Black Hills Badman by Jon Sharpe Page A

damn sense at all.”
    “I do to me.”
    Fargo used a few choice words common in saloons and riverfront dives. “Explain it. Help me to savvy why you’re so bent on getting Keever and his family killed.”
    “I’m not. He is. I’m just doing what he pays me to do.” Owen picked up a stick and poked at the flames. “You were hired as their guide. I was hired to advise him. He sat me down and told me exactly what he wants out of this hunt of his and offered me five hundred dollars more than any of the others to make sure he gets his wish.”
    “This was before we started out?”
    “Why do you sound so surprised? Some folks don’t think as poorly of me as you do.”
    “I heard about that dog you dragged to its death.”
    “Oh, hell. Did you also hear tell it was going around biting horses? Caused one to spook and throw a man.”
    “So you’re a saint now.”
    “Hell, no. I’m a man doing a job. Same as you. And need I remind you that I saved your hash back at the bluff?”
    “You came over just to tell me all this?” God, what Fargo wouldn’t give for a whiskey.
    “No. I came over to say that if you want to leave, I wouldn’t blame you. But I hope you stick around. There’s the senator’s missus and the girl to think of.”
    “Now I’ve heard everything. A saint and a heart of gold. Next you’ll sprout wings and a halo.”
    Owen frowned. “You try to be nice to some folks.” He stood. “Have it your way. If you want to stay, stay. Just do the rest of us a favor and don’t air your bladder about the Sioux.” Wheeling, he walked away.
    Fargo scratched his head in mild bewilderment. Nothing added up. No one was as they seemed except for Gerty, who looked like a spoiled brat and acted like a spoiled brat. Rebecca played the part of the devoted wife but she was anything but. As for Senator Keever, he was supposed to be a conscientious public servant who never put his own interests first, but that was all he ever did. “It’s a damn ridiculous world.”
    Supper was served. Fargo kept to himself, sipping coffee. After the meal everyone sat around relaxing. Then one by one they turned in. The wind picked up, the stars shifted, and presently everyone was asleep except the two night sentries.
    And Fargo. From under his hat brim he watched the tent. He was on his side, his blankets up to his chin. He wondered if Rebecca would go through with it. She stood to lose all the money Keever was paying her if he found out she was playing around on him. But then again, maybe Keever didn’t expect her to be a nun, or just didn’t care.
    Midnight came and went and Fargo had about given it up as a lost cause when the tent flap parted and Rebecca poked her head out. She glanced toward the sentries, then quietly opened the flap and quickly slipped off into the shroud of darkness. A blue silken robe clung to her shapely form like skin.
    The sight of it sparked a hunger in Fargo to see more. Rolling onto his back, Fargo mumbled as might a man in his sleep. He saw both sentries over by the horse string, talking. Slowly easing from under his blanket, he slid his saddlebags underneath and fluffed the blanket to lend the illusion he was still under it. Then he removed his hat and placed it where his head would be. It wouldn’t stand close scrutiny but he counted on the sentries not paying much attention to the sleepers.
    Crabbing backward until he was mantled in ink, Fargo rose and moved beyond the ring of firelight. A shadow separated from deeper shadows, and suddenly Rebecca was clinging to him, her cheek on his shoulder.
    “What’s the matter?” Fargo whispered.
    Rebecca looked up, her face pale and lovely in the starlight. “I was scared. I’m not used to the wilds like you are.”
    “What were you scared of?”
    “I kept hearing sounds.”
    Fargo heard sounds, too: coyotes, wolves, owls, the bleat of a doe, the snarl of a mountain lion. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
    “I’m not afraid now that you’re