“The will is ironclad,” Pickleman told him. “You can fight it in court but I can promise you that you’ll lose.”
“A bunch of poor riffraff,” Tom said in disgust. “What have they done to earn it? Nothing.”
Roland asked the question uppermost on Fargo’s own mind. “What are we to hunt? All this talk of the inheritance and you still haven’t said whether it’s a bear or an elk or some other animal.”
“Your father calls it a hunt in his will. Given what’s at stake, and what you are to find, I’d call it a treasure hunt.”
“Find?” Roland echoed. “We’re not to track and kill game?”
“No. I’m afraid your hunting skills won’t give you an edge. You see”—the lawyer gazed at each of them in turn—“the object of your hunt is a small wooden chest. In it is the last page of the will, bequeathing everything to whoever finds it.”
“I’ll be damned,” Charles said.
“A treasure chest?” Tom swore lustily. “We’re to decide our fate with some silly child’s game?”
Pickleman answered, “Believe it or not, your father was trying to be fair. He buried the chest himself. I am permitted to tell you that it is within half a mile of the lodge, but in which direction, not even I know.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Charlotte said.
“Which is why your father gave you twenty-four hours. He provided no other clues. There’s no mention of landmarks or anything else that would help you. All I know is that he told me he had buried it in a shallow hole and that whoever found it would have no cause to weep.”
“An understatement if ever I heard one,” Tom spat. “And so like our father. God, I hate him as much now as I did when he was alive.” He glanced at Cletus Brun. “As for you, your hunting skills are of no use whatsoever.”
“I can still be of help,” the big Missourian said. “Four eyes are better than two and my eyes are sharp.”
Samantha smiled ruefully at Fargo. “I had you come all this way thinking you were the best hunter my money could buy.”
“You don’t want me now?”
“To the contrary. Mr. Brun is right. Four eyes are better than one. Besides, it’s too late to find someone else.”
Pickleman tinged the glass again. “There are a few other conditions of which you must be aware. First, you must conduct the hunt on foot. No horses or mules allowed.”
“Leave it to Father to make it as hard as possible,” Charles said.
“Second, no weapons are allowed. No guns of any kind. No knives or anything else. All weapons are to be left here in the lodge.”
Cletus Brun wasn’t happy. “The hell you say! I never go anywhere unarmed. Only a fool does.”
Fargo didn’t like it, either. He would feel naked without his Colt or the Henry or the Arkansas toothpick. They were as much a part of him as his clothes, hat, and boots.
“The third condition is one I argued against,” the attorney was saying. “I told your father that it is immoral and unethical. Inhuman might be a better word. He refused to rescind it.”
“What is it?” Tom demanded.
Pickleman coughed. “Should any of you come to harm, no charges are to be lodged against whoever is responsible.”
“What?” Samantha said.
The siblings sat there in silence as the full import slowly sank in. Finally Charles placed his hands on the table and cocked his head at the attorney. “Did we hear you correctly? Our father is encouraging us to attack one another?”
“That would be illegal,” Pickleman said.
Tom was livid. “Don’t try to hoodwink me. I’m no simpleton. What Father has done is set up a hunting contest where we are the game.”
“He wouldn’t,” Samantha declared in horror. “Not even he would go that far.”
“But he has,” Charlotte said.
Cousin Amanda broke her long silence to say, “You’re going to try and kill each another?”
“Only if we want to,” Tom said, and laughed.
“There was no mention of anything like this,” Amanda said. “I don’t want any part of it.”
“Nor do I,” said Charles’s friend, Bruce Harmon.
“That is entirely up to you,” the lawyer told them. “In fact, the same applies to the principals.” He looked at each of the siblings in turn. “Any of you can bow out if you so desire. Keep in mind that those who do are eliminated from the hunt and won’t receive a cent of the inheritance.”
“Our father,” Roland said. “The devil in disguise.”
Tom turned to Cletus Brun. “What about you? Are you as cowardly as our cousin and Bruce? Or will you see it through?”
“You’re payin’ me,” Cletus replied.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Samantha focused on Fargo. “And you, Skye? Please think carefully before you answer. I don’t want you to come to harm on my account.”
Fargo fully realized the danger he was placing himself in as he said, “I gave my word I would take part.” He turned. “But there’s something all of you are overlooking.”
“What would that be?” Pickleman said.
“Emmett. Whoever hired the man who shot him isn’t done. Any one of you could be next.”
“Which would please our deceased father no end,” Tom said. “Or haven’t you gotten it yet? He wants us to murder one another. He wants his own sons and daughters to kill one another off.”
“Someone should report this to the sheriff,” Amanda said.
Charlotte spun on her. “Don’t you dare. This is a family matter and will be settled by us, not the law.”
“You can settle it without bloodshed,” Amanda persisted. “Each of you can give his or her word that you won’t try to harm anyone else during the hunt.”
“We could,” Tom said, nodding, “but I won’t.”
“Why in God’s name not?” Charles asked.
“Because I agree with Father. This is the best way. We’ve been at one another’s throats for years. Fear of being thrown behind bars has always held us back but now we can give free rein to all the hate bubbling inside of us.”
“You have a warped mind,” Samantha said.
“As did Father.” Tom chortled. “Ironic, is it not, that I’m more like him than any of you, yet I’m the one he thought was the fruit of someone else’s loins?”
“So Charles and Charlotte will hunt by themselves?” Pickleman asked to have it clarified. “Amanda and Bruce have dropped out?”
Both their cousin and Harmon nodded.
“Just so you know,” the lawyer told them, “you have until the actual start of the hunt to change your minds.”
“I certainly won’t,” Bruce Harmon said.
Pickleman gazed along the table. “At six o’clock tomorrow morning I expect everyone to be out front. I am to fire a pistol to start the hunt. Remember, no mounts, no weapons, and no food or water.”
Samantha straightened. “Father made that a condition, too? Twenty-four hours without anything to eat or drink smacks of cruelty.”
“Our father’s middle name,” Tom said sarcastically.
Pickleman walked to the doorway. “I bid you good night. Since I am to oversee the hunt, I must remain awake the entire twenty-four hours. In order to do that I need all the sleep I can get tonight.” He smiled and left.
“How can any of us sleep knowing what’s in store?” Charlotte played her part as the innocent.
Fargo could use some rest himself. The lovemaking and the huge meal had left him sluggish and tired. He pushed back his chair and was about to excuse himself when Samantha placed her warm hand on his.
“Does all of this trouble you as much as it does me?” She didn’t wait for him to reply. “We need to talk over our strategy for tomorrow.”
“I’m listening.”
“Not at the table. The others will overhear us. We need somewhere private.” Samantha’s cherry lips curled and her fingernail traced a delicate line across this hand. “Why don’t you come up to my room with me?”