by Jon Sharpe
‘‘You admit it?’’
‘‘Yes, but not the mistake you think.’’ Fargo steered the older man toward the corner of the building. He looked back but no one came after them.
‘‘You sound mad at me. Did I do wrong going for help?’’ Toomey asked. ‘‘When I looked inside and saw they had surrounded you and were closing in, I thought they would hurt you. Then I saw Petrov heading for the government building and I ran to get him.’’
‘‘It was kind of you.’’ Fargo let it go at that.
On a hill overlooking the city stood a church, its architecture different from any church Fargo had ever seen. It reminded him of a painting in a restaurant in New Orleans of what the waiter said was a Gothic-style church in Europe. Atop it was a large stone cross.
On the other side of the hill, sprinkled among the trees, were cabins. Frank Toomey bent his steps to one of them and knocked on the door.
‘‘Lester? Earl? It’s me, Frank. Open up.’’
The door opened a crack and a bloodshot eye peered out. ‘‘It is you,’’ the owner of the eye said, and opened the door all the way. The man who opened it had scraggly, dirty hair, and wore filthy clothes. His face was smeared with grime, and when he smiled at Toomey, he showed a mouth full of yellow teeth.
‘‘Of course it’s me,’’ Toomey was saying. ‘‘What’s gotten into you, Lester? You act like somebody is out to kill you.’’
‘‘A man can never be too careful,’’ Lester said. His brooding brows pinched together as he regarded Fargo. ‘‘Who’s this? I don’t know him.’’
Toomey introduced them, adding for Fargo’s benefit, ‘‘Lester and his partner Earl were kind to me when I first came to Sitka. They took me in when I had nowhere to stay.’’
‘‘That we did,’’ Lester said. ‘‘And I can’t say we are happy about the way you lit out of here without so much as a by-your-leave.’’
‘‘I had to catch the ship,’’ Toomey said.
‘‘Where did you go? All we heard was you babbling about how you had made a strike and filed on it and were off to the States.’’
‘‘I got as far as Seattle,’’ Toomey said, and launched into an explanation of all that had happened to him since he left.
‘‘So you think you have struck it big, huh?’’ Lester said, not without sarcasm.
‘‘I know what you are thinking. That Earl and you have been up here for years and not found any gold to speak of yet, then I came along and found a rich vein in just a few months.’’
‘‘Earl and me are old hands at prospecting,’’ Lester said. ‘‘You’re still green behind the ears.’’
‘‘I’ve done it, I tell you,’’ Toomey insisted. ‘‘And once the mine is up and running, I will repay Earl and you for your kindness. Wait and see if I don’t.’’
‘‘That’s nice to hear,’’ Lester said, but he did not sound all that grateful. Finally stepping aside, he bade them, ‘‘Come on in. You can have your usual cot, Frank. Your friend will have to sleep in the corner so he’s not underfoot.’’
The cabin was as filthy as its owner. Used pots and pans and food-caked plates and bowls were piled on a counter. Blankets and clothes and tools and various other articles were scattered at random. The reek was almost enough to make Fargo gag. ‘‘I’ll sleep outside.’’
‘‘Suit yourself,’’ Lester said. ‘‘But it gets mighty cold at night.’’ He removed a pile of clothes from a cot. ‘‘Here you go, Frank.’’
A shadow filled the doorway. Instinctively, Fargo turned, leveling the Henry.
‘‘Don’t shoot me, pilgrim. I live here,’’ said the unkempt apparition who ambled in. He had a moon face pockmarked with acne and a bulbous nose. Only slightly less filthy than his cabinmate, he held out a pudgy hand. ‘‘I’m Earl, by the way.’’
Fargo shook and was surprised at the strength in the man’s grip. Again Toomey introduced him. He was surprised a second time when Earl threw his arms around Toomey and heartily clapped him on the back.
‘‘It’s grand to see you again, hoss! We were worried, what with you running off like you did.’’
‘‘He thinks he’s found the mother lode,’’ Lester scoffed.
‘‘Is that so? Well, it couldn’t happen to a nicer fella. I am happy for you, Frank. I truly am.’’
Toomey turned to Fargo with a smile. ‘‘See? Didn’t I tell you? A great couple of guys.’’
If you say so, was on the tip of Fargo’s tongue, but he did not say it.
‘‘I consider them two of the best friends I have,’’ Toomey said. ‘‘I am glad I made their acquaintance.’’
‘‘Is that so?’’ Lester said.
‘‘I never lie. You know that,’’ Toomey said. ‘‘When I say something is so, it is so.’’
Earl said to Lester, ‘‘You make an extra effort to be nice to Frank. I told you he thinks highly of us, didn’t I?’’
‘‘I will be as nice as nice can be,’’ Lester told him.
Fargo waited until supper was served—a greasy soup prepared by Earl—to bring up a few things he was curious about. ‘‘Why come all the way up here to hunt for gold when people say there’s plenty yet to be had in the States?’’
‘‘I call that being nosy,’’ Lester said.
‘‘Now, now, Lester.’’ Earl glanced at Toomey, laughed much too loudly, then said, ‘‘Well, it’s like this, mister. Lester and me got into an argument with a gent over some mules. He insulted us and we insulted him and that made him so mad, he went for his gun. To keep from being shot we had to stick a knife in him.’’
‘‘I did the sticking,’’ Lester boasted.
Fargo found that interesting since neither Lester nor Earl wore revolvers or knives. But their clothes were baggy enough to hide an armory.
‘‘The law didn’t see it as we saw it,’’ Earl went on, ‘‘and a warrant was issued for our arrest. Since we weren’t partial to dangling from the end of ropes, we lit a shuck.’’ He thumped the table with his knuckles. ‘‘This is where we ended up.’’
‘‘Are there many more like you?’’
‘‘If by that you mean Americans, yes. I’ve never counted them but I’d say there are a couple of hundred. Traders, fur men, and the like.’’
‘‘Many prospectors?’’
‘‘A few. It’s not like California or Colorado where pocket hunters are as thick as fleas on a hound dog. But all it will take is one big strike and people will pour in from all over.’’
Fargo rose and carried his bedroll and the Henry to the door. ‘‘I’m fixing to turn in,’’ he announced.
‘‘See you in the morning,’’ Toomey said. ‘‘If everything goes as it should, by noon we will be on our way. I can hardly wait.’’
Earl gave a little wave. ‘‘Sleep tight, you hear?’’
‘‘Give a yell if a wolf decides to nibble on you,’’ Lester said.
Both men grinned.
5
The crunch of a heavy foot snapped Fargo out of a light sleep. He stayed perfectly still. He did not want whoever was stalking him to know he was awake.
Fargo had chosen a spot a stone’s throw from the cabin to bed down. He had spread his blankets under a pine tree and sat down to wait. Before it grew dark he noted where every downed pine cone and twig within twenty feet lay. Once night descended, and those in the cabin could not see him, he had groped the ground, collecting as many of the pine cones and twigs as he could find. Then he had scattered them around his blankets, and was ready.
Now, in the pale starlight that filtered through the trees, a dark silhouette crept toward his blankets. In the silhouette’s hand a blade glinted.
Fargo wondered which one it was: Lester or Earl. He drew his Colt but did not cock it. The man might hear.
With infinite patience the killer came closer. He was taking no chances, this one. He came to the blankets and raised his arm to stab.
Since Fargo did not care to have holes in his blankets, he stepp
ed from behind the tree and thumbed back the Colt’s hammer. ‘‘Looking for me?’’
With a grunt of surprise, the man whirled.
‘‘Drop the pigsticker and I might let you live,’’ Fargo said.
The stalker did an incredible thing. He did not lower the knife. Snarling words in Russian, he attacked.
Fargo was almost taken off guard. The man was quick, ungodly quick, and the knife was spearing at his throat when his brain sent the impulse to his finger that caused it to tighten on the hair trigger of his revolver. The Colt boomed and bucked, and the figure was jolted but did not go down. Snarling more Russian, the man kept coming. Fargo shot him again, and yet a third time, and at the last blast the man pitched to his face in the dirt at Fargo’s feet.
‘‘Tough bastard,’’ Fargo said.
Within moments there was a commotion in the cabin. The door opened and light spilled out. Toomey emerged, holding a lantern overhead. Lester and Earl were behind him, each with a rifle.
‘‘What goes on here?’’ Toomey asked, running over. He saw the body and stopped cold. ‘‘My word, is he dead?’’
‘‘I hope so,’’ Fargo said. He stared at Lester and Earl, then squatted and rolled the body over. The lifeless face the starlight bathed was that of a burly, bearded Russian. ‘‘I’ll be damned.’’
‘‘Who is he?’’ Toomey asked. ‘‘Why did you shoot him?’’
Fargo held up the knife. ‘‘Our visitor wanted to stick this in me. Any idea who he is?’’
‘‘I’ve never set eyes on him before,’’ Toomey said. ‘‘Or if I have, I don’t remember. Russians tend to look alike to me.’’
‘‘I’ve seen him before,’’ Earl said. ‘‘He’s one of that shadow bunch.’’
‘‘The what?’’ Fargo asked.
‘‘It’s the best I can translate that gibberish they talk,’’ Earl said. ‘‘It means those who live on the wrong side of the law.’’ He hunkered and examined the dead man close up. ‘‘Yep. Definitely one. They don’t rob banks or anything like that, but everything they do is shady. In the shadows.’’ He began going through the man’s pockets. ‘‘There are quite a few of this shadow crowd in Sitka. They had to leave the motherland for one reason or another and came here to get away.’’
‘‘Like Lester and you,’’ Fargo said.
Earl looked at him. ‘‘Yeah, like Lester and me.’’ He slid his hand into another pocket and brought out a wad of Russian currency. ‘‘Look at this. Must be what he was paid to turn you into maggot food.’’
Frank Toomey nervously fidgeted. ‘‘What do we do with him? If Captain Petrov finds out, he will arrest Fargo.’’
‘‘Who says Petrov has to find out?’’ Earl unfurled and listened, then chuckled. ‘‘No one is coming. If anyone heard, they probably figure it was a hunter shooting a deer or some such. We’ll bury the body and no one will be the wiser.’’
‘‘Except whoever sent him,’’ Fargo said.
Toomey did more fidgeting. ‘‘I don’t know. If the government finds out, we could be in a lot of trouble.’’
Earl spread his pudgy hands. ‘‘You can’t have it both ways, Frank. Either we do what you think is right and report this and your new friend here is thrown behind bars or we keep our mouths shut and head out to your gold claim in the morning.’’
‘‘What?’’ Fargo said.
Earl grinned from ear to ear. ‘‘Oh. That’s right. You haven’t heard. Frank wants Lester and me to go with you. Us being his pards and all.’’
A ferry took them to the mainland—a large flat-bottomed boat that could carry up to twenty people and half as many horses, operated by a surly Russian who accepted Fargo’s money without comment and then did not say five words to them during the crossing. He put them off at an inlet, as instructed by Frank Toomey, and pushed off as soon as they and their animals were on shore.
‘‘Friendly sort,’’ Earl said.
‘‘I hate all Russkis,’’ Lester remarked. ‘‘They think they are better than us but they don’t wash any more often than we do.’’
For the first several days they paralleled the coastline, then struck off inland.
Wildlife was everywhere. The land teemed with creatures of all kinds, many of which showed little or no fear of man.
In the waters were ducks and geese. Osprey dived for fish or roosted in great nests high in trees. A variety of hawks, as well as bald and golden eagles, soared the air currents in search of prey.
Deer were as common as grass. There were plenty of elk, too. Every so often they spied moose, fortunately always at a distance, and the ungainly-seeming brutes would melt into the woods with no more sound than the whisper of the wind.
Black bears showed no fear of them. Twice they spotted grizzlies that showed no interest.
Smaller game was as abundant, if not more so. Squirrels chattered at them from tree branches, rabbits bounded off into the brush, and grouse took flight with a flurry of wings.
Fargo was in paradise. He had long loved the wild places. Wanderlust was in his blood, and there was nothing he liked more than venturing into country few if any whites had ever penetrated. From the Mississippi River to the Pacific Ocean, from the border with Canada to the border with Mexico, he had roved the frontier from end to end and back again, and he never tired of roving. Because for all he had seen, there was that much more he had not yet beheld. There was always something new over the next horizon.
Alaska was new. Alaska was virgin territory. Vast and largely unexplored, it was the last great frontier on the North American continent. Newspapers in the East portrayed it as an icy wasteland fit only for seals and polar bears, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Alaska was more akin to the Rocky Mountains than the Arctic. It had all a frontiersman could long for, and then some.
Fargo could be forgiven if he did not think much about Toomey’s claim, or how to deal with the complications that had sprung up. He was in heaven, and he could not get enough.
For five days after leaving the coast they forged steadily inland, into a rugged range with peaks that brushed the clouds. Some of the mountains were over three miles high. A couple, Fargo suspected, were closer to four. Many, according to Toomey, were capped with snow year-round.
The air was cool and crisp, the dank scent of the rich earth and the minty scent of the evergreens in Fargo’s every breath. He became so absorbed in the spectacular scenery and the rich trove of wildlife that for once he failed to be as observant as he should, and it was Earl, not him, who announced in the middle of the morning on their sixth day in, ‘‘We are being followed.’’
Fargo drew rein and twisted in the saddle. Lower down and miles away, a line of riders was crossing a meadow.
‘‘Indians, you reckon?’’ Lester wondered.
‘‘Let’s hope not,’’ Earl said. ‘‘The Russkis have made so many enemies, most of the tribes hate all whites.’’
Toomey noticed Fargo’s quizzical expression and said, ‘‘The Russians have not treated the Indians or the Eskimos very kindly.’’
Earl snorted. ‘‘Kindly, hell. The Russkis made slaves of a lot of them and wiped out any who objected. About fifty or sixty years ago, the Tlingits got so riled, they attacked Sitka. Massacred a heap of Russians and burned Sitka to the ground.’’
Toomey nodded. ‘‘The Russians rebuilt Sitka and exterminated as many of the Tlingits as they could catch.’’
‘‘So let’s hope it’s not Tlingits,’’ Earl said. ‘‘Them and the Aleuts don’t mind killing whites one little bit.’’
Fargo was studying the line of riders. They were too far off to tell if they were white or red, but not too far off to count. ‘‘I make it close to twenty.’’
‘‘Hell,’’ Earl said.
‘‘And they are smack on our trail.’’
Earl shifted for another look. ‘‘Double hell. I don’t believe in coincidence. They must be following us.’’
‘‘Maybe not,’’ Frank T
oomey said. ‘‘Maybe they are hunters, or a party of prospectors, or it could be a government patrol.’’
‘‘You always look at the bright side, don’t you?’’ Earl scoffed. ‘‘Hunting parties usually have five or six men at the most. Prospectors tend to be solitaries. And the Russians hardly ever send patrols this deep in unless they have a damn good reason.’’
‘‘What are you suggesting?’’ Toomey asked.
‘‘I’m not suggesting anything,’’ Earl replied. ‘‘I’m saying we had better be on our guard from here on out.’’
Fargo agreed. He had his own notion about the mystery men but he kept it to himself for the time being.
Soon they were in heavy timber, and they stayed in heavy timber for the rest of that day and most of the next. Toward evening they came out on a largely barren slope strewn with boulders. A small stream offered water, and they decided to stop for the night next to it.
By mutual consent they had agreed to take turns with the camp chores. One night Fargo would cook while Earl and Lester stripped the horses and Toomey foraged for kindling and fuel. The next night Earl might cook while Fargo searched for firewood and Toomey and Lester attended to the animals. On this particular night, Fargo and Toomey were unsaddling the animals when Toomey cleared his throat and said, ‘‘I’m worried.’’
‘‘About time,’’ Fargo said.
‘‘Why do you say that? What do you know that I don’t?’’
Fargo undid the bay’s cinch. ‘‘I know you are too trusting, and I know you can’t keep your mouth shut. Put those two together and you should have been worried before we left Sitka.’’
‘‘That’s unkind and untrue,’’ Toomey said resentfully. ‘‘It’s not as if I erected a sign telling everyone I found gold.’’
‘‘You might as well have,’’ Fargo said.
Earl cooked supper. They had venison left from a buck Lester shot two days previous, and Earl placed strips of the deer meat in a frying pan and put the pan on a flat rock next to the flames. Soon the crackle and sizzle had their mouths watering. Earl also made dodgers and brewed coffee.
Fargo was famished. He ate two dodgers smeared with butter and was chewing a slice of deer meat when Lester asked a question that was on his own mind.