Idaho Gold Fever

6

It had been a while since Fargo had home cooking, even if the cooking was done over a fire on the trail.

Martha Winston was a quiet woman. She didn’t say a lot, and when she did, she said what was on her mind with no hemming and hawing. Lester was lucky in that she wasn’t one of those women who talked a man to death. Doubly lucky, because she could cook. The food was delicious.

Supper consisted of thick venison steak, with salt if Fargo wanted some. Martha also heaped fried potatoes, cooked carrots and a couple of slices of bread smeared thick with butter on his plate. Saratoga chips were brought from the wagon and Fargo helped himself to a handful. For dessert there were cookies. She had made them days ago, and she didn’t stint on the sugar. To wash it all down, Fargo was told to drink as much steaming hot coffee as he wanted. He downed six cups.

The meal alone almost made all that Fargo had gone through worth it.

After supper hour came the social hour. Other farmers and their wives came over to talk to the Winstons. Mainly they talked about farming, to where Fargo got tired of listening to whether this crop or that crop was better than this other crop or that other crop. And about growing seasons, and how much fertilizer should be used.

Rachel hardly said two words to him. She sat across the fire, her hands in her lap, and now and then gave him a furtive glance. He pretended not to notice except once when their eyes met. He smiled and she started to return it but caught herself.

Billy chattered like a chipmunk. He pestered Fargo with questions about being a scout and the army and Indians, and even asked how many men Fargo had killed. At that point, Martha cleared her throat and told the boy enough was enough, and he should hush. When Billy asked another question anyway, she reminded him that a hickory switch was in the wagon and he was never too old for her to tan his bottom. That shut him up.

Victor Gore ate with them but then went off to visit other families. It was pushing nine when he returned, and he wasn’t alone. He brought Rinson along. Martha poured coffee for them and Gore made himself comfortable.

“I trust you enjoyed your meal, Mr. Fargo?”

“Never had better.” Fargo noticed that Rinson sat to one side, his hand near his revolver.

“Good. Then you’ll enjoy a good night’s sleep and be well rested when you ride out in the morning.”

“Who said I was?”

About to take a sip, Gore paused with the cup at his lips. “I beg your pardon?”

“Who said I was going anywhere? I might stick around a while. I’d like to see this Payette River Valley for myself.”

Rinson shifted and scowled and looked at Victor Gore as if expecting him to say something, and Gore did.

“How is it you didn’t mention this sooner?”

“What difference does it make?”

Gore drank and lowered his cup. “What possible interest would a man like you have in going there? You’ve been all over the West, I understand. You must have seen a thousand valleys.”

“I’d like to be sure Lester and his friends get there,” Fargo said. “What with the Nez Perce acting up and all.”

The big farmer interrupted, saying, “That’s awful kind of you. With your savvy of Indian ways, you can be of great help.”

Victor Gore disagreed. “I know as much about Indians as any man. And we have enough guns to protect us, should it come to that.” He smiled at Fargo. “I would much rather you went on your way. These people are under my care.”

“No,” Fargo said.

“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. I’m in charge. Complete charge. It’s one of the conditions I set and they agreed to before we left Fort Bridger.”

Fargo returned the smile. “They agreed, not me. I can do as I please, and it pleases me to ride along a spell.”

“I can have Mr. Rinson and his men prevent you from doing so.”

“Not without losing a few, you can’t. Maybe more than a few.”

Gore lost some of his friendliness. “Are you threatening us?”

To Fargo’s surprise, Martha Winston broke her quiet to ask, “Where’s the harm if Mr. Fargo wants to come along? I don’t know about you, Mr. Gore, but we’re sociable folk. We enjoy the company of others.”

“That’s very neighborly of you, Mrs. Winston. In Ohio that’s fine and dandy. Most folks are decent and law-abiding, like yourselves. But out here it’s not like that. Out here renegades and killers are as thick as ticks. One must always be on their guard.”

Now it was Lester who spoke on Fargo’s behalf. “Surely you’re not suggesting Mr. Fargo would harm us? I say he should be allowed to stay.”

Victor Gore stalled by drinking more coffee. Rinson stared hard at him but Gore paid him no mind. Finally, Gore drained the cup, and sighed. “Very well. Never let it be said I’m unreasonable. Mr. Fargo can accompany us. But he must agree to abide by my decisions.”

“You’re in charge,” Fargo said, and held in a grin.

“Yes, well. I think it only fair that I warn you. After what you did to Slag, my men don’t think as highly of you as the Winstons do. You would be well advised not to cause any more trouble or they might take it into their heads to teach you a few manners.”

“That would be something to see.”

“I’ve seldom met a man so brimming with confidence,” Victor Gore said. “And you know what they say. Too much of anything is never a good thing.”

“There’s another saying. Never stand too close to a snake or you might get bit.”

“I’ve never heard that one.”

Fargo had made it up. If the old trapper got the point, he hid it well.

But Rinson couldn’t sit silent any longer. “I don’t think it’s right, him tagging along. We have enough to do without keeping an eye on him, too. And like you said, Slag and the others ain’t happy about what he did.”

“They will do as I tell them.”

“You think too highly of yourself,” Rinson said defiantly. “There is only so much we will abide.”

Gore looked at him. “Is that a fact? In that case, you and anyone else who wants to can head back to Fort Bridger.”

“Now hold on,” Rinson quickly said.

“No. You hold on. Why must I keep repeating myself? I’m in charge. You’ll do as I say or be gone at first light.”

Rinson didn’t strike Fargo as being a kitten but he meekly said, “I was only saying my piece. We’ll do whatever you want. You hold the high card.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Fargo marveled at the control Victor Gore had over them. The old man bossed the cutthroats around as if they were his own personal army. “What high card would that be?” he inquired.

“I hired them, Mr. Fargo. They won’t be paid if they don’t do exactly as I say.”

There had to be more to it than that, Fargo reflected. But Gore wasn’t about to come right out and say it.

Just then someone produced a fiddle and began to play. Most of the farmers and their families gravitated toward the center of the circle, some clapping, some tapping their feet. A few linked arms and began to dance.

“I do believe I’ll join in the festivities,” Victor Gore said. Rising, he doffed his hat and took his leave, Rinson glued to his heels.

Martha Winston grasped her husband’s hand. “Come. It will be nice to relax for a while.”

Billy scooted off to join friends.

That left Fargo and Rachel. He looked at her and she pretended to be interested in her dress.

“Changed your mind about that walk?”

“Not on your life.”

Grinning, Fargo rose. A sickle of moon hung low to the horizon and a multitude of stars sparkled like diamonds. “Suit yourself. I’m going for a walk.” He went around the rear of the wagon and had barely taken six steps when she was at his side but staring straight ahead.

No one called out or tried to stop them. Most everyone was watching the fiddler and the dancers.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Fargo said.

“Maybe a stroll would be nice, after all.”

“It has to be your decision.”

Rachel snickered. “First you invite me to traipse off into the dark with you, then you try to talk me out of it. And men say women are fickle.”

The cool night air was a welcome relief from the heat of the day. Fargo pushed his hat back on his head and made for a stand of cottonwoods. From the mountains to the north wafted the ululating howl of a wolf. To the south, as if in answer, a coyote yipped. From the timbered slopes across the valley came the screech of an owl.

“Doesn’t it ever scare you?” Rachel asked.

“What?”

“The wilds.” Rachel swept an arm at the black well of the valley. “They sure scare me. Bears and mountain lions everywhere. Hostiles out to scalp every white they meet. I don’t see how you stand it.”

Fargo thought of his encounter with the mother bear. “It’s not as bad as you make it out to be. Nine times out of ten a bear or a big cat will leave you be. And not all tribes are hostile. I could name half a dozen that have never harmed a white man.”

“But there are many more that have,” Rachel persisted. “I’m not a simpleton. I’m aware of the dangers. I just couldn’t go gallivanting all over as you do. It’ll be bad enough settling in the Payette River Valley.”

“I take it you wish you were back in Ohio.”

“I never wanted to leave,” Rachel said sadly. “It was Pa’s idea, and he talked Ma into it. That didn’t leave me much choice.”

“Why didn’t you stay in Ohio by yourself? You’re a full-grown woman.”

“I may be grown but I’m afraid I lack confidence,” Rachel confessed. “Everyone says I’m so pretty but when I look in a mirror I see an ugly duckling.”

Fargo stopped. Taking her arm, he turned her so she faced him. “You’re as fine-looking as any filly I’ve ever met.” He ran a finger over her silken hair and lightly brushed her ear.

“You’re only saying that.”

Fargo bent and looked her in the eyes. “May God strike me dead if I’m lying.”

Rachel nervously giggled. “You shouldn’t tempt the Almighty like that. My ma would call it blasphemy.” Unexpectedly, she pressed her mouth to his in a quick, light kiss. A touch of her lips was all, and then she hastily pulled back.

“Aren’t you the brazen tart,” Fargo teased.

“You really think so?”

Even in the dark Fargo could tell she was blushing. “No. You’re a lady through and through.”

“Then what am I doing out here with you?”

“Even ladies get lonely.” Fargo pulled her to him. She resisted, her body taut, but only until he molded his mouth to hers. Then, bit by gradual bit, she relaxed. Her tension drained away and she timidly raised her hands to his shoulders.

“You’re awful good at this.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb. I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. There was someone else once, and he and I . . .” Rachel broke off. “Pa would have shot him for what we did, and Ma would have taken her hickory switch to me.”

“They won’t even notice we’re gone.”

“I hope not.”

Fargo kissed her a second time, harder, and ran a hand from her shoulder down her spine to her hip. She shivered slightly, her breath fluttering into his mouth. He slid his tongue between her parted lips while at the same time he kneaded her thighs, first one and then the other. When he broke the kiss, her bosom was rising and falling as if each breath would be her last.

“Oh, my. That made me dizzy.”

“Do you want to sit?”

“No, no. The farther we go, the safer it is.”

Fargo led her into the stand. She clung to his arm, but whether from fear or passion, he couldn’t say. A short way in he stopped and was about to kiss her when he gazed over her shoulder and thought he glimpsed movement between the cottonwoods and the covered wagons. His hand dropped to his Colt.

“What is it?” Rachel asked.

“I’m not sure.” Fargo moved to the edge of the trees and she went with him, gluing herself to his side. When he stopped and crouched she did the same.

“See anyone?” Rachel anxiously whispered.

“No.”

“I hope it’s not my ma. She’ll brand me a sinner and call down the wrath of the Lord on my head.”

“Hush.” Fargo looked and listened but the rustle of the cottonwoods was all he could hear over the fiddle and the voices. He let a couple of minutes go by, then said, “I reckon I was wrong.”

“Maybe it was my brother. I wouldn’t put it past him. He can be a brat at times.”

If it did turn out to be Billy, Fargo reflected, he would demand his dollar back. He grasped her hand and began to rise, saying, “We’re wasting time.”

“Be gentle with me.”

Fargo was about to say he would when something growled.