forked the last piece of potato and was about to pop it into his mouth when the door opened and in came a young Cajun of twenty or so, his cap gone, his hair a mess, his clothes caked with mud, his pants torn. He lurched toward the bar, moving stiffly, a hand outstretched.
“Drink, Liana! In God’s name give me a drink.”
“Claude? What on earth?”
The other men came out of their chairs and hurried over to hear what the newcomer had to say.
Fargo stayed where he was; he could hear perfectly fine.
“A drink! A drink I say!” Claude clutched at the bottle Liana handed him and sucked greedily, his throat bobbing. “
“Tell us what has you in this state,” Liana coaxed. “Did you have an accident?”
“I’ll say I did!” Claude declared. “And my accident has a name. Look at me!” He swept his hand at himself. “I am a mess. All thanks to the Mad Indian.”
Fargo froze.
“The Mad Indian, you say?” the stout Cajun said. “Surely you don’t mean he is somewhere near?”
“That is exactly what I mean,” Claude confirmed. “Listen, my friends.” He slumped against the bar. “I was on my way in from my cabin. My once-a-month visit for supplies. I wasn’t more than half a mile from this very spot when I came around a cypress and there he was, sitting in his canoe, his back to me and staring this way.”
“Yes, I tell you. I didn’t know who he was at first. I took him for just another Indian. But as I came up next to him he heard me and he turned.” Claude shuddered. “I tell you, as long as I live I will never forget the look in his eyes. You can
“What word?” a man breathlessly asked.
“Mad,” Claude said. “He kept saying, ‘Mad, mad, mad, mad, mad!’ ”
“Dear God.”
“To think he would dare come this close!”
Claude went on. “He laughed and then he brayed like a hound that has drank tainted water.”
His audience was enrapt. So was Fargo. As he had learned the hard way, wherever you found the Mad Indian, you could be sure the razorback wasn’t far off.
“What happened then, Claude? Did he try to kill you?”
“No. That is the strangest part.”
“Strange how?”
“The Mad Indian just paddled away, looking at me over his shoulder and laughing.”
“You didn’t go after him?”
“I was too overcome with surprise. When I thought of it he was almost out of sight. He pointed this way, toward Gros Ville, and he shouted in poor French. Then English.”
“What did he say?”
Claude swallowed more whiskey, then said, “He shouted that we are all going to die.”
“Lunacy,” a man said. “He is one and we are many.”
“If he shows his face here, it will be his finish.”
“Doesn’t he realize what we will do to him?”
“Who can say? He’s crazy. But one thing is certain. We need have no fear of the likes of him.”
“No fear at all,” another agreed.
All of them laughed or chuckled.
Not Fargo. He was thinking of Remy’s camp and the ruptured bodies. And his skin crawled.
12
Night claimed the Atchafalaya.
Fargo stood under the stars out behind the tavern, patting the Ovaro and listening. He strained his ears for the sound he dreaded to hear but the usual chorus wasn’t broken by the squeals of the razorback.
Fargo kept telling himself his worry was pointless. The settlement was too big. Nearly twenty buildings, and there had to be forty to fifty people, if not more, considering how many were at the tavern. What with the lights and the noise and the voices, the idea of the razorback attacking Gros Ville was silly. But then what was the Mad Indian doing there? Had the Mad Indian followed them out of the swamp? Was that why he thought they were being watched?
“I reckon I’m making too much of things,” Fargo said to the Ovaro.
The door opened, spilling a rectangle of light, and out came Liana. She was wearing an apron over her dress and holding a cloth. “Here you are. Another couple of hours and I can close for the night.”
“Have something in mind, do you?”
“I thought perhaps you and I could take up where we left off.” Liana grinned and swayed her hips. “That is, if you’re not too tired to give me a back rub.”
“I’ll give you more than that.”
Laughing merrily, she turned to go back in. “Oh. I thought you should know. There has been more talk of Remy. But they are going to leave him be.”
“Any word from Namo?”
“No. He’s staying with a friend in a shack at the west end of the street. From what I am told, his children are happy to be out of the swamp. It is said that they went through a terrible ordeal out there.” She looked at him. “You didn’t tell me everything.”
“I told you we tangled with the boar.”
“You didn’t tell me how many it killed.” Liana shook her head in sorrow. “It
Fargo heard a distant splash. “Liana—”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just don’t go anywhere tonight unless I’m with you.”
“Where would I go? I have a business to run.” Liana chuckled. “Have you grown so fond of me that you want me always near?”
“That must be it.”
“Why don’t I believe you? Very well. Don’t say. But I promise not to leave unless I let you know.”
“Good.”
Liana reached for the door, then turned back to him. “What is it that concerns you so?”
“Where you find the Mad Indian, you find the razorback.”
“Surely you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting?”
“I’m just saying, is all.”
“No.” Liana stared into the dark and shook her head. “The beast would have to be as crazy as the Indian. There are too many of us.”
“I think so too but you never know. Maybe you should spread the word. Warn them. But do it in a way they won’t think you’re loco.”
“Dear God, I pray you are mistaken. Now I won’t sleep a wink all night.”
“That’s all right. I was planning on keeping you up anyway.”
“I can hardly wait.”
The door closed on her laugh and Fargo was left to ponder the swamp and the night. In his mind’s eye he relived his glimpse of the razorback and tried to calculate how big it really was. Six feet high at the front shoulders, he guessed, and ten to twelve feet long. Foot-long tusks. Easily a thousand pounds. Maybe Liana was right—it
The next consideration was how to kill it. Fargo had seen with his own eyes that its hide was proof against bullets. His Henry had proven useless. Clovis’s Sharps might be powerful enough to bring it down but the shot must
