Idaho Gold Fever

18

Larson should have gone for his six-shooter. His shout bought Fargo the split second he needed to surge to his feet, the toothpick low at his side. Larson’s hand swooped to his revolver but by then Fargo was next to him. The razor-sharp double-edged blade lanced up and in. Larson gasped and stiffened and was dead on his feet.

There were bellows of outrage and fiery oaths from the others. Then, almost as one, they clawed for their own hardware.

Fargo snatched Larson’s revolver. It was a Smith & Wesson. The barrel was longer than his Colt’s and the grips were different but the caliber was the same. It bucked when he squeezed off a shot and the nearest man clutched at his chest and crumpled.

Whirling, Fargo ran to one of the horses he had cut loose. The shot and the shouts had spooked it and it was turning down the canyon. A bound brought him alongside.

As six-guns boomed and lead buzzed, Fargo leaped, caught hold of the saddle horn, and swung astride the saddle. A hard jab of his spurs brought the animal to a gallop. Swinging onto the side, Comanche fashion, he raced toward the bend. His skin crawled with the expectation of taking a slug but he wasn’t hit.

“After him!” Victor Gore roared. “Don’t let him get away!”

In a thunder of hooves Fargo was around the bend and momentarily safe. Swinging back up, he rode for his life. He wished he had the Ovaro under him. The horse under him was fast but not as fast as his stallion.

In no time Fargo was out of the canyon and flew into the trees. Bringing the horse to a stop, he looked back.

Riders swept out of the canyon in pursuit. When they didn’t spot him, they drew rein.

“Which way did he go?” one shouted. It sounded like Stern.

“Shut up and we can hear him!” Rinson snapped.

Fargo patted his horse to keep it still.

“I don’t hear anything,” Slag hollered.

Perkins’ voice rose. “I bet he’s making for the dirt-pushers. He’ll warn them we’ll be coming for their wagons.”

“Let him!” Rinson said, and uttered a hard laugh. “Do you honestly think they’ll believe him? They trust us, remember.”

“What do we do, then?” Slag asked.

“We go back and get the rest of the gold out,” Rinson said. “Come morning, we’ll be ready for the wagons, just like Gore wants.”

Fargo stayed where he was until they filed into the canyon. Then he raised the reins. His natural impulse was to fly through the woods to reach the valley as soon as possible but it was dark and the war party was out there, somewhere.

It seemed to take forever.

A lone campfire in the center of the circled wagons served as a beacon. No one challenged him as he rode up.

Passing between two of the covered wagons, Fargo wearily drew rein. Sleeping forms were all around. The saddle creaked as he stiffly climbed down.

The guard didn’t appear.

Fargo reckoned the man Rinson had left behind must be sleeping. He quietly stole to a row of figures next to the Winstons’ wagon. The largest was snoring loud enough to cause an earthquake. Dropping to one knee, Fargo shook his shoulder.

“Lester, wake up.”

The big farmer snorted and muttered and went on sleeping.

“Lester, damn it.” Fargo shook harder and this time Lester rolled onto his back and his eyes blinked a few times.

“What? Who? What time is it?”

The position of the Big Dipper gave Fargo some idea. “About one in the morning. You need to get up. You have trouble on the way.”

Rubbing his face, Lester sluggishly rose onto his elbows. “What are you talking about? What kind of trouble?”

“Gore and Rinson are coming here to wipe your people out.”

Lester stopped rubbing. “Say that again? I must be befuddled by sleep. Or else I’m dreaming.”

“Gore and Rinson aim to kill all of you.”

“All of us?”

“I know I sound loco but I’m serious, damn it. Gore has found gold. He needs a way to transport it out. So he’s taking your wagons.”

For fully half a minute the farmer simply stared. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I’ve had a hard day and need my sleep.”

Exasperation made Fargo boil. “Damn you, listen to me. Gore didn’t come back to this part of the country just to see it again. He was after the gold all along. He found a vein back when he was a trapper and now he needs your wagons to get the ore out.”

“You don’t say,” Lester said. “But if Victor found gold that long ago, why did he wait all this time to come back for it?”

“He didn’t want his scalp lifted.”

Lester smiled a tolerant smile. “Let me get back to sleep and we’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“They’ll be on their way by then.”

“And take how long to get here?”

“If they start at sunrise they can be here by midmorning.”

“Then we have plenty of time, don’t we?” Lester started to lie back down but Fargo gripped his wrist.

“Why won’t you believe me?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t. I didn’t say I do. But if I understand you, you’re saying that Gore tricked us into coming to this valley. You’re forgetting that I was the one who insisted we come. Victor tried to talk me out of it.” Lester gave a strange sort of laugh.

“He’s clever,” Fargo said. “He got you to think it was your idea when it was his doing all along.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Please,” Fargo said. “Don’t do this.”

“Let me sleep.” Lester sank back down. “I’m plumb worn-out and can’t think straight.”

“But Gore and Rinso—” Fargo began.

“We’ll talk in the morning.” Lester rolled onto his side so his back was to him. “I’ll listen to whatever else you have to say then.”

Fargo’s anger turned to fury. He had gone through a lot to warn them, and now the lunkhead wouldn’t listen. Then again, he could understand why Lester thought his story was far-fetched. How could he convince him? he wondered. The answer was like a slap in the face. He shook Winston’s shoulder again.

“You’re becoming a nuisance.”

“The man Rinson left to guard you. Where is he?”

“We don’t know. He rode off shortly before sunset. Said he saw some riders in the trees. He never came back.”

“And you didn’t send anyone to look for him?”

With an exaggerated sigh, Lester rolled onto his back. “Of course we did. I went myself, with some others. But there was no sign of him. We planned to search again once the sun is up.”

Fargo glanced at the ring of covered wagons. “So who is standing guard tonight?”

“We’re taking turns. I believe Floyd should be on watch. But it’s been so quiet, it wouldn’t surprise me if he fell asleep.” Lester rolled over once more. “I’d very much like to do the same. Good night.”

Fargo checked an impulse to swear a mean streak. He rose and tied the horse to the rear wheel.

Suddenly a warm hand closed on his wrist and warm breath fanned his ear. “Welcome back, handsome. Did you miss me?” Rachel whispered.

“Didn’t you hear what I just told your father?”

“Sure I did. But we have the rest of the night and everyone is asleep.” Giggling softly, Rachel tugged on his arm. “Come on. Let’s go for a stroll.”

Fargo couldn’t believe it. These people had blocks of wood for brains. Here he was, trying to save their hides, and they treated him as if he were a simpleton.

“Come on,” Rachel said again, pulling.

Fargo let her usher him around to the other side of their wagon. There she stopped and gazed off toward the timber.

“If we hurry, we can be back in an hour or so.”

“You don’t care that Gore and Rinson aim to kill all of you?”

“Not until the middle of the morning. Your very own words.” Rachel grinned and took a step.

Fargo shook his head in bewilderment. Now was hardly the right time. Then again, everyone else was asleep, and Gore and Rinson wouldn’t be there for eight or nine hours yet. “Why go anywhere?” he whispered, and didn’t budge.

Rachel regarded him uncertainly. “Then where?”

Turning her so her back was to the wagon, Fargo pressed her against it. His hands on her hips, his mouth close to hers, he said, “Right here.”

“They’ll hear us.”

“Not if we’re quiet.” Fargo kissed her. She tensed, then gradually relaxed. Her mouth parted and their tongues met in a wet, silken swirl. She started to groan but caught herself.

“That was nice,” Rachel whispered when they drew apart. “I think about you doing that all the time.”

“Do you ever think about this?” Fargo asked. Cupping both her breasts over the long cotton nightgown she wore, he squeezed them as if they were ripe melons.

Gasping, Rachel arched her back, her body taut against him, her thighs flush with his. “Oh, God.”

“Careful,” Fargo said with a grin. “You don’t want to wake them.” Her nipples become tacks and he pinched them between his thumbs and forefingers. It elicited a tiny mew. Her fingernails sank into his shoulders.

“The things you do to me,” Rachel husked. “No man has ever made me tingle like you do.”

Fargo silenced her with another kiss. She ground her hips against him, her twin peaks mashed against his chest, her fingers exploring high and low. She caressed his legs but didn’t touch him there just yet. When he ran his tongue from her mouth to her chin and then to the soft curve of her neck, she shivered.

“I could do this all night.”

Not Fargo. He wanted to get it over with so he could catch some sleep. But there was no rush. He licked her neck. He nibbled on her ear. For her part, she kissed his forehead, then took off his hat, dropped it, and ran her hand through his hair.

Rachel dreamily whispered in his ear, “You know, if things work out, you’ll be the second-best part of this whole business.”

Idly wondering what she meant, Fargo delved his tongue under the top of her nightgown as low as it would go. He couldn’t reach her nipples so he started to hike up her nightgown.

Rachel gripped his wrists. “I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“You started this,” Fargo reminded her. Swatting her hand away, he yanked her nightgown up and plunged his hand underneath. At the contact of his fingers with her thighs, her mouth became a delectable oval of raw desire. She kissed him fiercely, her passion uncontrollable.

Sculpting her smooth skin as if it were warm clay, Fargo kneaded her thighs, starting at her knees and kneading upward. She grew warmer, and her ardor climbed. She thrust hard against him, rubbing herself on his iron member. When he lightly brushed her nether region, she bit his shoulder, then whispered excitedly into his ear.

“Yes! Yes! Do me! Do me right here!”

Fargo wasn’t about to stop. Spreading her legs, he pried at his belt and pants. When his pole was free, he ran the tip along her moist slit. Her reaction was to rise up onto her toes and practically bury her nails in his upper arms. The pain distracted him a few moments, and the next he knew, she had a hand down there and was fondling him.

“You’re magnificent. Do you know that?”

“Not so loud,” Fargo warned. The last thing he needed was to wake her mother and have Martha come charging around the wagon with a cleaver or an ax.

“I want you in me,” Rachel breathed into his ear. “And don’t worry. I’ll keep quiet.”

Fargo thought he heard a sound, and paused.

“What are you waiting for?” Rachel impatiently whispered.

Before Fargo could reply, she rose higher, shifted slightly, and impaled her exquisite rose on his engorged thorn.

Sucking in a deep breath, Rachel closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his chin. “You have no idea how good that feels.”

“Care to bet?” The very first time Fargo coupled with a woman, he became addicted. To him, the soft savor of a female body in the throes of lust was as good as life got. He could never get enough.

“Don’t stand there like a fence post,” Rachel teased. “Do something, will you?”

“Whatever the lady wants.”

“Read my mind.”

Giving her no chance to set herself, Fargo rammed up into her. Rachel threw her head back and bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. Then it was more of the same, up and in, up and in, in an ever faster tempo, Fargo rising onto the tips of his toes with each penetration.

Rachel was in a delirium of rapture, her eyelids hooded, her mouth forming soundless cries as she matched him stroke for stroke.

The explosion ripped Fargo out of himself and left him near breathless with pleasure. Luxuriating in the feeling, he sagged against Rachel and felt her fingers at the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel said.

Not sure he had heard her correctly, Fargo responded, “What do you have to be sorry about?”

Rachel Winston wistfully smiled and tenderly ran a finger along his jaw. “If you only knew.”