Black Hills Badman (10 page)

Fargo relaxed, too. Making love to women had long been a favorite pastime. He would rather poke a willing filly than do just about anything else. He liked it so much that when he went without for more than a week or two, the need built in him until he was fit to explode.

Fargo never could savvy men who swore off women, whatever their reasons. Priests, for instance. Or those who were content with a poke a month, if that. It had surprised him considerably when it dawned on him years back that some men didn’t feel the same need he did. For him, the treats a woman offered were a slice of the best the pie of life had to offer, and any gent who didn’t care for a taste must not have any taste buds.

Fargo thought of that now as Rebecca continued to warm to their caresses. She pried at his shirt and his belt to get at his pants. He helped, and presently his gun belt was on the ground and his pants were down around his knees. His manhood had become a rigid pole. He shivered when she lightly clasped him and commenced to stroke. He thought he would explode when she cupped him but he was able to contain himself.

Fargo got her robe undone and delved into her charms with ardent zest. He licked her neck. He sucked and nipped an earlobe. He traced the tip of his tongue from her throat to between her breasts and then to a nipple. Inhaling it, he swirled it with his tongue and it became a rigid tack. She groaned when he cupped her other breast. Her hips thrust hard against his member. It was plain her fruit was ripe for the plucking.

Fargo lathered her tummy and stuck his tongue into her navel. He ran his hand from her knees to the junction of her legs. She was burning hot for him. She was wet, too, as he found out when he parted her nether lips with the tip of a finger and ran it over her tiny knob.

Rebecca arched her back. She mewed. Her whole body melted against him in wanton need.

“I’ve wanted it for so long.”

It reminded Fargo of her claim that she hadn’t enjoyed much in the way of lovemaking for the past thirteen years. He suspected she wasn’t telling the truth, but it was hardly worth bringing up, and definitely not then and there.

Fargo slid a finger into her velvet sheath. He stroked her, and her inner walls rippled. He added a second finger and stroked harder. It aroused her no end; she became an inferno of desire, her lips and hands everywhere.

Fargo drifted on tides of lust until he reached the point where he couldn’t wait any longer; he parted her thighs, rubbed the tip of his manhood on her slit, and rammed up into her. Her mouth parted wide and for a moment he thought she would cry out but instead she sank her teeth into his shoulder hard enough for it to hurt.

Fargo devoted his hands to her breasts and his mouth to hers. For a long while he was content to slowly thrust. But as their mutual need mounted and she cooed and squirmed and moaned, he couldn’t hold back. He pumped his hips harder and faster and she pumped hers in kind.

The woods blurred. The stars receded. Fargo felt his need to release build and build. Then she gushed and writhed in ecstasy, and it triggered his own explosion. For a while he lost all sense of time, all sense of anything save the addicting pulse of pure pleasure.

The yip of a coyote brought Fargo back to the here and now. He pulled up his pants and strapped on his Colt while she wrapped her robe around herself, and coyly smiled.

“That was wonderful. Thank you.”

Fargo grunted.

“Was it good for you? I mean, I don’t have a lot of experience so I don’t know if I pleased you or not.”

“Cut it out,” Fargo said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re not the poor deprived woman you make yourself out to be. Do me a favor and don’t think I’m dumb enough to think you are.”

Rebecca frowned. “So you have me all figured out, is that it? I’ve got news for you. You don’t have anyone figured out. Not me. Not Fulton. Not even little Gerty.”

“If you say so.” That she was so prickly about his remark proved to Fargo he had struck a nerve.

“I know so. Take Fulton, for instance. Do you really think he came all this way to hunt buffalo and bear?”

“Not just any buff or griz. He’s after the biggest, the best, to hang on his trophy wall.”

“He has you hoodwinked.”

Fargo couldn’t see how. Senator Keever was paying him good money—paying Owen and Lichen and the others, too—and had spent a lot more on horses and supplies and ammunition. If he wasn’t there to hunt, he was putting on a good show. “I’m thickheaded. You need to spell it out.”

“I don’t know as I will,” Rebecca said tartly. “Not after that crack you just made.”

“I was only saying.”

“I never claimed to be a virginal maiden. I only said I don’t get to do it as often as I’d like.”

“You’re making a fuss over nothing,” Fargo said, and knew it was a mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth.

“Oh, really? I trusted you, I confided in you, I gave myself to you, and it’s nothing? You don’t care how miserable I’ve been? How very lonely?”

Oh hell, Fargo thought. “You didn’t have to marry him. It was your decision, so live with it.”

Rebecca straightened and folded her arms. “I would like to go back now, if you don’t mind.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Alone? In the dark? In these woods? A gentleman like Fulton would never let a lady go by herself.”

Fargo was tired of her carping. “What gave you the notion I’m a gentleman? I live in these wilds you dislike so much. I have more in common with a mountain lion than I do the man you married.”

“Fulton has a lot of faults but he’s always treated me with courtesy. He has a few other traits I admire, too. He’s terribly devious, as you’ll find out soon enough, to your sorrow.”

“There you go again. Dropping hints. If you have something to say, come right out and say it, damn it.”

“Temper, temper,” Rebecca taunted. “I was thinking about telling you but then you went and insulted me. Now you’ll just have to find out on your own. I only hope I’m there to see your face when you discover how you’ve been tricked.”

“Suit yourself.” Fargo almost added, “bitch.” He turned and strode off and she quickly fell into step beside him.

“Don’t walk so fast. I can’t keep up.” Rebecca added an anxious, “Please, Skye.”

Reluctantly, Fargo slowed.

“Listen. I’m sorry. You set me off. But I do like you. Honestly and truly. And I would hate to see you hurt.”

Fargo swore. The woman was as fickle as the weather.

“I’m serious. Look. Fulton says you can go if you want. Why not take him up on it? I know Lem tried to talk you out of it but don’t listen to him. Your life is more important.”

Fargo was about to ask exactly what she meant when it hit him—she had called Owen
Lem
.

“Better yet, leave and take me with you. Gerty, too. This is no place for a woman and a child.”

“I tried telling the senator that before we started out, remember?”

“Yes. I heard you. And for your concern, I’m grateful. So why don’t we sneak off together? We’ll take Gerty. We can do it tomorrow night after everyone is asleep. All you have to do is knock out the men standing watch.” Rebecca clutched his wrist and brought him to a stop. “What do you say? Why should we stay and be killed by the savages?” She smiled and rubbed herself against him. “Besides, think of the good times we can have.”

Insight smacked Fargo between the eyes. He was being played for a fool. Or, rather, a typical sex-starved male. “So that’s what this was.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That tale you told about not sleeping with the senator for thirteen years. And why you were so eager to lure me out here and let me have my way with you.” Fargo chuckled. “I’ve got to hand it to you. You’re slick.”

Rebecca drew back. “I’m sure I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about.”

“You want out of here. You want out of here so bad, you’re willing to do anything. And I do mean
anything
.”

In the dark Fargo didn’t see her hand until it was too late. She slapped him on the cheek, wheeled, and stalked toward the camp, her entire body as rigid as a board. He laughed lightly and followed but he made no attempt to catch up to her. Now that he was wise to her ruse, he wondered how much of what she had told him was true and how much she made up.

He had a bigger question to answer, namely, should he stay or light a shuck? These people meant nothing to him. Not any of them. Not now that he knew Rebecca was using him. No, there was nothing holding him.

Except one thing.

Fargo had promised the senator, when Keever hired him, that he would do his best to get them in and out of Sioux country in one piece. To some men that might not mean much. But Fargo never made a promise he couldn’t keep, or wouldn’t die trying to.

Some folks, Fargo knew, would brand him a sinner. He liked to drink, he liked loose women, he loved to gamble. Flaws of character, they would say. And he would be the first to admit he wasn’t the most straitlaced hombre around. But he did have a few scruples, and not breaking his word was one of them. Silly, maybe, but there it was.

And now that Fargo thought about it, he had another reason to stay. Rebecca had hinted her husband was up to something. He would like to know what it was. Fargo had a suspicion. For some time now, rumors had floated around that there was gold in the Black Hills. No one could say how the rumors got started. Normally, that was enough to start a gold rush, as it had in California and elsewhere. But the Black Hills had a deterrent California didn’t: the Sioux. A party of whites had snuck in to search for it, and never came out.

Fargo wondered if that was what Keever was after. Presumably, Keever was well-to-do, what with being a senator. But for some folks, there was no such thing as enough money. They always craved more. It was possible the senator had come down with gold fever, and the hunt was a cover so he could scout around for it.

He came to the clearing.

Rebecca was just slipping into the tent. She looked back at him in anger, and jerked the flap shut.

Fargo made sure the night watch had their backs to him, then moved to his blankets. Weariness nipped at him and he closed his eyes.

“It took you long enough.”

Fargo looked up. Standing over him was one of the sentries, heavyset, with a bushy mustache and stubble on his chin. Clymer, he thought the man’s name was. “What did?”

“Heeding nature’s call. I came over here five minutes ago to wake you but you weren’t here.”

Fargo sat up. “Wake me why?”

“Harris and me keep hearing and seeing something off in the trees. It comes and goes. We don’t know what to make of it but we thought you might.”

Fargo rose. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“It’s over yonder.” Clymer pointed at the far side of the camp, past the horse string. “Come look and give a listen and tell me if you think I’m loco.”

“What do you think it is?”

Clymer hesitated. “I’d rather not say. It’s best you hear and see for yourself.”

“Tell me, damn it.”

“Just don’t laugh.” Clymer took a breath. “I think it’s a ghost.”

It was a good thing Skye Fargo played a lot of poker. A man had to be good at keeping a stone face when he was dealt good cards. It helped in real life when life dealt an idiot or two. Fargo adopted his poker face now as he stared at Clymer. “Did you just say a ghost?”

“I sure did. And before you poke fun, no, I haven’t been drinking and neither has Harris. The senator wouldn’t let anyone bring liquor, remember?”

That was Fargo’s idea. Whiskey and Indian country didn’t mix.

“Come see this thing. Maybe you can tell us what it is. Because I’ve got to admit it has us spooked.”

“Lead the way.”

Harris was a grubby man who apparently never heard baths were invented. He was pacing beyond the horse string and nervously fingering his rifle. “I saw it again,” he said as they came up. “Spookiest thing I ever did see. I’d think I was addlepated if Clymer hadn’t seen it too.”

“Where is it?” Fargo asked.

Both Harris and Clymer pointed into the forest to the south, and Clymer said, “Just wait. It comes and goes.”

“Right now it goes,” Harris said.

Fargo cocked his head. The wind stirred the trees, and in the distance a lonesome wolf gave voice to the wavering lament of its breed. He heard nothing else. A minute went by, then a couple. He looked at the two men, and Clymer noticed.

“It’s out there, I tell you. Sometimes it takes a bit before it shows up again. Give it a little more time.”

“Me, I’d be happy to never see it again,” Harris said. “It’s not natural, a ghost gallivanting around as real as you please. Ghosts should stay in the ghost world and leave us breathing folks alone.”

“The ghost world?”

“People must have some kind of place to go to when they die. I know all about heaven and hell but it seems to me ghosts wouldn’t come from there on account of heaven has a gate and hell has that dog.”

Fargo was finding it harder to keep his poker face. “Who told you heaven has a gate?”

“Some parson. He said that when we die, we go up in the clouds and there’s this gent called Peter who stands at a gate and lets us in if we’ve been good or else sends us down to the dog if we’ve been bad.”

“I think you got it mixed up,” Clymer said. “I don’t think that dog is in the Bible. It’s from one of those nursery poems mothers are always saying to their sprouts.”

“I do not have it mixed up. And they’re not nursery poems. They’re called nursery rhymes.”

“Don’t get all prickly.”

“Then don’t call me dumb. Besides, what do you know about rhymes. You told me your ma walked out on your pa when you were two.”

“My aunt raised me, after. She read to me some when I was little.”

Harris glanced at Fargo. “What do you say? You ever read the Bible? Is there a dog in there or not?”