Northwoods Nightmare (18 page)

Fargo found himself admiring Kenneth Havard a lot. “We're a bit alike, you and I.” For him, money had always been a means to an end—-to drinking, to poker, to women—not an end in itself.

“I've had to learn my lessons the hard way. And the most important has been that loves comes before everything. Before money and a mansion and fine restaurants.” Kenneth shook himself and grinned. “Listen to me. I must sound like a love-struck lunkhead.”

“We do what we have to.”

Kenneth held out his hand again. “I like you, Mr. Fargo. I thank you, in advance, for any help you can be.”

Fargo had a lot to ponder as he tied a bundle of branches for the fire. As he stepped into the stirrups, Kenneth came over.

“I warn you again to be careful. There is more to Cosmo than he lets on. Watch your back around him.”

When Fargo came out of the trees he spied McKern leading the others. He reached the shelf before them and had a fire going when they got there.

The sun was low in the sky when Rohan and the pack animals came to a tired stop and Rohan informed them, “I almost lost another one. It slipped and nearly went over the edge.”

“Thank goodness you didn't,” Theodore said from over by his tent. “I paid good money for those animals.”

Several times Fargo caught Cosmo staring at him, but when he looked up, Cosmo always turned away.

After supper, when everyone was sitting around relaxing, Fargo casually ambled over to where Angeline sat with her neck craned to the heavens.

“Mind some company?”

“Not at all.” She gestured at the firmament. “I never tire of the spectacle. I can sit and look at stars for hours.”

“How are you at keeping a secret?”

“I've never been accused of betraying a confidence. But why do you ask?”

Fargo made sure no one was near. “I'm about to tell you something. Put your hand over your mouth as if you are covering a yawn.”

“That's silly.”

“Do it.”

“Whatever for?”

“So you don't yell. Or scream. Or make any noise at all.” Fargo waited while she complied. “Here goes. Kenneth is alive and wants to talk to you.”

Angeline's hand dropped and her lips parted wide and she was on the verge of crying out when Fargo clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Damn it. Didn't you hear me?”

Fargo looked around but no one was paying attention. “Your brother doesn't want your father or mother to know.” Confusion replaced her excitement and he felt her relax. “Can I let go now? Have you calmed down?”

Angeline bobbed her chin, and when he moved his hand, she whispered, “Why not tell them? Is he hurt? Is he ill? Is there something else wrong?”

“No, no, and no. He'll tell you himself. For now, act normal and turn in as you usually would. After everyone is asleep, I'll take you to him.”

“What about the night guards you always post?”

Fargo had already considered that. “Taken care of.”

Things went smoothly.

About an hour after the last person had turned in, Fargo cast off his blankets and cat-footed to Angeline's tent. All he had to do was scratch the canvas and out she came, a black shawl over her head and shoulders. She went to speak but he put a finger to her lips and shook his head.

He had left the Ovaro saddled. Taking the reins, he walked to the edge of the firelight, then stepped into the stirrups. Reaching down, he swung her up behind him.

“Thank you for doing this,” Angeline whispered.

“Quiet.”

McKern was by the fire, sipping coffee. He smiled and gave a little wave.

Fargo rode slowly. The less noise, the less chance of anyone hearing. And a single misstep on the slope could prove fatal to the Ovaro. They had gone maybe a hundred yards when Angeline put her lips to his ear.

“I have something to say, so don't tell me to shush.”

“It better be important.”

“It is. We're being followed.”

Skye Fargo drew rein and shifted in the saddle. McKern was still sipping coffee by the fire. Sleeping forms covered by blankets were scattered about the clearing. The tents stood undisturbed. “I don't see anyone.”

“I'm telling you, someone is following us,” Angeline insisted. “I think he dropped to the ground when I turned.”

“You think?”

“I'm not ten years old. I saw someone. I swear.”

Fargo stayed put, waiting for whoever it was to move. He wondered if it might be a Knife sent by Kenneth to keep an eye on their camp. Or maybe Kenneth himself.

“If it helps, I think it was a white man.”

“There you go again.”

“What?”

“Thinking.”

Fargo received a jab in the ribs for his jest but he didn't take his eyes off the slope. Time crawled by; nothing happened. He reckoned it was safe to go on, and said so. “But keep an eye out behind us, just in case.”

“So now you think you believe me?”

“Women,” Fargo muttered, and clucked to the Ovaro. He kept glancing over his shoulder but saw no one trailing them. Neither did she.

“I don't understand it,” Angeline said at one point.

“The night can play tricks on the eyes,” Fargo suggested. Especially when someone went from firelight into the ink of night, as they had done.

The higher they climbed, the stronger the wind. Funneled by the canyon walls, it whipped out of the north, shaking the pines and occasionally howling like a lonely wolf.

“The wilds scare me,” Angeline whispered after a particularly loud howl. “I could never live as you do.”

“Your brother can.”

“What do you mean?”

Fargo didn't want to spoil the surprise. “You'll find out soon enough. I just hope you're more understanding than Allen would have been.” He knew mentioning her dead brother was a mistake the instant he did it. Soon he heard sniffling, and she pressed a cheek against his back. His shirt grew damp from her tears. “When will I learn?”

“I'm sorry. I can't help it. Allen wasn't the best brother who ever lived but he always stood up for me. And he never mistreated me. A friend of mine has a brother who hits her all the time. Allen never did that to me.”

“How well did Kenneth and you get along?”

“Fair, I suppose. He's a lot older. Well, six years. So we didn't do a lot together when I was little. I didn't play with him half as much as I did with Allen. But I was sad when he left.”

Soon they neared the stand where Fargo had last seen her sibling. He gave the slope below a last scrutiny, then entered the trees. It was so dark he could barely make out his hand at arm's length.

Angeline shuddered. “It's spooky here.”

Fargo drew rein. He expected Kenneth and the Knife warriors to pop out of nowhere as they had done earlier, but no one appeared. “Kenneth?” he softly called out.

“This is where I'm to meet him?” Angeline turned from side to side. “Where is he? Why isn't he here?”

“A little patience goes a long way.” Fargo had her dismount; then he did. Again he called out Kenneth's name, and again the silence worried him.

“If he said he would be here, he should be here,” Angeline said anxiously. “We should look around.”

“I'll do the looking.” Fargo could just see her stumbling around and tripping and maybe breaking something. “Stay with my horse.”

“You're awful bossy.”

Palming his Colt, Fargo moved deeper into the stand. He came on a log. As best he could tell, he was at the spot where he had talked to Kenneth but there was still no Kenneth.

An uneasy feeling came over him.

Kenneth had said he would wait there for them. Fargo couldn't see him going off somewhere, not as much as he wanted to talk to his sister. He called Kenneth's name again, quietly, and was mimicked by an anxious Angeline. Walking in a circle, he was soon back at the Ovaro.

“Did you find him?”

“Do you see him at my side?”

“What do we do? Build a fire and wait?”

“A fire can be seen from down below,” Fargo pointed out. He hunkered, then reached up, clasped her hand, and pulled. She obligingly sat next to him.

“I don't like this. I don't like it one bit.”

Neither did Fargo. The minutes turned into half an hour and half an hour into an hour and no Kenneth.

“I guess he's not coming,” Angeline glumly declared. “Maybe we should go back down before my mother or father notice I'm gone.”

“They're sound asleep,” Fargo said. He couldn't exactly say why but he was loath to leave. “I'm going to have another look around.”

“Why can't we look together? I don't like being left by myself. Every rustle is a bear or a mountain lion about to eat me.”

Fargo could cover more ground faster alone but he let her help. They had been at it a while when Angeline stumbled. She would have fallen had he not caught her.

“What was that?” she asked.

“You tripped over your own feet.”

“No. There's something here.” Angeline bent and groped, and gasped. “Oh, Skye! Look!”

Fargo squatted and roved his hand over the ground, or started to. His fingers brushed cold skin and hair, and buckskins. “Hell.” He rolled the body over, practically touched noses with the deceased in order to tell who it was.

“Who is it?”

Fargo swore. The cause of death was easy to determine; someone had thrust a knife into Kenneth Havard's throat. Kenneth's own knife was in its sheath. Whoever had murdered him had done it so swiftly, Kenneth had no time to react, no time to pull his own blade and defend himself. Peculiar, Fargo thought.

Angeline flung he arms over her brother's chest, buried her face in his bloody buckskins, and burst into tears.

Fargo let her cry. He searched the rest of the stand for the bodies of the two warriors who had been with Kenneth, but either they had left Kenneth there to meet Angeline alone, or they had gone off in the dark somewhere, and not in the stand. When he came back to the body Angeline had stopped sobbing but was mewling pitiably, adrift in misery. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I should take you back.”

Angeline's long hair swished as she shook her head.

“I'll bury him,” Fargo offered to spare her the horror. “In the morning I'll bring you back up if you want and you can pay your last respects.”

“I should help.” Angeline looked up, her face pasty pale and slick with wet. “God, who could have done such a thing?” She plucked at Kenneth's buckskins. “And why is he dressed like an Indian?”

Fargo told her everything he knew. She listened in silent despair, and when he finished, she tenderly placed a hand on her brother's brow.

“To think. He found love, true love, and it was with a savage.”

Just when Fargo was starting to like her, she had to go and say something like that. He helped her to her feet.

The burying took a while. The ground was hard. Fargo sweated and grunted and got it done. Angeline helped, stopping several times to cry.

Done at last, Fargo swung up on the Ovaro. He helped her on behind him. She placed her cheek to his shoulder and wept some more.

“First Allen, now Kenneth. This has been the worst day of my life.”

Fargo headed down. He was in no hurry. The glow of the campfire was a welcome beacon in a sea of ink.

“We have to find out who did it,” Angeline said.

Fargo agreed.

“Which of the Knifes, I mean.”

“What makes you think it was one of them?”

“It had to be. Didn't you say two of them were with Kenneth earlier? They're gone now. So it's obvious. One or both of them killed him and the pair took off.”

“Nothing is ever as it seems,” Fargo said.

“Why are you defending them? You're always sticking up for Indians.” Angeline straightened. “It was Indians who killed Allen, wasn't it? So it's perfectly logical they killed poor Kenneth, too.”

“Why would they do it?”

“It's simple. He was white and they're red. That's all the excuse they need.”

“You're forgetting something. I told you that they adopted your brother into their tribe. They might kills whites but they don't murder their own.”

Angeline snorted. “Now you're splitting hairs. Adopted or not, he was still white, and for them, white is evil.”

Fargo still couldn't see it, and he told her so.

“Suit yourself. But you have blinders on. You've lived in the wild so long, you think of Indians as people when they're not. They're animals, is what they are. Murdering, butchering animals.”

“You're saying that because you're upset.”

“No. I'm saying it because it's how I feel. The red race is a blight on God's green earth. We'd all be better off if they were exterminated, as some newspapers have been calling for. Wipe out every last one of them and then there won't be any more scalping and killing and torturing of white people.”

“What about the scalping and killing and torturing of Indians?” Fargo countered.

“What's the matter with you? How can you sit there and continue to defend them when we just buried another of my brothers? Honestly. I'm seeing you in a whole new light and I can't say as it's very flattering.”

Fargo almost told her to go to hell.

“When we get back to San Francisco, I think I'll write to the newspapers and tell everyone what the Knifes did. And then I'll write to people in government, to important people I've met through my father, and demand they do something about the Indian problem.”