One of the privates sniffed and whispered, “Just a few minutes, sir. It started about the same time our boys laid in with ‘Tattoo.’”
“We seen the fires before,” said one of the others, “but we haven’t heard the drums. They must be movin’ closer.”
Fargo aimed the glass at the umber glow and, twisting the canister slightly, brought up three separate red smudges amongst the dark brown hills about two and a half miles west. The sky above and behind the hills was green with the fading dusk, but the fires stood out on a hill shoulder swathed in brush and gnarled trees.
Fargo couldn’t see much from this distance, but the shadows flickering before the fires were no doubt the silhouettes of dancing Indians.
A war dance.
A young man’s voice trembled. “Y-you think they’re going to attack the fort, sir?”
“They might just be trying to make you soil your trousers, but I’d keep my eyes peeled.” Fargo reduced the spyglass and gave it back to the soldier. “Stay awake and don’t fire any quirleys. The Injuns’ll use ’em for target practice.”
Fargo moved back along the shooting ledge, descended the ladder, and tramped off between the guardhouse and the infirmary, heading for the stables. He’d check to make sure the Ovaro was well cared for and not getting into trouble, then, since he had to be up before dawn, bed down early in the sutler’s storeroom.
He found the stables dark and untended, the Ovaro in the rear paddock with about five other horses, all geldings. While the other horses munched hay or drew water or milled along the corral slats, the pinto stared tensely west, flicking its ears at the war drums that Fargo could no longer hear.
“Easy, boy,” Fargo said, dropping a loop over the pinto’s head and giving a gentle tug. He’d stable the horse for the night to make sure it was well rested by morning. “They’re a long way off…for now,” he added as the horse clomped through the open double doors and onto the hard-packed floor of the barn alley.
Leading the horse into a corner stable a good distance from the other stabled stock, Fargo wondered what kind of nightmares the pinto would have tonight if it knew where they’d be heading before dawn.
He’d filled the stock troughs, gave the horse’s neck a good-night pat, and was backing out of the stall when he heard the crackling rustle of a foot on the straw-covered floor. Fargo moved his hand from the stable door to his pistol grips, wheeling on his heels.
“Skye?” It was Valeria’s silky voice. She stood a few feet from the stable, silhouetted by a sashed window behind her.
The Trailsman sighed, dropped his hand from his pistol grips. “Shouldn’t sneak up on a man. Especially with Injuns about, beatin’ on war drums.”
She stepped forward, into a shaft of ambient light, and extended a burlap sack. “I brought some food for tomorrow—some venison, which Mrs. Hildebrand jerked herself, and buttermilk biscuits. A couple pieces of pie for you and Mr…. uh”—she smiled, green eyes slitting beguilingly—“Prairie Dog.”
“Hell,” Fargo said, taking the bag by the twisted, twine-wrapped neck. “I’m much obliged. You must be feeling a little more neighborly since this afternoon.”
Crossing her hands before her, she dropped her chin demurely. “Yes, I wanted to apologize for my demeanor. I’ve been through a lot lately, as you know, and I’m afraid my nerves are stretched a little taut.”
Fargo dropped the bag to his side. “Apology accepted.”
She stared up at him.
“Was there something else, Miss Howard?”
“No.” She backed away slowly, continuing to stare up at him. “No…I just wanted to apologize and wish you luck on your mission. I overheard you and Father and the other men in the dining room. It sounds terribly dangerous.”
Fargo moved toward her, his broad shadow falling across her willowy, high-busted frame. She wore the same low-cut dress as before, a thin veil draped carelessly across her shoulders. Unlike before, she wore no corset, and her nipples pushed out from behind the cloth like bone buttons. “That all you came for?”
“What on earth do you mean?” Even shaded by the Trailsman’s broad shadow, Valeria’s green eyes flashed angrily. “What happened before, Mr. Fargo, was entirely due to my…my
“In that case, you wouldn’t want to repeat it.”
Her breasts rose and fell sharply. She glanced around, then returned her gaze to Fargo’s. There was little conviction in her voice. “Of course not. What do you take me for?”
Fargo pulled her taut against him and ran his hands down her sides to her hips. Lifting her skirt, he reached beneath the fine material, ran his palms along the backs of her smooth thighs and warm, naked buttocks.
His face only inches from hers, he grinned. “Disoriented enough to forget to wear underwear when you visit a man in a horse barn?”
He engulfed her in his arms. A gasp escaped her lips as Fargo closed his mouth over hers. As he kissed her, he peeled the dress off her shoulders and caressed her breasts, the nipples rising and pebbling against his palms.
“Not here,” she groaned. “Good Lord—it’s a
“Few hotels hereabouts.” Fargo crouched, picked her up, then swung around, pushing through the open door of the stable beside the Ovaro’s.
Kneeling, he lay Valeria down in a low mound of hay. She rose quickly, scampered onto her knees, thrusting her hands at the buckle of his cartridge belt. Fargo sagged back in the hay as the girl tossed his gun belt aside, unbuttoned his buckskins, and began pulling the breeches down his thighs while probing around inside his underwear for his shaft.
She’d no sooner found what she was looking for than her lips slipped over the head and her tongue began its beguiling work as her mouth slid slowly down toward his crotch, her red hair cascading across his thighs.
As her head moved up and down, Fargo leaned back on his elbows. She worked him until he was grinding his molars and digging his heels into the hay. She lifted her head suddenly and scowled up at him, pouting, lips glistening.
“You bastard!”
Bare breasts jostling, she straddled him, lifted her skirts, and, holding the base of his member with one hand, lowered herself slowly, groaning and sighing until she sat snugly atop his thighs, plundering her silky, wet depths with his iron-hard shaft.
“I once had dignity,” she moaned, rising on her haunches as she lowered her mouth to his, nibbling his lips. “I’ve let you turn me into a wanton
“Easy,” Fargo grunted. “It doesn’t bend that way!”
“Shut up and despoil me!” She rose quickly, descended slowly, digging her fingers into his shoulders while peppering his face with hot, wet kisses. “Ohh…you
When she came, she threw her head back, breasts out, and shook as though lightning-struck. The shuddering tickled him deep in his loins and ignited his own explosion, his juices firing like bullets rattled from the maw of a repeating rifle.
She shook even more violently, mouth wide, her fingernails on the verge of opening wounds in his shoulders. Her knees were clamped viselike against his ribs.
A horsy snort rose above and behind her, and Fargo opened his eyes. The Ovaro stared down at him from the opposite stall, a slightly incriminating, ironic cast to his gaze.
Fargo shrugged. The girl sagged down atop him, pressing her breasts against his chest and burying her face in his neck. “Oh, Skye…do you
“I accepted the assignment.”
“You’ve seen how dangerous it is.”
“I reckon if Lieutenant Duke isn’t defused, he’ll lead those Indians right up to the gates of this fort and beyond.”
She lifted her head, listening. Clear and thin on the air came the deep-throated throbbing of distant drums. Valeria shivered and placed her hands on either side of the Trailsman’s broad face.
