Wyoming Winterkill Read Online Free PDF Page B

girl?”
    â€œThat’s none of your business.”
    â€œWhat do you want to know for?” Lector asked.
    â€œKnowing wouldn’t do you any good,” Hector said.
    Fletcher cradled his rifle in the crook of his elbow. “How’s that coffee coming?”
    â€œIt will take a few minutes, as cold as it got last night,” Margaret answered.
    Lector said, “I could sure use a cup.”
    â€œI’m about froze,” Hector said, “from all the riding we did.”
    â€œWe had to catch up,” Fletcher said.
    â€œAnd to think,” Lector said, “Wilbur is back at the trading post, nice and warm and cozy.”
    â€œWe couldn’t close up and have all of us come, now, could we?” Fletcher said.
    Fargo moved the blanket bundled about his boots so it wouldn’t hamper him when the time came.
    The sun was almost up, the eastern sky pink with splashes of orange and yellow.
    Margaret noticed the colors, too. “I do so love sunrise,” she said happily. “It’s like the first day of creation.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Lector said. “The sun is the sun.”
    â€œI like it too because we can see ourselves once the sun is up,” Hector said.
    â€œYou’re a marvel,” Fletcher said.
    Margaret touched the coffeepot and gave Fargo another puzzled look. “I must say,” she said suspiciously, “you’re taking this awful calmly.”
    Fargo shrugged. “I don’t have a gun and the three of them do.”
    â€œDon’t forget that,” Lector said.
    Fletcher patted his rifle. “I’ll make it quick for you, too. A shot to the brain and it’ll be over.”
    â€œYou’re all heart,” Fargo said.

6
    The scent of burning wood, the aroma of brewing coffee, the crunch of Lector’s soles as he paced to keep warm—all of Fargo’s senses were heightened. Whether he lived out the day depended on what happened in the next few minutes.
    Margaret touched the pot again. “Almost ready,” she announced.
    â€œIt doesn’t have to be all that hot,” Fletcher said.
    â€œI like it hot,” Hector said.
    â€œWhat good is cold coffee?” Lector said.
    â€œThe hotter, the better,” Fargo threw in. Without being obvious, he watched Fletcher’s every expression, every move. It would be Fletcher first because he was closest.
    Then Lector stepped in front of him and leveled the six-gun. “I plumb forgot. I’ll take that poke of yours now if you don’t mind and even if you do.”
    â€œIt can wait until he’s dead,” Fletcher said.
    â€œNo, it can’t,” Lector replied. “I want to be sure how much is in it.”
    â€œAre you saying I’d cheat you?”
    Lector looked at Fletcher. “I only want to count it so we know.”
    â€œMe too,” Hector said. He, too, took his eyes off Fargo to look at Fletcher.
    Switching the Arkansas toothpick from his right hand to his left, Fargo heaved up off the ground. He thrust the doubled-edged blade to the hilt into Lector’s belly and ripped upward even as he grabbed the six-gun and wrested it from Lector’s grasp.
    â€œOh!” Lector exclaimed.
    Warm blood and wet gore spurted over Fargo’s left hand. With his right he swept the revolver up and fired at Fletcher just as Fletcher jerked his rifle up to shoot him. Fargo’s slug struck the receiver with a loud
whang
and glanced off, knocking the rifle from Fletcher’s grasp.
    â€œDamn it!” Hector cried as he was raising his own six-shooter.
    Margaret screamed.
    Fargo shot Hector in the head. He shifted to shoot at Fletcher again but Fletcher had darted around the horses and Fargo couldn’t get a clear shot.
    Lector was still on his feet. He staggered back and the toothpick slid out. Stumbling, his hands splayed over the wound, he mewed like a kitten.
    Margaret flung herself at