by Sharpe, Jon
“Thank you, Major.”
Morgan walked up, stood at attention, and saluted. “We’re ready to move out, sir, whenever you give the word.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Davenport said. “But remember. We’re not to let anyone know who we are. The Kilatku might not meet with us if they suspect we’re soldiers. Kindly refrain from saluting until I say otherwise.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Fargo almost laughed. Not saluting wasn’t enough to hide the fact they were soldiers given that the major and his men conducted themselves exactly as they would were they in uniform.
Not twenty minutes later they were on their horses, headed for the settlement.
Fargo came last, and was mildly surprised when Clementine Purdy reined around and brought her sorrel alongside the Ovaro.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“A tree limb poked me,” Fargo said.
“What? No. I saw your face when the major was talking. You don’t share his confidence, do you?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Is it because you consider the Kilatku to be more formidable than he does?”
“It’s because they’re not all we have to worry about.”
Clementine was silent until they emerged from the woods. “What else is there?”
Fargo reminded himself she was from the East, and pointed at the morass of water and vegetation beyond the hamlet. “The swamp. It’s as much an enemy as the Kilatku.”
“But we have more than ample provisions. And in our boats we’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Tell that to Williams and his men.”
“Why must you be so cynical about everything?” Clementine bit her lower lip. “But Uncle Thomas did say I could trust you. I’m counting on you to watch over me once we’re in the swamp.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I don’t share your cynicism, I’ll have you know. And if we make it back without mishap, I’ll be temped to rub your nose in it.”
Fargo stared at her bosom. “I know what I’d like to rub my nose in.”
Clementine’s mouth fell. “You can’t mean what I think you mean.”
“I don’t mean your hair.”
A scarlet tinge spread from her neckline to her hairline. “You, sir, are a rogue.”
“No,” Fargo said. “I’m just randy.”
“I don’t know what to think of you,” Clementine said angrily. “I’ll remind you that you should be on your best behavior or I’ll tell my uncle.” With that, she jabbed her heels and rode on ahead.
Suttree’s Landing was astir. The general store was being opened and floors were being swept and a woman was taking down clothes she had left on a line all night. Over at the water, several fishermen were preparing to venture out.
After his clash with Bodean, Judson and Cleon, Fargo reckoned that was the last he would see of them. He was wrong.
The trio were waiting out front of the saloon. Bodean and Judson smirked like cats about to pounce on canaries. Cleon was trying to chew his lip off.
“Mr. Davenport,” Bodean said in greeting. “We’re here bright and early like you wanted.”
The major leaned on his saddle horn. “I commend your punctuality.”
“Our what?” Judson said.
Davenport looked around. “Where’s the guide I asked for? And what about the boats we need?”
Bodean’s oily smile was suspicious in itself but the major didn’t seem to notice. “We’ve done talked it over, Jud and me, and we figure to guide you ourselves. Cleon ain’t made up his mind whether he’ll come or not.”
“You and your friend have been deep into the swamp?” Davenport asked.
“Hell, we’ve been all over the Archaletta,” Bodean boasted. “No one knows it better than we do.”
Fargo brought the Ovaro up next to the major. “He’s lying.”
“Like hell I am,” Bodean bristled.
Major Davenport said, “On what grounds, Mr. Fargo, do you make your accusation? It seems to me they are exactly who we need.”
“They’re doing it to get back at me,” Fargo explained. “We had a run-in last night.”
“Get back at you how?”
“How the hell would I know,” Fargo said. “The important thing is that you can’t trust them as far as you can throw your horse.”
Major Davenport faced the swamp rats. “Can I, gentlemen? Trust you?”
“As God is my witness,” Bodean said, placing his hand over his heart. “Our fight with him has nothin’ to do with this.”
“May the Almighty strike us dead if it does,” Judson chimed in.
“We can use the money,” Bodean went on. “Although, now that I think of it, you ain’t said how much you’re willin’ to pay.”
“A hundred dollars,” Davenport said. “Fifty to each of you.”
“That’s more than we’ve seen in a coon’s age,” Judson said.
“Hell, it’s more than most folks hereabouts earn in a year,” Bodean said. “We accept.”
“Then you’re hired,” Davenport said.
Fargo barely contained his disgust. People like Davenport were born without any common sense and got dumber as they got older.
“We thank you, mister,” Bodean was saying to the major. “And to further show there are no hard feelin’s, we’ll let you use our own boats.”
“Mine is a big one,” Judson said. “It can hold a heap of supplies.”
“Did you hear that?” Davenport said to Fargo. “Everything is working out exactly as I’d hoped. We have our guides and we have our craft.” He gazed down the street at the landing and the vast uncharted wilds beyond.
“That swamp is as good as vanquished.”
8
The Archaletta Swamp. Hundreds of square miles of brackish water that on hot days assaulted the nose. Water so dark, alligators could lurk just below the surface and you wouldn’t know it. Bogs were common, quicksand a peril. Dismal, dank, with stretches of mossy forest and occasional hummocks and islands, the swamp crawled with snakes.
Flies were a daytime plague. Mosquitoes were legion after the sun went down. A chorus of frogs filled the humid air at night, broken now and again by the bellows of gators.
Leeches lurked in the pools and inlets; an arm or leg carelessly submerged too long would be covered with them.
Rank vegetation grew where it could. At times it was so thick, a man couldn’t see ten feet in any direction.
Briars snagged the unwary. Reeds hid cottonmouths.
While Fargo loved the mountains and could never get enough of the prairie, he wasn’t fond of swamps. They were death traps. Fang and claw ruled, and woe to any fool who let his or her guard down for even an instant.
Now, hunkered in the second boat, stroking his paddle smoothly, Fargo wished he’d said no when the general asked him to look after Clementine.
In the first boat Major Davenport was consulting a map and a compass. Bodean was beside him. Sergeant Morgan and Judson were paddling.
The last two boats carried two soldiers apiece, and the packs and everything else they’d brought.
“This heat is abominable,” Clementine remarked. “I don’t know how anyone can stand it.”
Fargo prayed she wouldn’t talk his ears off again. Gabby women were one of his peeves. He shared the boat with her and Cleon, who chose that moment to clear his throat.
“A body gets used to the hot after a while, ma’am. Those of us born here don’t hardly notice it.”
“I don’t see how,” Clementine said.
A startled heron took wing and a frightened frog made a loud splash.
Clementine bent to peer over the side, and gasped.
&nb
sp; “Did you see that? Either of you?”
“See what, ma’am?” Cleon asked.
“I swear I saw a snake with a fish in its mouth.”
“You probably did,” Cleon said. “Snakes eat whatever they can catch. Most will leave you be. It’s the ones that want to sink their poison into you that you have to watch out for.”
“I’m afraid I’m rather squeamish when it comes to snakes,” Clementine said.
“Don’t touch anything that wriggles and you should be fine,” Cleon cautioned her.
“Have you nothing to say on the subject, Mr. Fargo?” Clementine said.
“The deeper in we go, the more snakes there will be.”
“How wonderful of you to point that out.”
“He’s just tryin’ to be helpful, ma’am,” Cleon said.
“On the contrary,” Clementine said. “He’s reminding me, yet again, that I shouldn’t be here.”
Fargo was doing his best to memorize landmarks. He had a knack for it that in part accounted for his success as a scout. It was strange how he could forget the name of someone he met, but he never forgot a butte or a bluff or the lay of terrain. On dry land, anyhow. In a swamp the landmarks were few. One cypress tree looked pretty much like the next, one thicket little different from its neighbor, one pool much like every other pool.
Out of the blue Cleon asked, “When do you reckon the shootin’ will commence?”
“Shooting?” Clementine absently responded.
“Yes, ma’am. Shootin’ the gators. That’s why Mr. Davenport is here, ain’t it?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Clementine fiddled with her bonnet. “I’ve heard him say he wants a large one for his trophy room. None of those we’ve seen so far have been all that big.”
“The big ones mostly come out at night,” Cleon informed her. “They’re hard to spot, let alone shoot.”
“I have every confidence in Mr. Davenport,” Clementine said.
“I’m surprised he didn’t bring a fancy sportin’ rifle,” Cleon said. “That Henry he carries won’t do him much good on the really big gators.”
“He told me it can drop a buffalo.”
“I wouldn’t know about buffs. I know gators. Their hides are awful thick. His Henry might do no more than tickle ’em.”
“You should talk to Mr. Davenport about it,” Clementine said. “He’s the hunter.”
“And what are you, ma’am, if you don’t mind my askin’? His sweetheart?”
“I’m . . . an acquaintance,” Clementine hedged.
“That’s all? Yet you let him drag you out here to be bit by a water moccasin or drowned or maybe be jumped by a bunch of hostiles?”
Clementine fluffed with her collar. “That will be quite enough of that kind of talk.”
“What kind, ma’am?”
“Dying talk.”
“If’n you don’t like to think about death,” Cleon said, “you shouldn’t ought to be here.”
That was all any of them said until they had gone another quarter of a mile and came to a narrow channel of clear water.
“It looks so inviting,” Clementine said, dipping her fingers in.
“I wouldn’t do that were I you,” Cleon said. “A gator once bit my cousin’s hand clean off.”
The sun was low on the western horizon and Fargo’s shoulders were aching when Davenport veered toward a grass-topped hummock that was high enough to spare them from the worst of the bugs and to reduce the risk of a prowling gator invading their camp.
Morgan and his men went about setting up while Bodean, Judson and Cleon went to collect firewood.
Davenport came over to where Fargo was filling a coffeepot with water while Clementine hovered. “So far, so good,” he said, sounding pleased with himself.
“It’s been one day,” Fargo said.
“Without incident, I must point out.”
“In a couple more we’ll be so far in, we couldn’t send for help if we wanted to,” Fargo mentioned.
Davenport patted his Henry. “These are all the help we’ll need.”
A corporal by the name of Harris did the cooking. Afterward, the soldiers sat in one group and their escorts in another, and smoked and talked.
Fargo sat apart from everyone else, nursing his last coffee of the day. He wasn’t alone long.
“Mind if I join you?” Clementine roosted and wrapped her arms around her knees.
“You look annoyed,” Fargo noted.
Clementine frowned. “The major is being too protective. He won’t let me out of his sight.”
“I reckon he thinks he’s doing his duty.”
“Even so,” Clementine said, “when I went off into the bushes, he wanted to send one of his men with me. Can you imagine.”
Fargo grinned. “I wouldn’t mind holding your hand.”
“I very much doubt that’s all you’d try to hold,” Clementine said. “Let’s be perfectly clear. There will be none of that out here.”
“That?” Fargo said innocently.
“I’ve seen how you look at me. As if you’d like to eat me alive.”
“The Kilatku are the cannibals,” Fargo said. “Or so folks say.”
Clementine peered into the ink of night that surrounded their lone bastion of light. From out of it came a cacophony of sounds; the chirp and buzz of insects, the croaking of scores of frogs, the growls and roars of alligators. From way off came the piercing screech of a bobcat. “Did you hear that?”
“My ears work fine.”
Clementine shuddered. “It’s unnerving, I must confess.”
Fargo felt compelled to say, “It’s not too late to turn back.”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to. Our government is counting on me. And I’ve explained how important this is to my career.”
“No career is worth dying over.”
“Honestly,” Clementine said. “You act as if we’re all doomed.”
Fargo was spared from having to reply by Cleon, who sank down with his chin in his hands. “Howdy, folks,” he said gloomily.
“What’s wrong?” Clementine asked.
“Nothin’, ma’am,” Cleon said. “Just wanted some different company.”
“Aren’t you and your friends getting along?”
“Them and me don’t always see eye to eye,” Cleon said. “I told them I didn’t want to guide you but they offered to anyway.”
“We couldn’t find the Kilatku without your help,” Clementine said.
“You’re askin’ for trouble,” Cleon said. “We should turn back while we can.”
“Not you, too? Mr. Fargo just said the very same thing.”
Cleon nodded at Fargo. “We’re the only two who admit the truth.”
“Are you worried about the Kilatku?”
“Them, and a lot more besides.” Cleon gazed out across the benighted domain of a thousand-and-one deaths. “I’m not just talkin’ about gators and such. There’s other things out here. Things we’re not meant to set eyes on.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
Cleon bent toward her. “There’s an old witchy woman who lives out here somewhere. She comes into the Landing now and again but no one has anything to do with her. Once she got mad at Abe Tyler for some reason or another and put a curse on him, and within a week he was dead.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“Then there’s the ghost. Some have seen it late at night, glidin’ over the waters. They say if it touches you, it freezes your blood.”
“Really now,” Clementine said. “Are we children who believe in fairy tales?”
“The ghost ain’t no fairy, ma’am. It’s a spook. And it ain’t the only one. There’s other things. Like the skunk ap
es. They get hold of you, they’ll tear you limb from limb.”
“Enough is enough,” Clementine said. “If you’re trying to scare me, it won’t work. I don’t believe in witches or ghosts or your ridiculous apes. There are no such things.”
“You don’t have to believe in them for them to kill you, ma’am.”
“I refuse to listen to any more of this nonsense,” Clementine declared.
Cleon sadly shook his head and said to Fargo. “We are in for it, ain’t we?”
“We sure as hell are.”
9
As if to prove Fargo wrong, the next several days were not just uneventful, they were downright peaceful. The skies were sunny and dispelled much of the swamp’s natural gloom.
They saw a dozen or so alligators, mostly small, none of which came anywhere near. The few snakes they spotted slithered quickly away.
Bodean and Judson proved as good as their word; they piloted the boats along a network of channels unmarred by bogs and quicksand.
By the evening of the fourth day the soldiers were much less alert. Even Major Davenport had relaxed a bit and joked with his men around the campfire.
Fargo regarded it as the lull before the storm. He knew swamps, had been in them before, and each time barely survived to make it out again.
Someone shared his sentiment. Cleon had taken to sitting with him at night, and flapped his gums nonstop.
Fargo learned more about the Archaletta than he ever wanted to know. He learned a lot about Suttree’s Landing, too, and the people who called it home. People who lived in fear of the swamp they lived next to. People who wouldn’t venture where they were going for all the gold ever dug out of the ground.
“Tomorrow it gets worse,” Cleon informed him. “We run out of good water. It’ll be mostly pure swamp from then on.”
“We haven’t seen a single Indian yet,” Fargo mentioned.
“The friendly ones, those as come to trade, don’t know you,” Cleon said. “To them you’re strangers. They’re out there, though, watchin’.” He poked at his teeth with a sliver he was using as a toothpick. “Get a good night’s sleep, friend. You’ll need it.”