Bayou Trackdown

12

Night claimed the Atchafalaya.

Fargo stood under the stars out behind the tavern, patting the Ovaro and listening. He strained his ears for the sound he dreaded to hear but the usual chorus wasn’t broken by the squeals of the razorback.

Fargo kept telling himself his worry was pointless. The settlement was too big. Nearly twenty buildings, and there had to be forty to fifty people, if not more, considering how many were at the tavern. What with the lights and the noise and the voices, the idea of the razorback attacking Gros Ville was silly. But then what was the Mad Indian doing there? Had the Mad Indian followed them out of the swamp? Was that why he thought they were being watched?

“I reckon I’m making too much of things,” Fargo said to the Ovaro.

The door opened, spilling a rectangle of light, and out came Liana. She was wearing an apron over her dress and holding a cloth. “Here you are. Another couple of hours and I can close for the night.”

“Have something in mind, do you?”

“I thought perhaps you and I could take up where we left off.” Liana grinned and swayed her hips. “That is, if you’re not too tired to give me a back rub.”

“I’ll give you more than that.”

Laughing merrily, she turned to go back in. “Oh. I thought you should know. There has been more talk of Remy. But they are going to leave him be.”

“Any word from Namo?”

“No. He’s staying with a friend in a shack at the west end of the street. From what I am told, his children are happy to be out of the swamp. It is said that they went through a terrible ordeal out there.” She looked at him. “You didn’t tell me everything.”

“I told you we tangled with the boar.”

“You didn’t tell me how many it killed.” Liana shook her head in sorrow. “It is a monster, whether you think so or not. Word will spread quickly. I would imagine that by this time tomorrow, everyone for fifty miles around will have heard.”

Fargo heard a distant splash. “Liana—”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just don’t go anywhere tonight unless I’m with you.”

“Where would I go? I have a business to run.” Liana chuckled. “Have you grown so fond of me that you want me always near?”

“That must be it.”

“Why don’t I believe you? Very well. Don’t say. But I promise not to leave unless I let you know.”

“Good.”

Liana reached for the door, then turned back to him. “What is it that concerns you so?”

“Where you find the Mad Indian, you find the razorback.”

“Surely you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting?”

“I’m just saying, is all.”

“No.” Liana stared into the dark and shook her head. “The beast would have to be as crazy as the Indian. There are too many of us.”

“I think so too but you never know. Maybe you should spread the word. Warn them. But do it in a way they won’t think you’re loco.”

“Dear God, I pray you are mistaken. Now I won’t sleep a wink all night.”

“That’s all right. I was planning on keeping you up anyway.”

“I can hardly wait.”

The door closed on her laugh and Fargo was left to ponder the swamp and the night. In his mind’s eye he relived his glimpse of the razorback and tried to calculate how big it really was. Six feet high at the front shoulders, he guessed, and ten to twelve feet long. Foot-long tusks. Easily a thousand pounds. Maybe Liana was right—it was a monster.

The next consideration was how to kill it. Fargo had seen with his own eyes that its hide was proof against bullets. His Henry had proven useless. Clovis’s Sharps might be powerful enough to bring it down but the shot must core its brain or its vitals and the boar wasn’t about to stand still long enough for anyone to take sure aim.

Fargo shrugged and went in. Maybe he would ask to borrow the Sharps before they headed out.

The tavern was packed. The topic on everyone’s tongue was the razorback. An old Cajun with a salt-and-pepper beard was saying to an attentive audience, “All of you know me. Like many of you, I’ve lived in this swamp all my life, and I say here and now that this animal can’t be as big as they say.”

“Namo claims different,” someone said.

“Fear makes things seem bigger than they are.”

“Are you calling Namo a coward?”

“No, no. But you’ve heard the story. Their fires were out. The thing was on them so fast, they didn’t get a good look. Now I ask you. Is it unreasonable to suggest they have exaggerated without meaning to? I bet the razorback is no bigger than any other.”

Fargo put an elbow on the bar. “You’d lose that bet, mister. I was there.”

All eyes swung toward him. Few were outright friendly.

“You’re the scout that’s taken up with Liana?”

At the other end of the bar, Liana hollered, “Hear now. Watch what you say about me, Parfait, or you can go clear to New Orleans for your liquor from now on.”

“I meant no offense, che’ri,” the old Cajun said. “You should know better.” To Fargo he said, “I’m sorry but I just don’t believe it. Why, someone told me the thing is as big as one of our shacks.”

“If it was standing broadside in front of you, you couldn’t see over it,” Fargo told him.

“Hogwash.” The old man realized what he had said, and he and several others laughed.

“Suit yourselves.”

Fargo wasn’t about to make a fool of himself trying to convince them. He went to his table and the cards. Now and again he caught snatches of talk. He half hoped Remy or Namo would show up, and when all the chatter abruptly ceased, he thought one of them had. But he was in for a surprise.

“Mind if I join you?” Hetsutu asked.

Fargo pushed out a chair with his foot. “Everyone is staring.”

“Let them. As if I care what they think. They are bigots, many of them, and despise me for the part of me that is Indian.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Fargo said. “When I asked for your name, you told me your Indian name.”

“So?”

“So you’re part Cajun.”

Hetsutu cracked a smile. “Half and half. That’s me. And yes, I have a Cajun name but I never use it.”

“So they’re not the only bigots.”

“No, they’re not, and I am the first to admit it. Blame how I was treated when I was a boy. The half-breed, they called me. Or simply the Breed. As young as I was, I wasn’t stupid. I saw how they looked down their noses at me. Parents wouldn’t let their children play with me. And when my mother forced me to go to school for a year, the teacher made me sit by myself.”

“It’s rough being half and half.” Fargo had seen plenty of race hate on the frontier. Whites who hated Indians because they were red; Indians who hated whites because they weren’t red. Whites who hated blacks and blacks who hated whites and both hating the brown. One thing the world was never short on was hate.

“Don’t take me wrong. I don’t cry in my cups over it. I was born as I was born. But I don’t have to like it, or like those who look at me as if I’m scum.”

Fargo pushed his bottle across the table. “Have a drink, why don’t you?”

“Is this your way of shutting me up?” Hetsutu grinned, and drank, and scowled. “It tastes as terrible as ever. No wonder I never acquired a taste for firewater.”

“Are you out taking a stroll?”

Hetsutu peered at him over the bottle. “You’re a sharp one. No. I came to talk to you. I’ve heard that the Mad Indian was spotted.”

“It’s all over Gros Ville by now.”

“Do you know what that means? On my way over, I listened. The swamp is very still tonight. Too still.”

“We share the same notion. But the good people of Gros Ville don’t. They say there is no way in hell the razorback will attack here.” Fargo accepted the bottle. “Whatever happens now is on their shoulders. I’ve done all I can.”

“But have you really?”

“How’s that?”

“Done all you can? I was thinking that you and I should get our rifles and keep watch. If we’re right, we can shout to warn them.”

“I was wrong about you,” Fargo said. “A bigot wouldn’t do what you want to do.”

“Make no mistake. I couldn’t care less about the men. But there are women and children. And I remember what that thing did to Pensee. She was my friend.”

“I remember.”

“Then you’ll do it? Remy offered to help but he has drunk too much and can barely stand. It will be a long time, I think, before he gets over what happened.” He stood. “How about if I meet you in front of the tavern at midnight?”

Fargo agreed and Hetsutu left. Unfriendly glares followed him out but no one said anything, which was just as well.

The time passed slowly. By eleven only a few customers were left. Liana shooed them out, shut the door and threw the bolt, and sashayed to his table wearing a come-hither grin.

“Finally. I couldn’t wait to be alone with you.” She sat on the edge of the table and moved her leg enticingly. “Suppose we take up where we left off when you went off monster hunting?”

“Speaking of the boar,” Fargo said, and related the plan to stand watch.

“But now I must wait even longer.” Liana pouted, then glanced at the clock above the bar. “Still, midnight isn’t for an hour yet. Give me a few minutes to wash up.”

“What’s your rush?” Fargo put his hand on her shin and traced his fingers up under her dress.

“I told you before. Not in here. In the back.”

Ignoring her, Fargo ran his hand to her knee. Her skin was warm and smooth.

“I refuse to do it on this table.”

Fargo’s fingers molded her thigh. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”

“I do so like when you do that,” Liana said huskily. “You make me tingle all over.”

Fargo inched his hand higher and she parted her legs.

“Men!”

“You love it and you know it.” Fargo moved his chair so there was room on his lap. “Have a seat.”

“Are you forgetting my nice, soft comfortable bed?”

“We’ll get there eventually.”

“If it—” Liana stopped at a knock on the front door. “Go away! I’m closed for the night!”

The knock was repeated.

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m closed.”

Whoever was out there rapped a third time, harder than ever.

“Some people just don’t listen.” Liana marched over and threw the bolt.

“I have half a mind to—” She stopped. “Goodness. What are you doing out this late?”

Fargo heard someone reply but so quietly he couldn’t hear what they said. Then Liana stepped back and two small figures entered. “What the hell?” he blurted.

Clovis and Halette appeared nervous. The boy had his Sharps and the girl was wringing her hands. They came straight over.

“Monsieur Fargo, we’re sorry to bother you but when we went to find Uncle Remy, the Breed told us he is half drunk.”

“Hetsutu,” Fargo said.

“What?”

“The Breed has a name. It’s Hetsutu. You might want to use it from now on.”

Halette stepped up and placed her hand on his arm. “We’re awful worried and we don’t know what to do.”

“About what? And where’s your father? Shouldn’t you be telling him this?”

“That’s just it,” Clovis said. “It’s him we’re worried about.”

“He left us.”

“What are you talking about? Where would he go at this time of night?”

“Into the swamp,” Halette said.

Fargo was dumbfounded.

“Someone brought word about the Mad Indian,” Clovis said. “Papa holds him partly to blame for Mama’s death so he tucked us into bed and told us he would be back in the morning and for us not to worry.”

“He went into the swamp,” Halette said again, and trembled with fright. “I begged him not to but he wouldn’t listen.”

A slew of cuss words were on the tip of Fargo’s tongue. Instead he said, “The damned fool.”

“Will you go after him?” Halette pleaded. “He shouldn’t be out there alone.”

“He shouldn’t be out there at all.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start looking.”

“For me. I don’t want to lose him too.” Tears welled in Halette’s eyes.

Clovis put his arm around her. “Don’t cry. If he won’t do it, we’ll go look for Papa ourselves.”

Fargo had to let it out. “Son of a bitch.”