by Jon Sharpe
‘‘As you wish,’’ Fedor said.
‘‘You know what is required. Get to it.’’
‘‘Immediately.’’ Fedor stepped to the edge and dropped into the hole. He set his bag down. Kneeling, he ran a hand over the vein. ‘‘Promising. Most promising.’’ He opened his bag and took out a small wooden box. Inside the box were vials and chemicals. ‘‘For testing the gold,’’ he said when Fargo’s curiosity got the better of him.
Fargo was impressed. ‘‘Where did you find a chemist on such short notice?’’ he asked Baranof.
‘‘Fedor is on my payroll. For testing coins and jewelry and the like.’’ Vassily smiled. ‘‘As I told you before, I am always prepared, American. For every contingency. It is why I will die an old man in a rocking chair.’’
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than an arrow sailed out of the blue and thudded into the earth next to him.
11
Everyone was caught by surprise. Everyone stared at the arrow as if they could not quite credit their senses. Then Vassily Baranof heaved erect and bawled commands. Instantly, a knot of men with rifles surrounded the two women and hurried them into the aspens. Other men raised their rifles to the cliff and the adjoining slopes.
Fargo had already dropped into a crouch and was scanning the vicinity but saw no one. He had a fair notion where the arrow came from, based on its angle of flight, but no bowman was visible. Whoever let the shaft fly had seemingly vanished without a trace.
Of all of them, only the chemist, Fedor, went on with what he was doing, undisturbed by the excitement.
Frank Toomey could not take cover, even though his fear-struck expression suggested he dearly yearned to do so. ‘‘Help me!’’ he yelled to Fargo. ‘‘Get me into the trees!’’
‘‘You are fine right where you are,’’ Fargo said, straightening.
‘‘But the arrow!’’
‘‘Thanks for reminding me,’’ Fargo said dryly, and picked the arrow up. Right away he noticed two things. First, the arrow had been made recently. If he had to guess, he would say it had been fashioned in the past month or so. The condition of the shaft, of the sinew that bound the sharp iron tip to the shaft, and of the feathers, all showed the arrow had not been used much, if at all. Second, the arrow bore no markings. None whatsoever. The shaft was plain wood. Which was strange. It was customary for tribes to paint symbols on their arrows, or notch or groove them in some distinctive way that enabled those familiar with the markings to tell which tribe made it.
The shaft was suddenly snatched from Fargo’s hand. Vassily Baranof examined it, then growled in Russian and handed it to another man. ‘‘This is Mishka. He knows more about the Indians of this region than anyone.’’
Mishka had a high forehead and wide-set eyes, and was clearly as puzzled as Fargo had been. He addressed Vassily in Russian.
‘‘He says he cannot tell which tribe made the arrow,’’ Vassily translated. He issued more orders and half a dozen of his hirelings spread out and churned up the slopes.
The women came out of the aspens, Sabina saying, ‘‘It must be an Indian boy playing a prank, brother.’’
‘‘No.’’ Vassily wagged the arrow. ‘‘Did you not notice that it was me this almost struck? Whoever loosed it at us wanted me dead.’’
‘‘But who?’’ Sabina asked.
‘‘Need I remind you we have made many enemies, sister?’’ Vassily said.
‘‘Need I remind you most of them are dead?’’ Sabina rejoined. ‘‘And none are Indians.’’
‘‘True,’’ Vassily said, clearly more perplexed than ever. He watched the men above conduct their search. When one turned and yelled down to him, he swore and beckoned for them to come back down.
‘‘He says there is no sign of anyone,’’ Vassily relayed for Fargo’s benefit. ‘‘He says they cannot even find footprints.’’
‘‘The ground is hard and rocky.’’
‘‘Even so,’’ Vassily said. He handed the arrow to Pyotr. ‘‘Put it in one of the packs. We will take it back with us and show it around. Maybe someone will have an answer.’’
‘‘At once,’’ Pyotr said.
Fedor, the chemist, looked up from his vials and chemicals. ‘‘It will be a while before my tests are complete but I have seen enough to say I am positive this is gold.’’
‘‘Finish your tests.’’ Vassily gazed at the western sky, at the bloodred sun low on the horizon. ‘‘In the morning I will have the men dig. I must find out whether I have a true vein or a pocket.’’
‘‘Do you still plan to have your feast?’’ Fargo asked.
‘‘Why wouldn’t I?’’ Vassily said. ‘‘Because of the arrow? I am not easily scared. I will post guards, and we will make several fires to keep the dark at bay.’’
‘‘Maybe the arrow was not meant for you,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘Maybe it was a warning.’’
‘‘From a local tribe? That we are in their territory and must leave?’’ Vassily nodded. ‘‘That occurred to me. But if so, I must disappoint them. I am not leaving until I have enough gold to make me the richest man in Mother Russia.’’
‘‘The gold is that important to you?’’
‘‘It is my salvation. I was driven from Russia by certain government officials who took a dim view of my activities. They wanted to put me in prison and throw away the key. Me! Vassily Baranof! But I will show them. With enough gold I can buy them off or ruin them. I will be able to go back. To live where and as I please.’’ Vassily gazed at the hole. ‘‘Yes, American, the gold is important to me.’’
So it was not just greed, Fargo thought to himself. He was about to ask about the officials who had driven Baranof from the motherland when several men came running up. They bowed their heads, and whatever report one of their number gave Vassily caused him to clench his fists and hiss between clenched teeth.
‘‘What now?’’
‘‘The pudgy one, Earl. The one with the glib tongue. He has disappeared. In the confusion he slipped away and my men cannot find him.’’
‘‘Slipped away or was taken,’’ Fargo suggested.
Vassily stiffened. ‘‘Yes. There is that possibility.’’ He growled more instructions and the men departed. ‘‘This affair is becoming more complicated than I would like.’’
‘‘I know the feeling,’’ Fargo said.
The Russians who had been scouring the slopes returned. Two were left at the hole with the chemist. Everyone else retired through the aspens to where tents were being erected and the horses picketed. Whatever else might be said of Baranof, everything he did, he did well.
Fargo was left by one of the tents, under guard. He was not alone. Toomey was dumped beside him and wasted no time in complaining.
‘‘This is terrible. Just terrible. Poor Lester killed! Earl missing. What are we to do?’’
‘‘Nothing.’’
Toomey was flabbergasted. ‘‘How can you say that? Any moment, that crazy Russian might take it into his head to have us murdered like he did Lester.’’
‘‘Baranof is as sane as you or me,’’ Fargo said.
‘‘You’re defending him? My God. After he has stolen the gold out from under us.’’
Fargo changed the subject. ‘‘Did you see any Indians when you were up here before?’’
‘‘Besides old Gray Fox? No. I asked him if there were any villages nearby and he said the Tlingits hunt elk in this area now and then, and that was it.’’
‘‘The Tlingits are a coast tribe,’’ Fargo remembered.
‘‘A whole bunch of tribes—or, rather, clans, I guess we would call them. From what Gray Fox told me, the clans are formed into two big societies, the Wolf and the Raven. He was a Wolf. He added some nonsense about the Wolves taking on the traits of real wolves and the Ravens having the qualities of real ravens. Typical Indian superstition.’’
‘‘Do the Tlingits use bows?’’
‘‘Not very often, no. They are fishermen, mos
tly. They have knives and clubs and spears and the like.’’ Toomey paused. ‘‘Why do you ask? That arrow?’’
Fargo shrugged. ‘‘I was just curious.’’
‘‘It was probably a hunter from some other tribe,’’ Toomey speculated. ‘‘A white-hater who is halfway back to his village by now.’’
‘‘Could be,’’ Fargo said.
Presently eight tents had been erected and several campfires were blazing. The moose meat was cut up and skewered on spits to roast. Tea was put on to brew. Russians, Fargo had discovered, were more fond of tea than coffee. Tripods with heavy pots were used to boil potatoes, corn, and sugar beets.
Quiet fell as everyone settled down for the evening meal.
Vassily posted sentries, telling Fargo he had given orders to shoot anything that moves. ‘‘That includes Earl Marsten. I do not know why he ran off unless he was afraid I would have him shot as I did his friend, but he has made me angry. Which is not wise to do.’’
‘‘What about me?’’ Fargo asked.
‘‘What about you?’’ Vassily retorted. ‘‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die.’’ He smiled as he said it but there was no doubt he meant it.
‘‘And Frank there?’’ Fargo asked, nodding at Toomey.
‘‘I do not like him as I like you,’’ Vassily said. ‘‘He will stay tied.’’
Toomey had heard, and objected. ‘‘What if I give you my word I won’t try to run off? Please. My arms and legs are cramping. I can barely wriggle my fingers, the circulation has been cut off for so long.’’
‘‘Ask me if I care, American, and I will tell you I don’t,’’ Vassily replied. ‘‘The only reason you are still breathing is because I have special plans for the two of you.’’
‘‘What sort of plans?’’
‘‘You must wait until morning to find out,’’ Vassily answered. ‘‘But I will have you untied so you may eat and drink. I may be cruel, as some claim, but I try to observe the amenities. More than that, you must not expect.’’
‘‘It’s not fair,’’ Toomey said. ‘‘I have never done anything to you.’’
‘‘You are an American and that is enough.’’
‘‘Why?’’ Toomey asked, his voice rising. ‘‘What did Americans ever do that you hate us so much?’’
‘‘A good question,’’ Vassily said. ‘‘I will humor you and share a story which Fargo might find interesting as well.’’ He paused. ‘‘It is not just that Americans are slovenly. It is not just that Americans think they are better than everyone else—’’
‘‘I never do that,’’ Toomey broke in. ‘‘Neither does Fargo. You can’t judge all Americans by the actions of a few.’’
Vassily rose, took a couple of steps, and smashed his heel down on Toomey’s leg. Toomey cried out and rolled back and forth, spittle dribbling over his lower lip. When he subsided and lay gasping, Vassily told him, ‘‘Kindly do not interrupt me again. It is rude. And for your information, I will judge Americans and anyone else as I see fit. Understood?’’
Toomey was in too much pain to reply.
‘‘Now where was I?’’ Vassily sat back down. ‘‘Oh, yes. When I first came to Sitka, I approached the American consul about becoming an American citizen. Yes, me, Vassily Baranof. If I were an American citizen, the Russian government could not touch me for crimes I committed in Russia. I could start over.’’ Vassily’s tone grew flinty. ‘‘But it was not to be. The American government checked my background. They found out about some of my ventures that were not aboveboard, as one lackey put it. So they refused to grant me citizenship. They refused to even let me into their country.’’
‘‘You are a criminal,’’ Toomey said. ‘‘What else did you expect?’’
‘‘I will enjoy killing you,’’ Vassily said. ‘‘You are one of those who does not know when to keep his mouth shut.’’
‘‘You noticed that, too?’’ Fargo said.
A Russian at the next fire called out, and Vassily rose again. ‘‘You must excuse me. I have certain arrangements to make.’’
Fargo was about to stand and go to Toomey when the warm pressure of a hand on his arm stopped him.
‘‘Here you are. Kira and I have been looking for you,’’ Sabina Baranof declared. ‘‘If I did not know better, I would think you were avoiding us.’’
The women had freshened up and brushed their hair. Both were more than uncommonly lovely, their full bosoms and luscious red lips enough to stir any man.
‘‘What do you have in mind?’’ Fargo asked.
‘‘We would like the pleasure of your company,’’ Sabina said. ‘‘Agree to sit with us while we eat, and afterward we will go on a stroll.’’
‘‘All three of us?’’
Sabina laughed. ‘‘Kira and I will toss a coin when the meal is over. You will have the honor of being alone with the winner.’’
‘‘I hope it be me,’’ Kira said.
‘‘Your brother might have something to say about that,’’ Fargo said to Sabina.
‘‘Leave Vassily to me. He never denies me anything.’’
The Russians were talking and joking and laughing. They were relaxed, at ease, apparently unconcerned about the arrow or Earl’s absence. They passed around a flask of vodka. Vassily permitted each a few sips.
The cook announced that the food was done and began heaping it on plates. Sabina took one of Fargo’s arms and Kira the other, and they guided him to a fire and sank to the ground, tugging him down with them. They sat so close that their arms and legs rubbed him when either of them moved.
‘‘Are you hungry, handsome one?’’ Sabina asked. ‘‘We always eat well. My brother insists on it. There is a Russian saying.’’ She stopped, her forehead puckered. ‘‘How does it go in English? If the stomach is happy, so is the man.’’
A plate was set in Fargo’s lap and he was handed a knife and fork. The moose meat was sizzling hot. The potatoes, the corn, and the beets were done to perfection.
Vassily gave a speech in Russian. Midway through, Sabina leaned over to Fargo, her breath warm on his neck, and whispered, ‘‘He is thanking them for their hard work. He says that if the vein of gold is as rich as he hopes it is, everyone will be paid a bonus.’’ She winked at him. ‘‘That brother of mine, he knows how to win men over.’’ Grinning, she brazenly placed her hand on Fargo’s inner thigh. ‘‘For that matter, so do I.’’
Fargo indicated the two men who constantly covered him. ‘‘I still don’t see how you aim to pull it off.’’
‘‘Have you never heard of feminine wiles?’’ Sabina grinned. ‘‘Before this night is done, I will have my way with you.’’
12
For dessert they were served pudding. Fargo had eaten so much moose meat he was full, but Sabina and Kira helped themselves to generous portions. Kira, in particular, had an appetite worthy of a lumberjack. When Fargo remarked on how much she ate, she smiled and patted her stomach.
‘‘Russian women have much big bellies.’’
At that Sabina laughed. ‘‘I really must help her improve her English.’’
After the meal several of Vassily’s men were given the chore of washing the dishes and pots. The women did not offer to help. In fact, when Sabina handed her plate over, she joked to Kira. ‘‘It sure is nice to have men around. They do all the work while we take it easy.’’
‘‘You never lend a hand?’’ Fargo asked.
‘‘Who in their right mind wants to do dishes?’’ Sabina rejoined. ‘‘In Russia I always had servants do the menial work. In Sitka it is the same.’’ She patted her friend’s hand. ‘‘Kira is not as well off and has to do her own. I have helped her a few times, and I can say that cleaning is a drudge. I would rather have my teeth pulled.’’
Despite himself, Fargo smiled.
The Russians were a bundle of surprises. After dessert they sat around the campfires singing Russian folk songs. The women joined in the singing, but not Vassily. He sat aloof
from the rest.
It was no later than ten when Sabina took a Russian coin from a leather pouch she wore around her waist, and held the coin for Kira to see. Kira said a single word in Russian. Sabina nodded and flipped the coin. She did not catch it but let it land on the ground. Both eagerly sat forward to see the result, and Sabina scowled.
‘‘Two out of three,’’ she said in English.
Kira reluctantly nodded.
Sabina flipped the coin again, and yet a third time, and sat back beaming. ‘‘You are mine tonight,’’ she said to Fargo.
Kira looked so crestfallen that when Sabina was not looking, Fargo gave her thigh a pinch. She grinned and stared at a spot below his belt. The invitation was clear.
About that time two men got up and began to dance. They folded their arms in front of them and kicked out with their legs, hopping like oversized rabbits in time to the singing. Others clapped and cheered them on.
Fargo felt a hand slip into his own. He did not resist when Sabina pulled him to his feet and led him to one of the larger tents. Opening the flap, she motioned for him to precede her.
‘‘This is mine and Kira’s. No one would dare set foot in it except my brother.’’ Sabina closed the flap and began tying it shut so they would not be intruded on.
The interior was dark as pitch. Fargo’s eyes slowly adjusted, enabling him to make out blankets to his left.
Sabina sashayed toward them. ‘‘I trust you can undress without a light on.’’
‘‘I’ve had a little practice,’’ Fargo said.
Grinning, Sabina stopped and turned and hungrily molded her body to his, her fingers rising to clasp his neck and pull his mouth down to hers. ‘‘Kiss me, handsome one. I have thought of nothing but your kisses all day.’’
Fargo obliged. Her lips were exquisitely soft. They parted to admit his tongue and hers swirled around his. At the same time he reached behind her and cupped her bottom. Grinding his manhood into her, he elicited a soft moan.
‘‘You kiss nicely,’’ Sabina said when they broke for breath. ‘‘I tingle down to my toes.’’