“It’s all right,” Mary assured them, and gave Cud Sten a look that would blister paint.
Cud put down his cards. Standing up, he hitched at his gun belt. “I’m sorry, gal. I’ve got me a bunch of idiots who can’t do nothing right.” He started toward the door, saw Rika in the corner, and added, “Except for you.” He slammed the front door after him. Not ten seconds later the blast of a revolver put an end to the squalling.
Fargo noticed that the men at the table appeared nervous. Apparently riding with Cud Sten was like riding with a rabid wolf: They never knew but when the wolf would turn on them.
Cud opened the front door and took a step inside.
“Your boots, Mr. Sten,” Mary said.
“What about them?”
“You’ll track snow in. Clean them off, if you please.”
Cud looked down at his snow-caked boots and then at her. “You mean it?”
“This is my home. I like to keep it clean.”
“Hell, gal,” Cud said. But he kicked his boots against the outer wall until most of the snow was off. “How’s that?”
“You’re a perfect gentleman.”
Beaming, Cud went over to his chair. “Did you hear her, boys? No one’s ever called me that before.”
“I wonder why,” one of them muttered.
Cud cuffed him.
Fargo was debating what to do. He took Cud’s threat seriously. The man wouldn’t think twice about killing him. The smart thing was to get out of there but that meant deserting Mary and her kids.
Cud produced a flask. He drank, then smacked his lips and set the flask on the table with a loud
Mary was mixing ingredients in a baking pan. She swiped at a bang, leaving a line of flour across her forehead, and said, “What have I told you about liquor, Mr. Sten?”
“A man has to have a nip now and then.”
“My Frank refrained. I expect you to do the same when you are under my roof. For the children’s sake.”
Cud Sten scowled. “You’re beginning to annoy me, gal. One minute I’m a gent. The next you are on me about my drinking.”
“Ain’t that just like a female?” blurted the man who been cuffed. He recoiled, expecting another blow, but Cud was glaring at Mary.
“We need to get a few things straight, gal. I’m willing to bend my ways to suit you, but only to a point. I won’t stop drinking whiskey on account of you don’t like it.”
“Then you won’t be welcome under my roof anymore.”
Cud half came out of his chair. Fargo tensed to move between them, but Cud sat back down and grumbled.
“You seem to forget I’m a lady, Mr. Sten. Perhaps you have become so accustomed to women of loose morals that you think all women are the same. I assure you we’re not.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying that if I mend my ways, you’ll think more highly of me?”
“How could I not?”
The veiled insult was lost on Cud, who grinned and declared, “Well, now, if that’s the case, I reckon I can be as much of a gentleman as simpleton over there.” He fixed his dark eyes on Fargo. “Why don’t you come over and join us, simpleton?”
“Be glad to.” Fargo sat in an empty chair across from Sten so he would have a split-second warning if Sten went for his revolver. “There’s nothing I like better than whiskey and a good game of cards.” He reached for the flask but Cud snatched it from the table.
“I don’t share my coffin varnish with anybody.” Cud capped the flask and shoved it into a pocket. “I didn’t ask you over to drink nor take a hand, neither. It’s time.”
“For what?” Fargo played his part.
“To decide what I’m going to do with you.” Cud’s thick brows pinched together and he drummed on the table. “It appears you were telling the truth about Tull. The damn Injuns got him.”
The others at the table showed little interest. One man was picking his teeth with a card.
Fargo moved his head just enough to see Rika over in the corner. Rika held the Henry trained on his back. All it was take was a nod from Cud Sten, and Rika would blow a hole in him. “Does this mean I can have my horse and my effects and be on my way?”
“The horse is Rika’s now. The sooner you get used to that notion, the better off you’ll be.” Cud paused. “I haven’t seen many like it. It’s not an Appaloosa and it’s not a pinto.”
“It’s a kind of pinto,” Fargo educated him. “Some folks call it an Ovaro.” The markings told the difference; the dark spots on the Ovaro were smaller than on most pintos, and there were more of them.
“Ovaro,” Cud rolled the word on his tongue. “It has a fancy sound, don’t you think?”
“I think Rika should pay for him.”
Cud Sten blinked and half his men either laughed or looked at Fargo as if he were five bales short of a wagonload. “What did you just say?”
“It’s not right that your friend just takes him. Rika should pay me for my horse. That’s only fair.”
“Why should he pay for it when it’s already his?” Cud did more finger-drumming, and a slow smirk spread across his face. “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You can make this easy, or you can make it hard, but I don’t think you’ll like hard.”
“What’s your idea of easy?”
“I let you keep Tull’s horse and you go on breathing. His for yours. I call that a fair trade.”
“And my rifle and the pearl-handled Colt?”
“That Colt was never yours to begin with so you don’t have a claim. The rifle, well—” Cud nodded at Rika.
Fargo held his anger in check. There was a time and a place for anger, and this wasn’t it. But he did say, “That’s your notion of fair?”
“You keep missing the important part,” Cud Sten said. “Or doesn’t it matter to you whether you breathe air or dirt?”
There it was: Either Fargo agreed or they killed him and if he did agree, they might kill him later, anyway. He tested his suspicion. “Let’s say I agree. Can I saddle up and head out right this minute?”
“What’s your hurry? It’ll be dark soon. You should stick around, have some of my Mary’s cooking, and get a good night’s rest.”
Fargo saw Mary’s back go rigid and her hand clench a wood spoon until her knuckles were pale. She didn’t like that “my Mary.” “You must want me dead.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Sending me off unarmed. I’ll end up like your friend Tull.”
“Those Injuns are probably long gone. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll keep Tull’s pearl-handled Colt for myself and give you my revolver. How would that be?”
Before Fargo could answer, the front door opened and in came the pair who had butchered the cow. Their clothes were spattered with blood and gore caked their hands. They were carrying thick slabs of meat, which they brought to the table, dripping blood with every step.
“Here’re those steaks you wanted, Cud.”
“I can see that, Howell. But what I don’t get is why you’re making a mess of my gal’s floor.”
“What?” Howell glanced down. “Is she going to fuss over a little blood?”
Cud stabbed a finger at them. “Put the meat on the counter and clean the floor on your way back. Then get to work smoking the rest of the meat.”
“We don’t have that cow half cut up yet. It could take us until midnight.”
“So? We’re not going anywhere. I’ll call you when it’s time to eat.” Cud looked at Mary, evidently thinking he deserved a compliment of some kind, but she had her back to them. Cud turned to Fargo. “Now, then, where were we?”
“You were saying as how you’re going to give my rifle back and let me saddle my Ovaro and light a shuck.”
