Northwoods Nightmare (11 page)

Fargo did the unexpected. He threw the rifle at him. The man skipped aside and the rifle missed, as Fargo knew it would. But throwing it bought him the split second he needed to draw his Colt and thumb back the hammer. He almost fired. But then he remembered Teit saying that one of the
young warriors was her brother, and how sad she would be if anything happened to him.
The odds were slim that this was the one. But Fargo had learned the hard way that life had a habit of springing unwanted surprises. “Are you Teit's brother?”

The young warrior had turned to stone when the Colt materialized in Fargo's hand. He glanced from the six-shooter to Fargo's face and his dark eyes glittered hate. But he didn't attack. “You know Teit?”

“I met her and her grandfather, Chelahit. They're coming back from visiting his brother.”

Uncertainty replaced some of the hate. “I not her brother.” He began to back toward the trees.

“I can't let you leave,” Fargo said. “Your friends killed white men down in the canyon.”

“We kill all whites!” the warrior boasted. “This land ours. We not want whites here. Leave!”

Fargo extended his arm. “Not another step.”

With supreme contempt, the warrior turned. “You want kill, shoot me in back.” And with that, he jogged into the woods.

Against his better judgment Fargo let him go. He had a feeling he would regret it. Unhappy with himself, he let down the hammer and twirled the Colt into his holster.

Fargo remembered the men down below and ran to the edge. There was no sign of anyone. The two mules were hurrying up the trail. There was no sign of the third or their human masters.

“Damn it.”

Fargo picked up the Henry, brushed dust from the receiver, and hiked a short way long the rim in both directions. It was as if the earth had opened up and swallowed the Nlaka'pamux.

That was all he could do for now. Fargo forked leather and headed back.

The others were just entering the last valley.

McKern was riding point and greeted him with a wave and a smile. But the smile faded when Fargo drew rein. “Say there, hoss. You look as if you were stung by a scorpion.”

“Any trouble while I was away?”

“Not a lick, if you don't count Theodore and Edith squabbling over something or other, and Allen saying as how all these evergreens are bad for his complexion.”

“He said what?”

“Those are his exact words. I heard him with my own ears.” McKern gazed at the thick forests that thronged the high slopes. “Beats the hell out of me what he's talking about. Folks don't go around rubbing trees on their faces.”

Fargo gazed the length of the long line. “Keep them going. I want to reach the canyon by nightfall.”

“We're close, I take it.”

“So is a Knife war party.” Fargo gigged the Ovaro and soon came to Theodore and Cosmo.

Reining the Ovaro around so he could pace them, Fargo related what he had seen in the canyon.

“Those stinking savages!” was Theodore's reaction. “The world would be a better place if every Indian was wiped out.”

“Some of them say the same about white men.”

“Yes, and how ironic is that? The inferior wanting to wipe out the superior.”

“You are one bigoted son of a bitch.”

Theodore went rigid with resentment. “Here now. With what I'm paying you, I deserve a little respect.”

“Damn little.”

Cosmo said, “Don't take it personal, Theodore. Mr. Fargo has lived with Indians, as I recall. He regards them differently than we do.”

“You, too?” Fargo said.

“I don't hate them on general principle, if that's what you're asking. But they
are
savages. They live in dwellings made of animal hides and wear animal skins for clothes.”

Fargo looked down at his buckskins.

“Before the white man came along they spent all their time making war on one another. They are at best a nuisance and at worst a menace, and either way, yes, I agree with Theodore. We are better off without them. The common saying that the only good Indian is a dead Indian is exactly right.”

“And you so cultured and all.”

Cosmo showed a rare trace of irritation. “What are you implying? Can you speak three languages? Can you cook a soufflé ? Can you discourse on the theater and fashion and politics? I take great pride in being cultured, thank you very much.”

“All that, and modest, too.”

“Now you are merely being a bore. If you have nothing more enlightening to say, go be a bore elsewhere.”

“Don't mind if I do.” Fargo rode to where Edith was glumly regarding the world and brought the Ovaro next to her. “How are you holding up, Mrs. Havard?”

“What do you care?”

“I'm only being polite,” Fargo lied. It was about time he had his hunch about Theodore confirmed. “I tried talking to your husband and Cosmo but they didn't want my company.”

Edith's glower deepened. “Look at them. Together, as always. My husband and that
thing
.”

“Is that what you call your butler?”

Edith glanced sharply at him and shook so violently, she appeared to on the verge of throwing a fit. “Butler, hell. Are you blind? He's an abomination.”

“I take it you don't like Cosmo.”

“I
hate
him. I rue the day he came into our lives. Him and his constant fawning over Theodore. He doesn't fool me. He doesn't fool me one bit.”

“He doesn't?” Fargo prompted when she didn't go on.

“Cosmo is after Theo's money. He hopes to be in Theo's will and receive a large inheritance. So he babies my Theo. And Theo, the idiot, treats Cosmo as if Cosmo walks on air!”

“You don't say.”

“I saw right through Cosmo from the start. His oily smiles and little gestures. He disgusts me. Why, there are times when he acts more like a woman than I do. Can you imagine?”

“It's a strange world,” Fargo said.

“Mine was an orderly world before he came along. My world was proper. Theodore and I weren't always the most compatible of couples but we had a good marriage. Then this man came along and drove a wedge between us. I wish Cosmo were dead.”

“I had no idea,” Fargo said with a straight face.

“That's because you're not female. Women have a sense about these things. We're not as easily duped.”

“I'll be sure to remember that.” Fargo touched his hat brim and moved down the line to the next pair.

Angeline and Allen were talking but stopped when he brought the Ovaro around.

“What do you want?” Allen immediately snapped.

“To warn you there is a war party hereabouts.”

Angeline held her chin higher. “Maybe you can ask your Indian friend if she will talk to them about leaving us be.”

Allen snickered. “That's a good one, sis.”

“I have it figured out,” Fargo said.

They looked at each other, and Angeline asked, “Have what figured out, pray tell?”

“Why Kenneth left home.” With that parting shot, Fargo went on past the rest until he came to Teit and Chelahit. She smiled up at him.

“I am glad you made it back.”

“I almost didn't.” Again Fargo told about the war party, only in more detail.

Both became troubled. Chelahit bowed his head as if in great shame.

“I am sorry for what they have done,” Teit said sincerely. “Unless they are stopped there will be another war.”

“They're your people. Why don't the Nlaka'pamux stop them?”

“A Knife never harms another Knife, and that is what it would take. Their hate is too strong. They will not stop killing until they are under the ground.”

“That won't be long if they keep it up.”

Teit sighed. “It is too bad people cannot get along. Think of how wonderful life would be.”

“I'm not one for fairy tales.”

The last rider was, as usual, Rohan, leading the pack animals. He grinned as Fargo came up.

“You and your hair are still together.”

“I had to work at it.” For the last time Fargo explained about the war party. He left out the part about letting the one warrior live.

“They don't worry me none.” Rohan patted his shotgun. “So long as they let me be, I'll let them be.” He ran a sleeve across his mouth. “I'm more interested in reaching Yale so I can wet my throat.”

“I like my liquor, too,” Fargo admitted.

“There are days when I like it too much. I wake up under a table, wondering how in hell I got there. Or the time I came around in a stable loft, as naked as the day I was born.” Rohan laughed. “You should have seen the looks I got when I walked out of that stable with a handful of straw over my private parts.”

“How are the packhorses holding up?”

“Fine. Just fine. I take good care of them. Horses don't lie and cheat and leave you for another man who isn't half the man you are.”

“You had a wife once?”

“If you can call her that. She drank worse than I do and had a roving eye. The only reason I ever said ‘I do' is that I was too drunk to know who I was ‘I doing.' ”

That evening they camped on the canyon rim. Fires were started and everyone settled down. There were enough of them that an attack seemed unlikely but Fargo added an extra sentry anyway. He was sipping coffee when McKern hastened out of the dark.

“I thought you should know. They're gone.”

Fargo didn't ask who.

“They slipped away while we were setting up camp. I was busy or I'd have noticed sooner.”

“I expected it,” Fargo said.

“Here's something you didn't expect. Theodore Havard has given orders that from here on out, we're to shoot any and all Knife Indians we see on sight. Allen spread the word.”

“Like hell we will.”

The patriarch and his cultured shadow were by the tents. Fargo dispensed with the niceties and waded right into them.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Theodore was watching Cosmo polish his shoes. “I gather that you are referring to my edict about the Indians?”

“Many of the Nlaka'pamux are friendly. Start shooting every one you see and you'll kill some who never harmed a white. You'll also bring the whole tribe down on our heads.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Theodore said without looking up from his shoes.

Fargo grabbed his arm. “Listen to me, damn you. The British won't like it, either.”

Cosmo said, “Let go of Theodore.”

“They'll throw you out of British Columbia and you'll never find your son.”

“Didn't you hear me?” Cosmo stood. “I told you to let go of him.”

“He's hurting my arm,” Theodore said.

Cosmo hit Fargo.

Fargo wasn't expecting it. He didn't regard Cosmo as the kind to take swings at people. The punch almost caught him on the jaw, but he had caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and started to jerk his head aside. The blow only grazed him. Even so, he was knocked back a step.

“I told you to let go of Theodore.”

Fargo ignored the pain and shook his head to clear it. He heard Theodore laugh and Allen titter and saw Cosmo's smug smile, and from deep inside of him exploded pure, potent rage. He tore into Cosmo with his fists flying and sent the butler sprawling onto his back.

Silence fell.

Cosmo looked more surprised than hurt. He rubbed his jaw and said quietly, “You shouldn't have done that.”

“Are you all right?” Theodore asked, bending to help him up.

“Stand back,” Cosmo said. He stood and raised his fists in a boxing stance. “Unfortunately for you, Mr. Fargo, I can't let that pass. I am going to thrash you within an inch of your life.”

“Cosmo, don't,” Theodore urged.

Edith said, “Let him if he wants. It's about time someone put him in his place, and I suspect our guide is just the man to do it.”

That brought a smile from Cosmo. “I would expect that from you, Mrs. Havard.”

“You think you know me but you don't,” was her retort.

Fargo barely listened. He was growing sick and tired of the whole bunch. They thought they were better than everyone else. They hated everyone with different skin. They looked down their noses at the world. Mired in the quicksand of their hate, they were a blight on life.

“You have one out,” Cosmo said. “Apologize to Theodore and I might not punish you.”

Allen threw in, “Don't hold back on my father's account. Show our simple excuse for a frontiersman that he's not so high and mighty.”

Fargo spun and caught Allen with a solid right. Allen went down, and Fargo whirled just as Cosmo closed on him. Fargo was mildly surprised that the man wasn't all brag. Cosmo could fight. He threw hard punches, and blocked and countered smoothly.

Fargo was no slouch himself. He had been in a hundred fights and brawls, and he called on that experience to chip away at Cosmo like a master sculptor at a block of marble. More and more of his blows got through.

Cosmo grew red in the face. He unleashed jabs, crosses, and uppercuts.

Fargo blocked, sidestepped, slipped. Then he planted himself and wouldn't be moved. A blow jarred his forearm. Knuckles glanced off his cheek. He waited for the opening that was bound to come, for the mistake Cosmo was bound to make.

Head-to-head they slugged away.

Cosmo was more on the defensive now.