Giving the mouth of the canyon a wide berth, Fargo started up the slope. No one was keeping watch, which surprised him.
Learning from his mistake, Fargo was alert for a sentry at the top. But this time no one was there.
Worming from boulder to boulder, Fargo smiled when the peal of metal on rock confirmed they were still hard at work. Removing his hat, he risked a peek. They were all there, including Rinson, Perkins and Slag.
Fargo remembered Gore saying they’d work all night. That gave him hours to spare. He would wait until dark, then sneak down. He made special note of who had his Henry—it was Stern—and who had his Colt—none other than Victor Gore.
Grateful for the chance to rest, Fargo used his arm for a pillow and closed his eyes. He was battered and sore and his ribs wouldn’t stop hurting. He intended to lie there a bit and then keep watch until sunset. But the next thing he knew, he opened his eyes and the stars were out.
Fargo bit off a few choice words. He had fallen asleep. Mad at himself, he wedged his hat on and inched to the edge for another look. A fire blazed at the bottom of the canyon. Clustered around it were the old trapper and his gold hounds. They had stopped work to eat supper. Judging by their smiles and mirth, they were having a fine time. In a couple of months they would be back in civilization, as rich as could be.
But not if Fargo could help it.
Turning, he crawled until he was near the bottom, then rose and stealthily descended to the valley floor. The smart thing was to wait until most of them were asleep but since they planned to stay up all night, what good would it do?
Fargo couldn’t stop thinking of the settlers and the danger they were in. He must warn them. He snuck to the bend and peeked past it.
Gore and his hirelings were about done eating. Wood was added to the fire, and soon they were at the vein, their picks and shovels flailing, their shadows flicking on the rock wall.
The horses were picketed between Fargo and the vein. Easing down, he crabbed toward them, careful to stay close to the wall. Whenever one of the cutthroats so much as raised his head, Fargo froze. Only Slag glanced in his direction; but Slag was mopping his sweaty brow with a sleeve.
Several of the horses realized Fargo was there. But the trapper and the gun sharks were so intent on the gold, they didn’t catch on.
His confidence climbing, Fargo crawled faster. He was almost to the first horse when it stamped and whinnied. Amazingly, once again no one paid attention.
Gold had that effect. It dazzled the mind. It made men forget themselves and think only of the riches the gold would bring. Perkins, in fact, was holding a lump of gold-laced quartz in the palm of his hand and running his fingers over it as if caressing a lover.
The horses had been picketed to prevent them from running off. But it was the work of an instant for Fargo to slash the first rope with his Arkansas toothpick. He moved to the next animal, and then the third. He had cut four of them loose when Victor Gore unexpectedly straightened.
“We’re making good time, boys. By morning we’ll have the gold ready to load on the wagons.”
“You did say we’re not to leave a single settler breathing, right?” Perkins asked.
“Do you disagree?”
“Hell, no.” Perkins laughed. “I’ve never had a problem killing folks. Or anything else.”
Gore turned. “Mr. Larson, would you be so kind as to fetch more burlap bags.”
“Right away.” Larson nodded and hustled toward the horse string.
Fargo tensed. The bags must be bundled on one of the horses, but which one? He couldn’t tell from where he was lying. He hoped it was a horse at the other end.
Larson came almost straight toward him. Fortunately, he was staring at the ground. Then, when only a few feet away, he glanced up—and stopped in his tracks.
“Mr. Gore! Rinson! It’s Fargo! He’s here!”
18
Larson should have gone for his six-shooter. His shout bought Fargo the split second he needed to surge to his feet, the toothpick low at his side. Larson’s hand swooped to his revolver but by then Fargo was next to him. The razor-sharp double-edged blade lanced up and in. Larson gasped and stiffened and was dead on his feet.
There were bellows of outrage and fiery oaths from the others. Then, almost as one, they clawed for their own hardware.
Fargo snatched Larson’s revolver. It was a Smith & Wesson. The barrel was longer than his Colt’s and the grips were different but the caliber was the same. It bucked when he squeezed off a shot and the nearest man clutched at his chest and crumpled.
Whirling, Fargo ran to one of the horses he had cut loose. The shot and the shouts had spooked it and it was turning down the canyon. A bound brought him alongside.
As six-guns boomed and lead buzzed, Fargo leaped, caught hold of the saddle horn, and swung astride the saddle. A hard jab of his spurs brought the animal to a gallop. Swinging onto the side, Comanche fashion, he raced toward the bend. His skin crawled with the expectation of taking a slug but he wasn’t hit.
“After him!” Victor Gore roared. “Don’t let him get away!”
In a thunder of hooves Fargo was around the bend and momentarily safe. Swinging back up, he rode for his life. He wished he had the Ovaro under him. The horse under him was fast but not as fast as his stallion.
In no time Fargo was out of the canyon and flew into the trees. Bringing the horse to a stop, he looked back.
Riders swept out of the canyon in pursuit. When they didn’t spot him, they drew rein.
“Which way did he go?” one shouted. It sounded like Stern.
“Shut up and we can hear him!” Rinson snapped.
Fargo patted his horse to keep it still.
“I don’t hear anything,” Slag hollered.
Perkins’ voice rose. “I bet he’s making for the dirt-pushers. He’ll warn them we’ll be coming for their wagons.”
“Let him!” Rinson said, and uttered a hard laugh. “Do you honestly think they’ll believe him? They trust us, remember.”
“What do we do, then?” Slag asked.
“We go back and get the rest of the gold out,” Rinson said. “Come morning, we’ll be ready for the wagons, just like Gore wants.”
Fargo stayed where he was until they filed into the canyon. Then he raised the reins. His natural impulse was to fly through the woods to reach the valley as soon as possible but it was dark and the war party was out there, somewhere.
It seemed to take forever.
A lone campfire in the center of the circled wagons served as a beacon. No one challenged him as he rode up.
Passing between two of the covered wagons, Fargo wearily drew rein. Sleeping forms were all around. The saddle creaked as he stiffly climbed down.
The guard didn’t appear.
Fargo reckoned the man Rinson had left behind must be sleeping. He quietly stole to a row of figures next to the Winstons’ wagon. The largest was snoring loud enough to cause an earthquake. Dropping to one knee, Fargo shook his shoulder.
“Lester, wake up.”
The big farmer snorted and muttered and went on sleeping.
“Lester, damn it.” Fargo shook harder and this time Lester rolled onto his back and his eyes blinked a few times.
“What? Who? What time is it?”
The position of the Big Dipper gave Fargo some idea. “About one in the morning. You need to get up. You have trouble on the way.”
Rubbing his face, Lester sluggishly rose onto his elbows. “What are you talking about? What kind of trouble?”
“Gore and Rinson are coming here to wipe your people out.”
Lester stopped rubbing. “Say that again? I must be befuddled by sleep. Or else I’m dreaming.”
“Gore and Rinson aim to kill all of you.”
“All of us?”
“I know I sound loco but I’m serious, damn it. Gore has found gold. He needs a way to transport it out. So he’s taking your wagons.”
For fully half a minute the farmer simply stared. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I’ve had a hard day and need my sleep.”
Exasperation made Fargo boil. “Damn you, listen to me. Gore didn’t come back to this part of the country just to see it again. He was after the gold all along. He found a vein back when he was a trapper and now he needs your wagons to get the ore out.”
“You don’t say,” Lester said. “But if Victor found gold that long ago, why did he wait all this time to come back for it?”
“He didn’t want his scalp lifted.”
Lester smiled a tolerant smile. “Let me get back to sleep and we’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“They’ll be on their way by then.”
“And take how long to get here?”
“If they start at sunrise they can be here by midmorning.”
“Then we have plenty of time, don’t we?” Lester started to lie back down but Fargo gripped his wrist.
“Why won’t you believe me?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t. I didn’t say I do. But if I understand you, you’re saying that Gore tricked us into coming to this valley. You’re forgetting that I was the one who insisted we come. Victor tried to talk me out of it.” Lester gave a strange sort of laugh.
“He’s clever,” Fargo said. “He got you to think it was your idea when it was his doing all along.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Please,” Fargo said. “Don’t do this.”
“Let me sleep.” Lester sank back down. “I’m plumb worn-out and can’t think straight.”
“But Gore and Rinso—” Fargo began.
“We’ll talk in the morning.” Lester rolled onto his side so his back was to him. “I’ll listen to whatever else you have to say then.”
Fargo’s anger turned to fury. He had gone through a lot to warn them, and now the lunkhead wouldn’t listen. Then again, he could understand why Lester thought his story was far-fetched. How could he convince him? he wondered. The answer was like a slap in the face. He shook Winston’s shoulder again.
“You’re becoming a nuisance.”
“The man Rinson left to guard you. Where is he?”
“We don’t know. He rode off shortly before sunset. Said he saw some riders in the trees. He never came back.”
“And you didn’t send anyone to look for him?”
With an exaggerated sigh, Lester rolled onto his back. “Of course we did. I went myself, with some others. But there was no sign of him. We planned to search again once the sun is up.”
Fargo glanced at the ring of covered wagons. “So who is standing guard tonight?”
“We’re taking turns. I believe Floyd should be on watch. But it’s been so quiet, it wouldn’t surprise me if he fell asleep.” Lester rolled over once more. “I’d very much like to do the same. Good night.”
Fargo checked an impulse to swear a mean streak. He rose and tied the horse to the rear wheel.
Suddenly a warm hand closed on his wrist and warm breath fanned his ear. “Welcome back, handsome. Did you miss me?” Rachel whispered.
“Didn’t you hear what I just told your father?”
“Sure I did. But we have the rest of the night and everyone is asleep.” Giggling softly, Rachel tugged on his arm. “Come on. Let’s go for a stroll.”
Fargo couldn’t believe it. These people had blocks of wood for brains. Here he was, trying to save their hides, and they treated him as if he were a simpleton.
“Come on,” Rachel said again, pulling.
Fargo let her usher him around to the other side of their wagon. There she stopped and gazed off toward the timber.
“If we hurry, we can be back in an hour or so.”
“You don’t care that Gore and Rinson aim to kill all of you?”
“Not until the middle of the morning. Your very own words.” Rachel grinned and took a step.
Fargo shook his head in bewilderment. Now was hardly the right time. Then again, everyone else
was
asleep, and Gore and Rinson wouldn’t be there for eight or nine hours yet. “Why go anywhere?” he whispered, and didn’t budge.
Rachel regarded him uncertainly. “Then where?”
Turning her so her back was to the wagon, Fargo pressed her against it. His hands on her hips, his mouth close to hers, he said, “Right here.”
“They’ll hear us.”
“Not if we’re quiet.” Fargo kissed her. She tensed, then gradually relaxed. Her mouth parted and their tongues met in a wet, silken swirl. She started to groan but caught herself.
“That was nice,” Rachel whispered when they drew apart. “I think about you doing that all the time.”
“Do you ever think about this?” Fargo asked. Cupping both her breasts over the long cotton nightgown she wore, he squeezed them as if they were ripe melons.
Gasping, Rachel arched her back, her body taut against him, her thighs flush with his. “Oh, God.”
“Careful,” Fargo said with a grin. “You don’t want to wake them.” Her nipples become tacks and he pinched them between his thumbs and forefingers. It elicited a tiny mew. Her fingernails sank into his shoulders.
“The things you do to me,” Rachel husked. “No man has ever made me tingle like you do.”
Fargo silenced her with another kiss. She ground her hips against him, her twin peaks mashed against his chest, her fingers exploring high and low. She caressed his legs but didn’t touch him
there
just yet. When he ran his tongue from her mouth to her chin and then to the soft curve of her neck, she shivered.
“I could do this all night.”
Not Fargo. He wanted to get it over with so he could catch some sleep. But there was no rush. He licked her neck. He nibbled on her ear. For her part, she kissed his forehead, then took off his hat, dropped it, and ran her hand through his hair.
Rachel dreamily whispered in his ear, “You know, if things work out, you’ll be the second-best part of this whole business.”
Idly wondering what she meant, Fargo delved his tongue under the top of her nightgown as low as it would go. He couldn’t reach her nipples so he started to hike up her nightgown.