much.”
“A fine gent, Cud Sten,” Fargo said sarcastically.
A rare smile curled Rika’s mouth. “Cud Sten is the most vicious bastard who ever lived. He killed his own mother when he was fifteen and he’s been killing ever since. Or maybe killing is the wrong word. Cud
It was the most Fargo ever heard Rika say, and he noticed the excitement that crept into Rika’s own voice. “You love it, too.”
“Almost as much as Cud does. It’s why him and me have been together so long. We both like to kill.” Rika chuckled. “They say friends should have something in common.”
“You could let
“And tell Cud what? That they got away from me? Do you honestly think he’d believe it?” Rika gazed at their sleeping forms. “They mean nothing to me. Whether they live or they die, it’s all the same. Hell, I’d kill them myself if Cud wanted me to.”
The whole time they talked, Fargo had been inching his hand toward his Colt. The blanket over his shoulders hid the movement. Another few inches and he would take his chances rather than let himself be taken back to face Cud Sten’s club.
“We’ll wait until sunrise and then wake them,” Rika was saying. “I suppose you’d better feed them, too, or the brats will whine all the way back.”
Fargo’s fingers were so close to the Colt, all it would take was a flick of his wrist and Cud Sten would be even madder.
But suddenly, unexpectedly, Rika snapped the Henry to his shoulder. “Ever been shot?”
“A few times.”
“Want to add another time?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“That’s too bad. A man as dumb as you has to expect to be shot once in a while.” Rika took deliberate aim.
18
Skye Fargo imitated one of the snowbound trees except to say, “I thought you were taking me back alive.”
“Just so you’re breathing.” Rika wagged the Henry. “Right now I want you to shed that six-shooter you’ve been reaching for. Get rid of the blanket first.”
Fargo looked into the muzzle of his own rifle and did as he was told.
He started to move the blanket aside. That was when he saw Jayce Harper. The boy had woken up and was on his feet.
Rika had his back to the Harpers and hadn’t noticed. “That’s it. Play it smart and do it slow.”
Jayce looked at Fargo and put a finger to his lips. Then he bent and silently scooped up some snow.
Fargo almost shouted not to try anything—it would only get him killed. But something stayed the impulse. Every nerve tingling, he saw Jayce straighten and mold the snow until it was hard and round. “The law will catch up to Sten sooner or later. You know that, don’t you?”
“The six-shooter,” Rika said.
Jayce snuck toward Rika, placing each foot carefully.
Fargo’s fate hung on the boy succeeding. To distract Rika he said, “You should strike off on your own.”
Rika’s brow furrowed. “I just told you that him and me are pards.”
Jayce was only five feet away.
“You said it yourself,” Fargo said. “He’s as vicious as they come. One day you’ll do or say something he doesn’t like and he’ll turn on you.”
“You’re up to something.”
Jayce stopped and looked at Fargo and then at the back of Rika’s head. He cocked his arm to throw.
Fargo had to do it just right. He couldn’t raise his voice or give Rika any cause to think he was in danger. As calmly as he could, he remarked, “It looks like one of the Harpers is up.”
Rika turned his head, just his head, exactly as Fargo wanted, and the instant he did, Jayce threw the snowball at his face. The boy threw hard and true, and Rika jumped up and took a step back in surprise, swiping a hand at his eyes to clear them.
That was all the opening Fargo needed. He swept his Colt up and out, intending to shoot Rika where he stood, but the Colt’s hammer snagged on the blanket. He twisted to free it but it wouldn’t come free. And then Rika, blinking snow away, was turning toward him and bringing the Henry to bear, and Fargo did the only thing he could think of to do: He dived across the fire. Sun-hot heat seared his chest, and then his shoulder slammed into Rika’s legs and he wrapped his other arm around Rika’s ankles and they crashed to the snow.
The Henry blasted but the shot must have missed because Fargo didn’t feel any pain. He rolled, and nearly had his face caved in by a sweep of the Henry’s stock. Lunging, he grabbed the barrel.
Rika kicked, knocking Fargo backward. He tried to lever another round into the chamber as he rose to his knees.
Fargo sprang. This time his shoulder caught Rika across the chest and down they went. Rika let go of the Henry. His hand disappeared up a sleeve, and when it reappeared it held a knife. He stabbed up and in. It was only by a hair that the blade missed and snagged in the blanket as the Colt had done.
Fargo kneed Rika in the groin. For most men, that would have been enough but all Rika did was scowl and jerk on his knife while simultaneously dipping a hand to the holster on his hip.
Fargo still had hold of his Colt, and it was still caught in the blanket but a blanket wouldn’t stop a bullet. He jammed the muzzle against Rika’s ribs and stroked the trigger. Rika jumped, his teeth bared in a grimace. Again he sought to bury his blade. Fargo had the hammer back and he fired a third time and a fourth.
Rika lay gasping and bubbling crimson. “Damn you. You shot me to pieces.”
Fargo stood. He kicked the knife from Rika’s grasp and Jayce picked it up. Fargo pointed the Colt at Rika’s face, then caught sight of Mary with her arm around Nelly.
“Do it,” Rika said.
Fargo lowered his arm.
“Bastard.” Rika coughed and out came more blood. “I should have shot you at the cabin or before.”
“You should have,” Fargo agreed.
Rika’s eyes moved in circles, then steadied. “Killed by a blanket and a damn snot with a snowball.”
“We never know, do we?”
Rika swallowed. “It won’t do you any good. Cud will kill you yet. Finding you in this snow will be easy.”
“I hope they come.” Fargo disliked to leave a lead affray unfinished. Otherwise, he would be looking over his shoulder the rest of his days.
“I hope you rot in hell,” Rika said, and died.
Mary came over, Nelly clinging to her, and put her hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “I saw what you did, son. That was very brave.”
“I didn’t want him to hurt Mr. Fargo.”
“I’m obliged—Jayce.” Fargo almost said “boy.” He threw off the blanket that had caused so much trouble and began reloading.
Mary let go of Nelly. “I heard what he told you. How soon before Cud is after us?”
“No way of telling.” Sten didn’t impress Fargo as being the most patient man alive.
“What do we do?”
“We eat breakfast,” Fargo said. They could stay in the saddle longer on full stomachs. Skip the noon stop, and push on until nightfall.
