“I know that.”
“I do not love you, Birds Landing.”
“You think you do not. But secretly you do.”
An urge came over Fargo to grab her and shake her until her teeth rattled. Not that it would do any good. He rode moodily on until they had gone over a mile. A dry wash seemed as likely a spot as any to stop.
“My brother will hunt for us if you would like,” Birds Landing offered. “I will make a meal.”
“The only thing I want from you,” Fargo said, “is to see you riding off.”
“You do not mean that.”
Fargo came close to doing something he rarely did—hitting a woman. A good smack or two might knock some sense into her. He wished he knew enough of her tongue to talk directly to her brother.
“So what now?” Birds Landing asked.
A question for which Fargo had no ready answer. “I need to think,” he said, and walked off along the bottom of the wash. Before he came to the first bend he acquired a shadow at his elbow. “Go back.”
“I would rather be with you,” Birds Landing said. “You are troubled and I will soothe you.”
Fargo wondered how she intended to do that, but he did not wonder long. No sooner were they around the bend than she gripped his wrist and pulled him to her. Her warm lips sought his in hungry urgency. Under different circumstances Fargo would not have minded one bit. But if he responded, it would feed her misguided notion of being in love. He went to push her away when suddenly she cupped him, down low.
“See? You pretend you do not like me but I can feel you growing hard for me.”
Fargo’s own body was betraying him. “It’s not that I don’t like you—” he began, and knew he had made a mistake the instant the words were out of his mouth.
Beaming joyfully, Birds Landing covered his face with hot kisses. “I knew it!” she happily declared. “I will never leave you now.”
The feel of her breasts, the taste of her tongue, were intoxicating. Struggling with his lust, Fargo pushed her back. He had to clear his throat to say, “When I say I like you, there is nothing more.”
Birds Landing grinned. “Your body does not lie.”
“Damn it.” Fargo was appalled at how badly he had misjudged her. Usually he caught on when a woman was after more than a tumble in the grass. But she had fooled him completely.
“There must be something my brother and I can do to help you. You have but to name it.”
“Why would he lend a hand?” Fargo asked. “He doesn’t even like me.”
“He will help because I am helping and he does not want any harm to come to me.”
“At least someone in your family has some sense,” Fargo remarked.
“Insult me all you want. You only do it because you care.”
Fargo was at his wit’s end. Nothing he said or did got through. Wheeling, he strode back. She quickly caught up, taking two steps for each of his.
“What is wrong?”
Fargo had had enough. He went to the Ovaro and opened a saddlebag. Inside was a coil of rawhide he used now and then for picketing the Ovaro to a picket pin, and for other odds and ends. Uncoiling it, he bent, drew his toothpick, and cut off a two-foot length.
Birds Landing watched with interest. “What is that for?”
“This.” Suddenly grabbing her by the arms, Fargo spun her around and looped one end of the rawhide around her wrist. She divined what he was up to and tried to pull free before he could loop the rawhide around her other wrist but he was too fast for her.
“What do you think you are doing? Untie me this instant!”
A flick of Fargo’s leg, and down she went. He caught her and lowered her onto her side. Pinning her legs with his, he tied her ankles. All done so slickly, she was bound and helpless before she could lift a finger to prevent it.
“You cannot do this!” Birds Landing protested.
Fargo slowly rose. Her brother had not intervened. Thunder Cloud was watching them, his expression hard to read. Fargo pointed at Birds Landing, then at Thunder Cloud’s horse, and wriggled his fingers to simulate riding away.
“He will not do it,” Birds Landing predicted, and launched into a long appeal to her brother in their own tongue.
Thunder Cloud’s reaction surprised her as much as it surprised Fargo. He threw back his head and laughed. Then he came over, and white fashion, offered his hand to Fargo.
Fargo went him one better. After shaking, he took the reins to the two extra horses and placed them in Thunder Cloud’s hands. The warrior looked at the horses, and then at Fargo, and something akin to warmth came into his eyes.
“Tell him they are his to keep for taking you away,” Fargo said to Birds Landing.
“I will not.”
Fargo shrugged. “I reckon he gets the idea anyway.”
“Don’t do this!” Birds Landing pleaded. “You need us. Durn is too formidable for you to fight alone. That is the word, yes? Formidable?”
“Save your breath.” Fargo stepped to the Ovaro and gripped the saddle horn.
“Please!” Birds Landing begged.
Paying her no mind, Fargo was about to swing up when he remembered the two rifles in the saddle scabbards on the extra horses. He slid each out. One was a Sharps, the other a Spencer. A check of the saddlebags turned up ammunition for both. He gave the Sharps and its ammo to Thunder Cloud, who lit up like a candle.
“I am keeping this for myself,” Fargo said, shaking the Spencer. At least until he reclaimed his Henry.
Thunder Cloud was caressing the Sharps as he might a lover. He indicated the horses and the Sharps and spoke a bit.
Fargo arched an eyebrow at Birds Landing.
“He says he misjudged you. He says you are a friend to the Salish, and to him.”
Thunder Cloud added more.
Scowling, Birds Landing translated. “He says he will take me so far away, it will take me two moons to ride back.”
Fargo chuckled. “Tell your brother I thank him.”
Another argument ensued. Birds Landing sat up, her knees tucked to her chest, and glared at both of them. “The two people I care for the most, treating me like this.”
“Be thankful I didn’t spank you,” Fargo said.
Birds Landing grinned in delight. “You still can if you want.”
“Women,” Fargo said. He swung onto the Ovaro, slid the Spencer into the scabbard, shoved the ammunition into a saddlebag, and was ready. He gave Birds Landing a last, fond look. “Try not to hate me. I did this for your own good.”
“Hate you?” she repeated. “It shows you care, and it makes me care for you all the more.”
Fargo nodded to her brother, and got out of there. He was glad to have Birds Landing out of his hair; she was one less problem. But now he faced a greater challenge. Mike Durn and his deadly pack of two-legged wolves must be dealt with. The key, as Fargo saw it, was Durn, himself. Should Durn be turned into worm food, the whole loco scheme to drive the Indians out would come to nothing.
Fargo made himself a promise. From that moment on, he would devote every waking moment to the extermination of Mike Durn. He would do whatever it took, and not let anyone stand in his way.
The bloodbath was about to commence.
11
