“But I have hunting to do,” the senator complained. “I was hoping we could look for sign today.”
“When I get back,” Fargo stressed.
“Surely if a village was close by, we would know it by now?”
“Not if it’s behind one of these hills,” Fargo said to set him straight.
“Damn,” Owen said. “Just what we needed. I’ll keep extra men posted and have the horses ready to light a shuck.”
“This complicates things,” Keever said.
Fargo finished his coffee and put his tin cup in his saddlebags. He saddled up and was just done adjusting the cinch when Rebecca materialized at his elbow.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“You don’t need to apologize for not wanting to die. It shows good sense, and there’s a shortage of that around here.” Fargo smiled to show there were no hard feelings. So what if she tried to use him? He got to make love to her—and wouldn’t mind doing so again.
“Be careful out there. The men are on edge. They’re saying we could be attacked anytime.”
“I’ve been trying to get that through your thick heads for days now.” Fargo forked leather, the saddle creaking under his weight.
“Remember. Don’t trust my husband. I meant what I said about him not being honest with you. I’d say more but if he found out I told you, he would beat me.”
Fargo wondered if she was telling the truth or if this was another of her ploys. “I’m not the lunkhead everyone seems to think I am. I suspect the senator is after gold. Is that it?”
Instead of answering, Rebecca asked a question of her own. “Do you think it’s true? The rumors, I mean? Is there really gold in these hills?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. But only a fool goes looking for trouble.” Fargo gigged the Ovaro. It took a few minutes to find the spot where he had talked to the Lakota woman. The ground was hard and she hadn’t left many prints. He tracked her for half an hour until he lost every trace on a rocky spur. By then the sun was well up and the Black Hills were alive with wildlife. That wasn’t all. From atop the spur he spied smoke plumes in the distance. It could be her village.
Fargo had to find out. Avoiding the high lines, he cautiously wound through the woods. He spooked a doe that bounded off through the brush making a god-awful amount of racket. It gave him a few anxious moments until he was sure no one was coming to investigate.
The acrid scent of smoke warned him the village was near. Dismounting, Fargo tied the reins to a limb, slid the Henry from the saddle scabbard, and cat-footed to a low knoll. Flattening, he snaked to the top.
Tepees covered scores of acres. A Lakota village, the lodges arranged in circles with the flaps facing one another. Many of the buffalo-hide coverings bore painted symbols. Warriors, women, and children moved unconcernedly about, secure in the knowledge that they were in the heart of their own territory and few enemies would dare attack. Sentries were posted, though, and the horse herd was kept under close guard.
Fargo watched a while. He had lived in a village just like this once. The Sioux were friendlier to whites than they were now. It was before they learned that the white idea of a good Indian was a dead Indian and that those the whites didn’t kill were forced onto reservations. Fargo would hate to see that happen to the Sioux. They were a fierce, proud people.
Fargo was about to slide down the knoll and get out of there when he was startled to see two white men on horseback approaching the village openly with no weapons in their hands. He was surprised even more when none of the Sioux showed alarm. Warriors didn’t come rushing to confront the intruders. Instead, the pair rode on in as if they belonged there.
It was as they were climbing down that Fargo got his biggest surprise yet. He blinked and looked again, but there was no doubt: the pair were Owen and Lichen.
A Lakota wearing a heavy buffalo robe came out of a lodge and greeted them. After a bit they all went in. The flap closed behind them.
Fargo didn’t know what to make of it. Lem Owen had no great love for Indians. For Owen to be down there, he must have a damn good reason.
Time passed. Twice small parties of Sioux passed close to where Fargo lay. When the flap parted and Owen and Lichen emerged, he hurried to the Ovaro. Constantly on the alert for Lakotas, he made for two hills southeast of the village. Anyone leaving had to pass between them.
Fargo stayed well back in the trees until hooves clopped. Owen and Lichen were talking and taking their sweet time. He brought the Ovaro out in front of them and reined broadside. “Look what we have here. Two blood brothers to the Sioux, and they never told anyone.”
Owen and Lichen reined up. Lichen didn’t appear too happy. Owen chuckled and grinned.
“What the hell are you doing here, Fargo?”
“I could ask you the same thing. You’re supposed to be back in camp with the senator.”
Lichen snapped, “He’s the reason we’re here, you jackass. So if you think you can—”
Owen reached over and put a hand on Lichen’s arm. “Let me do the talking.”
“But—”
“You heard me.” Owen casually leaned on his saddle horn. “Don’t this beat all. You must have seen us pay that redskin a visit.”
“That redskin have a name?”
“Little Face.”
Fargo thought he had recognized the medicine man. Little Face always wore a buffalo robe, even in the hottest weather. “I’ve met the gent. He hates whites as much as he hates anything.”
“So how is it he met with us? Is that what you’re wondering? I set it up months ago. For the senator.”
To say Fargo was confused was putting it mildly. “Start explaining, and make it good. Something tells me I’ve been lied to, and there better be a reason.”
Lichen swore. “Listen to him. Acting as if he’s the cock of the walk. Say the word and I’ll put a window in his skull.”
“I wish you’d try,” Fargo said.
Owen cuffed Lichen on the shoulder. “Didn’t I just tell you I’d do the talking?”
“Sorry. It’s just that he puts on airs.”
Owen turned to Fargo and spread his hands. “You have to forgive him, hoss. He has a puny thinker.”
“He’s not the only one.”
Owen ignored the barb and said, “I’ll gladly tell you whatever you want to know. If the senator gets mad, it’s his own fault for not telling you himself.”
Fargo was immediately suspicious. Owen was being too accommodating. “I’m listening.”
“This hunt we’re on isn’t the real reason the senator came to the Black Hills. He’s here on a mission for the government.”
Lichen glanced sharply at Owen.
“You see, the government wants to set up peace talks with the Sioux. I don’t need to tell you how many whites the Sioux have killed. With more pilgrims flocking west every year, that tally is liable to climb a lot higher unless the government does something.”
Fargo didn’t say anything.
“They think the answer is a peace treaty. They sent me out last winter to see if the Sioux were willing to meet with Senator Keever. He’s on the Council for Indian Affairs, or whatever they call it. Little Face agreed, and here we are.” Owen smiled that too-friendly smile of his.
“Why wasn’t I told about this when Keever hired me?”
“This whole business is supposed to stay secret. Don’t ask me why the government doesn’t want word to get out, but they don’t.” Owen leaned on his saddle horn again. “Keever hired you so the hunt would appear to be legitimate. You’ve guided other hunters. No one would suspect he was up to something else.”
Fargo had to admit it was just like the government to do things behind everyone’s back. “Does his wife know?”