you go. I can’t let your own stupidity get your wife and the brat killed, too.”
Gerty snapped, “Take that back.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca said.
Keever looked bored. “How considerate. But when I say I have matters in hand, I truly do. That pathetic heathen only thinks he’s outwitted me, when the truth is, I’ve outwitted him.”
“I’ll ask you one more time,” Fargo said harshly. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Owen cleared his throat. “You know, Senator, maybe now is the time. I know we haven’t heard yet, but why run the risk of him spoiling things after you’ve gone to so much bother?”
“An excellent point,” Senator Keever said. “Very well. Do what must be done.”
To Fargo, none of this was making any sense. It made even less sense when Owen drew his six-shooter and pointed it at him. A second later Lichen did the same. “What the hell?”
Keever chuckled. “I’m afraid you must undo your gun belt and hand it over or these gentlemen have my permission to—what is the quaint expression? Ah, yes. They have my permission to fill you with lead.”
Rebecca put a hand to her throat. “Fulton! What on earth has gotten into you?”
“All in good time, my dear,” Keever said airily. He jabbed a finger at Fargo. “Well? What will it be? Hand over your Colt, or die. The decision is yours.”
Lichen took deliberate aim. “I hope he gives us an excuse. I’ve wanted to buck this son of a bitch out for weeks now. Always acting better than us and bossing us around.”
Owen didn’t say anything. He just stood there and smirked.
Fargo undid his belt buckle. It wasn’t as if he had a choice with them covering him.
The other men looked on in amazement. Clymer found his voice first and asked, “What’s going on, Senator? We didn’t sign on for anything like this.”
“Everything will be explained to you shortly,” Keever assured him. “For now it is enough that you know I was sent by the government to work out a peace treaty with the Sioux and this man intends to stop me.”
Clymer scratched his head. “Why would Fargo do a thing like that?”
“Ask him yourself after we’ve cut his claws.” Keever held out his hand. “The Colt, sir, and don’t try my patience.”
Boiling with anger, Fargo handed his gun belt over.
“Thank you.” Keever stepped back. “Now, Mr. Owen, if you please, would you and Mr. Lichen escort Mr. Fargo to my tent and see to it that he can’t interfere with my plans?”
Lichen slipped around behind Fargo and jabbed him in the back. “You heard the man. Keep your hands where I can see them or I’ll blow a hole clean through you.”
The confusion on the faces of Clymer and Harris and some of the others was mirrored by Fargo’s own. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what Senator Keever was up to.
Owen parted the tent flap and Lichen prodded Fargo and told him to get down on his knees with his hands behind his back. Then Lichen put the muzzle to his head.
“Be back in a minute,” Owen said, and went out.
Lichen snickered. “You lived with the Sioux once, I hear tell.”
“For a while,” Fargo admitted, thinking the weasel might reveal what this was all about.
“They must have put a lot of trust in you. But they won’t after the senator is done. No sir. They’ll want to stake you out and skin you. Or maybe make you run one of those gauntlets I’ve heard about, where they stand in two rows with knives and tomahawks and you have to run between them.”
“They only do that to their worst enemies.”
“Which is exactly what you’ll be.” Lichen gouged the muzzle hard into Fargo’s skin. “They’ll hate you more than they’ve ever hated anyone. And they won’t be the only ones. Likely as not, the Cheyenne and the Arapahos and other tribes will want to carve on you, too.”
“Why?”
The flap opened and in came Owen carrying a rope. He set to work tying Fargo’s wrists.
“Well, look at this. Someone beat me to it. You’ve been rubbed raw.” Owen deliberately scraped the rope against Fargo’s open flesh hard enough to draw blood, then looped it tight and tied a knot. “If that hurts, let me know and I’ll tie it tighter.”
His jaw muscles twitching, Fargo endured the pain. His ankles were bound, and he was shoved onto his side.
Lichen hiked a boot to stomp him in the face.
“No,” Owen said.
“Why not? He’s as good as dead anyway, once the Sioux find him.”
“You heard me.”
The flap parted again. Wearing an oily smile, Senator Keever came over. “How pathetic. You have no idea what I’m about, do you? Not the faintest suspicion?”
“I figure you’re after gold,” Fargo admitted.
“Oh, please. As rich as I am? I wouldn’t waste my time.” Keever moved to a cot and sat. “Permit me to enlighten you.”
“Just don’t talk me to death.”
“Very well. First off, I’m not here on behalf of the United States government. They didn’t send me to arrange a peace treaty. My business in the Black Hills is strictly personal.”
“What business?”
Keever adopted a condescending tone. “Can’t you guess yet? What’s the one thing I love to do more than anything else in all the world?” He chuckled. “I’ll give you a hint. Remember the trophy room I’m so proud of?”
An explosion went off in Fargo’s head. In a burst of insight he divined the truth. “God, no. You can’t mean —?”
“But I can, and I do. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. To kill the white buffalo.”
18
Skye Fargo had seen and done a lot in his time. It was rare that anything shocked him. But this did. He gaped in stunned bewilderment at Senator Fulton Keever and then blurted his uppermost thought. “You’re loco.”
“Not at all.”
“Do you have any idea how much blood will be shed if the Sioux find out a white man shot it?”
“Do you have any idea how little I care?” Keever smiled. “I’m a hunter, Mr. Fargo. Not of typical game, either. I hunt the biggest, the rarest, the most dangerous. They are the only trophies worth having. And I think you’ll have to agree with me that hanging the head of a white buffalo on my wall will be the crowning achievement of a lifetime.”
Fargo’s initial shock had passed and he thought of something. “You don’t know where it is so how can you shoot it?”
“Mr. Owen has offered a young warrior a shiny new rifle and all the ammunition the warrior can carry for that very information. He’s due here any time now. Once he tells us, Mr. Owen and Mr. Lichen and I will slip away. It will be the greatest hunt of my life.”
“As for the Sioux blaming a white man,” Owen said, “we want them to. We even have a particular white man in mind.”
Keever leaned back and laughed. “That look on your face is priceless, Mr. Fargo. You must have a million questions. So ask away. I have time to spare until the buck gets here.”
The hell of it was, Fargo
“When Mr. Owen contacted me to tell me of Little Face’s peace proposal. He happened to mention how excited the savages were over the birth of a white buffalo. It got me to thinking. No one, anywhere, has a white buffalo head on their wall. I’d be the first. It would make me the talk of Washington.”
“So you sent word to Little Face that you’d meet with him but you only came to shoot the buff?”
“An accurate assessment. I’ve used him. But remember, Little Face has been using me, as well. He never
