by Jon Sharpe
“This critter doesn’t need its teeth anymore. I aim to make them into a right smart necklace.”
Allen Havard uttered a sharp bark that passed for a laugh. “You should have listened to me, Father. I just hope to God this isn’t an omen. If it is, we’re all doomed.”
2
Born in New Jersey, Theodore Havard spent every moment he could at the shore. He loved the sea. At fourteen he hired on as a cabin boy and sailed the world, working his way up the nautical chain until he was a captain of his own ship, which happened to dock in San Francisco. He saw that the once-sleepy little Spanish settlement was destined for great things, and as San Francisco grew, so did his shipping concerns. He became the king of San Francisco shipping. Wisely, he invested a large portion of his profits in real estate, doubling and tripling his wealth. Now it could truly be said that Theodore Havard had everything.
It included a wife who was ten years older. Edith had been working as a clerk in a waterfront store when Theodore set eyes on her and decided she was the woman for him. No one could figure out exactly what he saw in her. She was plain, for one thing, and constantly carped, for another. To be fair, she carped about everything, and not just him.
They had three children.
Allen, the dandy, loved fine clothes and fine food and fine entertainment. He saw himself as urbane and the rest of humanity as clods. That his father made him work for his money annoyed him considerably. Allen regarded work as beneath him.
Angeline was the youngest. If her parents weren’t surprised that they gave birth to such a beauty, everyone else was. Angeline was stunning. Her golden hair shimmered as if it were the sun. Her complexion was flawless, her eyes a bright emerald green. Then there was her hourglass body. Fargo had admired that body often. He admired it nearly every time he glanced at her on the long journey north.
Kenneth Havard was the oldest, and the one Fargo had yet to meet. Kenneth was, by all accounts, sober and hardworking. As his father before him had gone off to see the world and make something of himself, Kenneth decided to do the same. But where his father loved the sea, Kenneth liked his feet on solid ground. When he heard of the Fraser Canyon gold rush in the British colony of British Columbia, he did as thousands of Americans had done, and hastened north to make his fortune.
Amazingly, Kenneth found gold. Most did not. Most dug and panned hour after hour and day after day and ended up with nothing but calluses and disappointment.
Kenneth survived the so-called Fraser Canyon War, and when many of the disappointed greedy later left, he stayed on to work his claim. A dutiful son, he wrote regular letters home. His mother begged him to pay them a visit but he pleaded he couldn’t take the time.
Four months ago the letters had stopped.
Theodore Havard sent an inquiry to the British authorities to find out why. The reply—that their son had gone missing—shocked Theordore and Edith so much, they decided to travel to British Columbia and investigate. They needed a guide. British Columbia was sparsely populated, Fraser Canyon remote. To get there they had to pass through untamed and largely unexplored country. They needed someone who knew the wilds and wildlife and wild men, white and red, who would as soon slit a traveler’s throat as talk to him.
As fate would have it, Fargo happened to be in San Francisco playing poker, wetting his throat with whiskey, and being as friendly as he could be to doves who caught his eye. Luck, ever a fickle mistress, drained his poke. So when Havard’s man Cosmo sought him out and offered him the job and after some dickering offered to pay him three times what he would normally make as a guide, Fargo accepted.
Fargo didn’t know what to make of Cosmo. Edith referred to him as their butler but Cosmo was much more. He dressed Theodore. He shaved Theodore. He fed Theodore. He ran errands and handled business matters. He was more like a wife than a butler, and more like a wife than Edith. Perhaps that explained why they couldn’t stand each other.
The expedition, as Allen liked to call it, numbered seventeen, counting Fargo and the Havards and Cosmo, but now, thanks to the black bear that thought it was a grizzly, they were down to fifteen.
McKern had been everywhere and done everything. He was a good shot with that Sharps of his. He was fond of liquor and cards. Of all of them, Fargo liked McKern the most.
Rohan loved horses. They were all he cared about. He never went anywhere without his shotgun. And he never, ever took a bath.
Of the others, there was one Fargo didn’t like. His name was Strath. He had a ferret face and ferret eyes and wore two knives, one on either hip. He wore a cap and seaman’s garb and supposedly had worked as a crewman on several ships. He knew nothing about British Columbia and less about the wilds, and why Cosmo hired him, Fargo couldn’t say. But something about the man made the skin on his back prickle whenever Strath was standing behind him.
So here they were, well on their way, and well north of the border. After Cosmo spoke a few words over the two dirt mounds about souls and eternity, they resumed their long trek.
Fargo was in the lead, the rest trailing after him in single file. They had only gone a short way when hooves thudded and Angeline came up next to him, her golden tresses cascading over her shoulders, a warm smile on her luscious lips.
“That was awful brave of you back there.”
“What was?” Fargo couldn’t think of anything particularly courageous he had done. He was only doing what he was hired to do.
“That way you charged that bear. My heart was in my throat.”
“I didn’t know you cared.”
Angeline blushed and looked away and then looked back again. “It’s just that we can’t afford to have anything happen to you. Cosmo says you are—what was the word he used? Oh, yes. Indispensable.”
“Cosmo said that?”
“I heard him with my own ears. He has heard a lot about you from somewhere. He says you are one of the best scouts alive, and that Father was fortunate to hire you.”
“Well, now.”
“Frankly, I’m glad you’re along. You’re one of the few I can talk to. Mr. Rohan stinks to high heaven. Mr. Strath is always undressing me with his eyes. The rest are too nervous around a woman. Except for Mr. McKern. He’s a dear. Did you know he has six children and fourteen grandchildren? His wife passed on last year, the poor man.”
Fargo let her prattle. Strath wasn’t the only one who liked to undress her with his eyes, and she had a nice voice, besides.
“Can I ask you something?” Angeline said.
“I’ve lost count.”
“What?”
“You were about to ask me how many women I’ve slept with,” Fargo said with a grin. “I’ve lost count.”
Angeline blushed again, but laughed. “You sure do enjoy teasing me. But no, that isn’t what I wanted to ask.” She sobered. “Do you think my brother Kenneth is still alive?”
“I can’t predict.” As Fargo understood it, the word Theodore got back from the British was that his son had gone off somewhere and never come back.
“Allen doesn’t. Allen thinks we’re wasting our time and our money. Especially our money. But that’s Allen for you. He never thinks of anyone except himself.”
“I’m surprised he came along.”
“Oh, he didn’t want to. You should have heard him squawk when Father and Mother told him he was coming and that was that. He’s too fond of his fine restaurants and the theater and the gay life he likes to live. Now here he is in the middle of nowhere.” Angeline chuckled. “And on a horse, no less. Allen hates to ride. He says it chafes him.”
“Maybe he should tie a pillow to his saddle.”
Angeline laughed. “Don’t give him ideas. He had a custom seat made for his carriage so it’s softer than most.” She sighed. “Sometimes I think he was born in the wrong body.”
“And your other brother?” Fargo was curious.
“Kenneth is the opposite. He likes to ride, to hunt, to fish. Growing up, he would rather be outdoors than indoors. I wasn’t at all s
urprised when he announced he was joining the gold rush. The adventure and the hardship would appeal to him.”
“So he can take care of himself?”
“Can he ever! Kenneth could live off the land if he had to. When we were little, Cosmo took us camping a few times. Allen hated it but Kenneth loved it. He told me that when he grew up, he would like nothing better than to live by himself off in the mountains somewhere.”
“A gent after my own heart.”
“You’ll like him, yes.” Worry came over her. “Provided he’s still alive. It’s been months. Surely we would have heard something by now.”
More hooves drummed and Allen Havard paced the Ovaro on the other side. “What are you two talking about?”
“None of your business,” Angeline told him.
“My, my, aren’t we prickly today? But not asking for myself. Mother sent me. I gather she doesn’t care to have you associate with our frontiersman.”
“I’m a grown woman. I can do as I want.”
Allen held up a hand. “You’ll get no argument from me, dear sister. She doesn’t approve of much that I do, either.” He focused on Fargo. “Father tells me you can track as good as an Indian.”
“Better than most.” Fargo wasn’t bragging, just stating fact. “I’ve had a lot of experience.”
“Better you than me.” Allen gazed out over the pristine valley and the virgin forest that mantled the higher slopes, and frowned. “Look at all this waste. I fail to see the appeal.”
“It’s beautiful here,” Angeline disagreed.
“If you’re a chipmunk or an owl. Give me the Imperial Theater and a production of As You Like It any day.”
Fargo looked at him. “You hate the wilds that much?”
“What good is it? Trees, trees, and more trees. Animals and birds all over the place. Fish dirtying the water. Bugs that sting and bite. What purpose does any of it serve?”
“That’s a ridiculous question,” Angeline said. “The natural world just is. As for its purpose, trees are cut down for wood to build homes. The animals fill our bellies and clothe us. And even you fished once or twice when you were a boy.”
“You forgot the bugs,” Allen said, and smirked. “But my point, dear sister, is that in the greater scheme of things, the natural world, as you call it, can’t compare to the world we make. Contrast a backwoods bumpkin like Rohan to a cultured gentleman and it should be obvious.”
“And by cultured you mean you?”
Allen indulged in a smug grin. “If the shoe fits.” He gestured at Fargo. “I leave it to you, sir. Name one advantage these pathetic wilds have over civilization.”
“You run into a lot fewer jackasses who are full of themselves.”
Angeline snorted.
Allen glared, then wheeled his horse and rode back along the line to his mother.
“I’m afraid my brother will hold that against you forever. He never, ever forgets an insult.”
“He knows where to find me.”
“Oh, no, he would never dare to confront you. Not face-to-face. He’s never been in a fight in his life. But he’s paid others to fight for him. And maybe worse.” Angeline’s lovely features clouded. “Once, about five years ago, it was, he got into a terrible row at an establishment called the Gilded Palace. A gambler accused him of cheating and slapped him around. Everyone was talking about it. About a month later the gambler’s body washed up onshore. Someone beat him to death and threw him in the sea and the tide carried his body back in again.”
“You think your brother was to blame?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past Allen. He might seem puny but never underestimate him.”
Just what Fargo needed, to have to watch his back as well as watch out for everyone else. When he was hired, he told Theodore Havard that he would do his best to get them all alive to Fraser Canyon.
“What are you thinking about?” Angeline asked.
Fargo decided to test the waters. “How you would look without that dress on.”
“Oh my.” Angeline blushed the deepest red yet. “No one has ever said a thing like that to me.”
“They must not have many men in San Francisco.”
“Nonsense. Men are all over. They just don’t go around making suggestive remarks to ladies, is all.”
“What do they do when they want to make love to a woman? Send her a formal invite?”
“The things you say!” Angeline declared. But she laughed. “Are all frontiersman so bold?”
“I can’t speak for the rest,” Fargo said, “but when I see something I like, I’m not shy about saying how much I like it.”
For a while Angeline rode in silence. Then she cleared her throat. “Not that I’m the least bit interested, you understand, but all I would be to you is a dalliance. Isn’t that right?”
“I wouldn’t ask you to marry me after,” Fargo admitted.
“Goodness. A girl can’t accuse you of misleading her. But honestly. Do you really think there is any chance at all you and I will do that?”
“You’re a woman. I’m a man. That’s all it takes.”
“The very idea is preposterous.”
Fargo leaned toward her.” Before this is done, I’m going to make you gush.”
3
The colony of British Columbia
Fargo had heard tell it was the Queen of England who gave the colony its name. The “Columbia” had to do with the Columbia River, which flowed through the southern part of the colony.
Until about a dozen years ago, there was a dispute between the United States and the Crown over exactly where the boundary should be. But the politicians finally worked it out, and now there was British Columbia north of the line and Oregon Territory below it. In size, British Columbia was bigger than all of Oregon Territory and all of California combined.
The terrain was a lot like the northern half of Oregon Territory. In Fargo’s estimation, British Columbia was one of the most spectacular regions on the continent. The coast extended up to Alaska, and there were all sorts of bays and coves where craft could put in. Bordering the coast was lush rain forest—whole areas yet to be explored. Then there were the inner mountain ranges, some of the highest peaks anywhere, heavily timbered and cut by deep canyons and lush valleys.
For being so far north, in the summer much of British Columbia was ungodly hot. Over a hundred degrees in the shade in places like Fraser Canyon, where they were bound.
It went without saying that wildlife was plentiful. Deer were everywhere, elk numerous. Moose favored shadowy forest haunts and wetlands, where they could stay cool. Far to the north caribou roamed.
Black bears, as Fargo had just had confirmed, were as thick as ticks on an old hound, grizzlies only slightly less so. Then there were the mountain lions, the wolves, the wolverines. As well as lesser predators, like coyotes and foxes.
Eagles and hawks soared in the skies. So, too, along the coast and inland waterways, did ospreys.
To Fargo, British Columbia was paradise on earth. It had everything: scenery to stun the senses; game to fill the supper pot; vast tracts waiting to be discovered.
The Hudson’s Bay Company had opened up the territory. They had set up a network of trading posts, and some had grown into settlements and towns.
British Columbia also had Indians. Some were friendly; some weren’t. The tribe that interested Fargo the most at the moment called themselves the Nlaka’pamux. Most whites called them the Knifes, because when they fought, they liked to get in close and use their razor-sharp blades to deadly effect.
The tribe had been friendly until a few years ago. Then, during the Fraser gold rush, some miners had raped a Knife maiden. Enraged warriors swooped down on those they held to blame and killed them in revenge. It was likely the bodies would never have been discovered, and that would have been the end of it. But the Knifes chopped off the heads and threw the heads in the river. The current carried the heads down to the town of Yale, triggering an uproar. Militia compa
nies were hastily organized, made up mostly of Americans in the area illegally, after gold.
The war was short but fierce. Some of the whites wanted to wipe the Knife Indians out. Others just wanted to teach them not to go around chopping off heads. A lot of Indians were killed. No one knew exactly how many. A lot of whites died, too. No one knew how many of them died, either.
Then the British authorities arrived and put an end to the hostilities.
Bad blood still existed, though. A lot of whites would as soon see the Knife Indians dead. A lot of Knife Indians felt the same about whites. Fargo had checked before leading his party north. An army captain he knew warned him that while the British government kept a tight rein on things, now and then whites disappeared.
They weren’t the only ones Fargo had to watch out for.
The Fraser gold rush had run its course and many of the Americans who had flocked to Fraser Canyon had gone back home. But those who struck gold, and a lot of others, stayed on. Some of those others were cutthroats, robbers, and killers from south of the border who liked the fact there was less law north of it.
This, then, was the cauldron of danger into which Fargo was bringing the Havards. A lot of people had tried to talk Theodore Havard out of coming, for his own good and the sake of his family, but Theodore was as stubborn as he was rich, and determined to find out what had happened to his older son. Yes, he was hardheaded, and yes, his money had made him arrogant, but he genuinely cared for his children.
Fargo was bringing them in along one of the inland trails rather than up the coast by boat to Vancouver and then across to Fraser Canyon. The British wanted Americans to enter the colony through Vancouver. They also wanted the Americans to leave their weapons south of the border.
Fargo wasn’t about to go anywhere—let alone into a hot-bed of bad blood between white and red, with white badmen thrown into the mix—without his Colt, his Henry, and his Arkansas toothpick.
Another couple of days and they would reach Fraser Canyon. Fargo had been there once and remembered it fairly well. The name was misleading. It wasn’t just one canyon. It was divided into the Lower and Upper Fraser Canyons, with many smaller canyons and valleys branching off on both sides of the Fraser River. Some of those smaller canyons had names of their own: the Chum Creek Canyon, the Cayoosh Canyon, the Coquihalla Canyon.