Idaho Gold Fever (11 page)

“What was that?” Billy asked.

“Yes, I hate it when that happens.”

Victor Gore was friendly to him, too. Gore acted genuinely grateful to Fargo for helping with the Nez Perce. He came over as Billy was skipping off.

“Tomorrow is the big day. We’ll reach the valley at last. I can’t wait, Mr. Fargo. I will finally be able to get on about my own business.”

“What would that be?”

“Why, I’ve already told you. Visiting my old trapping haunts.”

“You’re not sticking around to help the farmers settle in?”

“I doubt they need my aid. Winston and his people are capable folk. That is the way with farmers. They rely on the strength in their arms and the guidance of the Lord. But not me. I learned long ago that life is a roll of the dice. I’m rolling the die now by coming back here.”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, only that all of us have taken our lives in our hands, what with the Nez Perce and all.”

“What about Rinson and his bunch? Will they go off with you or stay with the settlers?”

“Why would they stay? They were hired to see Lester’s bunch safely to the valley. That’s all. Once they’ve been paid the rest of their fee, I imagine they’ll be on their way.”

Fargo scowled. It would leave the settlers at the mercy of the Nez Perce, who were not in a merciful mood of late.

“You seem mad. But I assure you it was all worked out before we left Fort Bridger. Rinson made the conditions clear to Winston and his people. I was there. I heard every word.”

“You know what will happen, don’t you, when the Nez Perce find whites have moved in?”

Victor grimly nodded. “I warned Lester. You warned Lester. But he refuses to listen. I was puzzled at first. I thought he must be the most stubborn man on the planet.”

It had been Fargo’s experience that stubborn and stupid often went hand in hand.

“Whether it’s that, or his faith that the Almighty will protect them, or some other reason, I’ve never met anyone so insistent on not taking advice when it’s offered.”

“Thinking like that can get them wiped out.”

“You know that and I know that. But what can we say to someone who goes through life with blinders on?” Victor shook his head. “Some people believe only what they want to believe. You can talk to them until you are blue in the face and everything you say will go in one ear and bounce out again.”

Fargo sighed.

“I never meant for the farmers to come here. A simple remark on my part about how fine the valley was, and Lester seized on it like a dog on a bone. He regards it as some sort of new Eden.”

Fargo gazed across the circle at where the fiddler was warming up for the nightly festivities. “Some people never learn.”

“No, they don’t,” Gore agreed. “And there is nothing the rest of us can do. My own conscience is clear.”

As for Rinson and company, they pretty much left Fargo alone those three days. No more spying on him during the day and keeping watch on him at night. They seemed to have accepted the fact that the settlers didn’t mind having him along. Even Slag and Perkins ignored him.

There was no trace of the Nez Perce, and for that Fargo was thankful.

At last the big morning arrived.

The covered wagons were winding along the Payette River. The farmers were excited that their long trek was almost at an end. Victor Gore was excited that soon he would be back in his old haunts. Even the so-called protectors showed signs of being excited, although what they had to be excited about, Fargo couldn’t guess. Unless it was that soon they would get the rest of the money they were due and could return to Fort Bridger.

Fargo was riding alongside the Winston’s wagon when Victor Gore came galloping back to excitedly report that he had spotted the mouth of the valley ahead. Word spread. The farmers lashed their teams to go faster, and before long a broad valley spread out before their eager eyes. Oval shaped, it was everything Gore said it would be: lush with grass, with timbered slopes on three sides, plenty of wood for cabins and barns, and plenty of game for the pot. Fargo had to admit it was ideal.

The farmers brought their wagons to a stop in the middle of the valley and hopped down to gaze in heart-felt joy at their new home. Lester Winston scooped up a handful of dirt. He smelled it, and ran it through his fingers, and announced that it was some of the richest soil he’d ever seen.

Fargo didn’t share in the general elation. The valley was too open. Should the Nez Perce attack in force, the farmers wouldn’t stand a prayer. The wooded slopes would provide ideal cover for a war party to sneak in close and spy on the whites, waiting for the right moment to attack. But he didn’t voice his worries to Lester Winston. He would be wasting his breath.

Rachel came over and gleefully clasped his hands. “Isn’t it glorious?” she asked, her eyes alight with delight.

“If you’ve seen one valley, you’ve pretty much seen them all.”

“You don’t understand. This is the start of a dream for us. We have a lot at stake here, more than you can imagine. If all goes as my pa has planned, before too long we’ll have everything we’ve ever wanted. A new home. A new farm. We’ll be much better off than we were in Ohio.”

“You could also be dead.”

Rachel drew back, her eyebrow arching. “What has gotten into you? Why can’t you share in our joy?”

Fargo motioned at the green grass that covered the valley floor. “You see ten cabins and barns. I see bleached bones picked clean by the buzzards.”

“My goodness. Can you be any more gloomy? But I refuse to let you spoil this moment for me.” Rachel smiled and raised an arm to the azure sky. “I’m so happy, I want to shout.”

“Rachel . . .” Fargo began, but she thrust a hand at him.

“Don’t. It’s about the Nez Perce, isn’t it? I’m touched that you’re so worried, but you carry it too far.”

Fargo had said his last word on the subject. He’d tried with her father and mother and he had tried with her, and all they did was smile and seek refuge in denial. Whatever happened now was on their heads.

Rinson, Slag and Perkins were huddled with the rest of the protectors. From their angry gestures and low but sharp voices, they were in heated argument. Fargo tried to catch what they were saying. He started to drift toward them when suddenly Rinson, Slag and Perkins broke from the rest and came toward the farmers.

Rinson held out his palm to Lester Winston. “It’s time. We got you here safe, like we promised. Now pay us what is due.”

“You have done fine, sir,” Winston told him. “We have no complaints. Give me a minute to fetch my poke from my wagon.”

Several farmers added their compliments.

“When will you be leaving us?” the farmer named Harvey asked.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Rinson answered.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” another said.

“We’re planning to celebrate,” a third farmer revealed. “Tonight or tomorrow night. The ladies will bake cakes and cookies. And Sam will play his fiddle. We’ll have us a grand time.”

“Are you inviting the Nez Perce?” Fargo asked.

“Why on earth would we do that?”

Just then Lester Winston returned. “That’s not a bad idea, Mr. Fargo. It would show them we have peaceable intentions.” He opened his poke and commenced to count out coins.

Fargo scanned the surrounding mountains. It was only a matter of time before the Nez Perce showed up. “You’ll be lucky if they don’t slit your throats on sight.”

“None of that kind of talk in front of the ladies and the children, if you please,” Lester chided him. “You’ll scare them.”

“It would help if
someone
was scared,” Fargo said.

As soon as Rinson had the money, he divided it among the other protectors. Fargo seemed to be the only one who noticed that they weren’t nearly as happy about being paid as they should be. It was peculiar.

Lester jingled the few coins left in his poke. “There’s not much left but we’ll fill our pokes again real soon.” He gave a slight start. “That is, after we’ve grown our crops and taken them to market.”

“Where?” Fargo asked.

“Why, to Fort Bridger, of course. Or maybe to Fort Laramie. From there we can send our surplus east on freight wagons.”

“You have it all thought out.”

“I like to think so, yes.”

Fargo was being sarcastic but Winston didn’t notice. “That’s a long way to ship corn or wheat. And vegetables would rot.”

“We’re well aware of that,” Winston said. “Which is why we have intended from the start that when we got to Oregon we would try a whole new crop. One that won’t spoil on its way to market.” He looked about them. “I suppose they would grow just as well here as in Oregon.”

“What is this wonder called?”

Lester smiled and swelled out his chest in pride at their brainstorm. “Potatoes.”

“What?”

“You heard me. We’re going to grow potatoes.”

Fargo stared.

“I’m serious. Potatoes don’t need a long growing season and they keep for a long time. They’re perfect.”

“You’re loco. Why would people back East buy potatoes from way out here when they can grow their own?”

Lester had more to say, but just then Rinson came back. Slag and Perkins were at his elbows.

“What is it?” Lester asked. “Was my count off?”

“No, your count was fine,” the hawk-faced man said. “But we’ve been talking it over and we’ve decided we’ll stick around for a spell.”

“You will?”

Fargo was as surprised as Winston.

“Our horses can use the rest. So can we. And if the Nez Perce show up, they’ll be less likely to attack.”

“I can’t tell you how grateful we are,” Lester said. In his enthusiasm he clapped Rinson on the arm. “With you watching over our families, we’ll be free to get that much more work done.”

“I’m glad you like the idea.”

Fargo said nothing. But Rinson and his friends didn’t strike him as charitable sorts.

“Let me go spread the news.” Lester hustled away with Harvey and the others.

Rinson shifted toward Fargo. “What about you, mister? I take it you’ll be on your way soon?”

“When I’m good and ready.”

“Damn, you’re prickly. But if I was in your boots, I’d stick around, too, what with that gal being so sweet on you.”

“Be careful,” Fargo said.

Rinson didn’t take offense. “All I’m saying is that she’s as fine a filly as I’ve ever set eyes on.”

Perkins said, “Better ask her to be yours before one of the sons of one of these dirt-pushers gets the notion.”

Slag bobbed his chin. “Stay as long as you want, mister. It’s fine by us. We don’t hold grudges.”

The three grinned and walked off.

Fargo was inclined to pinch himself to be sure he was awake. What in hell was that all about? he wondered. He didn’t buy for a minute that those three had sheathed their claws. They were up to something. But what?

Then Victor Gore came around a wagon. “Fargo! There you are. Lester just told me that Rinson and his men have decided to stay around awhile.”

“That’s the rumor.”

“Marvelous. Just marvelous. I’m free to roam about, then, and not have to worry about them.” Victor gleefully rubbed his palms together. “Yes, sir. Things have worked out better than I dared hope.”

The first attempt on Fargo’s life took place several days later, late in the afternoon.

During that time the farmers held a lot of meetings. Lester told Fargo they were deciding how to divide up the valley. “We figure we’ll give each lot a number and then draw the number out of a hat.”

For some reason Winston laughed after he said that.

As for Rinson and the “protectors,” they kept busy patrolling the valley’s perimeter for sign of hostiles during the day, and at night they took turns standing guard.

Little was seen of Victor Gore. Each morning he rode out at first light and didn’t return until near sundown. When Billy asked what he was doing, Gore explained that he was visiting places he had trapped years ago. Billy mentioned that he was amazed Gore could find them again after so many years, and Gore said there was one spot in particular he was anxious to revisit, but so far he hadn’t been able to locate it.

“But I will. Mark my words. It’s the most important of all.”

Fargo didn’t bother to ask what was so special about a spot where Gore had pulled dead beaver out of the water.

Those first days Gore came back tired and glum. He didn’t talk much at supper, except to say that a lot had changed, and many of the landmarks he remembered were hard to locate.

The second evening Gore was in even worse spirits. He told the Winstons he had traveled through some dreadfully thick country and was worn out. “The only good note is that the beaver are thriving again. I thought we had trapped them out, but by God, there are as many now as there were back then.”

At one time, it had been widely feared that beaver had been trapped to the edge of extinction. But once the fur trade dwindled and prime skins were no longer in demand, the beaver population quickly recovered.

“I’m so happy I could bust,” Vincent Gore declared.

Fargo mostly hunted. There were a lot of mouths to feed, a lot of supper pots to fill with fresh meat. From morning until twilight he roved the surrounding mountains. He shot two deer the first day, three the second. The third day, toward the middle of the afternoon, he came on tracks made by a big buck. Fresh tracks, with the scent of the buck’s urine strong in the air.

Shucking the Henry from the saddle scabbard, Fargo stalked it, riding slowly and quietly.

He was over a mile from the valley. Now and then he caught sight of it far below.

The sun was warm on his face. Other than a few vagrant gusts, the wind was still. He had not come across any sign of the Nez Perce.