something.” She paused. “You are degrading those poor women. You are stirring up sentiment against the Indians. You oppose the reservation. What is next, Mike? How far will you let your hatred of the red race drive you?”
Durn stepped to the window and gazed down the street. For a few moments Fargo thought he would not answer.
“By the end of the year I expect to have another fifty men on my payroll. The money, I should mention, will come from those squaws you are so concerned about.”
“And then?” Sally prompted when he did not go on.
“I will be ready for the next step,” Durn said. “I intend to burn down the mission and have it blamed on the savages. There is nothing like a massacre to whip people up, and before I am through, every last redskin in Mission Valley, and half the territory, besides, will either be dead or driven clear to Canada.”
“My God!” Sally exclaimed in horror. “I can’t let that happen! I will go to the authorities and report you.”
Durn turned. He was smiling again, but a sinister sort of smile. “No, you will not. Not if you want those squaws to go on living. Not if
“You wouldn’t!” Sally blurted.
“You have a lot to learn about me,” Mike Durn said. And without any warning, he pointed the revolver at the mannequin.
17
Fargo was caught off guard. Somehow or other, Durn knew where he was. He started to lower his hand to the Remington but Durn’s six-gun went off before he could touch it. Instinctively, fully expecting to take lead, he flinched. He felt the mannequin shake to the impact of the heavy slug followed by the patter of tiny bits and pieces raining down.
“Smack between the eyes,” Durn boasted.
“What was the point of that little demonstration?” Sally angrily demanded. “You have ruined a perfectly good dress model.”
“I will pay for a new one,” Durn said, sliding his revolver under his jacket. “As to the point, I should think it obvious.”
“At last you show your deepest, darkest nature,” Sally said. “Should I go to the authorities, you will have me shot.”
“No, my dear,” Durn said with mock politeness, “I will shoot you myself.”
Kutler and the others came out of the hall and Kutler shook his head. “No sign of him, Mr. Durn. And we looked everywhere there was to look.”
“Very well,” Durn said, unable to hide his disappointment. “We will keep searching.” He motioned, and they preceded him out. Durn went to follow, then paused in the doorway. “I trust you will not think ill of me, Sally. I am not as cold-blooded as you must think.”
“Says the man who just threatened to kill me,” Sally rejoined.
“Only if you force me,” Durn said. “I would rather we were intimate than enemies.”
“Intimate!” Sally snorted. “It will be a cold day in Hades before that happens, I can assure you.”
“We will see.” On that enigmatic note, Durn departed.
Fargo was out from under the dress the instant the door closed. A walnut-sized chunk of the mannequin’s head had been shot out, the shards littering the floor. “You had the right idea,” he said.
“About what?” Sally absently asked. Profound sorrow etched her features.
“Reporting him. Find someone to go with you, a townsman you trust. I will give you a letter to a friend of mine, a Colonel Travis, and he will send troops.”
“What about you?”
“I need to stay and keep Durn so busy he won’t send anyone after you,” Fargo said.
“I refuse to leave you,” Sally said.
Fargo went over and put his hands on her hips and kissed her on the forehead. “Fine sentiments. But what about those Indian girls you want to save? And all those who will die if Durn pits white against red?”
Sally gnawed on her lower lip. “It might take some doing to find someone to go with me. Most everyone is too scared to do anything that might rile Mike Durn.”
“There has to be someone.”
“Thaddeus Thompson,” Sally proposed. “Provided he isn’t so drunk he can’t sit a horse.”
“How will you get word to him?”
“He is due in for a bottle, and he usually pays me a visit. If he doesn’t show by evening, I will ride out to his cabin.”
Fargo had not taken his hands from her hips and she had not objected. He made bold to pull her close and liked the pink flush that tinted her cheeks. “I admire you in more ways than one.”
Grinning mischievously, Sally said, “And what ways would those be, I wonder?”
Lowering his mouth to hers, Fargo gave rein to his rising passion. She mewed like a kitten as her fingers entwined in his hair.
“Enough of those and my head will be spinning.”
“We have the rest of the morning and all afternoon to ourselves,” Fargo said with a wink.
Sally frowned. “Would that we did. I would have to close the shop, which might make Durn suspicious.”
“You have to eat. Can’t you lock up for a while at midday?” Fargo hopefully proposed.
“I do now and then,” Sally mentioned. “But usually only for an hour or so.”
“That is more than enough time,” Fargo said, and kissed her again as added incentive. He liked how she pressed her bosom to his chest and how her fingers strayed to his shoulders and kneaded his muscles.
“My goodness. You are made of iron.”
Fargo pulled back so his growing bulge was obvious. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Sally glanced down, and gasped. “Mercy! You have a knack for flustering me.”
“The flustering has just begun.” Fargo went to enfold her in his arms but she pushed against his chest.
“No. Please. As much as I want to, I expect a few customers in this morning.” Sheepishly backing away, Sally smoothed her dress. “I will be back in my living quarters about noon. Wait for me in my bed if you want.”
Reluctantly, Fargo repaired to the kitchen. He was famished. After firing up the stove, he checked her well- stocked pantry and helped himself to several thick strips of bacon and half a dozen eggs. He also had a hankering for a couple of thick slices of buttered toast.
The aroma set his mouth to watering.
As Fargo cooked, he pondered. There had to be a way for him to put an end to Durn’s mad scheme. He considered a number of ideas, everything from sneaking back into the saloon to confront Durn to dropping Durn from afar with a rifle. That last was the safest but he had never much liked shooting from ambush.
A burp from the coffeepot let Fargo know the coffee was percolating. He had timed it so that the coffee and the food were done about the same time, and now he filled a cup to the brim and ladled heaping helpings of eggs and bacon onto a plate. Taking a seat, he rubbed his hands in anticipation and reached for his fork—and thought he glimpsed a face at the back window.
Fargo could not say for sure. The face had been there for only an instant. Pushing his chair from the table, he ran to the back door, threw it open, and almost blundered into the sunlight. Catching himself, he leaned out far enough to look in both directions. No one was in sight.
Nerves, Fargo reckoned. Returning to the table, he forked eggs into his mouth and hungrily chewed. The sizzling bacon was delicious; the toast had just the right crunch.
The hot food made Fargo drowsy. Four cups of coffee did little to help, so Fargo bent his steps to the bedroom. Not bothering to pull back the quilt, he tossed his hat on the dresser and sprawled out belly-down on the bed. It was wonderfully soft and warm.
