High Plains Massacre by Jon Sharpe Page A

knees and performed a half flip that brought him to the next branch.
    Fargo had never seen the like. He couldn’t do that, and most people considered him uncommonly fit.
    The man was well up now. He stopped, placed a hand above his good eye to shield it from the glare of the sun, and stood like a rock for several minutes.
    It gave Fargo plenty of time to reach a small thicket and secrete himself.
    High above, the small man lowered his arm and said something in French. His speed descending was twice what it had been climbing.
    To Fargo it seemed that one second the man was sixty feet above him and the next he dropped lithely to earth.
    Fargo coiled to spring. He expected the Metis to turn toward the settlement, and the moment that happened, he’d pounce. But to his considerable consternation, the man turned toward the thicket.
    â€œYou can come out,
monsieur
.”
    Fargo wasn’t about to. He suspected that he had waltzed into an ambush, and he would be damned if he’d make it easy for them.
    â€œI know you are there,” the one-eyed man said. “Just as I know you have been following me.”
    And here Fargo had been so sure he’d gone unnoticed.
    â€œIf you do not come out I will be angry with you,” the one-eyed man said, “and believe me when I say that the last thing you want is to make Jacques Grevy mad. Those who do always wind up dead.”

20
    To stay hidden served no purpose. And besides, there were no signs of any others.
    Fargo stood, his hand on his Colt. “Do you blow kisses to yourself in every mirror you see?”
    Jacques Grevy laughed. “You suggest I am not humble enough? But humility is for the weak, not the strong.”
    â€œIs that so?” Fargo was puzzled by how calm this Grevy was, given that he had his six-shooter and Grevy had only a knife.
    â€œ
Tr
è
s certainement
. You have seen for yourself, have you not, that some men are sheep and some men are wolves? You and I, my friend, we are wolves.”
    â€œI have a few good pards,” Fargo said, “and you’re not one of them.”
    â€œSuch rancor,” Grevy said. “You should be flattered I treat you as an equal.”
    â€œWhat I am,” Fargo said, “is pissed that you tried to kill me.”
    â€œAnd now you will try to kill me,
oui
?”
    â€œFirst some answers,” Fargo said. “Why did you try? What do you have to do with the settlers who have gone missing? What did you do with a soldier by the name of Benjamin? And was it you who killed our packhorse?”
    â€œSo many questions,” Grevy said. “Let’s see. In the order in which you asked, I tried to kill you because it is wise, as you Americans say, to nip something in the bud. The settlers? Wouldn’t you like to know. As for the rest, think of it as a game we play with three peanut shells and a peanut. You put the peanut under one of the shells and move them around and have someone try to guess which shell it is under.”
    â€œThat made no damn sense.”
    â€œIt does if you are me.”
    Fargo flicked his wrist and the Colt was in his hand. “Drop your pigsticker.”
    â€œAnd if I do not, you will shoot me?”
    â€œIn the balls.”
    â€œThat is harsh,
mon ami.
”
    â€œI’m not your damn friend. And it’s no more harsh than some bastard trying to stab me in the back.”
    Their eyes locked.
    â€œ
Oui
, I believe you would,” Grevy said. “Very well.”
    To Fargo’s surprise, the small man smiled and raised his arms over his head.
    â€œI submit.”
    Fargo remembered their fierce fight in the saloon and how tough this little man was. “What the hell are you up to?”
    â€œYou have caught me. Do with me as you will.”
    â€œDrop the knife,” Fargo repeated. He figured that Grevy would pretend to, then either rush him or throw it at him. Instead, with precise slow care, using only two