Black Hills Badman (17 page)

Owen parted the tent flap and Lichen prodded Fargo and told him to get down on his knees with his hands behind his back. Then Lichen put the muzzle to his head.

“Be back in a minute,” Owen said, and went out.

Lichen snickered. “You lived with the Sioux once, I hear tell.”

“For a while,” Fargo admitted, thinking the weasel might reveal what this was all about.

“They must have put a lot of trust in you. But they won’t after the senator is done. No sir. They’ll want to stake you out and skin you. Or maybe make you run one of those gauntlets I’ve heard about, where they stand in two rows with knives and tomahawks and you have to run between them.”

“They only do that to their worst enemies.”

“Which is exactly what you’ll be.” Lichen gouged the muzzle hard into Fargo’s skin. “They’ll hate you more than they’ve ever hated anyone. And they won’t be the only ones. Likely as not, the Cheyenne and the Arapahos and other tribes will want to carve on you, too.”

“Why?”

The flap opened and in came Owen carrying a rope. He set to work tying Fargo’s wrists.

“Well, look at this. Someone beat me to it. You’ve been rubbed raw.” Owen deliberately scraped the rope against Fargo’s open flesh hard enough to draw blood, then looped it tight and tied a knot. “If that hurts, let me know and I’ll tie it tighter.”

His jaw muscles twitching, Fargo endured the pain. His ankles were bound, and he was shoved onto his side.

Lichen hiked a boot to stomp him in the face.

“No,” Owen said.

“Why not? He’s as good as dead anyway, once the Sioux find him.”

“You heard me.”

The flap parted again. Wearing an oily smile, Senator Keever came over. “How pathetic. You have no idea what I’m about, do you? Not the faintest suspicion?”

“I figure you’re after gold,” Fargo admitted.

“Oh, please. As rich as I am? I wouldn’t waste my time.” Keever moved to a cot and sat. “Permit me to enlighten you.”

“Just don’t talk me to death.”

“Very well. First off, I’m not here on behalf of the United States government. They didn’t send me to arrange a peace treaty. My business in the Black Hills is strictly personal.”

“What business?”

Keever adopted a condescending tone. “Can’t you guess yet? What’s the one thing I love to do more than anything else in all the world?” He chuckled. “I’ll give you a hint. Remember the trophy room I’m so proud of?”

An explosion went off in Fargo’s head. In a burst of insight he divined the truth. “God, no. You can’t mean—?”

“But I can, and I do. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. To kill the white buffalo.”

Skye Fargo had seen and done a lot in his time. It was rare that anything shocked him. But this did. He gaped in stunned bewilderment at Senator Fulton Keever and then blurted his uppermost thought. “You’re loco.”

“Not at all.”

“Do you have any idea how much blood will be shed if the Sioux find out a white man shot it?”

“Do you have any idea how little I care?” Keever smiled. “I’m a hunter, Mr. Fargo. Not of typical game, either. I hunt the biggest, the rarest, the most dangerous. They are the only trophies worth having. And I think you’ll have to agree with me that hanging the head of a white buffalo on my wall will be the crowning achievement of a lifetime.”

Fargo’s initial shock had passed and he thought of something. “You don’t know where it is so how can you shoot it?”

“Mr. Owen has offered a young warrior a shiny new rifle and all the ammunition the warrior can carry for that very information. He’s due here any time now. Once he tells us, Mr. Owen and Mr. Lichen and I will slip away. It will be the greatest hunt of my life.”

“As for the Sioux blaming a white man,” Owen said, “we want them to. We even have a particular white man in mind.”

Keever leaned back and laughed. “That look on your face is priceless, Mr. Fargo. You must have a million questions. So ask away. I have time to spare until the buck gets here.”

The hell of it was, Fargo
did
have a lot of questions. He started with the obvious. “When did this harebrained idea come to you?”

“When Mr. Owen contacted me to tell me of Little Face’s peace proposal. He happened to mention how excited the savages were over the birth of a white buffalo. It got me to thinking. No one, anywhere, has a white buffalo head on their wall. I’d be the first. It would make me the talk of Washington.”

“So you sent word to Little Face that you’d meet with him but you only came to shoot the buff?”

“An accurate assessment. I’ve used him. But remember, Little Face has been using me, as well. He never intended to sign a peace treaty. By your own admission he brought me here to kill me.” Keever chuckled. “Turn about is fair play, yes? By tomorrow night I’ll have my trophy and be on my way out of the Black Hills.”

“You took a gamble going to see him tonight.”

“Not really. I don’t trust any of these red heathens any further than I can throw that bear we killed. I had a derringer up my sleeve, and Mr. Owen and Mr. Lichen were armed.”

“Kill the white buff and the Sioux will be outraged. They’ll comb these hills from end to end. They’ll find you and your trophy before you can hope to get away and do things to you that would curl your hair.”

“That they would, yes,” Keever agreed, “if they thought I was to blame. But you see, that’s the beauty of my plan. I have a scapegoat. Actually, an excess of scapegoats. There’s you, and Rebecca, and all the men in camp.”

“What?”

“Oh, yes. You see, the warrior who is coming to tell us where to find the white buffalo will go back to his village and say that he saw you and a bunch of other whites chasing it. I would imagine the Sioux will be terribly incensed. So much so, they will undoubtedly swoop down on this camp and wipe out everyone in it without giving any of you a chance to speak in your defense.”

“You miserable bastard.”

“Please. Spare me the flattery. But I do have it planned out to the smallest detail, if I say so myself.”

“Why did you pick me out of all the scouts?”

Keever winked at Owen. “That was his doing. I confided in Mr. Owen from the very beginning. When I suggested we needed someone to divert the Sioux from us, he mentioned you. It seems he and you have never gotten along all that well, and this is his way of paying you back.”

Owen nodded. “The other reason I suggested you is because you’ve lived with the Lakotas. They trust you. If you brought the senator in, they’d figure he was really here to talk peace.”

Without any warning, Lichen rapped Fargo’s head hard with the revolver. “How does it feel to be so stupid? You’re going to die and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

Fargo grimaced with the pain. He had to stall. But the only thing he could think of to say was, “Why kill Rebecca? What did she ever do?”

Keever placed his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “To be frank, I weary of her. Our marriage has always ever been one of convenience, and the convenience has worn thin.” He let out a sigh. “She’s never really loved me, you know. She did it for the money. Not that I minded. I married her so my constituents would think I’m an upstanding pillar of the community. But the truth is, I like to have a different woman every other night.” He leaned toward Fargo. “Just as she likes a different man. You’re but the latest in a long string. Did she feed you that line about not having sex? She uses it a lot.”

Footsteps approached the flap. Lichen jammed his revolver against Fargo and put a finger to his lips.

Outside the flap, Harris said, “Senator Keever, sir? Is Owen in there? There’s a Sioux here to see him. He doesn’t speak good English but he says Owen is expecting him.”

Owen answered, “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“What perfect timing!” Keever exclaimed, and rose. “Mr. Lichen, gag our friend, if you please.”

“What do you want me to gag him with?”

Senator Keever took a handkerchief from a jacket pocket. “How about this? I only used it once to blow my nose.”

Fargo’s stomach did a flip-flop. “Try it and I’ll bite your fingers off.”

In a twinkling, Owen had a knife out and pressed the edge to Fargo’s throat. “Be a good little scout and sit real still. There’s no reason you have to be alive when the Sioux show up.”

“Don’t you think they’ll wonder about me being tied?”

“They’ll be so mad, they won’t much care. My guess is they’ll start in on you the minute they find you.” Owen smiled. “I’d love to be here to hear you scream.”

Lichen gripped Fargo’s chin. Fargo resisted, but only until Owen pressed harder with the knife. The handkerchief tasted of sweat, and worse.

“There!” Lichen said when he had tied Fargo’s own bandanna over Fargo’s mouth to keep the gag in. He stepped back. “That should do.”

“A lamb for the slaughter,” Senator Keever crowed. “Let’s hurry, gentlemen. We shouldn’t keep our visitor waiting any longer than we have to.”

The three men filed out.

Fargo told himself it could be worse. They had been careless, and that carelessness would cost them. Twisting, he looked down at his boot. By bending as far back as he could, he was able to hike his pant leg and slide his fingers into his boot to palm the Arkansas toothpick.

A slight sound caused Fargo to look up. A shadow was silhouetted against the flap. Quickly letting go of the knife, he moved his bound hands away from his boot.

In crept Rebecca. “I knew it!” she said in horror. She bent and pried at the knots. “I saw them walk off. We might not have long.”

Fargo grunted and wagged his head, trying to get her to remove the gag, but she went on prying.

“Be still. I’ll get you free. I don’t know what this is about but my husband has no right to do this.” Rebecca moved to a corner of the tent where several packs were piled. “There’s a hunting knife around here somewhere.”

Fargo rubbed his mouth against the ground in an effort to loosen the bandanna. He was still rubbing when the flap opened again and in walked Senator Keever, holding a derringer.

“Well, well. What are you up to, my dear?”

Rebecca froze, her hand in one of the packs. “Fulton! I thought I saw you go off toward the horses with Mr. Owen.”

“You did. But unfortunately for you, I looked back and saw you sneaking in here.”

“Don’t be absurd. Why would I sneak into my own tent?”

“Because you were worried about your latest lover.” Keever wagged the derringer at Fargo.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are blathering about.” Rebecca got off her knees, and turned.

Keever trained the derringer on her. “That will be far enough, my dear. I’m afraid I’ve reached the limits of my patience with you and your betrayals.”

“Me?” Rebecca flushed red and balled her fists. “What about you? What about all the nights I’ve slept alone while you’ve been off with other women?”

“I have a weakness. I admit it. But I’ve paid you well, haven’t I? And it’s not as if I didn’t explain the conditions of our relationship when I asked you to be my wife.”

“Wife!” Rebecca scornfully barked. “In name alone. The only reason you took me as yours was to hide your indiscretions, and like a fool I’ve kept quiet all these years.”

“Recriminations, my dear, get us nowhere.”

“Stop calling me that.” Rebecca took another step but stopped when the derringer’s hammer clicked. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“On the contrary. I’ve had Mr. Owen spread talk among the men about how unhappy you are with me. I didn’t have him say why but he gave the impression you were tired of being married and would do just about anything to be on your own. Anything at all.”

“No one would believe that.”

“Why not? These men don’t know you. Who is to say you didn’t come at me with a knife and I was forced to shoot you in self-defense?”

Rebecca appeared genuinely stunned. “Are there no depths you won’t plumb?”

“Wait until you hear the rest. But first, have a seat.” Keever motioned at the cot, and when she obeyed, he looked at Fargo and then at her, and chuckled. “Two birds with one stone. This is quite marvelous.”

“What do you intend doing with him?” Rebecca demanded.

“The same thing I intend doing with you. In his case, the Sioux will do it for me. In yours, I’m afraid Mr. Owen and Mr. Lichen will take you out and dispose of you.”

“You’ve having them
kill
me?”

“I’ll blame it on the Sioux, of course. The newspapers will eat it up. A senator’s wife slain by savages. I’ll be the perfect portrait of a stricken spouse. The sympathy alone should gain me a lot of votes in the next election.”

Fargo was beginning to realize that the senator was one of the most dangerous men he ever went up against. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Politicians didn’t have the best of reputations. He just never imagined they could be such vicious bastards.

The flap opened again. Fargo twisted, expecting Owen and Lichen, but it was the pint-sized rattlesnake.

“Gerty!” Rebecca exclaimed. “Quickly. Go fetch Mr. Harris and the other men. Tell them I need to see them right away.”

Gerty smiled sweetly at the senator. “Should I, Father? Should I do as my
pretend
mother wants?”

They both laughed, and the daughter went over and put her arm around her father.

“My God,” Rebecca breathed.

“Must you always be so melodramatic?” Keever criticized her. “All of us die. It’s just a question of when.”

Rebecca didn’t give up. She appealed to the girl, saying, “Did you hear him, Gerty? Your father plans to murder me, and to have Mr. Fargo killed by the Sioux. You must tell the men. Not Owen or Lichen but the others. Run, child. Our lives are in your hands.”

“Isn’t she funny, Father?”

“Gerty?” Rebecca said.