“You haven’t said ten words to me all morning.”
Fargo pushed his hat back on his head and squinted up at Rachel Winston. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”
Rachel grinned and sank down, her shapely legs coiled under her. “What do you have in mind, kind sir?”
“What do you think?” Fargo rejoined, and went to reach for her.
“Not in broad daylight!” Rachel cried, drawing back. “Everyone will talk.”
“They’re talking anyway.”
“Yes. But they’re doing it behind our backs. Were we to carry on now, some might see fit to complain to my ma and pa, and they’re upset enough with me as it is.”
“They don’t approve?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course they don’t approve. It would be different if we were to be married. As it is, they think I’m a woman of loose morals.”
“They said that?”
“No, but I can read it in their faces. I’ve disappointed them, I’m afraid.” Rachel leaned closer and lowered her voice. “But it was worth it. I wouldn’t trade last night for anything. Maybe that makes me a hussy. If so, so be it.”
“It’s not as if you’re going to go to work in a saloon or walk the streets at night.”
“You’re forgetting women have it harder than men. An unwed man can lie with a woman and no one says a word. They take it as natural. But let an unwed woman lie with a man and suddenly she’s a trollop and of no-account. I ask you, is that fair?”
“No,” Fargo admitted.
“Men are free to do as they please but women must walk around with chastity belts on.”
Fargo laughed.
“It’s not the least bit funny. Were it up to me, women would have the same freedom men do. Is that so wrong?”
“No,” Fargo agreed again.
“Well then,” Rachel said softly, “tonight, if you’re willing, I’ll make a hussy of myself. But we must be discreet. We can’t let anyone see us leave, and we have to watch out for Rinson and his friends in case they come looking for us.”
“They won’t make that mistake twice,” Fargo predicted.
“Don’t put anything past them. I overheard Rinson and Slag talking. They resent you being here, for some reason. Slag is all for making you leave whether you want to go or not but Rinson told him it might make my pa or Mr. Gore mad. They must think my pa approves of you and me carrying on.” Rachel tittered. “We’ll let them go on thinking that if it keeps them off your back.”
A shadow fell across them.
Fargo looked up, thinking it was her father or mother but it was Rinson, and he wasn’t alone. Slag and Perkins were with him. “Speak of the devil.”
Rinson held his hands out, palms up. “We’re not looking for more trouble, mister. We came over to talk, is all.”
“I’m listening.”
Hooking his thumbs in his gun belt, Rinson forced an oily smile. “We want you to leave.”
“Hell,” Fargo said.
“Don’t get riled,” Rinson said quickly. “We’re asking real nice. As a favor to these farmers, it would be best for everyone if you lit a shuck.”
“How long before you get it through your heads? I’m sticking around a while.”
Perkins said flatly, “You don’t want to do that.”
“No, you sure don’t,” Slag echoed.
“Why not?”
They swapped glances but said nothing.
“Get used to me,” Fargo said.
Rinson sighed and lowered his arms. His hand was near his Remington but he made no move to draw it. “No one can say I didn’t try. I asked real polite and you threw it in my face.”
“Saying no was the biggest mistake you ever made,” Perkins said.
“The biggest.” Another echo from Slag.
“Go pester someone else,” Fargo snapped.
Their expressions didn’t bode well as the three so-called protectors turned and walked off.
“Why did they do that?” Rachel wondered. “My pa made it clear you can stay as long as you want.”
All afternoon Fargo rode alongside the Winstons’ wagon. He saw little of Vincent Gore, who went on ahead with Perkins and two others to find a spot to camp for the night.
The protectors stayed away from him. Whenever Fargo glanced at any of them, they made it a point to look away. That alone made him suspicious. They were trying too hard to make him think they were willing to leave him be.
Along about four dust rose to the north. Fargo figured it was Gore and he was right, but they were pushing their horses as if the animals couldn’t go fast enough to suit them.
“We found a spot that would be perfect for our night camp,” Gore announced after the settlers hastily gathered. “But a bunch of Nez Perce got there first. I counted eighteen, and they were wearing paint.”
Fargo frowned. It was a war party, not a hunting party.
“Do you reckon they’re searching for us?” a farmer anxiously asked.
“Lordy, I hope not,” a woman said. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in some buck’s lodge.”
“Enough of that kind of talk,” Lester said.
“Stay calm,” Victor Gore urged them. “I doubt the Nez Perce know we’re here yet.”
“But you can’t be sure,” someone remarked.
“There’s one way to find out,” Gore said. “We must send someone to spy on them and learn what they are up to.”
“It will be awful dangerous,” Lester said. “Who did you have in mind?”
Victor Gore’s gaze drifted to Fargo, and everyone imitated him. “I was hoping for a volunteer.”
“Hell,” Skye Fargo said.
9
There were twenty-four, not eighteen.
The hoof prints told Fargo that much. They also told him the Nez Perce hadn’t camped overnight at the clearing where Victor Gore told Fargo he had spotted them. The tracks led through the clearing and out the other side without stopping.
It raised a couple of questions in Fargo’s mind. Why did Gore tell him the Nez Perce were camped there when they weren’t? And what were the Nez Perce doing there to begin with? If they were painted for war, as Gore claimed, they were either planning to raid an enemy or coming back from a raid.
Either way, the tracks plainly pointed to the east. The wagon train was to the south. So the settlers were safe enough for the time being.
But now Fargo had a decision to make. He could ride back and tell Gore and Winston all was well or he could make certain all was well by following the war party a short way to be sure they didn’t stay in the area.
Fargo swore and gigged the Ovaro to the east.
By then the sun was only a few degrees above the horizon. Sparrows chirped in the brush. Several deer watched him go by without showing any fear. A squirrel leaped from limb to limb high in the trees. All signs that the woods were peaceful. But Fargo wasn’t fooled. The wilds were a fickle mistress—peaceful one moment, erupting into violence the next. He rode with his hand on his Colt. Every so often he rose in the stirrups to scan the terrain ahead.
The shadows lengthened. Soon the bright glare of day would give way to the spectral gray of twilight.
Fargo pondered as he rode. It bothered him that he couldn’t figure out what Rinson and the other so-called protectors were up to, or how, exactly, Victor Gore fit into the scheme of things. Gore had talked the farmers into hiring Rinson but he might have felt he was doing the farmers a favor.
It bothered Fargo, too, that the farmers wouldn’t listen to his advice and get the hell out of Nez Perce country while they still could. No valley, no matter how ideal, was worth the price the farmers would pay when the Nez Perce found out they were there.
Then there was Rachel. Fargo had taken a shine to the girl and didn’t want her harmed. He had half a mind to throw her over his saddle and take her away by force when he left.