by Jon Sharpe
Teit spoke softly into her grandfather’s ear. He grunted and said a few sharp words. She said to Fargo, “Come. Let us go.”
They entered the woods, Teit in the lead.
“What was that about?”
“I told him to stay where he is, that I was going for a walk with you and I would not be very long.”
“He doesn’t mind you being with a white man?”
“He would rather I was with one of my people than with you, yes.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“If I tell you, you will think I am silly.”
“Try me.”
To the north wolves howled. The wind gusted, stirring the trees.
Teit was slow to answer. Finally she said, “Very well. But I must make clear it was not my intent to—What is the word? Oh, yes. It was not my intent to spy on you.”
“When?”
“I saw you and the white girl.”
Fargo remembered the silhouette off through the trees. “That was you? What were you doing out there by yourself?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh.” Fargo chuckled. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re going off with me now.”
“It excited me.”
They had gone far enough. Stopping, Fargo pulled her to him and slid his arms around her waist from behind. She didn’t resist. He nuzzled her neck and nipped her earlobe. “You’ll be a lot more excited before I’m done.”
“I hope so. It has been a long while since a man has interested me as you do. And never before a white man.”
“I’m flattered.”
“It is not good for white and red to mix. Not here, anyway. There has been too much hate, too much spilled blood. Not long ago a white man and a woman from my village fell in love. Other whites were mean to them. Very mean. It made the woman sad and the man very mad.”
“Enough talk.” Fargo turned her head and kissed her. Her lips were warm and soft. She yielded eagerly. She wasn’t lying about being excited.
Fargo ran a hand from her waist to her breasts and cupped one. It was round and full, the nipple erect. He gave the other his attention and soon she was panting and grinding her bottom against him. His manhood became an iron rod.
Fargo didn’t like that her hair was in braids. He preferred it loose so he could run his hands through it and pull it. He took hold of one and bent her head back so he could lather her throat. She cooed like a dove, her fingers exploring him as he was exploring her.
At length Fargo eased Teit to the ground. He stretched out beside her and hiked up her dress until it was up around her hips. Her legs were as nice as the rest of her, her thighs soft and pliant. He caressed them with one hand while his other was up under her dress, kneading her breasts. They filled his palm as if made for that purpose. Each time he pinched a nipple, she groaned.
The whole time, Fargo listened for sounds that would warn him they weren’t alone. The stillness troubled him. It might mean a bear or a big cat was in the area. Or it could just be the presence of their camp. Most animals wanted nothing to do with man, the great destroyer of all that lived.
Teit took Fargo’s hat off and did to his hair what he had wanted to do to her. She pulled so hard, he thought she would tear his hair out by the roots. She also bit his lip and raked her nails.
“Like it a little rough, do you?” Fargo said, and squeezed a breast fit to rip it off.
Teit arched her back and gasped and dug her nails in deeper. “Yes! Oh yes!”
Fargo was in no hurry. They had been at it a while when she put her lips to his ear.
“Do not take all night. I must not leave my grandfather alone very long. Some of the men with you look at us with eyes of hate.”
“Whatever you want.”
Spreading her legs, Fargo knelt between them. He undid his belt and slid his pants down. His member was a flagpole. She cupped him, and his throat constricted.
“My, you are big.”
Fargo touched her. “My, you are wet.” He ran the tip of his manhood along her moist slit, inserted it, and rammed up into her.
Teit’s eyes grew wide, her mouth an oval. “Oh! Oh! You fill me.”
Fargo held himself still, savoring the sensation. Then, placing his hands on her hips, he rocked on his knees. She locked her ankles behind him and met each thrust with a grind of her pelvis. Her lips found his and stayed there. He went faster and she went faster and he thrust harder and she ground harder until they attained the peak. She crested first, biting his shoulder and going into a paroxysm of release. His own soon followed, and together they coasted to a stop and lay covered with sweat and breathing heavily.
A lassitude came over him and Fargo closed his eyes. He would have dozed off if she hadn’t poked him.
“We must go back. My grandfather.”
Reluctantly, Fargo rolled off her. He got his pants up and his belt buckled and found his hat. She was already on her feet and had smoothed her dress, and to look at her you wouldn’t think that not two minutes ago she had been in the throes of passion.
“You are a turtle,” Teit said.
“Women,” Fargo muttered, and rose. She started off and he caught up, saying, “I doubt anything has happened to him.”
“If it did I could never live with myself for leaving him alone, even for a short while.”
“He’ll be fine. He’d have yelled if anything was wrong.”
“I am still uneasy.”
Fargo was looking at her and not at the woods around them. Out of the corner of his eye he caught swift movement and the glint of cold steel, and barely twisted aside in time. As it was, the blade bit into his sleeve and his skin and drew blood. Shoving Teit out of the way, he whirled to confront his attacker, who had crouched and was holding two knives down low. “You.”
“Me,” Strath said.
Fargo went for his Colt. Strath was expecting it and a knife flashed. Fargo had to jerk his hand away or lose fingers. He sprang back and again grabbed for the Colt, but Strath came after him, swinging one knife at Fargo’s hand and the other at his throat. Sidestepping, Fargo avoided both blades. Strath instantly pivoted toward him and he seized both of Strath’s wrists.
“Damn you!” Strath hissed.
Fargo was bigger, heavier. He sought to force Strath to the ground, but Strath was wiry and quick, and he shifted and twisted, thwarting him. They spun back and forth and around and around in a macabre dance of death. Strath aimed a kick at Fargo’s groin, but Fargo turned enough that his outer thigh took the blow.
Strath continued to hiss and to snarl like some animal. A feral gleam lit his eyes. He was out to kill, whatever it took.
Fargo had lost track of Teit. He hoped she had the good sense to stay out of it. Another kick nearly caught him in the knee. Strath rammed his forehead at Fargo’s mouth. He turned his head just in time, but pain exploded in his ear. In pulsing anger, Fargo slammed him against a tree.
Strath swore and arced a knee into Fargo’s ribs. Fargo did likewise. But as he raised his leg, Strath hooked a foot around the other one and pushed. Down Fargo fell, pulling Strath after him. They wound up with Fargo on his back and Strath on his chest, grinning from ear to ear.
“I have you now, you son of a bitch.” Strath drove both knives down, seeking to bury them.
A razor tip was inches from Fargo’s neck. Fargo locked his elbow, stopping its descent. The other blade was close to his chest; Strath was trying to stick him in the heart.
Fargo bucked upward. Strath tumbled to one side and jerked a wrist free. Before he could stab, Fargo kicked him in the chest.
Strath went rolling.
Fargo heaved to his feet and streaked the Colt from his holster. He had Strath now. He thumbed back the hammer as Strath turned toward him, and Strath froze.
“Go ahead, damn you.”
Fargo wanted to. God, how he wanted to. But he didn’t squeeze the trigger. The last he saw, Strath had been tied and under guard. Someone had to help Strath get free, and h
e wanted to know who that someone was. “Drop those pig stickers of yours and tell me how you got free.”
“Go to hell.”
“If that’s how you want it, I’ll send you there ahead of me.” Fargo waited, giving Strath time to mull the benefits of breathing over being worm food.
“You won’t shoot?”
“I give you my word.”
Swearing luridly, Strath nonetheless let his knives fall, held his arms out from his sides, and took a step back. “There. Happy now?”
“I will be when you tell me. Wilson was guarding you, wasn’t he?”
“He didn’t do a very good job. He’s lying back at camp with his head half caved in.”
“Who did the caving? You or someone else?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“You will or you’ll take lead.”
“You’d shoot an unarmed man? You don’t strike me as the type. I’d do it but you never would.”
“It was Allen Havard, wasn’t it?”
Strath laughed in contempt. “As much as I’m being paid, do you really think I’ll say?”
Fargo was sure it was one of the Havards. It had to be someone with money. Allen was the logical suspect. “Turn around and start walking.” Once he got them to camp, he might be able to trick Allen into giving himself away.
“Sure, sure, big man.”
“Keep those hands where I can see them.”
“Anything you want.”
This whole time, Teit had stayed well back with her hand on the hilt of her knife. Now, at a glance from Fargo, she came to his side.
“That man has a bad heart.”
Strath heard her and chortled. “Squaw, you don’t know the half of it. Some of the things I’ve done would give you goose-flesh.” He leered at her and lecherously rimmed his slit of a mouth with his tongue. “Just say the word and I’ll do things to you that will curl your toes.”
“I have just had my toes curled, thank you, and do not need them curled again.”
“Did you hear that, big man? She paid you a compliment.” Strath threw back his head and opened his mouth to laugh.
That was when a shot boomed, just one, a rifle off in the dark evergreens. The slug went through Strath’s open mouth, cored his cranium, and erupted out the rear of his skull, spattering gore and blood and hair. Dead on his feet, the killer did a slow pirouette to the ground.
Fargo was in a crouch. He yanked Teit down and sought some sign of the shooter. But there wasn’t so much as a wisp of gun smoke. He waited, unwilling to show himself and take a bullet.
From the direction of the camp, shouts rose.
Teit had drawn her knife. “Who do you think it is?” she whispered. “The one they call Allen?”
“That would be my guess.” But something about it bothered Fargo—something he couldn’t put a mental finger on.
“Listen.”
There were more yells and the crackle of brush. Fargo heard his name called.
“They should not see us together,” Teit said.
“What difference does it make?” Fargo asked. When she didn’t answer, he turned—she was gone.
Then McKern and Rohan and Cosmo and several others were rushing out of the night and still calling his name, and Fargo rose and answered. Within seconds they had converged.
“Is that Strath?” McKern asked with a nod at the form on its face in the dirt.
Fargo nodded.
“Did you shoot him? I thought it was a rifle I heard.”
“It was.”
“But all you have is your Colt. What the hell is going on?”
“I wish I knew.”
10
No one knew how Strath had gotten free. That he had help was obvious; Wilson, the man who was guarding him, had been hit from behind with a rock. Wilson had a deep gash but he would live. Fargo made Wilson go to where he had been sitting when he was hit.
Wilson grumpily complied, complaining, “I’d like to go lie down. My head hurts worse than any pain I ever had.”
“Show me.”
Wilson pointed at where Strath had been lying on his side, away from the fire, and then at where he had been sitting.
“Your back wasn’t to the woods,” Fargo noticed.
“Huh? No, I reckon it wasn’t. My back was to the tents. Why? Does it matter?”
“It could and it couldn’t.” Fargo went to the fire and poured another cup a cup of coffee. Most everyone had gone back to sleep. Strath was wrapped in a blanket and would be buried first thing in the morning.
Fargo was raising the cup when he sensed her come up next to him.
“What were you doing out in the woods with that Indian girl?”
“None of your business.”
Angeline was bundled in a thick robe that covered her from her feet to her neck. “I would very much like to know.”
“We went for a stroll.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Skye Fargo. And I feel I have the right to ask after you and I—” Angeline stopped.
“You and I what? We were interrupted, remember? And even if we had, that doesn’t give you a claim on me.”
“You can be coldhearted.”
Fargo met her stare. “You’re like a lot of women. They let a man kiss them and think from then on all they have to do is snap their fingers, and the man will do whatever they ask.”
“That’s not what I think at all. But if you did with that Indian girl what you were about to do with me, I would be the world’s worst fool to let you do it now, wouldn’t I?”
“Only if you were expecting me to propose, after.”
“Coldhearted,” Angeline repeated, and angrily strode to her tent. The flap closed with a snap.
Sighing, Fargo raised his cup.
“Woman trouble on top of everything else? You must not be living right, pard.” McKern hunkered across the fire, his Sharps across his legs.
“What do you want?”
McKern held both hands out. “Hey, now. Don’t bite my head off. I don’t care who you poke.” McKern grinned. “Although I will admit I’m plumb amazed at how females fall over themselves to get your britches off. What’s your secret?”
“Regular baths.”
“Hell, if that’s all it takes, I’ll go from one bath a year to maybe one a month.”
“Did you come over here just to talk females?”
“No. But now that I know you’re so popular with the contrary sex, I welcome any secrets you care to share.”
“At your age? You old goat.”
“Old ain’t dead. I admire a pretty gal as much as the next gent. So tell me.” McKern paused. “When are you fixing to poke Edith Havard?”
Fargo nearly snorted coffee up his nose. After he stopped laughing, he replied, “I wouldn’t poke that old prune if we were the last people on earth. I’d bet that Theodore has to beg for it, if she even spreads her legs for him at all anymore.”
“I could have done without that in my head, thank you very much.” McKern gave a slight shake. “Now I’ll have night-mares.” He sobered. “But enough of this poking talk. Who do you think cut Strath free?”
“Whoever sent him after me the first time.”
“Which could be anyone.”
“Allen Havard is at the top of the list, but without proof I can’t pistol-whip him.” As much as Fargo would like to.
“Mrs. Havard’s not too fond of you, either. Which amazes me, her being female.”
“Keep it up.”
“Anytime you need your back watched, give a holler.”
“I’m obliged.”
“Well, I just wanted to let you know I’m always ready to back your play.” McKern smiled and walked off.
Presently, Fargo turned in. He slept fitfully, his Colt in his hand, waking whenever a sentry came anywhere near his blankets. A pink blush banded the eastern horizon when he threw his blankets off and sat up. Since he couldn’t sleep, he might as well get up.
He wasn’t the only early r
iser.
Cosmo was mixing flour and water in a bowl. “Good morning, Mr. Fargo. Quite the commotion last night, wasn’t there?”
“Is that what you call it when one man tries to kill another? I thought the word for that is ‘murder.’ ”
“Your sarcasm is duly noted. But I assure you I was as appalled as everyone else. To think that Mr. Strath would take it into his head to so something like that. It makes no sense.”
“It does when you know he was paid. A lot of money, too.”
“He told you that?”
Fargo nodded.
“My word. Wait. A lot of money? Surely you don’t think one of the Havards is to blame?”
“No one else here has more money than they know what to do with,” Fargo mentioned.
“Granted. But to what end? I’d imagine you suspect Allen. But that petty disagreement you had is hardly cause to have you killed.”
“He might not think so.”
Fargo skipped breakfast. He saddled the Ovaro and rode in a wide circle around the camp, scouring the ground for sign. He found nothing helpful.
The Havards were up and eating when he returned. Angeline wouldn’t look at him. He told Theodore to keep heading north. “I’m going on ahead to scout.”
“I suggest you be careful. You would be difficult to replace at this point, and I’d rather not have to go through the inconvenience.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
Teit was helping her grandfather to his feet. Her smile was warm and genuine. “It is a good morning to be alive,” she said, and breathed deep of the crisp air.
“Let’s hope we all stay that way.” Fargo went to lift the reins but she put her hand on his leg.
“Wait. Before you go, I must warn you. It is not safe.”
“What was your first clue?”
“Sorry? I am talking about my people. Ever since the war with the whites there has been—what is the expression?—bad blood. Many Nlaka’pamux resent the whites for coming to our land. There is much hate. A few of our young warriors want to drive the whites out, but our leaders counsel against spilling blood.”
“Let me guess. The young ones spill white blood anyway.”
“There is talk, yes. Every moon or so certain young warriors leave our village. They are gone for many sleeps. After they come back, we hear talk of whites who have disappeared.”