Idaho Gold Fever (15 page)

It confirmed Fargo’s hunch. Victor Gore must have stumbled on the vein during his trapping days. But why it took Gore so long to come back was a puzzle. Fargo started to back away when a gun hammer clicked.

“Not so much as a twitch or you’re a dead man.”

Fargo recognized the voice. It was another “protector.” He cursed himself for not counting those below.

“My handle is Stern. Do as I say and you’ll live a while longer.”

A gun muzzle gouged Fargo low in the back, hard.

“This here rifle of mine is a Sharps,” Stern informed him. “Ever shot one, mister?”

“Plenty of times,” Fargo said. He had owned a Sharps before he switched to the Henry.

“Then you know how big a hole it’ll blow in you. I want you to do exactly as I say. Start by putting your arms out from your sides. All the way out, with your fingers flat on the ground where I can see them.”

Fargo did as he was told. A slight tug at his hip told him Stern had relieved him of the Colt.

“I reckon you feel pretty stupid right about now.”

“More than stupid,” Fargo admitted.

“Our boss has been expecting you. That’s why he sent me up here to keep a lookout.”

The pressure on Fargo’s spine eased. Stern had stepped back.

“Now, nice and slow, I want you to stand up. Leave your rifle where it is and keep your hands out from your sides.”

Once again Fargo complied. It was just his luck that Stern was the kind who didn’t take chances. “Suppose I need to scratch my nose?”

“Go right ahead. The last sound you hear will sound like thunder. And then you and your nose will be breathing dirt.” He paused. “Now shut the hell up and take five steps. Keep your back to me. Try to turn and my trigger finger twitches.”

Fargo heard a boot scrape. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stern at the edge, looking down. Lean as a rail, with bushy eyebrows and a pointed chin, Stern cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed Victor Gore’s name.

The pickaxes stopped picking and all heads rose.

“Well, well, well,” Gore shouted up, smiling broadly. “Bring him down! But be careful. I hear he’s tricky.”

“Tricky but dumb!” Stern hollered down.

Laughter floated up, causing Fargo’s jaw muscles to twitch. He hated making a jackass of himself. It never once occurred to him that they’d expect him to do exactly as he had done. And it should have. He was getting too careless of late.

“Start walking,” Stern instructed. “Keep those arms where they are or have a hole blown in you.”

It was one of the longest walks of Fargo’s life. Larson met them at the bottom. Together, he and Stern marched Fargo up the canyon and around the bend. The others were hard at work again, except for Victor Gore and Rinson. Both waited with smiles on their faces.

“Mr. Fargo!” Gore said good-naturedly. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m serious. I was worried you would prove to be a thorn in my side. But now that I have you in my power, as it were—” Gore chortled. “This has worked out better than I dared hope.”

“Drop dead.” Fargo was looking at Gore and didn’t realize Rinson had whipped the Remington from its holster until the long barrel flashed at his temple. His head exploded in pain and pinpoints of light seemed to swirl in the air. Dimly, he was aware of his legs giving out and of falling to his hands and knees. Somehow he stayed conscious and looked up as Rinson raised the Remington to club him again.

“No!” Victor Gore barked, stepping between them.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Rinson snapped. “You said yourself we won’t be safe until this bastard is maggot bait.”

“All in good time, my friend. I want a few words with him first. Go work the vein.”

Rinson grit his teeth and hissed like a struck snake. “I should do to you like I just did to him.”

“But you won’t,” Victor Gore confidently declared.

“We’ll have the gold,” Rinson said with a sweep of his other arm at the rock outcropping.

“Thanks to me,” Gore said. “And if you go on doing as I say, you might just make it out of this alive.”

Fargo’s head was beginning to clear. It hurt like hell but the pinpoints of light had faded. He slowly sat and gingerly touched his temple. When he drew his fingers away, his fingertips were scarlet with wet blood.

Rinson walked off in a huff.

“Sorry about that.” Victor Gore squatted, that friendly smile of his in place. But it was belied by the hard glitter in his eyes. “I didn’t hear a thank-you, but you’re welcome.”

Fargo had to swallow twice to get his throat to work. “For what?”

“For the few extra minutes of life. You see, I really need to know if you were telling the truth about the O’Flynns. Or was it a lie and you were after me all along?”

Fargo wished his head would stop pounding. “You?”

“For leading that simpleton Winston and his people into Nez Perce country. The army has been trying to keep people out. And since you’ve scouted for them and done other work for the military, I hear, it hit me that maybe they sent you in.” Gore’s brow knit. “But then you made no attempt to stop us, which confused me considerably until it dawned on me that, incredible as it seemed, you’d figured out what I was up to.”

Fargo stared at the others, feverishly working. “There had to be more to this than your old haunts.”

“Ah. Then you did suspect?” Pleased with himself, Gore chuckled.

“How did you find it?” Fargo asked, nodding at the vein. He immediately regretted it; the throbbing grew worse.

“First things first.” Gore straightened and beckoned to Perkins, who stopped chipping and hurried over. “Would you be so good as to tie Mr. Fargo’s wrists and ankles?”

“I’ll fetch my rope.”

Fargo put his hands flat on the ground to push to his feet but Victor Gore produced a derringer. “Stay right where you are, if you please. We’ll continue our talk in a minute. And when we’re done, well.” He wagged the derringer. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll make it quick. A bullet to the brain so there is little pain.”

“You’re all heart,” Fargo said.

“Now where was I?” Victor Gore asked.

Fargo was on his side in the dirt. His hands were bound behind his back and his ankles had been tied. The rope was so tight on his wrists, his arms were starting to hurt. “You changed your mind. You were going to cut me loose and let me go.”

Gore blinked, then threw back his head and roared. “That was a good one. Such spirit, when here you are about to meet your Maker.”

The gold ore, Fargo noticed, was being put in burlap sacks. So far dozens of sacks had been heaped in piles, and the piles were steadily growing.

“No, Mr. Fargo. I’m afraid you stuck your nose in where you shouldn’t have, and it will cost you dearly.”

“There is one thing I’d like to know,” Fargo said. “Why did it take you so long?”

“To come back, you mean? I’ll get to that in a moment.” Gore glanced at the workers, grunted in satisfaction, then said, “As you have guessed, I found the vein during my trapping days. Or, rather, a friend and I did. It was between trapping seasons, when we had free time to do as we pleased. I loved to explore, and he always tagged along. One day we weren’t far from here, just riding along without a care, when we were set on by hostiles. Not the Nez Perce, by the way. Piegans. No doubt on a raid. And the moment they saw us, they whipped their horses and shrieked like banshees.”

Fargo didn’t doubt it. The Piegans were notorious for killing every white they came across.

“We fled, of course. And as fate would have it, our flight brought us to this very canyon. We thought we had given them the slip. But no sooner did we spot the vein than the red devils appeared on the rim above us, raining down arrows. We spurred our mounts to escape but one of the shafts struck my friend in the eye.” Gore stopped, and shuddered. “I saw him get hit. I saw the tip pierce his socket and burst out the back of his head. And then I rode like a madman up the canyon and out the far end. I didn’t stop until I’d left those red demons far behind.”

“Too bad,” Fargo said.

“What?” Gore looked at him, and laughed. “Oh. Too bad I got away? But I did, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the vein. I had seen enough to realize a fortune in gold was there for the taking. But I had also seen my friend die and I wasn’t hankering to share his fate.”

“You were afraid to come back.”

Gore colored slightly. “To my shame, yes. I was afraid. When our trapping company was disbanded, I went east. I tried to forget about the gold but it proved impossible. The memory ate at me like a cancer. Some nights it was so bad, I’d break out in a sweat.” He paused and said softly. “All these years.”

“What finally gave you the courage to do it?”

“I looked in the mirror one day and realized I wasn’t getting any younger. I’d wasted my life at a common job when I could have lived a life of ease. Right then I made up my mind to do what I should have done long ago.”

“And here you are.”

“Yes. But I nearly starved crossing the prairie. And when I reached the mountains, I lost my way a couple of times. Finally I reached Fort Bridger, and that’s when everything fell into place.”

“How?” Fargo asked when Gore didn’t go on.

“I ran into Rinson and his men. They would kill their own mothers if there was money to be made. With their help, I realized I could get in and out of Nez Perce country. But it meant sharing the gold. I was reluctant to do that at first. Then the Winston party showed up, and I took it as an omen.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“I needed a way to transport the gold. I didn’t have the money to buy enough pack animals.” Gore grinned. “Their wagons will do quite nicely, don’t you think?”

“You son of a bitch.”

“All my talk about the valley was for the purpose of luring them here. And they fell for it, the gullible fools. As soon as the vein is picked clean, we’ll load the ore on the wagons and be on our way. Simple, eh?”

“And the farmers? What about them?”

“Why, they will be wiped out by the Nez Perce, of course.” Gore winked. “Even if the Nez Perce don’t do the actual wiping.”

“You have it all worked out.”

“Don’t I, though?” Gore laughed. “The only loose end was you, and now I have you tied up.” He laughed louder.

Fargo had to think of something and he had to think of it fast. At any moment Gore could decide to put that bullet in his brain. He still had the Arkansas toothpick in his boot, but it would take time to work the rope loose enough to get at it. Time he didn’t have. So he did the only thing he could think of. “All this trouble you’ve gone to, and all for nothing.”

“Eh?” Victor Gore tilted his head. “What are you talking about?”

“The Nez Perce.”

“What about them?”

“A war party spotted me about a mile from here. I was running from them when I came across this canyon.”

“You’re lying.”

Fargo shrugged. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He gazed up at the high canyon walls. “They could be looking down on us even now.”

“You’re lying, I say.”

“I call it fitting that you come back after all these years only to end up like your friend.”

Victor Gore stood. Nervously fingering his derringer, he called out, “Mr. Stern, get over here.”

Stern came on the run. “What is it?”

“When you were up on the rim did you see any sign of the Nez Perce? Any sign at all?”

“Don’t you reckon I’d have told you if I did?”

Gore swung on him, balling his free hand into a fist. “Don’t take that tone with me. Did you or didn’t you?”

“Hell, no,” Stern said. “But I wasn’t really looking. I had my eyes on him.” Stern jerked a thumb at Fargo.

“I want you to take Larson and go back up. Scour the countryside for sign of the hostiles. And be thorough.” Gore glared at Fargo as Stern ran off. “God help you if this is a trick. I’ll have Slag stake you out and we’ll sit around and watch Perkins go to work on you with his knife. He’s vicious, that one. He likes to cut and carve on people.”

Fargo didn’t respond. His bluff had bought him precious minutes of life and now he had to make the most of them. But what could he do with Gore and the others right there? The ring of picks was continuous. “There’s something else you’ve overlooked.”

“Make it good,” Gore said skeptically.

“You were right about the army. They did send me. And when I don’t report back, patrols will be sent to look for me.”

“They won’t have troops come this far in. It would provoke a war.”

“Keep thinking that,” Fargo said. “I’ll visit you in the stockade.”

Gore drew back a leg as if to kick him but lowered it again. “My interest in you is wearing thin. Were I you, I’d keep quiet.”

Fargo took the advice. He’d planted seeds of doubt. Now he must get free. If they let him live until dark, he stood a chance of cutting himself loose. But that was a big “if.”

Only a few minutes went by when Stern and Larson came sprinting back around the bend. Stern let out a yell that brought the work to a stop as everyone gathered around to hear what he had to say.

“Smoke! We saw smoke!”

“Calm down,” Gore snapped. “Where did you see it? From the direction of the valley?”

“No. North of us, not south. It’s not the settlers.”

“Injuns,” someone said. “We’re in for it now.”

Most started to talk all at once and Gore silenced them with an angry roar. “A man can’t think with all this damn jabbering!” He rubbed his white hair, thinking. “Indians wouldn’t make camp this early. For that matter, whites wouldn’t, either.”

“A village, maybe,” Rinson said.

“Lordy, I hope not,” Larson said. “If they find us, we’ll be up to our ears in redskins.”

“Stay calm,” Gore stressed. “It could be an army patrol. Fargo, here, might be working with them. The only sure way to find out is to go see. Mr. Rinson, take Perkins and Slag and do just that.”