by Sharpe, Jon
“Which band is it?” Fargo couldn’t recollect if he’d ever been told.
“The Ashalaho,” Jed Crow said. “Do you know where to find them?”
Fargo nodded. He’d been through Crow country many a time. He’d even been with a Crow woman or three; they were fine as could be under a bear hide at night. “I’ll see it’s done.”
“I’m obliged,” Crow said, and broke into another, more violent, fit. When he subsided he was pasty with sweat, and gasping. “Not long now.”
“Is there anything I can get you?” Sadie asked. “Anything I can do for you?”
“I never should have come,” Crow said weakly. “Never should have left my family.” He clutched at the arrow, and groaned.
“I’ve got a flask,” California remarked, and reached back to a saddlebag.
“Be a waste of whiskey,” Crow said. His chin was scarlet, his breathing labored. “Did you get the one who killed me?”
“Not yet,” Bear River Tom said, “but we sure as hell won’t stop looking.”
“I give you my word,” Emmett Badger said, “he’s as good as dead.”
Jed Crow gazed skyward. “God. I’ll never see my kids again.” His eyes filled with tears. “That’s the hardest part.”
California cleared his throat and looked away, and pointed toward the fort. “Tennessee and some soldier boys are on their way.”
“Too late,” Crow said, and coughed. “The sawbones won’t get here in time to do any good.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sagebrush Sadie said softly.
“You’re a good gal, Sadie,” Crow said. “Remember when we met at Fort Leavenworth? It must have been ten years ago. You said as how one day you’d be—” Crow stopped, and his eyes widened.
“Jed?” Sadie said.
“It’s the end of me,” Crow said. He exhaled once, and was gone.
“Damn,” Sadie said, bowing her head.
Using two fingers, Fargo closed Crow’s glazing eyes. “I’ll see to the burying.”
“I’ll help, pard,” California Jim offered.
Bear River Tom leaned on his saddle horn. “And now there are six of us.”
6
Colonel Carlson sent out a patrol to scour the valley for sign of the hostiles, then had the scouts file into his office and demanded they give his or her account of Jed Crow’s death.
Fargo thought it was high-handed but he went along since the others did.
The colonel had Sagebrush Sadie start things off—“Ladies first”—and then each of them in turn. Fargo happened to be seated in the last chair on the left and Carlson called on him last.
“We’re about done. Let’s hear your report.”
“Bannocks jumped us. Jed Crow took an arrow. He died.”
Colonel Carlson waited half a minute for more and when there was none he tilted his head and said, “That’s it?”
“Except for the part where your sawbones got there and pronounced Crow dead.”
“The others gave more detailed versions,” Colonel Carlson said. “Perhaps you would like to flesh out yours so we don’t miss anything.”
“We haven’t missed a goddamn thing,” Fargo said.
“I told you before. I don’t much like the tone you take with me.”
Fargo knew better but he said, “I don’t give a damn. You’ve kept us here for over an hour now, asking the same questions and getting the same answers. There’s nothing more we can tell you.”
“How about if you let me be the judge of that?”
“How about I don’t.” Fargo stood and touched his hat brim. “Thanks for the hospitality.”
Carlson went rigid with suppressed anger. “You’re not going anywhere unless I give permission.”
“Want to bet?” Fargo started toward the door.
“Stop right there. I can have you thrown in the guardhouse with Lone Bear for failing to cooperate.”
Wheeling, Fargo marched to the desk, placed both hands flat, and leaned toward Carlson until their faces were practically touching. “No,” he said, “you can’t. I’m not in the army’s employ at the moment. I’m a civilian, and you have no damn say over civilians unless they’re breaking federal law.”
“This is my post—”
Fargo gestured, cutting Carlson off. “And I’m sure General Decker will love to hear how you run it.”
“Decker?” Carlson said, and blinked.
California Jim cleared his throat and commented, “My pard has done scouting for a lot of the top brass. He’s good friends with more than a few who wear stars on their shoulders. Hell, he even met Abe Lincoln, himself, once.”
Colonel Carlson spread his hands. “Look. You shot one of the hostiles. You must have been close enough to get a good look at the others who got away.”
Fargo straightened.
“If I took you to their village, could you identify them?”
“No,” Fargo lied. He wouldn’t forget the one who had killed Jed Crow.
“Very well, then. You may go,” Carlson said with obvious reluctance. “But should you give me any more trouble, I’ll ban you from the fort. Friends in high places, or not.” He smiled a resentful smile.
“Fine by me,” Fargo said, and got the hell out of there. He was halfway to the Ovaro when the others caught up.
“What in tarnation was that all about, pard?” California Jim asked. “You lit into him like a bobcat into a wood rat.”
“He had it coming.”
Bear River Tom chuckled. “I know what you need. A nice big pair of tits to help you simmer down.”
Fargo tried counting to ten in his head.
“That will be enough about tits in the presence of a lady,” Sagebrush Sadie said.
“What are you so touchy about?” Bear River Tom responded. “You see a pair every day.”
“Here now,” Tennessee said. “I won’t have you talkin’ to her like that.”
Their budding spat was clipped short by Emmett Badger, who suddenly was in front of Fargo, fists bunched.
“You’re in my way,” Fargo said.
“I don’t like what you did in there,” Badger said. “Carlson is my commanding officer.”
“How nice for you,” Fargo said, and shouldered past. He’d taken a couple of steps when Badger’s hand fell on his shoulder and spun him around.
“Don’t walk off on me,” Badger said. “I wasn’t done.”
“You are now,” Fargo said, and hit him, a short, swift uppercut that rocked the other scout onto his heels but didn’t drop him as it would most men.
Badger took a step back, gave his head a shake, and put a hand to his chin. “I owe you for that.”
“Here and now is fine.”
“No,” Badger said. “The colonel would throw us both in the guardhouse. I’ll pick the time and the place.” Wheeling, he stalked off.
“That was uncalled for,” Sadie said.
“Badger put his hand on him.” Bear River Tom came to Fargo’s defense. “I’d have done the same thing.”
“Oh, please,” Sadie said. “None of us would dare rile Badger except him.” She nodded at Fargo.
“Give him cause,” California Jim chuckled, “and my pard will rile just about anybody.”
“Listen to all of you,” Tennessee said in disgust. “We just lost Jed Crow, and here you all are squabblin’ like a passel of kids.”
That shut them up.
Fargo stepped to the Ovaro, forked leather, and reined to the south, glancing back once at the guardhouse.
Lone Bear’s face was at the bars, watching. Their eyes met. “Hell,” Fargo said to himself, and tapped his spurs.
He preferred to be alone but it wasn’t to be. He hadn’t gone a hundred
yards when he acquired a shadow on his right.
“Mind telling me what that was all about?” California Jim asked.
“You were there.”
“I know you have slim patience with idiots, but still.”
“Some days I don’t have any.”
California Jim sighed. “Well, good riddance to Fort Carlson, then. Let’s head elsewhere and forget this whole mess.”
“Can’t,” Fargo said.
California Jim stared a considerable spell and then said, “Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“It’s not right and you know it.”
“What are the Bannocks to us? Have you met Lone Bear before?”
“No.”
“Then why in hell stir up the blue hornets? I could savvy if he was a friend.”
“You’ve lived with Indians, the same as me,” Fargo said. “A chief can’t be held to account for warriors who don’t do as he wants.”
“I know, I know,” California said.
“Well, then,” Fargo said.
“Carlson will want to carve your gizzard out. Badger won’t be too happy, neither.”
“There’s another reason we can’t leave yet,” Fargo said. “Those letters.”
“They have to be a practical joke. Why else would anyone want to trick all of us into coming here, of all places?”
“I’d like to find out.”
“Uh-oh,” California Jim said. “I know that look. You’re fixing to push and prod until you get answers.”
“First things first,” Fargo said.
“First we go to that new settlement and get so drunk we can’t hardly sit straight?”
“We do.”
“If you were female, I’d marry you,” California Jim said.
As settlements went, Salt Creek was pathetic. A gob of spit was bigger. But it had a saloon, and even if whoever painted the sign spelled saloon with one “o,” it was a whiskey mill, and that was all that counted.
Fargo pushed through the batwings and strode over to the bar. The few locals playing cards or drinking paid them no mind. Smacking the counter, he said, “Monongahela. And leave the bottle.”
“Yes, sir.” In his previous life the bartender might have been a mouse. He timidly brought a bottle over and set it down as if he expected to be attacked. “Something the matter, mister?”
“Why do you ask?”
The mouse indicated the mirror behind the bar.
Fargo hadn’t realized it, but his face resembled a thundercloud about to burst. “Having one of those days,” he said.
“Oh,” the man said, and some of the worry went out of him. “I have them myself. It always makes me want to go back to bed.”
“Makes me want to shoot someone.” Fargo tilted the bottle and gulped. Familiar and welcome warmth spread clear down to his toes, and he smiled in contentment and let out an “Ahhhh.”
The bartender took that as a good sign. “No watered-down bug juice here. You get what you pay for.”
“This place have any law?” Fargo asked.
The man snorted. “Hell, we don’t even have a mayor. Or a council. The army sort of keeps an eye on things but they can’t really do much.” He paused. “Why? Are you expecting trouble?”
“The day I’ve been having,” Fargo said, and let it go at that.
California Jim bellied up beside him. “How’s the coffin varnish? Good enough to pickle my innards?”
“It will do some fine pickling,” Fargo assured him.
“Sadie and Tom and Tennessee followed us,” California mentioned. “They’re coming up the street.”
“Figured they would,” Fargo said.
“Someone else is with them.”
“Figured there would be.”
“So soon?” California said.
“He’s not the kind to let grass grow under him. He’ll want to get it over with.”
“You were on the prod, you know. You could maybe apologize,” California suggested.
“Has hell froze over?” Fargo returned. He was raising the glass when the batwings parted yet again and into the “salon” came Bear River Tom and Sagebrush Sadie and the lanky Tennessean.
And Emmett Badger.
7
Badger didn’t hesitate or stop or bluster. He stalked across the room and planted himself in front of Fargo. “I don’t need to say why.”
“No,” Fargo said, “you don’t.”
“We’ve shared drinks but we have it to do.”
“Then stop jabbering and get on with it,” Fargo said, setting the bottle down.
“A man after my own heart.” Emmett Badger smiled, and struck with the blinding speed of a rattler.
Fargo saw the punch coming and tried to jerk aside but Badger was ungodly quick. Knuckles as hard as stone caught him flush on the jaw and knocked him against the bar. He retaliated with a left but Badger blocked and drove a fist into his gut. He grunted and doubled over, his vision swimming. He braced for another blow but none came.
Shaking his head, he could see again.
Badger had taken a couple of steps back and raised his fists. “I thought you’d be tougher.”
Sadie had a hand to her throat. Bear River Tom seemed to be amused. Tennessee was leaning on his long rifle, clearly unhappy at the turn of events.
“Waiting for Christmas?” Badger taunted.
“No pistols, no knives.”
“Fine by me.”
“No biting ears off.”
“What?”
“I heard about the fight you had with that soldier at Fort Bridger.”
“It was only one ear.”
“I don’t give a damn. No biting ears. Noses, neither.”
“Well, hell.” Badger scowled. “Is this a fight or a church social? Next you’ll be saying I can’t kick you in the balls.”
“Kicking in the balls is fine,” Fargo said, and kicked Badger in the balls.
Badger tried to skip out of the way but Fargo’s boot caught him where it would hurt the most. Badger colored and backpedaled.
Now it was Fargo’s turn to taunt. “Are you sure you have any? They must be as big as marbles.”
Badger snarled like his namesake and waded in with his fists flying.
Fargo had been in a lot of fights in his time. California Jim said his disposition had a lot to do with it. Fargo liked to think it was because there were too many jackasses in the world. Whatever the reason, he had a lot of experience at trading punches, and he needed all of it to hold his own against Emmett Badger. The man met him blow for blow, and then some. In no time he realized he was in for a lollapalooza.
Badger’s reputation was well earned. He punched like a giant and absorbed punches like a sponge.
Fargo rammed a right that would fold most men in half but all Badger did was grunt and retaliate with a left that nearly broke Fargo’s jaw.
Over by the front window, Bear River Tom let out with a loud, “Wahooooo! We’re having fun now!”
Fargo reminded himself that some simpletons were more simple than others, and paid for being distracted with a fist to his cheek that snapped his head back. Gritting his teeth, he whipped a cross at Badger’s face but Badger blocked and countered with a punch to his ribs that Fargo swore damn near cracked it.
Sagebrush Sadie hollered, “Stop it, you two! Before someone gets hurt!”
Too late for that, Fargo reflected, and slammed Badger on the temple. Badger staggered, shook himself, and became a whirlwind of feet and hands.
Fargo blocked or avoided most of the blows. A boot slammed his shin and a fist creased his jaw and then a fist tried to drive his navel out his spine. It bent him over and put his jaw right wher
e Badger wanted it.
The room seemed to explode. The next Fargo was aware, he was on his butt on the floor, and the bar and the tables and chairs were spinning around and around. He closed his eyes and the spinning continued inside his head.
“Had enough?”
Fargo glanced up. “Not while I’m breathing.”
“Suit yourself. But I’m not holding back anymore.”
“Makes two of us,” Fargo said, and was on his feet with his blood boiling.
They joined again, slugging with no quarter asked, fists landing with brutal force.
Fargo lost sight of everyone and everything except Emmett Badger. He was conscious only of throwing punches and being punched. Then Badger’s arm lowered, just a fraction, but it was enough.
Now it was Badger who was on the floor wearing a dazed look. “Damn,” he said. “Are there three of you or is it me?”
“There are three of me,” Fargo said, “and we’ll stomp the hell out of you if you get back up.”
“You know I will.”
“Damn it. Let’s call a truce.”
“You shouldn’t have hit me back at the fort.”
“I agree. I should have hit Carlson.”
“Apology accepted,” Badger said, slowly rising. “And count yourself lucky.”
Fargo moved to the bar and reached for his bottle. “Let’s drink to our bruises.”
“You hit like a goddamn sledgehammer.”
The others came over, Sadie shaking her head and Tennessee making “tsk-tsk” sounds.
“Are we to take it the hostilities are over?” California Jim asked.
“They are,” Fargo said. “I’m about to drink him under the table.”
“Dream on,” Badger said.
“Men,” Sadie said.
“Tits,” Bear River Tom said.
Both Fargo and Badger stared at him, and Badger said, “Pass the bottle, would you?”
California Jim bent and picked up something from the floor. He examined it, then held it out to Badger. “Here. I believe this is yours.”
It was a tooth.
“Hell,” Badger said, and touched his jaw.
“I saw it fly out of your mouth when he clipped you a good one.”
“Oh well. I got plenty left.”