Flathead Fury (9 page)

Suddenly the Ovaro whinnied.

Instantly alert, Fargo glanced in the direction the stallion was looking. A figure was hunkered in the shadows. Thinking it was another of Durn's wolf pack, Fargo cleared leather in a blur. But as quick as he was, he was not quick enough.

An arrow cleaved the air, seeking his throat.

Reflex took over. Fargo flung himself to one side and the arrow missed, but he swore he felt the fleeting brush of a feather. He raised the Colt to fire, only to have another figure rush out of nowhere and stand between him and the archer while frantically waving both arms.

“Do not shoot! It is us!”

To say Fargo was surprised was an understatement. “Birds Landing?” Anger coursed through him; she was supposed to be long gone. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The pretty young maiden came up and took his hand in hers. “You are not happy to see me?”

“No,” Fargo bluntly responded. “It isn't safe for you anywhere in Mission Valley. Why did you come back?”

“I never left.”

“But you told me you would,” Fargo testily reminded her. “What if Durn gets his hands on you again?”

“I could not go,” Birds Landing said quietly. “Not after you and I were—what is the word? Oh, yes. Intimate.”

“Oh, hell,” Fargo said.

“Please do not be mad. I started to go as I promised. But my heart would not let me.” She smiled sweetly. “My brother and I have been watching Polson. We saw you leave, and saw the three men follow you. We followed them.”

The mention of her brother reminded Fargo of the arrow that nearly transfixed his neck.

Just then Thunder Cloud came out of the shadows leading their horse. He had slung his bow over a shoulder.

“Why did he try to kill me?”

Birds Landing and her sibling exchanged a flurry of Salish. “He says that he thought you were going to shoot him. You did draw your revolver and point it at him.”

“Are you sure he just doesn't want me dead?”

“Why would he want that?” Birds Landing rejoined. “He is not happy I laid with you but that is not enough of a reason for him to kill you.”

“If you say so.” Fargo was not entirely convinced.

Thunder Cloud said something and Birds Landing translated. “He says he is sorry.”

“He is too quick on the bow string,” Fargo groused.

“Oh, he is not sorry for that,” Birds Landing said. “He is sorry that he did not take me away as you wanted.”

Fargo realized he was still holding his Colt, and holstered it. “He should have tied you and thrown you over his horse.”

“That is what a white man would do,” Birds Landing said. “But the Salish never do violence to Salish.”

Fargo was aware that some tribes severely punished any member who harmed another. “It was a mistake for you to stay. But we can remedy that. Climb on and get out of here.”

“No.”

“Damn it,” Fargo fumed. “You know what Durn is capable of. Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I like you.”

Fargo had no ready reply to that. Instead he said, “We can't stay here. Those shots might bring others. Follow me.” He headed east, leading the other two horses.

Thunder Cloud, riding double with his sister, brought his sorrel up next to the Ovaro. He did not look pleased but Birds Landing was smiling.

“Please do not be mad. I cannot help how I feel about us.”

Fargo refused to be pacified. For her own good he said gruffly, “There is no
us
. When I am done with Mike Durn, I will ride off and you will never see me again.”

“I know that. But while you stay, I will not leave your side. My heart and your heart are like this.” Birds Landing entwined her hands.

“Damn you, woman.” This was the last thing Fargo needed.

“Whether you admit it or not, I speak with a straight tongue. I can feel how you feel in here.” Birds Landing pressed a hand to her bosom.

Fargo smothered a string of oaths. He hated it when women made more out of making love than there was to make. Especially since he was not one of those men who lied to get women to part their legs. He never made empty promises, never professed love or the intention to marry them. But that did not stop females like Birds Landing from making a mountain of romance out of a bump of passion.

Thunder Cloud glanced over his shoulder at his sister and they broke into a heated argument. When they were done, Birds Landing laughed lightly.

“It might please you to know that my brother agrees with you. He wants me to go, too.”

“You should listen,” Fargo said, knowing full well she wouldn't.

“We can help you. We can spy on Durn and his men. Or follow them. Or whatever else you need.”

“Can't you get it through that thick head of yours that Durn will kill you to make an example of you, if you are caught?”

Birds Landing shrugged. “We all die.”

“What about your brother?” Fargo tried another tack. “Do you want him to die protecting you?”

“Nothing you say will change my mind. I always do as I think best whether others think it best or not.”

This time Fargo did not hold it in. He swore, luridly.

Birds Landing laughed as if it were a great game to her. “The priest and the nuns would be shocked if they heard you talk like that. The priest says that swearing is a step on the stairwell to hell. His exact words.”

Fargo regretted ever making love to her.

“You are quiet all of a sudden. Do not be upset. I am a grown woman. I can do as I please.”

Fargo let out a sigh. For her sake, he would try one more time. “Just because a man and a woman make love doesn't mean they are
in
love.”

“I know that.”

“I do not love you, Birds Landing.”

“You think you do not. But secretly you do.”

An urge came over Fargo to grab her and shake her until her teeth rattled. Not that it would do any good. He rode moodily on until they had gone over a mile. A dry wash seemed as likely a spot as any to stop.

“My brother will hunt for us if you would like,” Birds Landing offered. “I will make a meal.”

“The only thing I want from you,” Fargo said, “is to see you riding off.”

“You do not mean that.”

Fargo came close to doing something he rarely did—hitting a woman. A good smack or two might knock some sense into her. He wished he knew enough of her tongue to talk directly to her brother.

“So what now?” Birds Landing asked.

A question for which Fargo had no ready answer. “I need to think,” he said, and walked off along the bottom of the wash. Before he came to the first bend he acquired a shadow at his elbow. “Go back.”

“I would rather be with you,” Birds Landing said. “You are troubled and I will soothe you.”

Fargo wondered how she intended to do that, but he did not wonder long. No sooner were they around the bend than she gripped his wrist and pulled him to her. Her warm lips sought his in hungry urgency. Under different circumstances Fargo would not have minded one bit. But if he responded, it would feed her misguided notion of being in love. He went to push her away when suddenly she cupped him, down low.

“See? You pretend you do not like me but I can feel you growing hard for me.”

Fargo's own body was betraying him. “It's not that I don't like you—” he began, and knew he had made a mistake the instant the words were out of his mouth.

Beaming joyfully, Birds Landing covered his face with hot kisses. “I knew it!” she happily declared. “I will never leave you now.”

The feel of her breasts, the taste of her tongue, were intoxicating. Struggling with his lust, Fargo pushed her back. He had to clear his throat to say, “When I say I like you, there is nothing more.”

Birds Landing grinned. “Your body does not lie.”

“Damn it.” Fargo was appalled at how badly he had misjudged her. Usually he caught on when a woman was after more than a tumble in the grass. But she had fooled him completely.

“There must be something my brother and I can do to help you. You have but to name it.”

“Why would he lend a hand?” Fargo asked. “He doesn't even like me.”

“He will help because I am helping and he does not want any harm to come to me.”

“At least someone in your family has some sense,” Fargo remarked.

“Insult me all you want. You only do it because you care.”

Fargo was at his wit's end. Nothing he said or did got through. Wheeling, he strode back. She quickly caught up, taking two steps for each of his.

“What is wrong?”

Fargo had had enough. He went to the Ovaro and opened a saddlebag. Inside was a coil of rawhide he used now and then for picketing the Ovaro to a picket pin, and for other odds and ends. Uncoiling it, he bent, drew his toothpick, and cut off a two-foot length.

Birds Landing watched with interest. “What is that for?”

“This.” Suddenly grabbing her by the arms, Fargo spun her around and looped one end of the rawhide around her wrist. She divined what he was up to and tried to pull free before he could loop the rawhide around her other wrist but he was too fast for her.

“What do you think you are doing? Untie me this instant!”

A flick of Fargo's leg, and down she went. He caught her and lowered her onto her side. Pinning her legs with his, he tied her ankles. All done so slickly, she was bound and helpless before she could lift a finger to prevent it.

“You cannot do this!” Birds Landing protested.

Fargo slowly rose. Her brother had not intervened. Thunder Cloud was watching them, his expression hard to read. Fargo pointed at Birds Landing, then at Thunder Cloud's horse, and wriggled his fingers to simulate riding away.

“He will not do it,” Birds Landing predicted, and launched into a long appeal to her brother in their own tongue.

Thunder Cloud's reaction surprised her as much as it surprised Fargo. He threw back his head and laughed. Then he came over, and white fashion, offered his hand to Fargo.

Fargo went him one better. After shaking, he took the reins to the two extra horses and placed them in Thunder Cloud's hands. The warrior looked at the horses, and then at Fargo, and something akin to warmth came into his eyes.

“Tell him they are his to keep for taking you away,” Fargo said to Birds Landing.

“I will not.”

Fargo shrugged. “I reckon he gets the idea anyway.”

“Don't do this!” Birds Landing pleaded. “You need us. Durn is too formidable for you to fight alone. That is the word, yes? Formidable?”

“Save your breath.” Fargo stepped to the Ovaro and gripped the saddle horn.

“Please!” Birds Landing begged.

Paying her no mind, Fargo was about to swing up when he remembered the two rifles in the saddle scabbards on the extra horses. He slid each out. One was a Sharps, the other a Spencer. A check of the saddlebags turned up ammunition for both. He gave the Sharps and its ammo to Thunder Cloud, who lit up like a candle.

“I am keeping this for myself,” Fargo said, shaking the Spencer. At least until he reclaimed his Henry.

Thunder Cloud was caressing the Sharps as he might a lover. He indicated the horses and the Sharps and spoke a bit.

Fargo arched an eyebrow at Birds Landing.

“He says he misjudged you. He says you are a friend to the Salish, and to him.”

Thunder Cloud added more.

Scowling, Birds Landing translated. “He says he will take me so far away, it will take me two moons to ride back.”

Fargo chuckled. “Tell your brother I thank him.”

Another argument ensued. Birds Landing sat up, her knees tucked to her chest, and glared at both of them. “The two people I care for the most, treating me like this.”

“Be thankful I didn't spank you,” Fargo said.

Birds Landing grinned in delight. “You still can if you want.”

“Women,” Fargo said. He swung onto the Ovaro, slid the Spencer into the scabbard, shoved the ammunition into a saddlebag, and was ready. He gave Birds Landing a last, fond look. “Try not to hate me. I did this for your own good.”

“Hate you?” she repeated. “It shows you care, and it makes me care for you all the more.”

Fargo nodded to her brother, and got out of there. He was glad to have Birds Landing out of his hair; she was one less problem. But now he faced a greater challenge. Mike Durn and his deadly pack of two-legged wolves must be dealt with. The key, as Fargo saw it, was Durn, himself. Should Durn be turned into worm food, the whole loco scheme to drive the Indians out would come to nothing.

Fargo made himself a promise. From that moment on, he would devote every waking moment to the extermination of Mike Durn. He would do whatever it took, and not let anyone stand in his way.

The bloodbath was about to commence.