Chapter Seven

The pair was barely out of sight of the Crow village when Geist shifted in his saddle and snapped, “You almost gave us away back there when you laughed, damn you.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Petrie said.

Geist drew rein. “I’ll talk to you any damn way I please. There is too much at stake for you to act the fool.”

“Now, hold on,” Petrie said. “They have no idea what this is about. That boy and his fishhook was close to the truth, but he doesn’t know it. That’s why I laughed.”

Leveling his rifle, Geist asked in a tone pregnant with menace, “Are you talking back to me?”

“Never,” Petrie said, staring calmly at the rifle’s muzzle. “How long have we been together? I’ve never had cause to complain. You outthink everybody. All I do is kill.”

Geist lowered his long gun and flicked his reins. “I’m irritable, I suppose, because there’s so much at stake. We can’t have them suspect.”

“They have no more brains than cows.”

“And like cows we’ll use them to our own ends. Six months from now we’ll be back where we were before that sheriff and his posse closed in. Only better, because out here there’s no law.”

“It was the best idea we ever had, coming west of the Mississippi.”

“We?” Geist said.

“Well, you know.”

“I should have thought of it years ago. We can do whatever we please out here. Think about that. Whatever we damn well please.” Geist’s face practically glowed with fierce delight. “There’s no one to stop us.”

“What about St. Vrain and his partners, and that busybody King?”

“All St. Vrain cares about is his precious fort. The Bent brothers have ties to the Cheyenne and the Arapaho, not to mention the Crows. They won’t give a lick what we do.”

“That still leaves Nate King.”

“Yes, it does. But if we do this right, if we do it smart, we’ll have everything in place before he can lift a finger against us. By then, it will be too late.”

“I can shoot him so it never comes to that.”

“Use your damn head. If we kill him, we’ll make the Shoshones mad, and we want their trade as much as the others.”

“They’ll never know it was me,” Petrie said.

“Maybe not. But there’s that son of his to consider. I had a long talk with St. Vrain about this Zachary King. He’s our main worry. He wiped out an entire trading post for stirring up trouble with the redskins.”

“What do you mean, wiped out?”

“What the hell do you think I mean? He and some Shoshones killed every last man. Killed some Crows who were involved, too, which didn’t sit well with the Crows. Yet another reason for us to choose them and not another tribe.” Geist shook his head. “No, this Zach King is a he-bear. The genuine article. We’ll tread light so as not to involve him.”

“A lot of trouble to go to,” Petrie said. “I could kill him as well as his pa.”

Geist rode for a while in silence, then said, “If it comes to that. In the meantime, do as I say.”

“Don’t you mean as Toad says?”

“Isn’t he something?” Geist said.

The river they were following flowed through gorgeous country lush with vegetation and teeming with game. They spooked a female elk that barreled away through the undergrowth with her calf at her tail.

“That reminds me,” Petrie said. “Why didn’t you ask them about the women?”

“One step at a time,” Geist replied. “First we win their confidence, and then we set it up.”

“I can’t wait,” Petrie said.

“Me neither.”

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