by Jon Sharpe
Sabina laughed that gay laugh of hers. ‘‘Listen to him, Kira. We have hurt his feelings. Now he will pout for a while and later he will apologize for being such a boor.’’
‘‘I very love boar meat,’’ Kira said.
‘‘Not that kind of boar, dear,’’ Sabina said.
And so it went, the two women prattling on with occasional comments from Vassily as they wound deeper into the valley. After a while Fargo shut out the gab. He had weightier issues to grapple with. Foremost among them was how to stay alive. He was still breathing only because Vassily enjoyed toying with him. Their game of cat and mouse could turn deadly at any moment.
Then there was Frank Toomey. Fargo would like to save him, if he could. Earl and Lester were another matter. They claimed to be Toomey’s friends, but if Fargo was any judge of character, they were wolves in smelly sheep’s clothing.
Vassily’s party was approximately a quarter of a mile from the end of the valley when he rose in the stirrups and raised an arm to bring the column to a halt. Dismounting, he snapped commands in Russian.
Fargo stayed on the bay. He was hoping to make a break but two men with rifles came and covered him, one telling him in heavily accented English to climb down.
Half the Russians were to stay with the horses. The rest, and the women, were to accompany Vassily. He had his men advance in a skirmish line, with himself, the women, and Fargo at the center.
‘‘From here on, no one is to speak. That includes you, my sister. There are three more Americans and they have guns, and I would be quite annoyed if I am shot because you cannot keep that mouth of yours shut.’’
‘‘Why, brother’’—Sabina pretended to be stricken by his barb—‘‘when have I ever not listened to you?’’
‘‘Only all the time,’’ Vassily said.
‘‘Your brother is much the man,’’ Kira said to Sabina, and both laughed.
‘‘So is my sister,’’ Vassily said coldly. ‘‘And I will remind you not to remind me of that. There is only so much I will let my nose be rubbed in. Now quiet, the both of you.’’
For once the women listened.
Fargo was next to Sabina. A pine rose in front of them and she swung around it to the left as he was doing, her arm and leg brushing his. He soon noticed that she contrived to rub against him every chance she got. It occurred to him that he should encourage her interest for his own ends. With that in mind, when they had strayed a few yards from Vassily and he could whisper without being heard, he leaned toward her and said in her ear, ‘‘You are quite lovely.’’
Sabina glowed like a lit lantern and purred, ‘‘How sweet. I was beginning to think you did not like me.’’
‘‘I do not want your brother mad at me,’’ Fargo said.
‘‘He will not touch you so long as I do not want him to,’’ Sabina whispered. ‘‘And I will not want him to so long as you do that which pleases me.’’
‘‘How can we?’’ Fargo asked. ‘‘He will keep me under guard.’’
‘‘I am a woman. I have my wiles,’’ Sabina boasted. ‘‘When night comes I will see what I can do.’’
Fargo grimly smiled. They were much alike, brother and sister. Both were arrogant and vicious, human vipers with venomous fangs they would sink into him at his first lapse in judgment. He must watch what he said and did.
As if to prove his point, Vassily suddenly veered toward them and snapped, ‘‘What were you and my sister whispering about?’’
Sabina answered before Fargo could think up a suitable reply. ‘‘He warned me to stay low if shooting starts. Was that not thoughtful of him, my brother?’’
Vassily snorted. ‘‘You do think me a fool. But no matter. When I said no talking, I meant no talking. Not one word from either of you or you will see a side of me that is most unpleasant. You have seen that side before, my sister. Remember?’’
Sabina flushed red but did not say anything.
Cupping a hand to his ear, Vassily said, ‘‘I did not hear you.’’ Grinning, he moved off.
‘‘He presumes too much,’’ Sabina said so only Fargo heard her. ‘‘One day he will go too far.’’
The stand of aspens appeared. Vassily signaled for his men to halt and glanced about as if looking for something or someone. Momentarily, another Russian came cat-footing toward them. Fargo guessed it was the man Vassily had sent to keep watch over Toomey, Earl, and Lester. Whatever the man told Vassily caused him to motion for the skirmish line to form into a crescent. Vassily gave instructions for the women to stay where they were, and for Fargo to stay with them, leaving two men to guard him.
The Russians began to close in.
Fargo expected an outcry or a shot. Earl and Lester, if not the timid Toomey, were bound to resist.
Suddenly, after taking only a few steps, the Russians stopped.
Earl had come out of the aspens. He was smiling, and holding his rifle over his head with both hands. Heedless of the muzzles pointed at him, he nonchalantly strolled up to Vassily Baranof.
‘‘About time you got here.’’
10
To judge by the reactions of some of the Russians, Fargo was not the only one who was surprised.
Vassily Baranof looked the pudgy bundle of filth up and down, his features curling in distaste. ‘‘Do I know you?’’
‘‘We’ve never met, no, but I know you. Or all about you, rather,’’ Earl said glibly. ‘‘You are the king of the Sitka underworld. Nothing underhanded happens that you don’t have your fingers in.’’
‘‘What you say is true,’’ Vassily conceded. At a flick of his finger, one of his men relieved Earl of his rifle. ‘‘It is also common knowledge, and does not explain how you greeted me.’’
‘‘It’s simple, Mr. Baranof,’’ Earl said. ‘‘Me and my partner would like to work for you.’’
‘‘The more you say, the more you confuse me,’’ Vassily responded. ‘‘I am not here to offer employment. I am here to kill you and anyone else who stands in my way, and claim the gold for my own.’’
Earl showed his discolored teeth in a broad smile. ‘‘No need to rub out anyone. My partner and me have already taken care of Frank Toomey, the gent who filed the claim. The gold is all yours.’’
Concern spiked through Fargo. ‘‘What did you do to him?’’
Earl chuckled. ‘‘Relax. He’s not dead. Lester and me jumped him and Lester held him down while I trussed him for Mr. Baranof, here. He’s lying back there whining about how mean we are.’’
Vassily held up a hand and Earl instantly fell silent. ‘‘Am I to understand that you have been expecting me to show up? That you have bound Mr. Toomey as a gesture of good will toward me?’’
‘‘You’ve hit the nail on the head,’’ Earl said, nodding enthusiastically. ‘‘That’s exactly what we did.’’
‘‘Back up again. How, exactly, did you know that I was following you?’’
‘‘We knew someone was,’’ Earl said. ‘‘We spotted your party a couple of times. Frank had told me about what happened in the Motherland, so it wasn’t hard to figure out you would be interested.’’
‘‘Remarkable,’’ Vassily said. ‘‘You do not appear to have the intellect of a gnat.’’
‘‘My partner and me can be of use to you,’’ Earl said confidently.
Vassily adopted a superior smirk. ‘‘You are aware, I trust, that all those who work for me are Russian? That I regard Americans for the most part as pigs or cretins or both?’’ He looked Earl up and down again. ‘‘You, by the way, are a sterling example of the qualities I most despise about your kind.’’
‘‘I’ve heard you tend to look down your nose at those of us who aren’t from Mother Russia, yes,’’ Earl admitted. ‘‘But I’ve also heard that while you don’t hire Americans outright, you do have some who work for you. You pay them to report anything of interest in the American sector.’’
‘‘You are remarkably well informed,’’ Vassily said. ‘‘I have k
ept my liaisons with your countrymen a secret.’’
‘‘One of them talked in his cups,’’ Earl revealed. ‘‘It got me to thinking.’’
‘‘That you can do that amazes me no end.’’
‘‘Do what?’’ Earl asked.
‘‘Think.’’
Slapping his thigh, Earl laughed uproariously. ‘‘That was a good one, Mr. Baranof, sir. If you will let me take you to our camp, I have coffee on, and I’d imagine you want to see the gold.’’
‘‘Not so fast,’’ Vassily snapped. ‘‘Something about this does not ring true.’’
It did not ring true with Fargo, either. Earl had no way of knowing Baranof would show up when he did. Which meant Earl and Lester had another reason for jumping Toomey and tying him up.
Vassily half turned. ‘‘What say you, sister? Do I have him shot where he stands?’’
The women had been unusually quiet during the exchange. Sabina stepped next to her brother and regarded Earl much as Vassily had done. ‘‘He is hideous. He reeks of foul odors. His clothes have never been washed. He is the most abominable person I have ever met.’’
‘‘Begging your pardon, ma’am,’’ Earl said. ‘‘But you haven’t met Lester yet. He has me beat all hollow.’’
‘‘Remarkable,’’ Vassily said again.
Kira, holding her nose, had gone over. ‘‘You slay me with your stink. How can you breathe yourself?’’
Earl sniffed his armpit. ‘‘I reckon I’m used to me, ma’am.’’
‘‘Have you never heard of hot water and soap?’’ Sabina asked.
‘‘Yes, ma’am. But my mother always warned us kids that baths makes us puny and sickly. So I don’t generally take one but once every couple of years or so.’’
Vassily seemed more fascinated than repulsed. ‘‘What is your name, pigman?’’
‘‘Marsten, sir. Earl Marsten. My partner’s name is Lester Deeter. He’s watching Toomey for you.’’
‘‘You may accompany us,’’ Vassily informed him. ‘‘But you will not speak unless spoken to and, whatever you do, do not let me inhale your odor unless I bid you to come close.’’
‘‘Whatever you say, Mr. Baranof, sir.’’ Earl smiled and came and stood next to Fargo.
Another Russian joined the two already covering Fargo and pointed his rifle at Earl’s back. At a signal from Vassily the rest started forward.
One of the men behind Fargo prodded him with his rifle. ‘‘Go easy with that thing.’’ He glanced at the trio of bearded huskies. ‘‘Do any of you speak English?’’
None of them answered.
‘‘This is a fine kettle of fish,’’ Earl said. ‘‘You go off to fetch moose meat and come back with a pack of killers.’’
‘‘A minute ago you were fit to lick Baranof’s boots,’’ Fargo noted.
‘‘I would do most anything to keep from being turned into a sieve,’’ Earl quietly replied. ‘‘I was in the aspens, waiting for you to come back, when I saw Vassily and his boys ride up. I tell you, I did some fast thinking.’’
‘‘Why were you waiting for me?’’
Earl looked away. ‘‘I figured you would need help with the meat.’’
Fargo wasn’t fooled. Earl and Lester had planned to kill him and keep the gold for themselves. ‘‘You don’t really want to work for Baranof?’’
‘‘You heard him. He thinks I’m a pig. Him and his sister putting on airs like they did.’’ Earl caught himself and glanced at the guards, then lowered his voice. ‘‘We are in a fix, no two ways about it. We have to work together or we are both goners.’’
‘‘Don’t forget Toomey and Lester,’’ Fargo said.
‘‘I would never forget Lester. Him and me have been pards since I came west ten years ago. He is like a brother to me.’’
‘‘Why is it I can’t tell when you are telling the truth and when you are lying through your teeth?’’
Earl swore. ‘‘Fine. Treat me no better than the Russian. But there are twenty of them and only four of us.’’
The devil of it was, Fargo reflected, Earl had a point. Alone, none of them stood a chance. Combined, they might make it out alive.
The fire was crackling, the horses were grazing undisturbed. Lester was drinking coffee. At the sight of them, he promptly stood and held his arms out from his sides to demonstrate he did not have a gun.
Frank Toomey lay on his side, his wrists bound behind his back and his ankles tied. He glared at Earl Marsten. ‘‘So this is why you hog-tied me? You are in cahoots with these Russians?’’
Vassily Baranof did not break stride. He walked up to Toomey and kicked him in the ribs. ‘‘I do not like your tone.’’
Toomey could not reply. He was thrashing and sputtering, his face a beet-red mask of pain.
Vassily turned to Lester and regarded him with revulsion. ‘‘I did not believe it possible, but you are uglier and filthier than your friend.’’
Lester glanced at Earl, who said, ‘‘Thank the man for the compliment, Lester. You and me might be working for him soon.’’
‘‘Thank you, Mr. Baranof, for saying as how I am as dirty as sin,’’ Lester said.
Vassily glanced at his sister. ‘‘Can it be?’’
‘‘They must be shamming,’’ Sabina said. ‘‘No one could be this stupid.’’
Thoughtfully scratching his beard, Vassily said, ‘‘It is easy to determine. Mr. Deeter, would you stick your right hand in the fire for me.’’
‘‘Huh?’’ Lester said.
‘‘Your right hand. I would like to see it burn,’’ Vassily explained. ‘‘Do me this favor and I will take you and your friend under my wing, as you Americans are fond of saying.’’
Lester held up his right hand and wriggled his fingers. ‘‘But I’m fond of this hand. I’ve had it since I was a baby.’’
‘‘Do it, Lester,’’ Earl urged.
‘‘Like hell I will,’’ Lester snapped. ‘‘This was your brainstorm. Stick your own damn hand in the fire.’’
‘‘He asked you to,’’ Earl said.
‘‘Well, he can just unask me, then,’’ Lester declared.
Vassily was staring from one to the other and grinning. ‘‘Am I to take it, then, Mr. Deeter, that you refuse? What if I tell you that if you do not stick your hand in the fire, I will point at one of my men and he will shoot you in the head?’’
‘‘Then you are the stupid one,’’ Lester said.
‘‘In what regard, Mr. Deeter?’’
‘‘I’d be little use to you with only one hand and no use to you dead,’’ Lester said. ‘‘You Russians. You’re as dumb as tree stumps.’’
‘‘One of us is,’’ Vassily Baranof said. He pointed at a stocky underling with the neck and shoulders of a bull. ‘‘Pyotr, show this pig what we think of Americans who think Russians are as dumb as tree stumps. And do it without spattering blood over the rest of us.’’
Lester backed up a step. ‘‘Now you just hold on, mister. You can’t have me shot for saying my piece.’’
‘‘Actually, yes, I can,’’ Vassily replied, and nodded at Pyotr.
The stocky Russian sank to one knee and angled his rifle up at Lester. He showed no more emotion than a rock as he sighted along the barrel and fired. The heavy slug cored Lester’s forehead smack in the center and blew out the rear of his skull in a spectacular shower of scarlet, hair, bone, and brain. The body swayed like a reed in the wind, then crashed to earth in the fire. Burning brands arced every which way. Sabina and Kira leaped back, as did several of the men. But not Vassily. He leaned down, grabbed hold of Lester’s coat, and hauled him from the flames.
‘‘Pyotr, have the body disposed of. Whoever you pick must take it off and bury it deep enough that we will not have to deal with scavengers.’’
‘‘Your will.’’ Pyotr acknowledged the order with a bow.
Vassily faced Earl. ‘‘Which brings us to you. You say that you would like to work for me? Prove it. Do what
your friend would not. Put your hand in the fire and keep it there until I say you can take it out.’’
‘‘But, Mr. Baranof,’’ Earl started to object. He was gaping at Lester.
‘‘Would you rather I have Pyotr shoot you as he did your friend?’’ Vassily demanded.
‘‘Lester was my best friend,’’ Earl said.
‘‘What is that to me?’’ Vassily snapped. ‘‘All I care about is being obeyed. You claim that you would like to work for me, but here you are, about to make the same mistake he did.’’
Earl tore his shocked gaze from Lester’s lifeless form and moved to the fire. Squatting, he thrust his right hand into the flames. A grimace twisted his countenance.
Kira Ivanov tittered and covered her mouth and nose. ‘‘Everything is smells today.’’
Vassily said a few words in Russian and a man seized Earl and flung him from the fire so roughly, Earl tumbled onto his back. ‘‘That is enough. You have proven yourself.’’
Earl was gritting his teeth. His fingers were singed in spots but he had not suffered irreparable harm.
‘‘We will discuss your future later,’’ Vassily informed him. ‘‘Right now I would very much like to see the gold I have gone to such time and expense and personal discomfort to acquire.’’ His finger rose and pointed at Fargo. ‘‘You will do the honors.’’
In Fargo’s absence someone had covered the hole with the lattice. Lifting it, he set it aside and stepped back.
Vassily dropped to his hands and knees. So did Sabina and Kira.
‘‘It certainly looks like gold,’’ the sister said. ‘‘But what if it is not? What if it is what they call fool’s gold?’’
‘‘That is why I brought Fedor,’’ Vassily said, and snapped his fingers while uttering a string of Russian.
A skinny man with no chin came from behind the others. In contrast to the rest he was clean shaven. Another contrast were his clothes; he wore a suit where the others preferred wool shirts and heavy pants. He had a small black bag similar to the bag a doctor might carry. He spoke in Russian.
‘‘Use English,’’ Vassily directed. ‘‘The Americans should hear since their lives hang on the thread of your decision.’’