6

The bartender was a portly pot bubbling with anger. “When I said none of that, I damn well meant it!” he roared while pressing a scattergun to Fargo’s head.

“Tell it to them,” Fargo said.

Max Perkins cocked a fist but then did a marvelous imitation of granite when the scattergun was abruptly trained on him.

“So much as twitch and there won’t be enough of you left to pick up with tweezers,” the bartender exaggerated.

“You don’t understand,” Perkins protested.

“No, you don’t savvy, you pigheaded idiot,” the bartender cut him off. “There will be no fighting in my saloon. Ever. I don’t have money to waste fixing busted chairs and tables and glasses.” He stepped back, covering Perkins and the emigrants. “Since these other gents were here first and minding their business, I want you and your three friends to skedaddle, and I don’t mean next week.”

The wagon boss did not know when to keep his mouth shut. “I resent this shabby treatment.”

“You do, do you?” the bartender said, and drove the shotgun’s twin barrels into Max Perkins’s gut. Perkins doubled over, wheezing in agony, and the portly bartender wagged the scattergun under his nose. “How about that? Was it shabby enough for you?”

Perkins made a few noises reminiscent of a chicken being strangled.

To the emigrants the bartender said, “Take this jackass and make yourselves scarce before I get really mad.”

Kip Weaver had sat back down and was carefully brushing pieces of glass from the table. “When you’re done removing the riffraff, hoss, how about a new bottle? I’m not nearly booze blind enough.”

“You pay for the broken bottle first,” the bartender said. “I saw you break it over that fellow’s noggin.”

“They don’t make whiskey bottles like they used to.”

The bartender chortled and headed for the bar, the scattergun under an arm. “You sure are a caution, Weaver.”

“You know him?” Fargo asked.

“Oh, we’re the best of friends. I’ve favored his establishment every day since I arrived. You could say I’ve become a fixture.” Kip smacked his lips in anticipation and, when the bottle came, immediately opened it and filled a glass. The next moment the glass was empty.

“You’ve changed.”

“Don’t we all?” Kip filled a different glass and slid it toward Fargo, then did the same for No-Nose Smith. “To our health, gentlemen!”

“To sobriety,” Smith said, and took the barest of sips.

“You’re no fun, James,” Kip complained. “No fun at all. It’s not good to go through life so serious.”

No-Nose touched the patch over the cavity in the center of his face. “I have good cause.”

“We all have scars. Yours is just more obvious than most.” Kip refilled his own glass but for once let it sit there. “Life is too short to let our scars ruin it. Live to the fullest is my new motto, and you would do well to do the same.”

“That’s the whiskey talking,” Fargo said. He could not get over how drastic the change was. Kip Weaver had always been uncommonly fond of liquor, but he had never been this fond.

“Shows how much you know, pard.” Kip picked up his glass but instead of drinking he turned the glass around and around in his hand. “Have you ever been afraid, Skye—so afraid you came near to peeing your pants?”

“We all have moments like that.”

“You’re too kind by half. I doubt you have ever been truly and really afraid once in your whole life. It’s not in you. Not the high and mighty Trailsman.”

“Cut that out,” Fargo said.

“Why? You know I’m right. So does James. Ask him.”

No-Nose fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. “You shouldn’t be talking like this, Kip. We’re your friends.”

“A man can never have too many of those,” Weaver said. “But no matter how many he has, they don’t count for much if they’re not by his side when he needs them the most. Where were the two of you when those Piegans nearly lifted my hair?”

“Now you’re being silly,” No-Nose Smith said, and stood up. “I’ve had enough. Tomorrow at first light I head north. I wish the two of you luck, but I need the full twenty thousand and nothing will stop me from earning it.” He touched his hat brim and left.

“Peculiar hombre, that James,” Kip said. “Won’t cuss, rarely drinks, and treats women like they are special. I hope he grows up someday.” Chuckling at his wit, he emptied another glass.

“What about you?” Fargo asked. “Do you want to work together or go it alone?”

Weaver held the bottle in both hands and swirled it as he had the glass a minute ago. “I like you as a brother. But this time I reckon we should split up. To each his own, eh?”

“However you want it.” Fargo preferred to search by himself anyway. By nature he was a lone wolf. Running with a pack was not for him.

“Don’t hold it against me,” Kip said. “There’s no one I respect more than you. But friendship should never stand in the way of filling one’s poke.”

“Don’t you have that backward?”

Kip kissed the bottle and set it back down on the table. “It’s nothing personal, hoss. But I’ve learned my lesson. I’d like to live to a ripe old age, and that twenty thousand is enough to live on the rest of my days.” He swayed as if he were drunk but Fargo wasn’t fooled. “Consider this a warning. It’s every man for himself—or woman, as the case may be. I won’t let you or anyone else get between me and the prize.”

First Smith, now Weaver. Fargo recollected a quote he had heard somewhere: “The root of all evil is money.”

“My God. Which pocket did you pull that one out of? Or did you get religion and not tell me?” Kip chuckled. “Money is also the root of a lot of good.” He paused. “More redeye?”

Suddenly Fargo wanted fresh air. “I’ll see you at the boardinghouse later.” Kip said something but Fargo was not listening.

The sun struck his face full-on and Fargo squinted against the glare. Since he wasn’t leaving Fort Hall until morning, he bent his boots toward the hitch rail where he had left the Ovaro. He would put it up at a stable for the night, with orders to feed it oats and brush it down. It was the least he could do, given that they were in for weeks of hard travel over some of the most rugged terrain anywhere.

The stable, though, turned out to be full.

“I’m sorry, sonny,” the old man who owned it apologized. “There ain’t a stall left. It’s all the gold-hungry jackasses passin’ through.”

“What about the corral out back?” Fargo had noticed it as he came down the street. “Can I put him up there and still have the oats?”

The man was agreeable, and soon Fargo was retracing his steps to the boardinghouse with his bedroll over one shoulder, his saddlebags over the other, and the Henry in hand. Driscoll admitted him without a word and he went up the stairs to his room. As he was reaching for the door, he saw it was open a crack and heard soft sounds from within. He slowly pushed it open.

Silky Mae Pickett was on her hands and knees peering under the bed. Her back was to him and she had not heard him.

“Lose something?” Fargo asked.

“What the hell!” Silky Mae blurted, pushing onto her knees and twisting. “You scared the livin’ daylights out of me!”

“If you were looking for me, I doubt I would be under there.”

Silky Mae laughed. “That was a good one.”

“What are you doing here?” Fargo asked, wondering where her brother had gotten to. He had the impression they were inseparable.

Silky Mae stood and placed her hands on her hips. “Is that any way to greet a gal who compromises her reputation by comin’ to your room all by her lonesome?”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Fargo moved so his back was to the wall and he could watch her and the doorway, both.

“Goodness gracious, you sure are a suspicious cuss,” Silky Mae teased. “And here I heard you were right fond of the ladies.”

“I’ve heard the same rumor.”

Silky Mae adopted a seductive look and sashayed up to him with an exaggerated sway of her hips. “I hope it’s more than that,” she said softly, placing a hand on his chest.

Somehow Fargo had not thought of her as the kind to throw herself at men. He did not say anything as she slowly traced a finger to his neck and then around to his ear. “Cat got your tongue, handsome?”

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re up to,” Fargo confessed.

Silky Mae’s jaw muscles twitched. “You’re not at all what I expected. Or is it that you don’t find me pretty?”

“Any man would,” Fargo said. She was no Lucy Harper but she was attractive in her own right. Her eyes had a lively spark to them, and her lips were invitingly shaped. Her bosom was ample but exactly how ample was hard to judge because of the loose-fitting shirt she wore. The same with her legs, thanks to her pants.

“Then it must be something else,” Silky Mae said. Frowning, she stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed. “I must say, I’m terribly disappointed.”

“What would your brother say if he were to walk in?”

“Billy Bob keeps his big nose out of my personal life, or else. Oh, he’s always goin’ on and on about how I should act like a lady and always do what’s proper.” Silky Mae uttered a most unladylike curse. “Easy for him to say. Whenever he has the itch, he visits a saloon or a house of ill repute. But when I get the itch, I’m supposed to ignore it.”

“Where is Billy Bob right now?” Fargo asked.

“Out buyin’ our supplies and whatnot,” Silky Mae replied. “He doesn’t like to take me shoppin’. Claims I’m always buyin’ things I shouldn’t.” She swore again. “He doesn’t savvy womenfolk at all.”

Fargo closed the door and threw the bolt. When he turned, her eyes had widened and she did not appear so sure of herself. “Well, then, suppose I take care of that itch of yours.” Stepping to the bed, he set down his effects and reached for her.

“Not so fast,” Silky Mae said quickly, sliding back. “There’s something I’d like to talk about first.”

“I’d rather kiss than talk.” Fargo gave her a dose of her own medicine. Sitting, he draped his arm across her shoulders and felt her stiffen.

“Land sakes, you’re more changeable than the weather. You go from cold to hot in the blink of an eye.” Silky Mae laughed but the laugh rang false. “I didn’t necessarily mean that we had to do it right this instant.”

“Oh?” Fargo said, and before she could think to move away or stop him, he covered her right breast with his hand, and squeezed.

“Oh!” Silky Mae gasped.

Fargo found her nipple and pinched it, none too gently. “This is what you came for, right?”

Trembling, Silky Mae swallowed hard, placed her hand on his, and slowly peeled his fingers from her body. “Not now,” she said huskily.

“Give me one good reason,” Fargo said, and covered her other breast with his other hand. Again he squeezed, eliciting a low whine, and when her grip slackened, he applied both hands to her nipples, pinching and tweaking them through her shirt.

Silky Mae groaned. She licked her lips, then smacked them, and said more to herself than to him, “This isn’t how it was supposed to go. It’s not how it was supposed to go at all.”

“I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” Fargo said. He nuzzled her neck and licked her earlobe.

“Damn you,” Silky Mae breathed. “My brother would throw a fit.”

Fargo raised his mouth from her ear. “I won’t tell him if you don’t.” He had not intended for it go to this far. He figured he would call her bluff and she would push him away and stomp out in a huff. Instead, she suddenly flung her hands behind his head and pulled him to her as if she were trying to crawl inside his skin. She kissed him hard, almost fiercely, her breaths coming short and fast. He rimmed her lips with his tongue but she did not open her mouth to admit him.

When the kissed ended, Silky Mae sat with her bosom heaving and her cheeks as pink as twin peaches. “My goodness. That was nice.”

“It gets nicer,” Fargo said, and pressing his body full against hers, he began to ease her onto her back.

“What am I doing?” Silky Mae said. Abruptly sliding out from under him, she stood up. “I’m plumb sorry.” Shaking her head, she backed toward the door. “I just can’t. Not now.”

Fargo sighed and propped his elbow on the bed and his head in his hand. “Whatever you want.”

Silky Mae smoothed her shirt. “Lordy, you’re slick. You could talk a nun out of her habit.” She threw the bolt open but did not open the door. “My head is spinnin’ so, I almost forgot why I came.”

“It wasn’t to seduce me?” Fargo pretended that his feelings were hurt, and frowned.

“As I keep tellin’ you, maybe later.” Silky Mae adjusted her fox hat. “No, the real reason was to ask you to throw in with Billy Bob and me.”

“The three of us?”

“Why not?” Silky Mae rejoined. “You’re the best of the bunch, if what folks say is true. My brother and me would rather have you workin’ with us than workin’ against us.”

“You don’t mind splitting the reward money three ways?”

“Not at all,” Silly Mae said.

Fargo smothered a grin. She was the world’s worst liar. She was no more willing to share the money than she was her body. She just wanted him to think she was.

“Splittin’ twenty thousand three ways is more money than splittin’ ten thousand two ways,” Silky Mae went on. “And with you on our side, the three of us are bound to find Zared’s boy, or his bones, before anyone else does.”

“I wouldn’t take Kip Weaver or No-Nose Smith lightly,” Fargo advised. “They can track as well as I can.”

“You’re too modest. But even if that’s so, a lot can happen out in the wilderness. Accidents and such.”

The veiled threat caused Fargo to sit up. “You better not be saying what I think you’re saying. They happen to be friends of mine.”

Silky Mae chuckled. “Why, ain’t you the saint?” She glanced toward the floor, then said, “Think it over. I’ve got to go.” Turning, she hurried out as if her britches were on fire and she needed water to extinguish the flames. She did think to close the door after her.

“She’s a strange one,” Fargo said aloud, and he lay on his back with his fingers laced under his head. The situation was becoming too complicated for his liking. Kip and No-Nose were out to get the full twenty thousand no matter what, and now the Picketts were up to something. Exactly what was hard to say. He did not believe for a second that they wanted to work with him.

Then there was Benjamin Zared. A man with his money could hire a hundred people to look for his son if he wanted. Hell, a thousand. But Zared was content to use only the five of them. Granted, they were all skilled trackers, but an army of searchers could cover the territory from end to end a lot faster.

Equally troublesome was the fact Zared did not seem to give a damn about his son’s fiancée and friend. And what sort of man was Gideon Zared that he dragged the woman he loved off into the mountains after gold? Didn’t Gideon realize how perilous the mountains were?

A soft sound intruded on Fargo’s musing. He cocked his head and listened but it was not repeated.

He had provisions to buy but he was in no hurry. He had the rest of the day, and he only needed a few items. On the trail he tended to travel light. Instead of packhorses laden with grub and the like, he lived off the land as much as possible. Some coffee, some jerky or pemmican, a little flour and maybe a little sugar, and he was set.

Again there came a soft sound, a vague rustling that brought Fargo half up with his head tilted. Again he listened intently but again the sound had stopped. He wasn’t sure if it came from inside his room or from without, and he was about to rise and check the hall when someone knocked on the door. “Did you forget something?” he asked, thinking it was Silky Mae.

The door opened, framing Edrea Zared, who regarded him quizzically. “Not that I’m aware of, no.”

“I thought you were someone else,” Fargo said.

“The young lady I saw leaving your room? Frankly, I wouldn’t have thought she was quite your type, but then, you never know about a person, do you?”

“Why, Miss Zared, is it me, or are your claws showing?”

Edrea sniffed as if she had detected a rank odor. “Who you spend your time with is of no interest to me, I assure you. But I will say that you would not be her first. My father dug up as much information as he could on all of you, and the adorable Silky Mae, by all accounts, has the morals of a female alley cat in heat.”

Fargo grinned. “My, my. Such language.”

“You are not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Edrea said. “Add your name to her long list. See if I care.”

“Is that why you came to see me? To protect my virtue?”

“I’m amazed you can claim you have any, after all the escapades you’ve had.” Edrea paused. “What did that army captain say about your love life? Ah, yes. Now I remember.” She paused once more, for effect. “Women are drawn to you like does to a salt lick.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh. And my favorite comment, from a colonel of your acquaintance. And I quote, ‘Fargo has bedded more women than the entire Seventh Cavalry.’ ”

“Not quite that many.”

“You are much too modest,” Edrea countered. “But your good looks and your charm are wasted on me. I’m not going to fall into your arms like Silky Mae apparently already has.”

“She had a business proposition.”

“I’ll bet she did. But all I am interested in is ensuring that my brother and the others are found as quickly as practical, and brought back safe and sound.”

“Provided they are still alive,” Fargo said.

“Gideon is alive. I know he is. I can feel it. My father belittles my intuition, but as surely as I am standing here, my brother is not dead.”

Fargo kept quiet, but the odds against it were high. “I hope you’re right.” Since she had given him the opening, he asked, “Why is it your father forgot to mention your brother’s betrothed?”

“Haven’t we already discussed that? He naturally believes that when you find Gideon, you will find Tabor and Asa.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Fargo said.

Edrea Zared blinked, then laughed as if the suggestion were ridiculous. “Don’t be absurd. We told you everything you need to know. Everything of importance.”

“Why are you here?” Fargo asked testily. He resented being lied to.

“My father neglected to mention one aspect of the hunt. He would like each of you to take a few bodyguards along. In your case, Pike Driscoll and two others.”

Fargo would not have been more surprised if she asked to go herself. “Out of the question.”

“Hear me out,” Edrea said. “My father wants to be kept informed of your progress. His bodyguards will serve as messengers and relay any important news to us.”

“No.”

“What harm can it do? They will be under orders not to interfere or hamper you in any way.”

“It’s still no.” Fargo did not trust Driscoll, or any of the bodyguards, as far as he could throw them.

“Give me one good reason.”

“I’ll give you several.” Fargo ticked them off on his fingers. “One, they are greenhorns. Two, the more of us there are, the more noise we make, the more sign we leave, the more likely it is hostiles will discover us. Three, we would need a couple of packhorses, and that would slow us down considerably.”

“What is it about you scouts?” Edrea said in annoyance. “Mr. Weaver and Mr. Smith both said the same thing. They refused, too. I haven’t talked to the Picketts yet but they will probably be just as stubborn.”

“If you want the job done right, you have to let us do it as we see fit,” Fargo recommended.

“And if my father insists?”

“He can hire someone to replace me.”

“We don’t want that.” Edrea frowned. “Very well. I will inform him. He won’t like it but he will respect your wishes.” She went to leave. “Remember, if there is anything else you require, anything at all, you only have to ask.” She pulled the door after her.

It struck Fargo that she had given in much too easily. Shrugging, he decided to go buy his supplies. About to stand, he heard the strange sound he had heard earlier. This time he was able to pinpoint where it came from—somewhere on the floor.

Lying flat on his stomach, Fargo checked every square inch but saw nothing to account for it. Removing his hat, he slid over the side of the bed and lowered his head until he could see under it. Fargo’s blood changed to ice in his veins and he held himself stock-still.

Not two inches away, partially coiled, was the last thing in the world that should have been in his room—a large rattlesnake.