    â€œLook,” Fargo said impatiently, “I’m not a Pinkerton man. And I got no use for a damn pickpocket or cardsharp or disguise artist. Mostly I’m a one-man outfit. If a man has some skills I might use, maybe he’ll do to take along. What I don’t need is a boardwalker who’d starve and go naked without stores.”
    â€œSkills, huh?” Sitch repeated, reaching into the other saddle pocket. He pulled out the finest whip Fargo had ever seen. The hickory handle was inlaid with ivory and the buckskin lash dyed gold.
    â€œThat’s an impressive whip,” Fargo said, pulling a thin black Mexican cigar from his shirt pocket.
    â€œHad it custom made for me in Saint Louis before I joined the traveling medicine show.”
    Fargo, still admiring the whip, pulled a lucifer match from his possibles bag. Before he could scratch it to life with a thumbnail, McDougall’s whip cracked and the match burst into flame.
    â€œDamn,” Fargo said, astonished at such fine-tuned accuracy. “I guess you
are
a trick-whip expert.”
    But the demonstration wasn’t over yet. The whip cracked again and Fargo’s dusty white hat flew straight up off his head. With rapid, successive cracks, Sitch kept the hat aloft like a hovering hummingbird for at least ten seconds. To Fargo’s utter amazement, Sitch dropped the hat back onto Fargo’s head perfectly.
    â€œDamn and double damn!” Fargo said in an amazed tone.
    â€œNot all my tricks are just for show,” Sitch assured him. Again the whip cracked, and Fargo’s Colt was lifted from his holster and dropped on the ground about ten feet away. “Would you call
that
a useful skill?” he demanded.
    â€œSure as little green apples,” Fargo admitted, retrieving his six-gun. “I’ve never seen any man handier with a whip. But I watched you shooting that harmonica