20
Victor Gore and Rinson and their companions rode into the valley along about ten. They were smiling and friendly and greeted the farmers with “Morning!” and nods. None of them noticed that most of the women were gathered at the opposite end of the circle with the children under their wing, or if they did notice, they thought nothing of it. And none noticed that two burly farmers with rifles stood on either side of Fargo. In fact, all the farmers had rifles and shotguns, and four of the women, besides. One of those women was Rachel.
Lester had the revolver they had taken from Fargo wedged under his belt, covered by his jacket so none of the “protectors” could see it. Spreading his arms, he beamed and said, “Victor! Where have you been? We were getting worried.”
Victor Gore tiredly leaned on his saddle horn. “We’ve been scouring the countryside for those savages. We found where they had camped and tracked them for miles but never could catch up with them.”
“That’s a shame,” Lester said. “If you had thrashed them, it would teach those heathens to leave us be.”
“My thinking exactly.” Gore straightened and gazed about the circle. His eyes fell on Fargo and he stiffened. “What’s this? Where did he come from?”
“He showed up late last night,” Lester said. “He tried to feed me some cock-and-bull story. For your sake, I had him disarmed.”
“My sake?” Gore repeated.
“He tried to convince me that you are out to harm us. Can you believe it? I refused to listen to his nonsense. But I was afraid he might shoot you, so I took his six-shooter away from him.”
“You did good,” Gore complimented him. “And don’t worry. Mr. Rinson and I know exactly how to deal with him.”
“I thought you might.”
Only Fargo seemed to be aware that the farmers and the armed women were slowly and casually drifting closer to the riders, and had them surrounded. Fargo shifted, and a rifle muzzle poked him in the side.
“Keep still,” Harvey warned. “It’s for your own good.”
“It will be a bloodbath,” Fargo said quietly. “Is that what you want?”
“We have surprise on our side,” Harvey said while grinning to give the impression they were having a friendly talk.
“You’re fools.”
“Can’t you understand how much that gold means to us?” Harvey whispered. “None of us have ever had a chance like this. To have more money than any of us have ever seen. Think of all the things we can do for our families.”
“You’re not doing it for them. You’re doing it for the same reason Gore came back here. For the same reason Gore and Rinson want all of you dead.” Fargo paused. “You’re doing it for greed.”
To his surprise, Harvey bobbed his chin. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s all there is to it. But do you know what? I don’t care. Neither do most of the others. We want that gold and we will have it.”
“It won’t be of much use to you if you’re dead.”
“Save your breath. We’ve come too far to change our minds.”
The other farmer nodded in silent agreement.
“God help you,” Fargo told them.
Victor Gore was gazing about the circle. “Say. Where’s the man I left to stand guard while we were gone?”
“He up and disappeared,” Lester replied. “He said something about seeing men off in the woods and went for a look-see. But he never came back.”
Only then did Fargo realize the truth—the farmers had killed him.
“What?” Gore blurted. “Didn’t you try to find him? Didn’t you look for sign?”
“Of course. But it was as if he vanished into thin air. We figured the savages got hold of him and must be close by. That’s why we armed ourselves.”
Fargo had to hand it to him. The big farmer had it all worked out. And Gore fell for the lie.
“A wise precaution. But now that we’re here, you can put your guns down and get back to making this valley your new home.” Gore went to slide a boot from the stirrups.
“Not so fast,” Lester said, his hand rising from under his jacket with the revolver pointed at Gore’s chest.
The next instant all the farmers had their weapons trained on their former protectors. Rinson and the rest stared in disbelief, unsure what was going on or how they should react.
“What is this, Lester?” Victor Gore demanded.
“We’d like for you and your friends to shed your hardware. And we’d like for you to do it nice and slow so we don’t have to shoot any more of you.”
“Any more?” Gore said, and recoiled as if the big farmer had struck him. “I ask you again. What is the meaning of this?”
“Come now. Don’t play the innocent. We know, Victor.”
“You know what?” Gore asked. But it was plain from the way he paled that he had divined the truth.
“We know about the gold. We know about your plan to wipe us out and take our wagons. But we can’t allow that.”
Gore shot Fargo a look of pure hate. “You did this!” “No, he didn’t,” Lester Winston said. “It was my Billy. He overheard you and Rinson at Fort Bridger. Boys do that. They like to spy on folks and listen when they shouldn’t.”
“You’ve known all this time?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“This is bad,” Victor Gore said grimly.
“For you, yes,” Lester agreed. “But not for us. Thanks to you, all of us will soon be rich. Thanks to you, we can live out the rest of our days in comfort. I thank you.”
“Do you really think it will be this easy? That we’ll hand the gold over to you just like that?” Gore snapped his fingers.
Lester wagged the revolver. “Look around you. Have your men do as I asked and drop their weapons. If you don’t, I’m afraid we’ll have to blow every last one of you from your saddles.”
“Bastard,” Victor said. “You miserable, thieving bastard.”
“Now, now. You’re a fine one to talk. You planned to murder innocent women and children.” Lester extended the revolver and thumbed back the hammer. “I must insist. Do as I tell you or there will be hell to pay.”
Fargo tensed. Rinson and his men had no doubt killed before, many times, and they probably figured that a bunch of dirt farmers were no match for them. But greed had made the farmers just like them. Greed had turned the farmers into killers. Blood was about to be spilled. An awful lot of blood.
“It need not come to this,” Victor Gore was saying. “I’m willing to share the gold with you and your people. Lower your guns and we will sit down and talk this over.”
“I wouldn’t believe anything you say even if you swore on your mother’s grave.”
“My dear Lester. Haven’t I always treated you and yours with courtesy and respect? Yet now you treat me as if I’m worse than a red savage. You sadden me. You truly do.”
Fargo wondered why none of the farmers had caught on that Gore was stalling. That as Gore talked, Rinson and the other gun sharks were inching their hands toward their pistols and rifles. He went to warn them and once again received a hard jab in the side.
“No talking,” Harvey snapped.
Fargo braced for the explosion. The women on the far side of the circle were also prepared for the worst, many with their arms around their frightened children. But not Martha Winston. She looked mad more than anything, and Fargo didn’t blame her.
Gore spread his hands. “I’ll make one last appeal. Can’t we talk this over, Lester? There’s enough gold for all of us.”
The big farmer took a step nearer. “Enough talk, Victor. Do as I told you.”
“What a shame,” Gore said sadly, even as his right hand streaked to the revolver tucked under his belt—Fargo’s Colt.
“No!” Lester cried, and fired, and bedlam broke out.
The slug caught Gore high in the shoulder. The impact wasn’t enough to knock him from the saddle but he left it anyway, diving for the ground. Rinson and Slag and Perkins and the rest stabbed for their weapons. Only a few farmers had the presence of mind to snap off quick shots. The rest were momentarily rooted in shock at the sudden violence. Then guns were booming all over the place, revolvers and rifles and shotguns spewing lead and smoke amid a chaos of curses and screams and shouts.