he was not looking at Sally’s yard; he was peering into his past. “I will never forget the day I heard the news, and I will never forgive those filthy heathens for what they did.”
“Which tribe?” Fargo asked.
“Eh?”
“Which tribe did the hostiles belong to?”
“What difference does that make? One tribe is as bad as the other. Or haven’t you heard the expression that the only good Indian is a dead Indian?”
“Too many times,” Fargo said. That Durn hated all Indians over an atrocity committed by a few was not unusual.
“I have been looking for a chance to pay them back,” Durn went on, “and now I have it.”
Fargo could only abide so much. “You damned jackass. The Flatheads are friendly. So are the Coeur d’Alenes. Neither had anything to do with your folks dying.”
“They are red, aren’t they?” Durn stood and crossed to the door. “Remember. You have until ten o’clock tomorrow morning. My men will be keeping an eye on this place so don’t try anything.” He gave a little wave and strolled out.
Fargo went to the door and watched. He heard footsteps behind him.
“I was out in the hall,” Sally said. “I heard every word. I still cannot condone what is he doing, but now I understand why.”
“Why here?” Fargo wondered out loud, turning.
“Excuse me?”
“Out of all the towns and settlements west of the Mississippi, what brought Durn here?”
“I can answer that. He told me once. Apparently he got into trouble over a killing and came west one step ahead of a lynch mob. He had heard about Flathead Lake and figured he could make a living here. He built a ferry, and the saloon, and was all set to start a new life. Then one day out on the street a Flathead bumped into him.”
“On purpose?”
“No, no. The Flathead came out of the general store as Durn was walking past and they brushed shoulders. It was nothing, really. But Durn flew into a rage, and the next I knew, he started all this talk about driving the Indians out. It never made any sense until now.” Sally clasped his hand. “But what about you? What will you do about tomorrow?”
“There is nothing I can do,” Fargo said, thinking
“Oh.” Sally’s disappointment was transparent. “I am sorry to hear that.”
Fargo closed the back door, clasped her elbow, and steered her to the other side of the kitchen, away from the window. “I am not really leaving, only pretending to. You can expect word from me through Thaddeus by the end of the week.”
“I pray you are not biting off more than you can handle. You are one man and Durn has a small army.”
“No one takes my guns from me and tells me to light a shuck,” Fargo said. “No one.”
“That is pride talking,” Sally warned. “Unless you are careful, it can get you killed.”
“Is there anyone else I can count on besides that old geezer and you?” Fargo needed to find out.
“Not that I can think of. A lot of people don’t like what Durn is doing but they don’t have the backbone to stand up to him.” Sally paused. “That is too harsh. A handful would do more if they could but they have their families to think of. Durn is not above hurting their wives and children.”
Fargo had bucked strong odds before, although rarely as lopsided as this. Big Mike held all the aces. But in life, as in poker, sometimes it was the joker in the deck that won the pot.
9
By nine thirty Fargo was saddled and ready to ride out. As he was pulling on the cinch he glanced over the Ovaro and spotted a man watching him from the corner of a nearby building. Leaving the Ovaro tied to the fence, he went into the kitchen for a last cup of coffee.
Sally Brook was puttering around trying not to be glum. She filled a china cup decorated with roses and set it on a saucer in front of him. “I am sorry it has to be like this.”
“I keep telling you. It isn’t over. It is just beginning.”
“And I keep telling you that there are too many of them.” Sally brushed at a lock of golden hair that had fallen over an eye. “It might be better if you really did leave. For your own sake, if nothing else.”
“What about the Flatheads and the other tribes?” Fargo responded. “Or don’t you care if they are driven from their land or wiped out?”
“You know better. But I also care about you—” Sally caught herself, and self-consciously smiled. “There. I have said it. I have grown a bit fond of you during your convalescence.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Fargo gripped her wrist, pulled her down, and kissed her on the mouth. She was so startled, she recoiled.
“What was that for?”
“I have grown fond of you, too,” Fargo said. He particularly liked her full, ripe body. It was easy to see why Mike Durn fancied her.
“Oh.” Sally coughed, then said, “You can let go of my arm now.”
“Right after I do this,” Fargo said, and rising, he kissed her again, fusing his mouth to hers. She stiffened, then gradually relaxed, her hands straying to his shoulders. When he pulled back, she had a new gleam in her lovely eyes.
“That was nice.”
“It was supposed to be.” Fargo glanced out the window to be sure no one had seen, and sat back down. “Once this is over, there are a lot more where that came from. If you are interested,” he teased.
“Very much so,” Sally said. “But I should warn you. I am not all that worldly. I have not been with a lot of men.”
Fargo swallowed half the cup at a gulp. “You make it sound like that should matter.”
“I am only saying I do not have a lot of experience,” Sally clarified. “I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.”
Fargo admired the swell of her bosom and the suggestion of willowy legs under her dress. “Don’t worry there.”
Sally gave a nervous little laugh. “Listen to me. I am becoming too brazen for my own good. Next I will be picking up men on street corners.”
“I doubt that.” Fargo glanced out the window again and there was the same man who had been spying on him earlier, in the next yard. He got up and drew the shade.
“Was the sun bothering you?” Sally asked.
“Something was,” Fargo answered, and leaned against the table to finish his coffee.
“How will you get in touch with me if you need to?”
“I will find a way,” Fargo assured her.
“But what if you are killed? How will I find out? Durn is not likely to come right out and tell me.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past him,” Fargo said. He put down the cup and pulled his hat brim low. “Time to be going.”
Sally stepped in front of him. “Be careful. Please.”
Fargo kissed her a third time, a long, languid kiss with her flush against him so that her breasts were cushioned by his chest and he could feel the swell of her thighs against his legs. He started to stir where a man always stirred. Reluctantly, he went out, opened the gate, and forked leather. She stayed in the doorway, a portrait
