by Sharpe, Jon
They burned a slow fuse to their explosion.
Fargo held off as long as he could. She went over the brink first, thrashing and crying, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”
Then came his turn, and it was as it always was: better than whiskey, better than food, better than cards, better than anything, ever.
If someone were to ask him what he liked most in this world, he’d say wandering where the wind took him—and this.
Afterward, they lay side by side, breathing heavily, the sweat slowly cooling on their overheated bodies.
Sadie’s eyes were closed, and he thought she had drifted asleep until she quietly said, “I’d wondered how it was.”
“What?” he sluggishly asked.
“You. The stories they tell.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“This time they were right. They say you’re a stallion, and you are.”
“Keep it to yourself,” Fargo said, “but the Ovaro and me are brothers.”
Sadie laughed. “Thank you for doing me. I liked it a lot.”
“Hell,” Fargo said sleepily. He wouldn’t mind drifting off. He was so damn tried.
“You’ve had Indian ladies, too, I hear,” Sadie mentioned.
Yes, Fargo had. More than a few. He smiled at the memories.
“It’s good you’re not like so many other whites.”
Fargo wished she would shut up and let him sleep. He didn’t answer, thinking she would take the hint.
“Those who think the only good redskin is one who isn’t breathing. Me, I’ve lived with one of the tribes. They’re people, just like you and me.”
Fargo agreed.
“I can’t stand it that people hate other people over the color of their skin, when under that skin, they’re more alike than they are willing to admit.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Fargo said.
Sadie wouldn’t let it drop. “You make a friend of an Indian and you have a friend for life.”
“I could use some sleep,” Fargo bluntly brought up.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Fargo settled back. He was almost under when he became aware of sounds, and movement, and he reluctantly cracked an eyelid.
Sadie was dressing.
Fargo was surprised. Most women liked a nap after.
He opened both eyes.
Sadie had pulled her britches on and reached for her shirt. She was about to slide it over her head when she glanced at him and gave a start. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”
“No such luck.” Fargo sighed and sat up.
“You don’t have to get up on my account. Sleep as long as you’d like.”
“You’re not sleeping.”
“I’m not tired,” Sadie said. “Lie back down. I’ll keep watch and wake you in an hour or so.”
Fargo began to put himself together.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Sadie sounded upset that she had spoiled his nap.
“I’m not tired, either,” Fargo lied.
Sadie frowned. “I’ll feel bad if you don’t. Please. I insist.”
“Enough,” Fargo said grumpily. She was making too much of a fuss. He’d take her to the settlement and go off by himself to get some sleep.
“Tell you what. I’ll get my blanket and you can use it as a pillow.”
Fargo was about to tell her he didn’t want a pillow, that he was perfectly fine, and would be even finer if she would shut the hell up.
Then the Ovaro raised its head, pricked its ears, and whinnied.
15
Fargo straightened and put his hand on his holster, which was on the ground next to him.
“What’s the matter?” Sadie asked.
Nodding at the Ovaro, Fargo rose to his knees, pulled his shirt down, and quickly strapped his gun belt around his waist.
“It could be anything,” Sadie said. “Maybe it caught the scent of a bear or a wolf.”
“Or Bannocks.”
“There aren’t any within twenty miles,” Sadie said. “I’d stake my hide on it.”
“Stake yours all you want.” Fargo wasn’t about to stake his. Rising, he adjusted his hat and went to the stallion. It was still staring into the trees. He looked in the same direction but saw no cause for alarm.
“Anything?” Sadie asked. She was on her feet, her rifle in her hands.
Fargo shook his head.
“See?” Sadie laughed. “I told you it was nothing to worry about.”
An arrow whisked out of the forest and missed the Ovaro’s neck by a hand’s-width. Simultaneously, several piercing war whoops shattered the stillness on both sides of the hummock.
Before they faded, Fargo was in the saddle and had reined around and slicked the Colt out. He glimpsed a swarthy figure notching an arrow and banged off two shots.
Sagebrush Sadie was glued in place, staring at him with her mouth agape.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” Fargo roared. He fired at a moving shape, saw that Sadie still hadn’t moved, and, bending, grabbed the reins to her animal and pulled the horse toward her.
Sadie just stood there.
“Get on your damn horse,” Fargo bellowed. He twisted, spotted several fast-moving silhouettes, and fired to discourage them.
Sadie still hadn’t budged.
Fargo kicked her. He unhooked his boot from the stirrup and drove the toe into her shoulder. “Get on your goddamn horse now.”
Sadie blinked, and came out of herself. Nodding, she sprang to her saddle and was up and on in a twinkling. “Sorry,” she blurted.
So far Fargo had spied warriors to the north and the south. He reined to the east and was about to use his spurs when a shaft streaked out the pines and flew past his head.
That left west. Again Fargo hauled on the reins. Again he was confronted by moving silhouettes. To hell with it, he thought. At a gallop he charged into the woods. An arrow flashed in front of his face. A bare-chested warrior came at him with a lance poised, and he cored the Bannock’s brain. He swept around several spruce, hugging the saddle, and rode for dear life.
A glance showed that Sadie was right behind him, her mouth set in a grim line.
Angry cries replaced the war whoops. Warriors rushed to head them off but fortunately they’d left their own horses off in the trees.
Fargo didn’t stop until he had put a good half mile behind him. There was no evidence of pursuit. Pushing his hat back, he ran a hand across his brow. “That was a close one.”
Sadie glumly nodded. “I’m afraid I forgot the whiskey bottle.”
Fargo studied her. “What got into you back there? You acted like a damn greenhorn.”
“I froze.”
“Do that again and you’ll be keeping Jed Crow and Tennessee company.”
“It hasn’t ever happened before.”
“And it better not again,” Fargo cautioned.
“It must have been our lovemaking,” Sadie said. “I wasn’t myself. I felt so good there for a little bit, I almost forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“Where I was.”
Fargo let it drop. They were alive and in one piece, and that was what counted. He pointed the Ovaro toward the settlement.
Sadie hung back. She seemed troubled by their narrow escape.
The afternoon waned and twilight fell. A smattering of lights blossomed in Salt Creek, more as the sky blackened.
Sadie caught up to him. “I want to apologize again for how I behaved.”
“No need.”
“You were right. I make a habit of freezing up, I won’t be around long.”
“What I don’t savvy,” Fargo said, giving voice to something he had been mulling,
“is how they found us.”
“This is Bannock territory,” Sadie said, implying that were explanation enough.
“A territory that covers hundreds of square miles,” Fargo brought up. “And we didn’t see any sign of them on our way there.”
Sadie shrugged. “A war party came across our sign and stalked us. Happens all the time.”
Fargo supposed so. But it still bothered him. This made three times the Bannocks had jumped them. Once or twice he could chalk up to coincidence, but three?
“You think on things too much,” Sadie said.
“How about we stop and I do you again?”
“Here and now?”
“One spot of grass is as good as another.”
Sadie laughed. “Goodness, you’re a randy goat. But, no, thank you. Once was enough.”
“I must be losing my touch,” Fargo said.
“Not hardly.”
* * *
Salt Creek’s nightlife was in full swing, such as it was. The saloon was half-full with settlers drinking and playing cards.
A plump dove with quite possibly the largest breasts on the planet moved among them, touching and smiling and encouraging them to drink.
The first thing Fargo did was buy a bottle. The second was to amble over to a table where California Jim was in a card game. “How’s your luck?”
“Pard!” California exclaimed in surprise. “I was wondering where you got to.” He tapped his cards. “I’m having a good run. I won ten cents the last hand and five cents a few hands before that.”
“Cents?” Fargo said.
“Twenty-cent limit,” a burly local in a derby said. “We ain’t rich hereabouts.”
Several others nodded.
“Hell,” Fargo said. He gazed around. “Where did Bear River Tom and Badger get to?”
“Badger had to report to the fort,” California replied. “The colonel sent for him. As for Tom, he fell in love with that lady with the big tits. Lily, her name is. He paid for a poke and they went off and she came back but he didn’t.” California’s turn to bet came and he raised five cents. “Are you fixing to sit in and win a fortune?”
“Maybe some other life,” Fargo said. He spied an empty table in a corner and went over before someone claimed it. Hooking a chair with his boot, he sat with his back to the wall and commenced to drink in earnest. He wasn’t hankering for company but he got some anyway. A cloud of perfume fit to gag a mule wreathed him, and he was eye to eye with Lily’s enormous jugs.
“What do we have here?” she asked throatily.
“I already had some today,” Fargo said, “but thank you for the offer.”
Lily laughed. “Why, listen to you. And I’ve had some, too.”
“With Bear River Tom,” Fargo said. “I heard.”
“He’s a strange one,” Lily said. “All he cared about were my tits. He made love to them and not the rest of me.”
Fargo’s whiskey went down the wrong pipe, and he sputtered. “He did what?”
“You heard me,” Lily said. “I couldn’t get him to touch my legs or anything else. For him it was tits and only tits.”
“Where is Mr. Tit now?”
“Beats me. After we were done, he lay there muttering to himself. About the Bannocks, of all things. Then he got up and went off, saying there was something he had to do.”
Lily came closer and placed a pudgy hand on his arm. “Nice broad shoulders you have.”
“I thank you again, but no.”
Lily rimmed her ruby lips with the pink tip of her tongue. “You can’t blame a gal for trying. You’re awful easy on the eyes. If you change your mind, look me and my tits up.”
“If I do, I will.”
Lily touched his ear, winked, and sashayed away, her rump reminding him of the broad side of a barn.
“What are you grinning at?” Sagebrush Sadie asked, claiming a chair across from him.
“Stables and such.”
Sadie crooked an eyebrow but didn’t ask him to explain. She had a beer and took a swallow, leaving a foam mustache on her upper lip. “I just talked to California Jim. He says he’s planning to stay here tonight. How about you?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“I was thinking of going to the fort,” Sadie said. “Word is the army is fixing to take steps to contain the renegades.”
“Contain?” Fargo said.
“That’s what the barkeep told me. And he got it straight from a soldier’s mouth. Colonel Carlson intends to stop the young bucks once and for all. He sent for Badger and recalled all the troops.”
“Hell,” Fargo said. It was becoming his favorite expression.
“The colonel has already taken their chief prisoner,” Sadie said. “What else can he do?”
“Look for the renegades.”
“A needle in a haystack,” Sadie said. “He’d be wasting his time.”
“He has to do something, all the people they’re killing.”
“The Bannocks know the country better than he does. They’ll give him the slip.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“My own.”
Fargo grinned and tipped the bottle in a salute. “A gal after my own heart.”
Sadie drank more beer. “I’d like to do what I can to help out. I’m thinking of going to the fort and offering my services.”
“Colonel Carlson made it plain he doesn’t want us around,” Fargo reminded her.
“I’m worried about what he might do,” Sadie said. “He’s taking nearly his entire command out in the morning. There will barely be enough soldiers left to guard the post.”
“You don’t say.”
Sadie downed the rest of her beer and pushed back her chair. “Care to join me?”
“No, thanks,” Fargo said. He had something else to do. Something that could get him thrown in prison, or killed.
16
Fargo sat drinking until California finished playing cards and joined him. He explained what he had in mind, and the old scout chuckled.
“You ornery bastard. Count me in.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Fargo said.
“As if that would stop me,” California said in indignation. “We’re pards, ain’t we? How many times have we risked our hides for each other? Remember the Mountains of No Return?”
“I won’t have you behind bars because of me.”
“You at least need a lookout, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
They finished the bottle, collected their mounts, and rode off into the woods. The first clearing they came to, they made camp for the night. Neither cared to take a room in the settlement. Given a choice between the sky over their heads or a roof, they’d choose the sky ten times out of ten.
The night was clear, the forest quiet save for the occasional howl of a wolf or the yip of a coyote. Once a mountain lion screamed, and later the roar of a grizzly wavered on the wind.
To Fargo they were as ordinary as the rattle of a water pipe or the creak of a floorboard to a settler. He lay on his back, propped on his saddle, until sleep finally claimed him. He didn’t stir until his internal clock woke him at the crack of the new day, as it nearly always did. He was up before California and had coffee brewing.
His friend liked to sleep with a blanket over his head. Now he poked it out, squinted, and smacked his lips.
Running a hand through his hair, which stuck out like so many spikes, he mumbled, “Morning, pard.”
Fargo grunted.
“You still have your mind set?”
“I do.”
“The army will be mad at us.”
“At me,” Fargo said. “And only if I’m caught. You’re the lookout. You don’
t take part.”
Scratching himself, California sat up. “Have you met him before?”
“Never set eyes on him until the other day.”
“Then why in tarnation go to so much trouble?”
Fargo looked at him. “You know why.”
California frowned, and nodded. “I reckon I do, at that. Sure wish I could see Colonel Carlson’s face when he finds out. He’s apt to have a conniption.”
“It would serve him right,” Fargo said.
Casting off his blanket, California jammed on his hat. “Someone else might not take too kindly to it, either. And he worries me more than Colonel Carlson.”
“Who?” Fargo asked, even though he’d already guessed.
“Emmett Badger. Carlson picked him personally to be his scout. Go against Carlson and Badger might take it as you are going against him.”
“Too bad.” Fargo opened his saddlebag and took out his tin cup.
“I wouldn’t want Badger mad at me. He’s a hellion when he’s riled.”
“Makes two of us.”
California rubbed his hands together. “I reckon I shouldn’t fret over milk that ain’t been spilt yet. Besides, in the dark you can slip in and out easy as can be.”
“I’m not waiting a whole day,” Fargo said.
In the act of scratching his stubble, California Jim paused. “You aim to do it before nightfall? In broad daylight?”
“No reason why not.” Fargo put his hand close to the pot. It was almost hot enough.
“Have you gone loco? There will still be boys in blue there.”
“Can’t be helped,” Fargo said. “I won’t let them hang him when he has no say. And maybe he’ll agree to lead his people out of the Salt Range until things calm down.”
“I get it,” California said. “If the rest of the Panati leave, the young bucks will go with them. But they’ll come back eventually. At best, you’re delaying things.”
“It will stop the killing for a while and that’s all that matters.”
A couple of cups of coffee, a handful of pemmican, and Fargo was ready to light a shuck. He avoided the open valley floor by following the tree line. When they were abreast of Fort Carlson, he drew rein in the shadow of a towering pine.