“I savvy,” Perkins said resentfully.
“You’re lucky, mister,” Skag said to Fargo.
Fargo was about to walk on when the sentry gave a shout and hooves drummed. Into the circle galloped Vincent Gore. In his excitement, Gore nearly rode a woman down. But it was what he shouted that galvanized everyone into rushing to their wagons and arming themselves.
“The Nez Perce are coming!”
14
Rifles bristled from wagon seats, from under the wagons, from behind the wagons. For over an hour the settlers were tense with dread, awaiting an attack. But the Nez Perce didn’t show. The sky darkened and night fell, and nothing happened.
“I don’t understand it,” Victor Gore said. “They chased me for miles. They were only a few hundred yards behind me when I reached this valley.”
“Maybe they know we’re here,” Lester Winston speculated. “Maybe they are off in the woods right this minute, watching us.”
Fargo was skeptical. The Nez Perce had no reason to fear the farmers, not if there were as many warriors as Gore claimed. “How many were there again?” he asked to be certain.
“I couldn’t count them, what with riding for my life, but I’d be willing to swear on a stack of Bibles there were seventy or more.”
“That’s a sizable war party,” Rinson remarked.
Too sizable, in Fargo’s estimation. The only reason a war party would be that large was if the Nez Perce were on a raid against an enemy village.
“Strange they haven’t shown,” a farmer mentioned from his roost on a wagon.
“They better come soon,” a woman said. “My nerves are frayed. I can’t take this waiting.”
“Someone should go see where they got to,” Rinson proposed.
“I agree,” Gore said. “And since I was the fool who led them here, I’ll go.” The old trapper turned toward his horse.
As they had done before, all eyes fixed on Fargo. Inwardly he swore but out loud he said, “It should be me who goes. I stand a better chance of making it back with my hair.”
Gore grinned. “This is no time for false bravery. I’ll gladly let you do it in my stead.”
Fargo made for the Ovaro. “Me and my big mouth,” he muttered, then realized he wasn’t alone.
“Be careful, Skye,” Rachel urged. “There’s no telling what they will do if they get their hands on you.”
Fargo hoped that Winter Wolf, the old warrior he had met, was with them. Winter Wolf might palaver rather than have him killed. Not that it would do much good. The Nez Perce weren’t about to let the farmers stay. “You were idiots to come here.”
“Here we go again!”
“If it were up to me, I’d run the whole bunch of you clear back to the Mississippi River.”
“How can you talk like that after we’ve let you stay with us and my ma has cooked your meals and all?”
Fargo hurriedly saddled. He was about done when Victor, Lester and Rinson drifted over.
“I’m sorry to have brought this on you,” Gore said. “I was scared. I didn’t think to try and lead them away.”
Lester said, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Anyone would have done the same.”
Not Fargo, but he didn’t say so.
“If you want,” Rinson spoke up, “I’ll send a couple of my men with you. Slag and Perkins wouldn’t mind going.”>
That was all Fargo needed, a war party in front of him and two killers at his back. “I’ll go alone.”
Anxious faces were pale blots in the dark as Fargo brought the Ovaro to a gap between wagons and forked leather. The saddle creaked under him, and then his boots were in the stirrups. “If I’m not back by sunup—” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
“It won’t come to that,” Lester said. “Not if you don’t let them get their hands on you.”
Was it Fargo’s imagination, or were there tears in Rachel’s eyes? He touched his hat brim and rode out. The Indians were at the mouth of the valley, Gore claimed. But Fargo didn’t head there. He reined wide to the right so he could come up on them through the forest. His skin prickling, he held the Ovaro to a walk. Less noise that way, and less chance of blundering into waiting warriors.
Fargo supposed he should be thankful he wasn’t going up against Apaches. Compared to them, the Nez Perce were kittens. Riled kittens, with bows and lances instead of teeth and claws.
It took half an hour. Once there, Fargo looked and listened but the woodland lay peaceful under a crescent moon and the multitude of stars. Where the hell were they? he wondered.
The mouth of the valley was too broad, too open. Fargo skirted it, hugging the tree line.
Still no sign of the war party.
Fargo reasoned that they had gone into the forest on the other side. For him to cross the river and go after them was foolhardy, yet that’s what he did. He hated being in the open. But he reached the woods without incident, and for long minutes prowled the benighted vegetation. The only living things he encountered were an owl that hooted at him from a high branch and a pair of spooked does that bounded off in fright.
No Nez Perce anywhere.
Drawing rein, Fargo stared off toward the distant ring of wagons. The farmers had kept the fires going and he could see several figures moving about. When it came to preserving their skin, they had all the sense of rocks. But there was no denying their gratefulness when he rode back and announced that he had searched long and hard and not found anything. “If the Nez Perce were there, they’re gone.”
“If?” Victor Gore said. “Surely you’re not suggesting I imagined them? I tell you, sir, it was a war party, and a big one, and I am lucky to be alive.”
“No one doubts you,” Lester said. “It’s our guns. They’re afraid to show themselves.”
Fargo came close to laughing in his face. One thing the Nez Perce weren’t, were cowards. Should they decide to wipe the settlers out, that’s exactly what they would do. Guns or no guns.
“Well, I guess we should all get some sleep,” Lester proposed. “We need our rest.”
“My men will stand guard as always,” Rinson said. “You have nothing to worry about with us watching over you.”
Fargo knew better. But he turned in when the rest did and spent a fitful night tossing and turning. Toward morning he drifted off and dreamed about being caught by the Nez Perce and skinned alive. A gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking him, returned him to the world of the real.
“Good morning, handsome,” Rachel said. “This is a switch. Usually you’re up before any of us.”
The sun was rising. Fargo cast off his blankets and sat up. Martha had a fire going and was preparing breakfast. Other women were doing the same. The men moved about, talking.
“You must have been tired.”
“Not that tired,” Fargo said in disgust. “I’ll head out again as soon as I’ve had a bite to eat.”
“No need,” Rachel said. “Mr. Gore and Mr. Rinson have already gone off to find the war party. Mr. Rinson took most of his men with him.”
“What?”
A single guard was walking the circle, a rifle in the crook of an elbow. As Fargo looked on, the man yawned and scratched himself.
“Mr. Gore said as how it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to go out again.” Rachel smiled sweetly. “Wasn’t that nice of him?”
“What about Rinson and his curly wolves?”
“Why did you call them that? They’ve done so much on our behalf. We have no complaints.”
“Did Gore ask them to go or did they offer?”
Rachel cocked her head and regarded him quizzically. “What difference does it make? But now that I think about it, Mr. Rinson allowed as how, if there was to be a fight with the Indians, he’d rather the blood was spilled somewhere else.” She beamed. “I tell you, with protectors like them, we’re in good hands.”