Beartooth Incident (15 page)

“Thank you for that,” Mary said. “Since my Frank died—”

“You need to get over him.”

“I know. It’s been a year or better. I try but I just can’t. I was very much in love with him.”

“Dead is dead,” Fargo said.

“That was harsh. And you’d do well to remember that those we love often live on in our hearts.”

Fargo looked at her. In the starlight she looked gorgeous enough to eat. “I’ve lost a few people who were close to me. The best thing is to close the door and get on with your life.”

“I can’t ever close the door to Frank. The best I can do is leave it open but only go in now and again.”

She was quiet a while. Then she cleared her throat.

“Mind if I ask what your plans for us are?”

“To get you to a settlement. From there you can go anywhere you want.”

“You mean never come back? But our things. We don’t own much but I would like to keep what little we have.”

“I didn’t see a wagon anywhere.”

“Frank used most of the board for firewood. He didn’t ever plan to leave that place.”

“Poke your head in that door and tell him he was a jackass.”

On the other side of Fargo, Jayce said angrily, “Our pa was not, neither! Don’t call him names.”

Fargo was tempted to tell the boy that any man who brought his family out into the heart of Indian country, where there wasn’t another settler within hundreds of miles, a region so remote it was crawling with predators, both four-legged and two-legged—that man was in dire need of common sense. But all he said was, “When you’re older don’t do as he did.”

“Our pa loved us,” Nelly spoke up.

“He loved you so much, he’s reaching out from his grave to get you killed.”

“Enough, Skye,” Mary said. “They’re young. They wouldn’t understand. I do, and I forgive Frank his faults. For me it matters more that he was devoted to me and to them.”

“Some men are good at that.” Fargo doubted he was. He had too much wanderlust.

“A person never knows until they try it.”

Fargo let it drop. He shifted in the saddle.

The fireflies were at the cabin.

Mary did as he was doing. “Will they come after us, you think, or wait until daylight?”

“It depends on how mad Sten is.”

“He was terrible mad. He beat the man who tied you, Howell. He said Howell hadn’t done it good enough. I thought for a minute Cud would beat him to death.”

Jayce said, “I hate Cud Sten.”

“Now, now, son.”

“I do, Ma. I know you said it’s not nice to hate but I can’t help it. I hate him and those mean men with him. I wish they were all dead.”

“Me, too,” Nelly said.

A gust of wind chilled Fargo’s face. It was going to be a long night. Mary and the kids would be worn-out by dawn, and the worst was yet to come.

“Oh, look!” Mary burst out. “One of them is coming after us.”

A single torch was winding through the stand.

“Why only one?” Nelly wondered.

Fargo knew why. Because that one was the best tracker, and the deadliest of the bunch.

Rika was on their trail.

It was the middle of the morning. The air had turned bitterly cold and the cold helped Fargo stay alert. The kids, though, were dozing in the saddle, and Jayce had nearly fallen off twice.

Mary stifled a yawn. “Goodness, I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“We can’t stop yet.”

They were past the point where Fargo had first spotted the outlaws. Snowy slopes climbed toward the distant sky. High above, white peaks loomed against the blue.

“There’s no sign of anyone after us,” Mary mentioned. “Shouldn’t he have caught up by now?”

“Yes.” And Fargo was beginning to worry. Rika was stalking them as a hunter stalked prey. At that very moment Rika might be in the forest, watching them.

“Why hasn’t he done anything?”

“He’ll pick the time and place that’s best for him.”

“Will he try to kill us or take us back to Sten?”

Fargo imagined it would be the latter for Mary and the kids. Him, Rika would be out to kill unless Cud Sten wanted the sadistic pleasure of killing him personally.

The sun climbed to its zenith, and Fargo called a halt. Nelly and Jayce were so tired, they shuffled to a clear spot under a pine, sat with their backs to the trunk, and fell asleep within moments.

Mary regarded them with deep love in her eyes. “They’re so young. I wish they didn’t have to go through this.”

“Spitting into the wind.”

“Sorry?”

“Wishing is like spitting into the wind.”

“It’s a waste of effort, in other words? Maybe so. We all of us wish for a lot in our lives that never turns out like we want it to. But that shouldn’t stop a person from hoping, from wanting things to be better.”

Fargo shrugged. “Taking it one day at a time makes for less disappointment.”

Mary grinned. “Why, Skye Fargo, I had no idea you were a philosopher as well as the handsomest man alive.”

Fargo almost reached for her. Instead he scanned the woods as he had been doing all morning.

“Do you realize that even with all that’s been happening, this is the happiest I’ve been since Frank died?”

“I know some people,” Fargo said. “A married couple. Friends of mine. He was an officer in the army and just got out after twenty years. He and his wife would understand what you’ve been through. They might be willing to help you resettle. I can give you a note to take to them.”

Mary fixed those lovely eyes of hers on him. “You continue to surprise me in good ways.”

“Don’t make a big to-do out of it. He owes me. I saved him from the Apaches once.”

“I’ll gladly take you up on your generous offer, kind sir.” Mary playfully did a curtsy.

Now Fargo did reach out. He kissed her hard, passion boiling in him like water in a pot. If it weren’t for her kids and Rika, he would have taken her right then and there, snow or no snow, cold or no cold.

“Mmm. That was nice. I don’t have a lot of experience but you’re the best kisser who ever lived.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were drunk.” Fargo kept on scanning the forest as they talked. Either it was his imagination, or something had moved off in the trees. “You should get some rest. We’ll stay here half an hour, then push on.”

“Is it safe?”

Fargo nodded at Nelly and Jayce. “Safe has nothing to do with it. They won’t last a mile if they don’t get some sleep.”

“Very well.”

Mary picked another tree and sat on a patch of dry pine needles. She leaned her shoulder against the bole and closed her eyes.

Weariness nipped at Fargo but he shook it off. He paced, then hunkered where he could watch the Harpers and the forest both. Snow fell from a limb with a muffled thud. A sparrow chirped. Otherwise, the woods were quiet.

Perhaps too quiet.

Fargo’s eyelids became heavy and he started to doze. With an oath, he roused his sluggish senses. It would be all Rika needed: him to fall asleep and be as easy to take as a newborn babe.

A feeling came over him, a conviction that he was being watched. Rika, waiting for his chance.

Fargo glanced at the horses and then out over the flatland and then to his left into the woods—and saw an Indian so close he could hit him with a snowball. Fargo blinked, and the Indian was gone. Straightening, he placed his hand on the Colt. He wondered if he’d really seen him or only thought he did. Warily, he moved toward the spot.

The woods were deathly still; even the sparrow had gone quiet.

Tracks didn’t lie, and there in the snow were moccasin prints.

Sometimes Fargo could tell from the shape and the stitching which tribe fashioned any given footwear. But that was when the prints were in mud or soft earth or it was so dusty every detail showed. Here in the snow there wasn’t much to go on.

Fargo debated giving chase and decided against it. It would be foolhardy, bordering on stupid, to leave Mary and the kids alone. He backed away. Why invite an arrow between the shoulder blades?

Now he had a possible hostile as well as a killer to deal with. One good thing: Seeing the warrior had jarred him awake.

He let about half an hour go by, then shook Mary’s shoulder and had her wake her kids. Nelly and Jayce were snails. They sat up slowly and stood slowly and climbed on the sorrel slower than molasses.

Fargo was impatient. For all he knew, Cud Sten and the rest of the outlaws were after them, too. The more miles they put behind them, the safer they would be. From Sten, anyway.

Mary smiled and fluffed her hair as she brought the dun up next to the Ovaro. “Thank you for letting us sleep. I feel rested. I take it there’s been no sign of that man you think is following us?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe he isn’t back there. Maybe he never came after us and you’re fretting over nothing.”

“And maybe buffalo will sprout wings and fly. Don’t make the mistake of assuming anything.”

“Do you ever make mistakes? I only ask because I’ve never met anyone so sure of himself as you are. You always seem to know just what to do.”

“Fat lot of good it’s done me, lady. I’ve lost count of my blunders.”

“It’s Mary, remember? After what we did, I should think you could at least call me by my name.”

Fargo sighed. It was just like a woman to think that since she had shared her body, she was entitled to some sort of claim on the man she had shared her body with.

“I heard that.” Mary sounded hurt.

“Heard what, Ma?” Nelly and Jayce had come up on the other side. Where before Nelly had been handling the reins and Jayce had ridden behind her, now he was in the saddle and she had her arms around him.

“A jay,” Mary said. “I thought I heard a jay.”

The sun climbed higher. The temperature warmed but not enough to melt the white mantle.

Fargo checked behind them so many times he lost count. Not once did he spot a hostile or Rika. But one or both were back there. He amused himself by imagining the result should Rika and the warrior stumble on each other.

Sunset splashed pink and yellow across the western sky. Amid lengthening shadows, Fargo rode along the tree line seeking a spot to stop for the night. Mary could scarcely keep her head up and the kids were near the point of exhaustion.

He came on a gully rimmed by trees that had sheltered it from the worst of the snow. The sides weren’t too steep and the bottom was wide enough and flat enough to make for a comfortable camp. Dismounting, he walked the Ovaro down, and in turn did the same with each of the other mounts. Next he gathered firewood, which took a lot longer than it ordinarily would. Most of the downed limbs were covered with snow and too wet to burn. He persevered, though, until he needed both arms to carry it all.

By then the sun was almost gone. Twilight was about to fall, and after that, the Stygian mantle of night.

Nelly and Jayce were asleep. They were bundled to their chins, as serene as cherubs.

Mary was huddled beside them, shivering, a blanket over her shoulders. “There you are! I was getting worried.”

“Hear or see anything?”

“It’s been as peaceful as a church service. I’ve dozed off once or twice.” Mary smiled. “I was hoping you’d make it back before I passed out.”

Fargo broke some of the branches for firewood. The rest he stacked to use later. He added a handful of dry grass he had found, then took out his fire steel and flint. It took five tries before a spark caught, and he fanned a tiny flame to life. Wisps of smoke rose, growing thicker as the branches ignited. Soon the welcoming crackle of flames warmed his fingers and face.

Mary came over and held her hands to the fire. “Mercy me, that feels good. I’m so cold, you could set me on fire and I’d take a week to burn.”

In short order Fargo had strips of cow meat roasting on the end of sticks. The aroma set his mouth to watering.

Jayce woke up and commenced to sniffing and looking about. When he saw the meat, he scrambled out from under his blanket and crawled over on his hands and knees. “I could eat that raw.”

Soon Nelly was up. She joined them in hovering over the sizzling morsels, her anticipation so keen she appeared to be in pain.

The moment Fargo announced the meat was done, they grabbed sticks and tore into it with zeal that wolves would envy.

Fargo had to admit it was delicious. He chewed slowly, savoring.

With every swallow a little more vitality flowed through his veins. It would be best to ration the meat, but he roasted another piece for each one of them. It still wasn’t enough. When he was done, he was still hungry.

Jayce licked his fingers and thumbs, smacking his lips between licks.

“What do you say?” Mary asked him.

“It was good.”

“That’s not what I meant. When someone treats you to a meal, you’re supposed to say ‘Thank you.’ ”

“Thanks, Ma.”

“Not me, silly. Thank Mr. Fargo. He cooked it.”

“He sure is a good friend, isn’t he, Ma?”

“He sure is.”

Whether because of that, or on her own account, later, when it came time for the children to turn in, Nelly gave Fargo a hug. “Thank you for being so nice to us. It’s been so long, I’d almost forgotten what nice was.”

Since his sister had come over, Jayce did, too. But he just stood there, rocking on his heels, unsure of what to do until Fargo held out a hand for him to shake.

Mary shooed them under their blankets. She tucked them in and said prayers with them and then pecked each on the forehead and advised them to get a good night’s rest. Strolling to the fire, she sat closer to him than before. “You’re a good influence on them.”

Fargo tried to recollect the last time anyone had said that about him; he couldn’t. “They should sleep the whole night through.”