Northwoods Nightmare (5 page)
Fargo liked how her breasts swelled against her dress. He liked the hint of willowy thigh. He liked her full red lips. Most of all, he liked the suggestion that if he played his cards right, those lips and breasts and thighs would be his to do with as he wanted. “I'm the most patient gent alive.”
“I thought you might be.” Grinning, Angeline made for her tent, her hips swinging with each stride.
“Women,” Fargo said.
Half an hour went by.
The camp still lay peaceful under the stars.
Fargo rose to make another circuit of the clearing. He passed the tents, the horses. He came to the stream and stood on the bank, listening to the gurgle of the water. Cradling the Henry, he gazed across the valley at the range they must cross tomorrow. It was a steep climb to the next pass.
Fargo wasn't thinking of danger. The night was serene. It gave the illusion that all was well. He couldn't say what made him suddenly glance over his shoulder.
Strath was only a few yards away, stealthily stalking him with a knife in each hand.
With an oath, Fargo whirled and started to level the Henry. But Strath was on him in a bound, one of the knives streaking high, the other low. One glanced off the Henry's barrel. The other missed Fargo's leg by a whisker. He drove the stock at Strath's face but Strath nimbly sprang aside.
Fargo didn't shout for help. This was his fight. Again he went to shoot but Strath sprang in close and cut at his neck and side. Fargo twisted and took a step backâinto empty space. He had forgotten he was standing on the bank.
Gravity took over.
It was only a five-foot drop; Fargo hit and rolled. He wound up on his belly, half in and half out of the stream. The Henry was under him. The thump of boots galvanized him into throwing himself to one side. Cold steel flashed past his eyes. He kicked and connected, eliciting a snarl of fury.
But now Fargo was flat on his back and he no longer had the Henry. He clawed for his Colt.
Strath darted in, both knives high, to stab. He slammed his knee down hard on Fargo's chest. Pain exploded. Fargo flung his arms out and seized Strath's wrists as the knives swept toward him. Strath sought to wrest free but Fargo's grip was stonger.
Locked together, they strained with all their strength, Strath to use his knives, Fargo to prevent him.
Fargo bucked in an effort to heave Strath off, but the killer clung on. Hissing, Strath threw all his weight into forcing the tips of his knives into Fargo's neck.
Water lapped at Fargo's ears. He drove his knee into Strath, once, twice, three times. At the third blow Strath let out a howl, wrenched loose, and jumped up and back.
Fargo kicked him in the groin.
“Bastard!” Strath staggered toward the bank but didn't make it. He fell to one knee.
In a blur, Fargo drew his Colt. He swept upright, swinging as he rose, and clubbed Strath across the temple. That was all it took. Grabbing hold of Strath's shirt, Fargo hauled him out of the water.
“Well done.”
Fargo glanced up.
Cosmo, wearing a heavy robe, stood at the top of the bank. “Sounds woke me and I came out to see what it was.”
“He tried to kill me,” Fargo said, breathing heavily.
“I'm glad he failed. It would be difficult to find another guide of your caliber.”
“That's all I matter to you?”
“No, that is how you matter to Theodore. To me you don't matter at all.” Cosmo put his hands in the robe's pockets. “This is most distressing. It will upset Theodore, and I've already told you how I feel about upsetting him.”
“He'll be upset even more when I pistol-whip his son.”
“Allen? Whatever for?”
“I suspect he put Strath up to this.” Fargo started up the bank. “He has to answer for it.”
“Let me help.” Cosmo bent and offered his hand.
Not entirely trusting him, Fargo took hold. He had felt some strong grips in his time but few as strong as Cosmo's. The man pulled him up with ridiculous ease.
“There. Now we can talk.”
Fargo's buckskins were dripping wet. He took off his hat and shook it. “About what?”
“I prefer that you don't confront Allen just now. We'll bind Strath and turn him over to the British authorities. I'll inform Theodore that Strath was trying to steal from you, and when you caught him, he tried to knife you.”
“No.”
“What do you have to lose by cooperating? I only want to spare Theodore the pain of having his youngest son charged with attempted murder. Isn't it enough that his oldest son is missing?”
“The answer is still no.”
“Don't be so hasty. You see, the sounds that woke me were those of you and Miss Havard having your little discussion. If you agree about Allen, in return, I won't inform Mrs. Havard that you are trying your utmost to seduce her daughter. Were she to find out, she would undoubtedly keep Angeline on a tight leash and not let you anywhere near her.”
“You fight dirty.”
“I thought you would see things my way.”
5
Fargo had two reasons for giving in. The first was that he couldn't prove Allen Havard was behind Strath's attack. He would bide his time, and when he did have the proof, he'd do what he had to. In the meantime Strath had to ride under guard with his ankles bound.
Cosmo told Theodore Havard that Fargo had caught Strath going through the packs with the aim of “pilfering,” as Cosmo called it, and when Fargo confronted him, Strath whipped out his knives. At least one person didn't believe the story.
The next morning they had been under way half an hour when McKern brought his mount up alongside the Ovaro.
“That butler sure is slick. If we run out of whale oil for the lanterns, we can fill the lanterns with him.”
“Figured it out, have you?”
“See these gray hairs? I didn't get them by being stupid. And remember, I saw Strath talking to Allen.”
Above them an eagle soared on outstretched wings. In the woods a jay screeched.
“So are you going to tell me how it really happened?” McKern asked.
“You've never heard of pilfering before?”
“Pilfering, my ass. Where I come from, folks call things what they are. Stealing. Robbing. Even thieving. Only a fancy pants like that butler or whatever he is would call it pilfering.”
“Now, now, remember your station.”
“Station?” McKern repeated, and roared. “You did that good. If you had the money to go with a stuck-up nose, you could make something of yourself.”
“I like cards and women too much. Any money I make doesn't stick around long.”
“You're not alone. I spend money like a cloud spends rain. But, hey, you could always do butlering. There must be good money in that, the way Cosmo dresses. And you'd make a fine one, the words you spout.”
“The day I wait on someone hand and foot is the day I'm fit to blow my brains out.”
“The trouble with you, sonny, is you ain't been citified.”
“I hope to God I never am.”
McKern let a minute go by before he said, “So listen. You want me to keep an eye on Allen from here on out? On the sly. There's no telling what he might try next.”
“Rabbits don't scare me any, but maybe you better.” Fargo wasn't eager for a knife in the back.
“The thing to remember about rabbits is that they'll bite when they're cornered.”
“I'm obliged.”
“Think nothing of it. Or if you insist, buy me a bottle of red-eye when this is over and we'll call it even.”
“Deal.” Fargo raised his reins. “I'm going to scout ahead. I should be back by noon. Keep a watch until I get back.”
“You can count on me, hoss.”
Fargo was glad to get away. He trotted for a while and then slowed to a walk. The trail they were following, one of several used during the gold rush days, was easy to follow.
About ten in the morning Fargo topped a rise. Off to his right was a slope sprinkled with talus. And climbing ponderously up it was the lord of the Rockies: a grizzly.
Fargo was glad the griz was going in the other direction. From the way it was sniffing and nosing about, he reckoned it was after marmots. His hunch was confirmed when the griz came to a dark spot that must be a hole and commenced scooping out great wads of earth with its immense paws. Dirt and rocks flew. A cloud of dust rose.
The bear's massive head half disappeared.
Then came a faint squeal. The grizzly drew its head out and shook it from side to side. Clamped in its iron jaws was the marmot, limp in death.
“Life in a nutshell,” Fargo said, and clucked to the Ovaro.
Shortly after Fargo spied some elk in a high meadow. Later still, high on a rocky crag, he saw splashes of brown that might be mountain sheep.
This was Fargo's kind of country. Raw, ripe with life, ruled by the natural law of fang and claw. He could see himself one day, when he was on in years, building a cabin and living out what was left of his life in a place like this. To him it was as close to heaven as anywhere could be.
By now he was half a mile above the valley floor, climbing toward the pass. He wasn't expecting to encounter anyone. So when he went around a bend and spied four men sitting by the side of the trail, it was an unwanted surprise.
Fargo put his hand on his Colt. He liked to think he was a good judge of men, and his judgment told him the four might be trouble. They were scruffy and dirty and had unkempt beards. More important, each man was an armory. Their horses were cropping grass or resting.
Fargo drew rein a good ten feet out.
A block of muscle with an anvil jaw stood. His smile lacked two upper teeth. “Morning, mister,” he said amiably enough. “Glorious day, ain't it?”
“Not for marmots,” Fargo said.
The man cocked his head. “I don't rightly know what you mean by that, but never you mind. I'm called Bucktooth on account of I don't have any.”
Fargo didn't offer his own handle.
“These here are my pards,” Bucktooth said with a sweep of his arm. “We're on our way back to the States and stopped to rest a spell.”
“You don't say.” Fargo gave them the benefit of the doubtâfor the moment.
“We came up here a few years ago thinking to strike it rich, but we never did,” Bucktooth revealed. “It's not right how some folks strike it and others don't. Life just ain't fair.”
“I know a marmot who would agree if he was still breathing.”
Bucktooth's brow puckered. “There you go again with the marmots. You're not addlepated, are you?”
“Not last I took stock, no.”
“You sure don't look addlepated. But then, you never can tell about people by how they look.”
Fargo was studying the others without being obvious. Two were smirking as if they shared a secret. The third gnawed nonstop on his lower lip. They were sloppy, this bunch. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“How's that, mister?” Bucktooth asked while moving a step so he was between Fargo and his three friends.
“Nothing.”
Bucktooth's brow lines deepened. “You sure do puzzle me. But I'd like to ask you a question, if that's all right.”
“Asking is free.”
Bucktooth pointed down the mountain at the line of riders and pack animals. “You're with them, I take it? By your buckskins, I'd say you must be their guide.”
Fargo nodded.
Pleased at his deduction, Bucktooth grinned. “We've been watching awhile. They're still a ways off yet, so we can't be sure, but I'd swear that a couple of them are female.”
Again Fargo nodded.
“Well, what do you know? There's not a heap of females in these parts. Yale's got some, and Spuzzum, maybe a few in Boston Bar, and I don't know how many up to Lytton. But generally the menfolk outnumber the womenfolk ten to one.”
Fargo didn't say anything. West of the Mississippi River that was normal. He shifted slightly to try to see what the three men behind Bucktooth were doing.
“Anyway, I figure there must be fifteen to twenty in your party. Is that about right?”
“More or less.”
“They'll be a while getting here,” Bucktooth said, more to himself than to Fargo. “So we have plenty of time.”
“For what?”
“This.” Bucktooth moved to one side.
Fargo found himself staring down the muzzles of several pistols. Pretending to be shocked, he said, “What are you up to?”
“See if you can guess,” Bucktooth sarcastically prompted.
“You aim to rob us? Just the four of you?”
“We are good at it, if I say so my own self,” Bucktooth boasted. “Two or three volleys and we'll drop most of your friends. The rest will panic and run around like chickens with their heads chopped off. They'll be easy. Then your horses and everything else you own will be ours.”
Fargo couldn't get over how casual they were about it. “The British won't like it much.”
“The Brits?” Bucktooth repeated, and laughed. “Their law ain't like our law, where we'd have a whole posse after us. Their law is one measly sheriff and maybe a helper or two. By the time he takes up our trail, we'll be on the coast.”
“You've been doing this a while, I take it,” Fargo stalled. He leaned forward so his holster was close to his right hand.
“Since fifty-nine,” Bucktooth admitted. “It's too much work to go after gold the honest way, so we started taking it from those who didn't mind breaking their backs. We've been at it since.”
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