Northwoods Nightmare by Jon Sharpe Page A

holster.
    Fargo remembered the men down below and ran to the edge. There was no sign of anyone. The two mules were hurrying up the trail. There was no sign of the third or their human masters.
    â€œDamn it.”
    Fargo picked up the Henry, brushed dust from the receiver, and hiked a short way long the rim in both directions. It was as if the earth had opened up and swallowed the Nlaka’pamux.
    That was all he could do for now. Fargo forked leather and headed back.
    The others were just entering the last valley.
    McKern was riding point and greeted him with a wave and a smile. But the smile faded when Fargo drew rein. “Say there, hoss. You look as if you were stung by a scorpion.”
    â€œAny trouble while I was away?”
    â€œNot a lick, if you don’t count Theodore and Edith squabbling over something or other, and Allen saying as how all these evergreens are bad for his complexion.”
    â€œHe said what?”
    â€œThose are his exact words. I heard him with my own ears.” McKern gazed at the thick forests that thronged the high slopes. “Beats the hell out of me what he’s talking about. Folks don’t go around rubbing trees on their faces.”
    Fargo gazed the length of the long line. “Keep them going. I want to reach the canyon by nightfall.”
    â€œWe’re close, I take it.”
    â€œSo is a Knife war party.” Fargo gigged the Ovaro and soon came to Theodore and Cosmo.
    Reining the Ovaro around so he could pace them, Fargo related what he had seen in the canyon.
    â€œThose stinking savages!” was Theodore’s reaction. “The world would be a better place if every Indian was wiped out.”
    â€œSome of them say the same about white men.”
    â€œYes, and how ironic is that? The inferior wanting to wipe out the superior.”
    â€œYou are one bigoted son of a bitch.”
    Theodore went rigid with resentment. “Here now. With what I’m paying you, I deserve a little respect.”
    â€œDamn little.”
    Cosmo said, “Don’t take it personal, Theodore. Mr. Fargo has lived with Indians, as I recall. He regards them differently than we do.”
    â€œYou, too?” Fargo said.
    â€œI don’t hate them on general principle, if that’s what you’re asking. But they are savages. They live in dwellings made of animal hides and wear animal skins for clothes.”
    Fargo looked down at his buckskins.
    â€œBefore the white man came along they spent all their time making war on one another. They are at best a nuisance and at worst a menace, and either way, yes, I agree with Theodore. We are better off without them. The common saying that the only good Indian is a dead Indian is exactly right.”
    â€œAnd you so cultured and all.”
    Cosmo showed a rare trace of irritation. “What are you implying? Can you speak three languages? Can you cook a soufflé ? Can you discourse on the theater and fashion and politics? I take great pride in being cultured, thank you very much.”
    â€œAll that, and modest, too.”
    â€œNow you are merely being a bore. If you have nothing more enlightening to say, go be a bore elsewhere.”
    â€œDon’t mind if I do.” Fargo rode to where Edith was glumly regarding the world and brought the Ovaro next to her. “How are you holding up, Mrs. Havard?”
    â€œWhat do you care?”
    â€œI’m only being polite,” Fargo lied. It was about time he had his hunch about Theodore confirmed. “I tried talking to your husband and Cosmo but they didn’t want my company.”
    Edith’s glower deepened. “Look at them. Together, as always. My husband and that thing .”
    â€œIs that what you call your butler?”
    Edith glanced sharply at him and shook so violently, she appeared to on the verge of throwing a fit. “Butler, hell. Are you blind? He’s an abomination.”
    â€œI take it you don’t like