Wyoming Winterkill Read Online Free PDF Page A

he’s plumb surprised to see us,” Lector said with a grin.
    â€œDidn’t count on this, did you, mister?” Hector taunted.
    â€œShe pulls the wool over most everybody’s eyes,” Fletcher said, and laughed. “Don’t you, darling?”
    Fargo looked at Margaret. “Darling?” he growled.
    â€œFletch and me are like this,” Margaret said, and twined the first two fingers on her left hand. “That business about Clyde? I made it up. There was no Clyde. I’ve never been married. Never want to be, to tell you the truth.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the ass.”
    â€œDon’t be mean just because I tricked you,” Margaret said. Fussing with her hair, she stood and stepped away from him. “He’s all yours, fellows.”
    Fletcher wagged the Spencer. “Real slow, sit up and put your arms out from your sides.”
    What choice did Fargo have? Fuming mad, more at himself than at them, he complied.
    â€œLector,” Fletcher said. “Take his Colt. Do it careful. Something tells me this one is more dangerous than most.”
    â€œHow dangerous can he be with us pointing three guns at him?” Lector scoffed. Nonetheless, he sidled up with his revolver cocked and pressed it to Fargo’s ribs as he relieved him of the Colt. Then he scooted back, and chuckled.
    Fletcher relaxed a little. Turning his head partway but not taking his eyes off Fargo, he said, “Hector, fetch the horses.”
    â€œWill do.”
    â€œCan I lower my arms?” Fargo asked, and when Fletcher nodded, he not only lowered them—he shifted around so he faced his captors. Drawing his knees to his chest, he draped his arms around his legs.
    â€œYou must feel pretty stupid along about now,” Fletcher remarked.
    Fargo glared at Margaret, who was kindling the fire. “Was there an old couple with their granddaughter or was that a lie too?”
    â€œThere was,” Fletcher said.
    Lector nodded. “They had fine china in their wagon, and jewelry and more.”
    â€œHad,” Fargo said. “So they are dead, just like I thought.”
    â€œAfraid so,” Margaret said.
    â€œYou killed the little girl too?”
    â€œWe couldn’t hardly leave a witness, now, could we?” Fletcher said. “We did her quick, though. I saw to that. One shot through the head.”
    â€œWhy am I still breathing?” Fargo wondered.
    It was Margaret who answered. “Fletch likes to crow. I tell him and tell him that he should get it over with but he likes to rub it in.” She broke a piece of branch and fed the pieces to the growing flames.
    â€œWe all have our failings,” Fletcher said. “Mine is that I rob and kill folks.”
    â€œIs Wilbur in on it?”
    â€œWe couldn’t hardly do it without him,” Margaret said, and laughed.
    â€œI’ll have to settle with him, then, too,” Fargo remarked.
    â€œMister, you won’t be settling with anybody,” Fletcher said. “In a few minutes you’ll be dead.”
    Fargo’s blanket was bundled about his boots. They didn’t notice as he slipped his fingers into his right boot and palmed the Arkansas toothpick in its ankle sheath.
    â€œDead, dead, dead,” Lector crowed, and cackled. “That’s the part I like best.”
    â€œAny chance I can have a last request?” Fargo asked.
    â€œSince you put it so nicely,” Fletcher said.
    â€œA cup of coffee, is all.”
    Fletcher shook his head in amusement. “Make him one,” he commanded Margaret.
    â€œI have to heat the pot first.”
    â€œThen do it.”
    â€œI don’t like when you talk to me like that,” Margaret complained.
    â€œYou’re mine, aren’t you? I’ll talk to you any damn way I please.”
    Just then Hector came along the bluff leading four horses. “Here they are,” he