“Would you rather have Sten catch up?” Fargo bent, slid a hand under each of Rika’s arms, and dragged him toward the trees. Jayce leaped to help by taking hold of one foot. To Fargo’s surprise, Nelly took the other. It was slow going; the snow impeded every step.
Mary followed. “Tell me true, Skye. What are our odds of reaching a settlement or a fort before Cud catches up to us.”
“It depends on whether Cud is waiting at your cabin or whether he sent Rika on ahead and then came after him.”
“Lordy.” Mary gazed back the way they came. “Then Cud might be dogging our scent right this minute. What do we do?”
“We eat,” Fargo reiterated. But first they dragged the body twenty-five yards, and Fargo rolled it behind a log and covered it with snow.
As they walked back, Mary cleared her throat. “May I ask you something?”
Fargo hoped it wouldn’t have anything to do with him and her. “So long as your vocal cords work.”
“What? Oh.” Mary grinned halfheartedly. “No, the question is this.” She put one hand on Nelly and another on Jayce. “Are we slowing you down?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“We are, aren’t we? I bet if you were on your own, you could get away. But with us you have to go slower than you would. Because of us, Sten might catch you and kill you.”
Fargo shrugged.
“I thought so. The last thing I want is for you to die because of me. I’m sure my children agree. So I have a proposal for you.” Mary grinned self-consciously. “Not that kind of proposal. I want you to go on ahead and forget about us.”
“Any other dumb ideas?”
“Please. Save yourself while you can. We’ll be all right. Cud will come along and take us back.”
“He might shoot you, as mad as he’ll be.” Fargo shook his head. “We stick together. When I ride on, so do you. If you refuse to keep going, so do I.”
“Why must men be so pigheaded? I’m trying to save your life.”
“It’s my life.”
“We don’t mind if you leave us,” Nelly said. “Really we don’t.” But her fear put the lie to her claim.
Jayce was the only honest one. “I will. We’ll die without him.”
“Enough of that kind of talk,” Mary said.
“I’m only saying what you did, Ma.”
That quieted her. They came to the fire, and Fargo went to his saddlebags and fished out his coffeepot and coffee. He liked a steaming cup every morning, and he wasn’t going to deny himself one of his few creature comforts because of Cud Sten. For water he melted snow.
Mary had brought along what was left of the flour and sugar and a few other things, and she set to work making flapjacks.
Jayce and Nelly watched her like those starving wolves had eyed Fargo.
Before long Mary was humming as she worked. The kids talked and joked and smiled.
Fargo sipped coffee and pretended to listen. He was scouring the woods. He’d caught a hint of movement, brown against the white. It could be a deer. It could be an elk. Or it could be a warrior in buckskins.
They didn’t have plates or silverware, so they placed the flapjacks on their legs and ate with their fingers.
Fargo was famished. He could have eaten a dozen. Then the dun nickered for no reason that he could see. It made him realize he had overlooked something. “Damn,” he blurted.
Mary, about to take a bite, looked over in concern. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m getting sloppy.” Fargo finished and stood and went over and held out the Henry.
“What’s this for?”
“Protection. I shouldn’t be gone long.”
“Gone?” Mary repeated, and she and the children rose and clustered close. “You’re leaving us alone?”
“Fifteen minutes ago you wanted me to ride off for good.” Fargo placed the rifle in her hands. “If you need me, fire a shot and I’ll come as fast as I can.”
“But why must you go?”
“Rika’s horse.”
The footprints were plain enough. Fargo backtracked into the trees. They led him to a spruce Rika had hunkered under to spy on them. From the spruce the trail led a meandering course from tree to tree and bush to bush. Rika had used every available bit of cover to get close to them.
Abruptly, the tracks made a beeline that brought Fargo to a clearing. And there, tied to a tree on the other side, was the claybank. It snorted but didn’t shy when Fargo gripped the bridle. He stroked it and spoke quietly, then undid the reins and started back.
Fargo took three steps, and stopped.
Imprinted in the snow a few feet away were other tracks. Someone—several someones—had come out of the forest and stood awhile, then gone back into the forest without taking the claybank with them. Those someones, Fargo suspected, were Indians.
He climbed on the claybank. He had enough problems without hostiles. But were they hostile, given they hadn’t taken the horse? He gigged the claybank, heading straight for the Harpers, worried that maybe the warriors had paid them a visit in his absence. But they were anxiously waiting, the children by the fire, Mary pacing with the Henry.
Fargo allowed himself another cup of coffee, and then they were under way. He rode the Ovaro. Mary had the dun, Jayce rode the sorrel, and Nelly was on the claybank. For over a mile they had easy going. Then the flatland changed to country broken by ravines and plateaus.
Fargo picked the easiest route. Sometimes that meant swinging wide to avoid a treacherous slope or a ravine too steep for the horses to safely descend. It slowed them terribly, until he chafed at the delays. But there was no help for it.
A clear slope rose. Or so it appeared. Fargo wondered, though, if under the snow there might be loose rocks and earth that could break away and bring a horse down.
“Mr. Fargo?” Jayce said.
“Just a minute.” Fargo was studying the slope. He would go first, and if he made it to the top, the others could follow in his hoofprints.
“Mr. Fargo?” Jayce said again.
“I said just a minute.”
“But it’s important.”
Fargo shifted in the saddle. “What is?”
Jayce shifted in the saddle, too, and pointed back the way they had come. “Them,” he said.
Nelly gasped.
“No!” Mary exclaimed.
“Yes,” Fargo said.
Five riders were a half mile off.
It was Cud Sten and his killers.
19
Fargo reined to the right and shouted for the Harpers to follow him. Their one hope was to get over the ridge before Sten arrived. He searched for a way to reach the top that wouldn’t result in disaster. Ahead, the slope ended at a belt of forest. He could find a spot for the Harpers to hide, and then end this thing once and for all. He was tired of running. It went against his grain.
Mary was grim. Nelly showed terror. Jayce was intent on keeping up with the rest of them.
Sten and his men had brought their mounts to a gallop. Even at that distance Fargo recognized the red-haired Lear and the short man called Howell. He’d never learned the names of the other two.
The snow became deeper. Fargo hadn’t counted on that, but he should have; snow nearly always fell heavier at higher elevations. He goaded the Ovaro on, breaking the snow for the others. The night’s rest had lent the stallion new vitality, and it showed no signs of tiring.
The air was colder. It cut into Fargo’s lungs like icy knives. But that was good. The cold would keep them alert.
It seemed to take forever but it wasn’t more than five minutes before they reached the woodland. Fargo drew rein and the others came up on either side of him.
Sten and company were less than a quarter of a mile away and had spread out.