talk behind my back, and say how terrible I am, and how I should be punished, but they won’t raise a hand against me.” He had clapped Namo on the back. “Don’t worry about me. I have friends who will put me up.”
“But if you are seen?”
“I will keep to myself. Trust me. I will not let anything or anyone keep me from having my vengeance. I swear before God that I won’t rest until that boar is dead.”
That was their common bond. The shared conviction that the rogue razorback must be slain.
They debated asking their fellow Cajuns for help.
“We can organize hunting parties,” Namo proposed. “Have twenty or thirty men sweep the swamp.”
“And maybe drive it so far back in that it won’t come back out for weeks,” Remy said. “No, it’s better if we keep the hunting party small. Just the four of us are enough.”
“I agree,” Hetsutu sided with him.
The whole way, Fargo was bothered by the feeling that they were being followed. Countless times he glanced over his shoulder but he never saw anything to account for it. He doubted it was the razorback. The boar made too much noise. But then again, when a wild boar wanted to, it could move with the stealth of a cougar.
For a while Fargo thought it might be the Mad Indian, but not once did Fargo spot him. He decided the lunatic wouldn’t risk venturing so near the settlement.
Just nerves, Fargo figured.
Now, with sunlight playing over their pirogue, Halette remarked, “I can’t wait to sleep in a bed again.”
“I don’t want to stay in Gros Ville,” Clovis said to his father. “I want to be with you.”
“What have I told you, son? You will stay with your sister and that is that.” Namo stopped paddling to turn and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “With your mother gone, we must look after one another. Can I count on you to watch over Halette while I am away?”
“
“And if I don’t come back—”
“Don’t say that.”
“Don’t ever talk like that,” Halette echoed.
“Very well. But remember. Always be there for one another. You are brother and sister. That is a special bond. Never let anyone break you apart.”
Fargo stroked his paddle and watched out for gators and snakes. He’d seen a coral snake the day before, and Namo mentioned that of all the snakes in Louisiana, coral snakes had the most potent venom.
“One bite and you will have fire in your veins and die.”
Fargo was changing his mind about the swamp. The dangers outweighed the splendor. He had to admire the people who lived there. They possessed uncommon courage.
He couldn’t wait to get back to his familiar prairies and mountains. They had their perils too, but they were nothing like this.
From the first pirogue came a shout. Remy was pointing.
Up ahead, finally, was Gros Ville. Other pirogues and canoes lined the landing. Only a few people were out and about in the heat of the day and no one paid much attention to them as they tied off.
They came to a side street and Remy stopped.
“Down here is where my friends live. We will separate and meet back at the landing three days from now, at sunrise.”
Namo was carrying Halette. “I have a friend. Hopefully he and his woman will agree to put my children up.”
That left Fargo on his own. He bent his steps to the tavern. It was early yet, and only a few customers were drinking and playing cards. He made straight for the bar.
Liana looked up from a ledger she was scribbling in. She gave a start and put a hand to her throat. “Are my eyes deceiving me?”
“Enough of your antics. Give me a bottle of your best.” Fargo fished in his pocket and slapped down a coin.
“I’m delighted you are back.”
“The bottle, wench.”
“
Fargo gratefully chugged. The whiskey burned his mouth and throat and exploded once it reached his empty stomach. He downed half the bottle in big gulps, thumped the bottle on the counter, and smacked his lips in satisfaction. “Damn, I needed that.”
Liana touched his chin. “You look as if you haven’t slept in days. And you haven’t been eating well.”
“The swamp will do that.” Suddenly his weariness caught up with him, and Fargo leaned on the counter. “But I have three days to rest before we head out again.”
“Three whole days?” Liana said with a playful grin, and promptly sobered. “Wait. Did I hear right? You’re going out after that monster a second time?”
“Quit calling it that.” Fargo explained, briefly, about his clashes with the terror of the Atchafalaya.
“A razorback?” Liana marveled. “Who would have thought it. But I don’t like the idea of you out in the swamp.”
“Makes two of us. But I’m being paid. And it’s also become personal.” Fargo didn’t elaborate. He took the bottle and headed for the corner table, saying, “If you have the time and want to fix me a meal, I won’t complain.”
Liana laughed. “Would venison steak and potatoes and carrots do? A hunter traded me the meat for some rum.”
Fargo’s mouth watered. “That would do me fine.”
“And coffee to wash it down?”
“I’ll stick with the red-eye,” Fargo said, patting the whiskey bottle. He wearily sank into a chair facing the door and propped his boots on the table. He figured to sit there the rest of the day. And if he was lucky, he might get to enjoy another bout under the sheets with Liana.
It took half an hour. The venison was juicy and delicious, the potatoes were seasoned and drowned in butter, and the carrots had a crunch to them. Liana also prepared a side of crayfish and a bowl of gumbo.
Fargo was ravenous. He relished every morsel. Intent on his food, he didn’t pay much attention when two men hurried in and over to a nearby table where two others already sat. Their excited whispers were of no interest to him until he caught the word “Remy.” He perked his ears.
“All I am saying is that we might never have a chance like this again.”
“But to take the law into our own hands?”
“Whose law? Outsider law? What has that to do with us? We always take care of our own problems.”
The last man fidgeted in his chair. “But that is just it,
“He has killed,” the stoutest of them said.
“Outsiders, yes. But never one of us. Never one of his own. Oh, I admit he is a scoundrel. Many accuse him of being a thief but I have yet to hear where he has stolen from any of us. Many say he is a bit of a bully but I have yet to hear of him bullying a fellow Cajun.”
“All this is true,” another said with a bob of his head.
“You make him out to be a saint,” the stout man complained, “when he is a murderer.”
“I make him out to be nothing but what he is. A rogue, yes. A hater of those who would impose their will on us, yes. A man of violence, yes. But I repeat. With his own kind he has always been as much a gentleman as anyone.”
“I can’t believe what my ears are hearing.”
“Look, do as you want, Philippe. If you want to get men together and take him into custody, be our guest. But what then? Will you hand him over to the sheriff? Hand over one of your own kind?”
“To hear you, one would think all Cajuns were blood brothers.”
“Aren’t we?”
That ended their argument.
Fargo went on eating. He cracked open a crayfish and sucked out the sweet meat. He finished the gumbo. He
