Black Hills Badman tt-333 Page 4

“You sure have a way with words,” Owen praised him.

  Fargo folded his arms across his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before you hired me?”

  “Because you might have refused to guide me and I wanted you and only you.”

  “Why?”

  Instead of answering, Senator Keever stepped to the bear and patted its shoulder. “A fine adversary, if I say so myself. Next I want to shoot a bull buffalo and after that a grizzly.”

  “Are you going to pull the same stunt with them?” Owen asked.

  “Of course.”

  “It was nice knowing you.”

  “I’ll do my best not to get myself killed.” As an afterthought the senator added, “Or either of you killed, as well.”

  5

  Gerty threw down her fork and stamped her foot. “I hate deer meat! I hate it, hate it, hate it! I hate rabbit meat, too. Deer or rabbit. Rabbit or deer. Over and over and over.”

  “You can always go hungry,” Fargo said to make her madder. He had been invited to supper with the Keevers. The senator had brought a folding table along and insisted his family use it for each and every meal.

  Rebecca was swallowing tea, and coughed.

  “Did you hear him, Father?” Gerty asked. “Did you hear how he talks to me? Yet you won’t get rid of him like I’ve asked you.”

  “Now, now, child,” Fulton Keever tried to soothe her. “I’ve explained before that Mr. Fargo is indispensable. Which means I can’t do without him.”

  “I know what it means,” Gerty declared. “I might be young but I’m not stupid.”

  Fargo couldn’t let it go. “That’s one opinion.” All during the meal she had criticized him, carping that he didn’t chew with his mouth closed, that he drank water like a horse, that he didn’t use the right spoon when he had soup. It got so, Fargo would dearly love to chuck her off a cliff and see if she bounced.

  “He’s doing it again, Father.”

  Senator Keever sighed. “Mr. Fargo, must you? You’re a grown man. It’s beneath you to bait her.”

  Rebecca came to Fargo’s defense. “She’s been picking on him all evening. Surely you noticed?”

  “A child’s antics, nothing more,” Keever said indulgently. “And I should think you would have more sympathy for a member of your own family.”

  “Gertrude means the world to me. You know that. But it wouldn’t hurt if she learned some manners.”

  Gerty’s mouth twisted in a cruel smirk. “You wouldn’t say that if you were my real mother.”

  At last Senator Keever showed a flash of anger. “Enough, child. I made you promise never to bring that up, remember?”

  “Real mother?” Fargo’s curiosity had been piqued. He was under the impression Rebecca was the only wife Keever ever had. Which meant the senator had been tempted by a greener pasture.

  Keever raised his napkin from his lap and slapped it down on the table. “Now see what you’ve done, Gertrude? There are some lapses I won’t tolerate, and this is one of them.” He looked around as if to make sure no one else could hear him. “I want your solemn word, Mr. Fargo, that you won’t repeat what I’m about to tell you. Not to another living soul ever.”

  “You have it,” Fargo said.

  “I was very close to another woman once. Her name was Priscilla. We weren’t married but we took it for granted that we would one day tie the knot.”

  Fargo saw a change in Rebecca’s expression. One thing was obvious; she didn’t like this talk of the “other woman.”

  The senator gazed off into the dark. “Priscilla would be seated at this table now but for the unforeseen. You see, she became in the family way. I was all for marrying her but God had other ideas.” Keever’s eyes mirrored sorrow. “She came down with consumption.”

  Fargo felt genuine sympathy. Consumption claimed a lot of folks. Some said it was the leading killer in New England and other parts of the country, more so than any other disease.

  “The doctors tried their best but there was nothing they could do.” Keever stopped and turned to Gerty. “Why don’t you go play? Maybe take your doll over by the fire for a while.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I wasn’t asking, I was telling you. It’s time for grown-up talk and you’re not an adult yet.”

  “If it’s about my real mother I have the right to hear.”

  Keever grew stern. “I’m a lawyer, not you. I know what your rights are. Now go get your doll and sit by the fire. Or so help me I’ll take the doll from you and not give it back until we’re home.”

  Sulking, Gerty climbed down and went into their tent. She came back out holding her doll and muttering under her breath. Giving her father a withering glance, she went over to the fire.

  “My darling girl,” Senator Keever said. “She acts too big for her britches sometimes.” He scratched his chin. “Now where was I? Oh, yes. I was telling you about Priscilla. She hung on as long as she could. Every day the doctors bled her and sweated her but it didn’t help. Finally, about a month before the baby was due, she succumbed. But right before she died, the doctors cut Gerty out of her.” Keever brushed at his face as if to dispel the memory. “So there I was. I had a child but no wife. But as fate would have it, I met Rebecca the very next week. One thing led to another, and when Gerty was four months old, Rebecca agreed to marry me.”

  Rebecca smiled, a thin smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

  “Now you know what my daughter meant,” Keever said to Fargo. “I trust you will stand by your word and not reveal my secret to a living soul. It could ruin me politically.”

  Fargo didn’t see how and said so.

  “That shows how naïve you are. A politician must be above reproach, sir. My constituents expect me to be a model of moral and ethical behavior. In short, I must be perfect in all my ways or they will vote me out of office.”

  “You’re human like the rest of us.”

  Senator Keever smiled. “You know that and I know that but try telling it to the Ladies Quilting Society or a church group. Were they to learn I had a child out of wedlock it would be the scandal of the century.”

  Fargo hadn’t considered that aspect. Politicians had it harder than he reckoned.

  “Now, if you will excuse me.” Keever pushed back his chair. “I’ll go keep my wonderful child company for a while.”

  Fargo gulped the last of the coffee in his cup. To make small talk, he said to Rebecca, “You have a fine family, ma’am.”

  “Oh, please. My so-called husband is a pompous ass and my so-called daughter is the biggest brat alive and will no doubt grow up to be the biggest bitch alive, as well.”

  Fargo didn’t know what to say so he said nothing.

  “I see I’ve shocked you. I’d apologize for my strong language but I meant every word.” Rebecca leaned over and lowered her voice. “Take Fulton’s account with a large grain of salt.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “No. I’ve said too much as it is.” Rebecca rose. “Be careful, Mr. Fargo. Be very careful. Things aren’t as they seem. You’ve been nice to me so I’m giving you fair warning.”

  “I could use more details,” Fargo said.

  “You should leave. Now. Get on your horse and ride off and don’t look back. Otherwise, you could very well wind up dead.” Rebecca glanced apprehensively toward the others, then wheeled and strode into the tent. “I bid you good night,” she said as the flap closed behind her.

  Fargo was dumbfounded. She sounded sincere. He wondered what she meant by that “dead” business? He refilled his cup, and pondered. It could be she was worried about the Sioux. He didn’t blame her. He was worried about the Sioux, too, especially after nearly taking an arrow in the back. That reminded him. Rising, he went over to the other fire.

  Owen and Lichen and half a dozen others were hunkered around it. They stopped talking as he came up.

  “I want an extra man to keep watch tonight and every night from here on out.”

  �
�You do, huh?” Owen snickered.

  Lichen said, “One has been enough so far. Why should we have to lose more sleep?”

  “I saw a Sioux warrior today not far from here.”

  That got them. Every last one sat up as if prodded with a pitchfork. Owen asked, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

  “We’re in Sioux country. You should have expected it.” Especially, Fargo reflected, the closer they got to the Black Hills.

  “I don’t like those red heathens,” a rawhide-complexioned gent by the name of Wiley mentioned. “There’s nothing they like more than lifting white hair unless maybe it’s slitting a white throat.”

  “You’ll post the extra men?” Fargo said to Owen.

  “Sure. And maybe you should make clear what we’re to do if they pay us a visit? Do we shoot them on sight or would you rather we don’t give in to itchy trigger fingers without your say-so?”

  “Only shoot to kill if you have to.” Fargo turned to go.

  “Say,” Owens said quietly. “About that disagreement you and me had earlier. No hard feelings? I might have been a little rude.”

  Fargo considered pinching himself to make sure he was awake. “It’s over and done with.”

  “Good. I admire an hombre who doesn’t hold a grudge.” Owen held out his calloused hand. “How about we shake?”

  Fargo could hold a grudge as good as the next man, but he shook, anyway. Again he went to leave.

  “Hold on there, mister,” Lichen said. “Folks say you’ve lived with the Sioux. Is that true?”

  Fargo nodded.

  “Then you must know them pretty well. Why don’t you pay one of their villages a visit and ask them to leave us be?”

  Owen said, “The senator wouldn’t want him to do that.”

  “Why not? Injuns are always willing to bend backward for Injun lovers like Fargo, here.”

  Fargo kicked him, a short, hard kick to the chest that knocked Lichen flat on his back. Instantly, Lichen clawed for the knife on his hip but apparently he thought better of the notion and held his hands out from his sides. “You had no call to do that.”

  “It’s what happens when you insult folks.”

  “Calling you an Injun lover was an insult? I’d say it fits any gent who’s lived with them.”

  “It’s not what you say,” Fargo set him straight. “It’s how you say it.” He left them to ponder that and went to the other fire. Senator Keever was lighting a pipe. Gerty was doodling in the dirt with a stick. “Mind if I join you?”

  “I do,” Gerty said without looking up.

  The senator chuckled. “Pay no attention to her. She thinks she can boss people around as she likes.”

  “Usually I can,” Gerty said. “But not him. He never does anything I want him to. He’s as contrary as a mule.”

  “When will you get it through your head that you can’t go around telling people what to do?”

  “You do.”

  Keever lowered his pipe. “That’s not quite true. In my capacity as a senator it might seem that way, but the only people who jump at my commands are my personal staff.”

  “You boss all kinds of people. I’ve seen you,” Gerty persisted, still without looking up from her doodle. “You boss Rebecca around all the time.”

  For the first time since Fargo met them, Keever showed a real flash of anger.

  “She’s your mother and you will address her as such.”

  “She’s not my real mother. I only call her that because you pay me to.”

  Fargo wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “He pays you?”

  Gerty glanced at him, deviltry on her face. “He pays me. Five dollars extra on my allowance. He has ever since I found out about my real mother.”

  Senator Keever was pink in the cheeks. “Pay her no heed. She constantly forgets her station in life.”

  Gerty laughed. “Father explained it to me once. How we all have our place. How it doesn’t do when those who are lower act as if they are higher. Like Rebecca.”

  “I’m warning you,” Senator Keever said.

  Bestowing her sweetest smile on him, Gerty replied, “Certainly, Father. Whatever you say, Father. I will always do as you wish, Father.”

  “You can be a trial, little one.”

  “I’m thirteen, Father. I’m not little anymore. But I’ll try harder to be as you want me to be. I won’t talk unless I’m spoken to. I’ll eat all my vegetables. I’ll say my prayers before bedtime. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Senator Keever nodded. “That’s better.”

  “How does the rest of that go?” Gerty said, tapping her chin. “Oh. Now I remember.” She quoted the rhyme. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my mother’s eyes.” She paused. “Or should I change that to stepmother?”

  Keever rose and regarded her as he might a new form of insect. “You are vicious beyond your years, daughter.”

  Again Gerty smiled ever-so-sweetly. “I have you to thank for that, don’t I, Father?”

  The senator made for their tent.

  Laughing, Gerty winked at Fargo. “Aren’t I the luckiest girl alive? To have a loving father like him and a doting mother like Rebecca?”

  Fargo shook his head in disgust. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Gerty clasped a hand to her mouth in mock shock. “Oh my. Such language. But that’s all right. You’re so wonderfully dumb, I forgive you.”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  Gerty sighed and set down the stick. “You’re trying to figure me out, is that it? Would you like me to help you? I’ll give you a hint as to what I’m truly like.” She pointed at the dirt.

  Fargo moved closer so he could see. “How is that a hint?”

  “Silly man. That’s me.”

  Fargo looked at her and then at the dirt again. She hadn’t been doodling. She’d drawn a remarkable likeness—of a rattlesnake.

  6

  Finding a buffalo herd wasn’t that easy. Most of the buffalo were well to the south at that time of year, although here and there small herds could be found if one looked long enough and hard enough.

  “Where the hell are they?” Lichen groused. He had been doing a lot of grousing since they started out shortly after daybreak.

  “We’ll find some,” Lem Owen said.

  “We better,” Senator Keever declared. “I’m paying good money. I expect results.”

  Fargo kept his eyes fixed on the ground, seeking fresh sign.

  “I have an idea,” the senator said. “Let’s split up. We’re bound to find them that much sooner.”

  “No.” Fargo was thinking of the Sioux.

  “What do you say, Mr. Owen? You have almost as much experience as Mr. Fargo.”

  “He’s right. It’s safer if we stick together. Killing a buff is fine and dandy but not if it gets you scalped by savages.”

  “I daresay the two of you are a disappointment,” Keever told them. “I was under the impression frontiersmen are bold and reckless.”

  “Only the dead ones,” Owen said.

  The country was becoming increasingly broken by hills, ridges of rock, and stone outcroppings that towered like gigantic tombstones against a backdrop of hazy blue sky.

  Senator Keever noticed. “By the way, when do we reach the Black Hills?”

  “You’ve been in them for a day and a half now,” Fargo enlightened him.

  “Finally!” Keever grinned and excitedly rubbed his hands. “I can see that trophy on my wall now.”

  Fargo didn’t ask him which one. Then the Ovaro nickered, and he looked up to behold the object of their quest in the form of an old bull not fifty yards away. Head high, it sniffed the air to get their scent.

  “I’ll be switched,” Owen blurted.

  Senator Keever had been gazing to the south but now he looked in the direction they were looking and exclaimed, “I knew it! I knew God wouldn’t let me down.” He bent and yanked his rifle from the saddle scabbard. “Move aside, gentl
emen. I’m not about to let an opportunity like this pass by.”

  “Senator, wait,” Fargo said, but Keever did no such thing. He spurred his horse toward the bull.

  “That jackass sure is trying to get himself killed,” Owen remarked.

  Fargo used his spurs. But the Ovaro couldn’t overtake the senator’s mount, not in the short distance they had to cover. He saw Keever jerk the rifle up and shouted, “Don’t do it!”

  The rifle boomed.

  The buffalo whirled. Raising puffs of dust, it raced into a wash and was out of sight.

  “After him, men!” Keever bellowed, giving chase. “I’m sure I wounded it. We can’t let it get away!”

  “Damn you.” Fargo galloped after him.

  Owen and Lichen came on quickly, Owen bellowing, “That’s not the one you want, Senator! That’s not the one you want!”

  Which made no sense to Fargo. Keever was out to shoot a buffalo.

  What difference did it make which one? Now the fool was charging into the wash with no thought to his safety or that of his mount.

  Fargo cursed all idiots, and Easterners. The smart thing to do was to let the bull run off and track it at their leisure. But no. All Keever could think of was how the head would look on his wall.

  “My trophy room is the envy of Washington,” the senator had confided a few days ago. “Two presidents have come to see it. So has nearly everyone of influence. You should hear how many say they wish they had trophies of their own. But they say their wives would object. Or their constituents would be offended. Or they’re just too cowardly to stalk and face a wild beast.”

  Fargo had pointed out that it wasn’t yellow to fight shy of grizzlies and buffalo.

  “I say different. I say a man is measured by his deeds.”

  Now the great huntsman, as Keever liked to call himself, was winding along the serpentine bottom of the wash, whooping and waving his Whitworth like a damned lunatic.

  Fargo would as soon shoot him.

  A bend appeared, and Senator Keever went around it on the fly.

  A piercing squeal told Fargo that which he dreaded had happened. He lashed the Ovaro. The senator’s life span could be measured in seconds unless he got to him quickly.