by Sharpe, Jon
The woman was on the move, the boy at her side. She whispered, her eyes white with fright.
Retreating, Fargo watched the bear. It sniffed some more and waded toward them, raising a wake. A frog swam madly from its path.
Fargo was in water up to his ankles. The woman had found another of those partially submerged ridges. He needed to watch where he stepped so he didn’t slip but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the damn bear.
With a final splash the beast reached the rise. It shook itself and moved to where they had been sitting and sniffed.
On Fargo’s right a gator surfaced. Not one of the giants but big enough that it could drag him under. It eyed them as if it were sizing them up to do just that.
The woman moved faster. Fargo tried to keep up but the footing was treacherous. He glanced down and when he looked up again, the black bear was on the near end of the rise and entering the water.
“Son of a bitch.”
At the same time, the alligator flicked its long tail and glided slowly toward them.
“Eat this,” Fargo said, and spinning, he aimed between the alligator’s eyes and fired. The gator reared and went into a series of violent rolls, over and over and over. When it stopped it was belly-up.
Fargo thought that the sound of the shot might spook the bear into running off. He should have known better.
It was still coming, and coming faster.
His next step back brought him to a small patch of dry ground. This was where he would make his stand. He centered the rifle’s sights on the bear’s broad chest. The skull was too thick; the slug would likely glance off.
The bear plowed through the water, raising spray in all directions. It came abreast of the dead alligator and veered. Sniffing noisily, it nosed the gator’s belly. Its maw opened, blood and guts spewed, and the bear half lifted the gator and turned around and lumbered off with its prize.
“I’ll be damned,” Fargo said.
They pressed on.
To his delight the clouds began to thin, and it wasn’t long before the sun broke through.
The temperature climbed another ten degrees.
Fargo daydreamed of the miles-high Rockies with their peaks mantled in snow. He would give anything to be there now. He’d strip naked and jump into a high-country lake fed by runoff and let the cold into his marrow.
Along about two in the afternoon the woman stopped and pointed and said a few words.
Fargo could have hugged her. It was the island, at last. They’d come up on it from the east. He didn’t see smoke or hear voices, which bothered him. He found out why when they reached the clearing.
No one was there. The packs were gone.
Cold embers showed that the fire had long since gone out.
A host of flies buzzed around a body that lay belly-down across the way. It was Private Lyle; he’d been stabbed, not once, but several times.
When Fargo rolled the body over, a small snake shot past his boot.
A sinking feeling in his gut, Fargo raced down the trail to the boats. Halfway he came on the body of another trooper. This one had been shot.
Dread gripped him. If all the boats were gone he was stranded in the heart of the Archaletta.
At the last bend he stopped to listen. He heard the lapping of water, nothing more.
The boats weren’t there. Davenport and the rest had abandoned him.
Fargo tried to tell himself that Clementine wouldn’t do that, but how well did he really know her? To keep from thinking about it, he read the sign.
There were so many footprints, it was difficult.
Deep heel marks suggested that two men shoved the first boat off and climbed in. The two weren’t wearing army issue boots, so it had to be Bodean and Cleon or Bodean and Judson.
Major Davenport and Sergeant Morgan had shoved off a second boat, Clementine and probably Cleon a third.
That left one boat unaccounted for.
Fargo scanned the swamp, not really expecting to find it. But he did. It had floated a good seventy feet and was lodged against a log.
“Thank you, God,” Fargo said. He went to wade out but the woman grabbed his wrist. By her pantomime, she was saying she didn’t want to go.
Fargo went anyway, and she sulkily followed. He swung around a deep pool, edged along a bog and reached the log. The woman stopped but he clambered onto it and reached the boat. The paddles were in the bottom, and a pack was in the bow.
Settling himself, he braced a paddle against the log to free the boat and stroked over to the woman. He motioned for her to climb in but she just stood there.
Fargo was eager to get under way. The others might not be far ahead. Perhaps he could overtake them before nightfall. He held out his hand and the woman took it. He had to tug twice before she nervously placed her foot in the boat. Then she balked. He tugged some more but she refused to climb in.
“It’s only a damn boat.” Fargo was tempted to haul her off her feet but she might bolt. Inspiration struck, and he placed his hand on her tit and squeezed.
The woman lit up like a candle.
“Get your ass in here and I’ll pinch the nipple too,” Fargo said.
She eased her other leg in, helped her son, and they sat behind him.
“If that’s all it takes to win an argument with a female,” Fargo remarked, “I’ll be squeezing tits from now until doomsday.”
She smiled that hideous smile.
“The pinching will have to wait,” Fargo said, and brought the bow around. It felt great to have a boat under him. No more worrying about snakes and less worry about gators. He almost whooped for joy.
He made good progress for half a mile or more and then he lost his way. He had to backtrack twice. Finally he found the channel he wanted and paddled twice as hard.
When the woman plucked at his whangs he paid her no mind. He wasn’t slowing for any reason. She plucked again and he glanced at her and she pointed.
They were passing cypress trees. In the shadows bobbed another of their boats.
“What the hell?”
It took some doing to bring their own around. As he approached he saw a limp hand sticking over the side.
Fargo drifted the final few yards, his hand on his Colt.
The last trooper lay on his belly, his leg bent unnaturally under him. A pool of blood glistened in the sunlight.
“Hell,” Fargo said. He leaned out to grab the other boat, and the head and neck of a water moccasin rose above the gunwale.
17
Fargo snatched his hand away just as the water moccasin struck. Its scales brushed his skin but it missed. He scooped up the paddle to club it but the snake slithered over the side and into the water. He twacked the surface to scare it off, and when it didn’t reappear, pulled broadside to the other boat.
The trooper had been shot in the forehead.
Fargo helped himself to the man’s pack and left the man and the boat there.
For the rest of the afternoon he strained his arms and shoulders to their limit. The sun was half gone and shadows had swallowed most of the swamp when he spotted a flickering orange dot.
He pushed to reach it before nightfall. Trying to navigate the swamp in the dark would be like groping about in a room with the lights off, only deadlier.
Sunset came and went and the last faint twilight had almost faded when he came on a small island. Two boats had been dragged out of the water and tied fast. He grounded his and helped the woman and the boy out.
As campsites went, the island was ideal. It rose toward the middle to form a flat top.
A fire crackled invitingly. A coffeepot was on; the aroma made Fargo’s stomach rumble.
Major Davenport and Sergeant Morgan were seated on one side. Across from them was Clemen
tine Purdy, her head bowed, her hair disheveled.
Cleon lay near her, his head resting on a folded blanket. His left shoulder had been bandaged. He was unconscious or asleep.
The major and the sergeant and Clementine all looked as glum as could be.
Neither Fargo nor the woman and her boy made any sound. Striding into the firelight, he declared, “If I was an enemy, you’d all be dead.”
Davenport and Morgan jumped up.
Clementine smiled.
“Fargo!” the major exclaimed. “Where the hell have you been? You can’t imagine what we’ve been through.”
“Let me guess,” Fargo said. “Bodean and Judson tried to sneak off and strand you but one of your men caught them. They killed two troopers on the island and picked off a third later when you were chasing them. And wounded Cleon at some point.”
“That’s pretty much it, yes,” Davenport confirmed. “They know we can’t make it out of the swamp without them, and twice they’ve lain in ambush.”
“They’re playing with us,” Morgan said. “They even leave signs to mark the way they’ve gone.”
Clementine rose and came around the fire and placed her hand on Fargo’s shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re alive.”
“Makes two of us.” Fargo stepped aside and crooked a finger at the Kilatku and her son. “Remember these two?”
“You brought them back?” Major Davenport said in surprise.
“I think we’re married.”
“What?” Clementine said.
“How’s that again?” the major asked.
“I’ll tell you all about it.” And Fargo did, after giving food to the woman and her son and filling a tin cup with hot coffee for himself. The only part he left out was the tit-squeezing.
“It sounds like smallpox, by God,” Major Davenport said. “And you say it’s wiped out most of the tribe?”
“Everyone caught it except for these two,” Fargo said, with a nod at his traveling companions. “The warriors I saw were all sick. I reckon they won’t last long.”
“Serves them right,” Sergeant Morgan said. “Going around eating people.”
“What was that about being married?” Clementine brought up again. “Surely you haven’t—” She blushed and didn’t finish.
“I want to hear about Bodean and Judson,” Fargo said.
“There’s not much to tell,” Major Davenport replied. “Private Lyle was keeping watch, and they stabbed him and snuck toward the boats. Private Carson woke up and yelled and gave chase, and they shot him. I imagine they intended to set all the boats but one adrift but we got there in time to stop them, and they fled. We went after them. They shot Private Esterhouse about noon. Two hours ago they shot Cleon. And here we are.”
“They lie in wait and ambush us, the cowards,” Sergeant Morgan fumed.
“Cleon has lost a lot of blood,” Clementine mentioned. “We’ve done what we can for him. I’m worried infection has set in.”
“We’ll push on to Suttree’s Landing at first light,” Major Davenport told her. “With our scout to guide us, we’re no longer at the mercy of those swamp rats.”
“It won’t be me guiding you,” Fargo set him straight, and nodded at the Kilatku mother. “It’ll be her.”
“She’ll do that for us?” Davenport skeptically asked. “You trust her enough?”
“She brought me this far,” Fargo said. He didn’t add that by squeezing her tit, he had the impression she considered him hers.
“Those swampers will do all they can to stop us,” Davenport said. “And no doubt blame our deaths on the Kilatku.” He wearily rubbed his eyes. “I was a fool to trust them. Good men paid for my folly.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sir,” Morgan said. “How were any of us to know?”
Off in the swamp an alligator bellowed and was answered by another.
“I propose we turn in early,” Davenport said. “We’ll take turns standing guard. Who wants the first watch?”
Fargo took the last. He was bone tired and fell asleep within moments. It felt as if he hadn’t rested ten minutes when a hand was on his arm, shaking him.
“Up and at ’em,” Sergeant Morgan whispered. “It’s been quiet.” He paused. “Well, no less than usual.”
Fargo heard what he meant.
On all sides rose a discordant bedlam. The gators, the frogs, the insects, the screaming panthers and squealing wild boars and more, filled the night with a hair-prickling reminder that all around them creatures were being ripped and rent and eaten.
Fargo filled his tin cup with coffee and let the fire warm him. It took half a cup before he felt halfway alert.
He got up to stretch his legs and was pacing back and forth when someone croaked his name. He went around the fire.
“You’re back,” Cleon said.
“How do you feel?” Fargo asked, and hunkered. “Anything I can get you?”
“I’d be awful grateful for some water.”
Fargo fetched another cup and filled it from a canteen. He held it to Cleon’s lips and let him sip. “Anything else?”
“They shot me,” Cleon said. “My best friends put a slug in me.”
“Bastards will be bastards.”
“You don’t understand,” Cleon said. “We grew up together. When we were kids we played together, swam together. We hunted and fished together. We’d go coon huntin’ at night. They were like brothers to me and they shot me.” Overcome by emotion, he broke off.
“Why talk about it if it upsets you?”
“I need to get it off my chest,” Cleon said. “I’m tryin’ to figure out how I could have been so wrong about them.”
“It happens.”
“I’d have given them the shirt off my back and they know it. I reckoned they’d always do the same for me.”
“Now you know.”
Cleon didn’t seem to hear him. “They turned on me so easy. All because I wouldn’t help them get back at you by strandin’ you and these others.”
“They have a reckoning coming.”
“I won’t hurt no woman. I told them that. They said we were just leavin’ her, and I said it was the same thing because none of you would make it out alive without a boat.”
“What did they say to that?”
“They called me a weak sister. Accused me of sidin’ with outsiders against my own kind. Said as how if I stood up for you, I deserved the same as you.”
“That sounds like Bodean talking.”
“It was him but Judson agreed. They’ve always been two peas in a pod, them two. Me, I was just the shell. I see that now.”
“Maybe you should rest,” Fargo advised.
“They tricked me. After Judson had his eye put out, he told me that he’d changed his mind. That it taught him a lesson. Him and Bodean, both, gave me their word they were goin’ to see it through. But it was a trick so I wouldn’t keep watchin’ them. I fell asleep and slept like a baby until that trooper hollered and all hell broke loose.”
Cleon closed his eyes and Fargo figured he would drift off but in a few moments he opened them again.
“They’ll keep at it until all of us are dead.”
“I figured as much.”
“They know all sorts of tricks. One is to cut a reed and wait under the water. Another is to plaster mud and stuff all over them so they look like part of the swamp. They can be devils when they want to be.”
“They’re not the only ones.”
“I never realized how vicious they are. How could I have been so blind?”
“We all make mistakes.”
“I’m so cold,” Cleon said, and his teeth chattered. “I can’t feel my arm.”
“I’ll take a look at it when the sun comes up.�
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Cleon closed his eyes again. His breathing became heavier.
Fargo took that as a sign he had fallen asleep and went to rise.
“Don’t let them get their hands on her,” Cleon said quietly.
Fargo didn’t need to ask which her he meant.
“I know them. They won’t kill her outright. They’ll want to have their fun first. They’ll do things even a whore wouldn’t let them do.”
“Over my dead body.”
“You’re a good man, Fargo,” Cleon said. “You’d do to roam the swamp with.”
“You couldn’t get me drunk enough.”
Cleon chuckled, weakly. “It’s funny how life turns out, ain’t it?”
Fargo didn’t answer.
“Here I am, shot by two men I trusted more than anyone.”
“The only one I fully trust is my horse. And you’re not dead yet.”
Cleon opened his eyes and locked them on Fargo’s. “Promise me,” he said. “Give me your word that you’ll snuff their wicks.”
“The only way they’ll reach the settlement,” Fargo said, “is if the dead can get back up and walk.”
18
Fargo tried his best. He gestured. He used sign language. He drew in the dirt. He tried every way he could think of to get the Kilatku mother to understand that he wanted her to lead them out of the swamp.
At one point her eyes widened and she bobbed her head as if she savvied, but then she swept her arm and rattled on about he-knew-not-what.
Clementine was listening, and cleared her throat. “Do you know what I think? I think she’s saying that she doesn’t know how.”
“That’s preposterous,” Major Davenport said. “She’s lived in this swamp her whole life.”
“Deep in,” Clementine said. “Where no one ever goes. It could be her people never come out this far.”
Fargo hadn’t considered that but it made sense.
“We’ve wasted enough time trying to persuade her,” Davenport said, glancing at the sky. “The sun is up and we should be on our way.”
The boats were already loaded, their fire extinguished.
Fargo and the mother and son would be in one, the major and the sergeant and Clementine and Cleon in another. They were leaving the third boat behind.