“Not at all,” Kutler said. “That is the thing people like you can never seem to savvy.”
“People like me?”
“Those who go around doing good, who think virtue is everything. Your kind always think everyone else is the same as you.” Kutler shook his head. “But it doesn’t work that way, lady. I don’t have a sliver of virtue anywhere in me, and I am happy I don’t. I look out for me and me alone. The rest of the world can go hang itself.”
“You are just saying that to upset me,” Sally said. “There must be a kernel of decency deep down inside of you.”
“See what I mean?” Kutler said, and laughed. “You go through life with blinders on.”
“I am not an infant,” Sally said archly.
Kutler glanced at Fargo. “You would think that someone so pretty would not be so dumb.”
His insults had taken Sally’s mind off the pit, and her fears. “If you were not holding that gun on us, I would claw your eyes out.”
“Speaking of claws,” Kutler said, and bobbed his chin at the tunnel.
They were coming. Six men holding the ends of long poles that had been slid between the bars of a large wooden cage. Inside the cage, snarling and spitting and biting at the bars, was the scourge of the Rockies. Between the beast’s moving about, and the heavy cage, it was all the men could do to carry their burden without falling.
“Caesar!” Big Mike Durn said fondly.
Sally Brook shuddered.
A hush fell over the spectators. Every neck craned for a better look at the cage. One woman squealed in delight and cried out, “Oh! Isn’t he positively vicious!”
A path was cleared. As the cage went past them, many backed away in terror.
The animal that instilled such potent fear was oblivious to the effect its presence caused. It was snapping at a bar, its razor teeth flashing.
Sally’s hand found Fargo’s. “I will faint,” she said weakly. “I swear I will pass out.”
“Be ready to do exactly as I tell you, when I tell you,” Fargo said. “We will only get one chance.”
“At what?” Sally’s desperation was climbing.
Fargo didn’t answer. Not with Kutler and the others right there.
The cage was deposited at the edge of the pit. Ropes were produced and fastened to the ends of the poles. Then, with ten men straining and sweating, the cage was carefully lowered to the bottom.
The wolverine stopped biting the bars. It had been through this before. It knew what came next.
Durn walked to the edge. A man handed him a long rawhide cord that was tied to the top bar at one end of the cage. Gripping the cord firmly in both hands, Durn tugged.
The end of the cage rose.
Cheers broke out as Fargo at last had a clear look at the creature he was about to tangle with.
Gluttons, they were called. Skunk bears was another name. They were bulky like bears, but where a full- grown black bear might weigh over five hundred pounds and a full-grown grizzly might top the scales at over a thousand, a large male wolverine—and this one was large—weighed a paltry fifty pounds.
But what wolverines lacked in weight they made up for in ferocity. No other animal was as fierce—not grizzlies, not wolves, not mountain lions. Savagery incarnate, wolverines were immensely powerful. Pound for pound, they were the strongest creatures on the continent. Add to that teeth like knives and claws like sabers, and their reputation was justly deserved.
This one had a typical dark brown coat with yellow splashes across its shoulders and over its hips, and lighter coloration above its eyes and along the edges of its ears.
The stink was abominable. Wolverines, like skunks, emitted a foul musk, which they used to mark caches of food and discourage other predators. But they also emitted the musk when they were excited, like now.
“Caesar!” Mike Durn called, and the wolverine looked up. “Do you see, Fargo? He knows what we call him. Wonderfully clever, these things.”
That was another of their traits. Wolverines were notoriously shrewd. They deprived trappers of their livelihood by raiding traplines, going from trap to trap and ripping apart the animals that were caught. Or they would come on a camp high in the mountains, and in an unguarded moment, wreak havoc by tearing articles to shreds and generally disporting themselves as if they were the devil in four-legged guise.
Caesar had commenced to prowl about the pit and irritably growl and snarl at the excited onlookers.
A man more tipsy than most nearly plummeted over the edge when he was bumped by a friend, and instantly the wolverine bounded to a spot directly below him, eager to feed on human flesh.
“Look at him!” Durn gushed in admiration. “Did you ever see anything so savage? A brute in every sense of the word.”
Sally was appalled. “That thing is a fiend, yes, but at least it has an excuse.”
Durn turned on her, his good mood evaporating. “Explain that remark, my dear.”
“That wolverine can’t help itself. Yes, it is savage, but it is merely being true to its nature. It was born as it is and can be nothing other than itself.” Sally did not keep the contempt from her voice as she went on. “But you, on the other hand, are a true abomination. You were not born as you are. You choose to be sadistic instead of kind. You lord it over others because you want to. You kill because you delight in spilling blood. The wolverine is not the monster here. You are.”
“At last you understand me,” Big Mike said.
“I have always understood,” Sally replied. “Why do you think I rebuffed your advances time and again? Your pretense did not fool me.”
Durn said nothing.
“You are a common thug, nothing more,” Sally unleashed more barbs. “A river rat who left the river but is still a rat, nonetheless. Oh, I will grant you are a notch above the rest of your breed, in that you can read and write, and have a certain coarse intelligence. But you have your delusions as well. Above all, you have your hate, and it is that which will destroy you.”
Fargo was as amazed as Mike Durn at her outburst. He tensed to protect her should it be necessary.
But Durn did not fly into a rage. Instead, he laughed heartily, then said, “I swear. That was some speech. But you can come down from your pedestal now. The fun is about to begin.”
Those assembled fell quiet when Big Mike bellowed for silence. Smiling broadly, he regarded their expectant faces. “Tonight you are in for a special treat. Special because my pet will feed more than once. Special because a white woman is one of the morsels. Special, too, as an object lesson.”
“A what?” someone asked.
“When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed. When it isn’t, there are consequences.” Durn swung toward a group of his men. “Mr. Dawson, step forward, if you please.”
Fargo remembered the lanky riverman who had guarded him in the tunnel, and guessed what was coming.
Dawson’s surprise rooted him in place, but only until Durn motioned and several others pushed him forward. His dagger was snatched from its sheath, and his Remington, which had been returned after Fargo was caught, was lifted from his holster. It all happened so rapidly, he was disarmed and standing before Durn before he could collect his wits.
“Anything to say?” Mike Durn asked.
Licking his thin lips, Dawson croaked, “What is this? I am not one of them.” He nodded toward Fargo and Sally.
“You have forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?” Dawson asked, his voice rising.
“I set you to keep watch over Fargo,” Durn jogged his memory. “I warned you that if he got away, I would feed you to Caesar.”
“But that was just talk,” Dawson said. “To scare me so I would take you serious and not doze off.”
“I do not make idle threats.”
Dawson glanced into the pit, and swallowed. “Now hold on, Mr. Durn. Don’t I always do as you want, no questions asked? I couldn’t help it if he pushed a door on top of me.”
“Did you think to search him before he was put in the storeroom?” Mike Durn asked.
