His ear to the ground, Fargo heard the rumble of hooves before anyone else. Perkins, alone, came flying back up the canyon and vaulted from his mount before the animal came to a stop. “It’s not the army! It’s Injuns! Rinson and Slag are keeping an eye on them while I came back to let you know.”
“Are they Nez Perce?” Victor Gore asked.
“Hell, I wouldn’t know a Nez Perce from a Blackfoot. One redskin looks pretty much the same as any other.”
“How many? And more to the point, were they wearing war paint?”
“I should say they were,” Perkins confirmed. “I counted seventeen but I might have missed a few.”
“How far off are they?”
“A mile, maybe a mile and a half. They were holding some kind of powwow.”
“Damn,” Gore said. “This complicates things. But we needn’t pull out. Not until we have every last ounce of gold.”
“We’re taking an awful chance,” Larson said.
Gore gestured at the burlap sacks. “But well worth it. Or would you rather spend the rest of your life miserably poor?” He began to pace. “At the rate we’re digging, if we stick at it all day and all night, we should have most of the gold out by tomorrow morning. Agreed?”
Someone said, “Yes.”
“Then all we need to do is keep the war party busy until then. Once we’ve loaded the gold on the wagons and disposed of the farmers, we can hightail it out of here.”
“By ‘busy’ you mean attack them?” Stern asked.
“Are you insane? No. I aim to distract them another way.” Gore glanced at Fargo, and grinned. “Yes, sir. I believe we can give them something to do that will keep them out of our hair. We’ll give them a gift, as it were.”
Fargo didn’t like the sound of that.
“I don’t savvy,” Larson said.
“You will.”
Gore crooked a finger at Perkins and they moved out of earshot. Whatever Gore said made Perkins cackle. As Perkins ran up the canyon to do Gore’s bidding, Gore came back, and hunkered.
“This will be our last talk. I want to thank you for showing up when you did. And for telling me about the war party you saw.”
“I didn’t see one,” Fargo confessed.
Gore laughed and slapped his thigh. “Then the joke’s on you, isn’t it? How fitting. The army will never learn what became of you. All they will know is that you rode off into the wilds to do their bidding and were never heard from again.” He chuckled. “Any kin you want me to send word to?”
“Your true nature is showing.”
“I have put on a bit of an act, haven’t I? And I’ve done quite well, if I do say so myself.”
Fargo almost told him he had lied about the army, too. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”
“True,” Gore agreed. “Every moment we stay, we’re in mortal peril. But my prospects are a lot rosier than yours.”
“You’re really going to do it? Kill all those women and children?”
“What are they to me? It’s no different than drowning a litter of puppies you don’t want.”
“You hide it well,” Fargo said.
Gore sobered, and frowned. “Save your insults. None of us are perfect. Except for Martha Winston.” He snickered.
“When your turn comes I hope you die screaming.”
“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to someone who has arranged a special surprise for you?”
“What kind of surprise?”
“Let me put it this way.” Victor Gore glowed with sadistic glee. “You’ll die screaming a lot sooner than I will.”
17
“This spot will do,” Rinson said.
Draped belly down over a horse, Fargo could see gray tendrils rising from the forest canopy half a mile away. Jostled by the ride, his side sore from rubbing against the saddle horn, he didn’t pay attention when the others dismounted and paid for his neglect when rough hands seized his legs and upended him. He tried to absorb the force of the fall by twisting so he hit with his shoulders but he only partially succeeded. A kick compounded the pain.
“That was for all the trouble you’ve caused us,” Perkins said gleefully.
Slag chuckled. “Kick him again. Kick him so hard, you stave his ribs in.”
“None of that,” Rinson said. “We need him alive to keep the redskins busy, remember?”
“A few busted ribs won’t kill him,” Slag said. “He’ll still be breathing when they find him.”
“No,” Rinson snapped. “Gore told us how he wants it done and that’s how we’ll do it.”
Perkins remarked, “I can’t get over how you let him boss us around.”
“He didn’t have to cut us in but he did. For that we should be grateful.”
“More for us if he’s worm food.”
“God, you’re a greedy bastard,” Rinson said. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I gave my word and shook on it.”
“Since when does that count? We’ve always looked out for us and no one else. If you ask me, we don’t owe Gore a thing.”
“I didn’t ask you. Now get to gathering the firewood so we can get the hell out of here.”
Fargo was perplexed. It was foolhardy to make a fire so close to the war party. But Slag and Perkins hurried into the trees and shortly returned with their arms laden with broken limbs and kindling. They heaped it in a pile, and Slag rummaged in his saddlebags and produced a fire steel and flint.
“Any last words?” Rinson taunted.
“I expect to be around a good long while yet.”
“Do you, now?” Rinson laughed. “Bold talk for an hombre who won’t see the dawn.” He slowly drew his Remington and just as slowly thumbed back the hammer. “Are you sure you don’t have any last words?”
“You wouldn’t let Perkins bust my ribs but you’re fixing to shoot me?” Fargo shook his head. “I doubt it.”
Rinson waggled the Remington. “Oh, this isn’t for you.”
Slag was puffing lightly on a tiny flame so it would grow.
“I wish we could see what they do to him,” Perkins said. “I saw a soldier once after the Sioux got done with him. The things they did you wouldn’t believe. It must have taken him hours to die.”
“You almost sound as if you admire them,” Rinson said.
“I admire anyone who is good at what they do. And when it comes to carving on people, redskins have us whites beat all hollow.”
Slag stopped puffing. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it now. You’re not right in your head.”
The flames were spreading. Smoke coiled up into the sky, growing thicker by the moment.
“I get it,” Fargo said. “You’re hoping the war party will spot the smoke and come find me.”
“Oh, they’ll spot it, all right,” Rinson said. Raising the Remington, he fired three shots into the air, one right after the other. “We’re close enough; they’re bound to hear that.”
Pleased with themselves, the three cutthroats climbed on their mounts and reined around. Rinson gave a little wave. “I’ll think of them cutting on you while I’m having my way with that filly you’ve been poking.”
They cackled and were gone.
Bending his back into a bow, Fargo sought to slide his fingers into his boot. The rope thwarted him. He pried at the knot, pried so hard he thought his fingernails would tear off, to no avail.
Every second counted. The warriors were bound to have seen the smoke by now. They would come on warily, though, suspicious of a trick, and that would slow them some.
