by Sharpe, Jon
Her comment sparked Fargo’s recollection of a female scout he’d known who felt the same, and how it brought about her end.
“I’ve shown them,” Clementine said proudly. “I’ve shown everyone. I have an important position. I’ve proven how capable I am, and I demand the same respect a man would receive.”
“Bodean and Judson were overflowing with respect,” Fargo said.
“Why must you belittle me? They were callous brutes, and only interested in one thing.”
“In other words,” Fargo said, “they don’t give a damn who you are.”
Clementine broke stride, then resumed walking. “Oh,” she said, as if surprised. “No, I suppose they don’t, at that. And I can’t come right out and tell them. We’re supposed to keep our identity a secret.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“No,” Clementine said. “I don’t. But Washington does and they know best. Were I to go into the swamp under a military escort, with the major and his men in uniform, the Kilatku might see it as an act of war.”
“So Washington sticks their soldiers in civilian clothes and have them pretend they’re not.”
They reached the woods and were enveloped in darkness.
Clementine moved closer, her shoulder brushing his. “Goodness. I can hardly see.”
“I can,” Fargo said.
“You must have eyes like a cat.”
“Lots of practice.” Fargo saw a log and took her hand. She didn’t object or yank free and he guided her around it and let go.
“I’ve been remiss. I should thank you for coming to my aid back there. Not that I needed any help, you understand.”
Fargo grunted.
“You don’t like me, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Fargo said. “You have your nose up your ass but so do a lot of people.”
“I resent that.”
“You and the major.”
“Are you suggesting we’re alike, he and I?”
“He has his whole head up his ass.”
“I wish you would stop being so crude,” Clementine said, but she chuckled. “Although I suppose I deserved that for how I’ve treated you.”
“Deserve has nothing to do with anything,” Fargo said. “We are who we are.”
“Listen to you.” Clementine grinned. “You’re quite the philosopher.”
“Hell,” Fargo said.
Clementine put a hand on his arm. “Will you be honest with me?”
“I have been so far.”
“How do you rate our chances with the Kilatku? I very much need to succeed. My career may well depend on it.”
“We’ll be lucky to make it out alive.”
6
“I didn’t reckon on seein’ you back so soon,” Cotton said as Fargo bellied to the plank bar.
The saloon was crowded. Practically every man in Suttree’s Landing was there for their nightly libation. A lot of those who lived in cabins off in the woods and a few brave souls who lived partway into the swamp were also wetting their throats.
“Whiskey,” Fargo said. He’d left Clementine Purdy at the edge of the clearing. She’d seemed disappointed but he had business to take care of with a certain willing dove.
That, and he didn’t care to get into another argument with Major Davenport.
Clementine had shot him a strange look as she’d strode from the trees. Fargo hadn’t known what to make of it, and put it from his mind and hurried back, and now here he was—but no Sadie. He asked Cotton.
“She went into the back to see if I have another bottle of that damn sherry of hers. No one else drinks it. She thinks it makes her ladylike.”
“I know a gent who drinks brandy because he thinks it makes his piss smell sweet.”
“There’s a heap of idiots in this world,” Cotton opined. He indicated a hallway at the rear. “You’re welcome to go see what’s keepin’ her.”
The light penetrated only a short way. Fargo groped the wall until he came to a closed door with a glow at the bottom, and opened it.
A storage room contained a few shelves lined with bottles, many of them empty, plus several crates and containers. In a holder hanging from a peg, a candle flickered.
“Well, look who it is,” Sadie said. She was seated on a crate, about to drink straight from a bottle of sherry. “You came back.”
“Told you I would.” Fargo shut the door. The room smelled of dust and spilled beer but it was warm and cozy.
“You’re probably wonderin’ what I’m doin’ in here,” Sadie said. She didn’t wait for him to say whether he was or he wasn’t. “I wanted a few minutes of peace and quiet to myself.”
“You don’t have peace and quiet at your own place?”
“Not with all the menfolk who stop by, no.” Taking a long swig, Sadie smiled and held the bottle out. “Care for some?”
“Sherry?” Fargo said. “Maybe after I’m dead and buried.”
Sadie laughed. “Don’t tell me. You think sherry is for weak sisters.”
“Or Easterners.”
“Same difference,” Sadie said. She patted a crate next to hers. “Have a seat, why don’t you? It’ll be a few minutes before I’m done.”
Fargo made himself comfortable and propped his hands behind him. He looked around for a whiskey bottle but didn’t see any.
“I don’t have many restful moments like this,” Sadie said. “Especially once the sun goes down.” She swallowed more sherry. “Not that I have any regrets, mind you. I like what I do.”
“Makes two of us,” Fargo said. The last thing he needed was a dove in her cups who felt sorry for herself. He could do without the tears.
“Do you know why I live here instead of somewhere like New Orleans?”
A talker, Fargo thought, and smothered a frown. “I reckon you’ll tell me.”
“Life is slower here. And the men are mostly bumpkins I can wrap around my finger.” Sadie smiled sort of sadly. “I’m the queen of Suttree’s Landin’, and that beats bein’ just another whore somewhere else.”
Fargo admired the swell of her breasts and how her dress draped over her thighs.
“What is it a man told me once? A big fish in a small pond is better than bein’ a small fish in a big pond. He had it exactly right.”
Fargo liked how her ruby lips glued to the mouth of the sherry bottle. He imagined them glued to his.
“It’s not as if bein’ a dove was my life’s ambition or anything. When I was little, I didn’t look in a mirror and say to myself, ‘I’ll make a fine whore one day.’”
“Hell,” Fargo said.
“What? Am I too maudlin? I’ve been told I get that way on occasion.”
Her smooth neck, ripe for licking, her thin waist, ready for his hands to wrap around; Fargo could put up with maudlin for a bit.
“Do you know what my plan is?” Sadie asked, and answered her own question. “I aim to stick around another ten years or so. I’ll save practically every cent I make, and about the time my looks start to go, I’m off to a city to live like a proper lady.”
“Your looks will last longer than ten years.”
“What a sweet thing to say.” Sadie reached over and pressed her palm to his cheek. “God, you are man-candy. I get wet just looking at you.”
Fargo was off the crate in the blink of an eye. “Do you, now?” He stood in front of her, cupped her chin, and kissed her, lightly.
“I can’t wait for later,” Sadie said throatily.
“Who says we have to?”
Sadie blinked, and gazed about them. “Here? You can’t be serious.”
“There’s room,” Fargo said, with a nod at the dirt floor.
“And muss my dress? Not on your life.�
�
“Fine,” Fargo said, and placing his hands on either side of her waist, he pulled her off the crate so she was flush against him.
“Feeling randy, are we?” Sadie teased.
“Put the bottle down.”
Sadie turned and set the sherry on the crate. Then, smiling innocently, she batted her eyelids and said, “Why, good sir, whatever do you have in mind?”
“I am to do you, ma’am.”
“Do little ol’ me?” Sadie went on playing. “Just be careful. Rip my dress and you’ll buy me a new one.”
“And if I bite off a tit?”
Sadie giggled. “Why, sugar. That would take a lot of bitin’. Mine are each about the size of the moon.”
Fargo snorted. “They’re big but they’re not that damn big.”
“Why don’t you pretend I’m a corncob and this dress is the husk and peel it off and find out just how huge they are.”
Fargo’s groin was tingling. He kissed her again, harder this time, and rimmed her soft lips with his tongue.
He cupped a breast and squeezed, and his pole surged.
Sadie placed her hand on his bulge. “Oh my,” she said in his ear. “What do we have here? There’s a tree in your pants. And it’s rock hard.”
“Hussy,” Fargo said.
“And proud of it, I’ll have you know. Lucky for you, too. Were I a church-going lady, I’d hit you with a bottle along about now.”
Fargo kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her throat, all the while caressing her body with one hand and prying at her buttons and stays with the other. She knew to make it easy for the men, and thankfully, after only a dozen buttons, her dress was open enough that he could slide it off her shoulders, exposing her chemise.
“My, oh my,” she went on teasing. “You must have done this before.”
“Once or twice,” Fargo growled.
“Fibber,” Sadie said. “Somethin’ tells me you have to fight the ladies off with a stick.”
“I never fight a lady off,” Fargo said. Not when they were willing and wanton and wanted it as much as he did.
“And I never say no to a payin’ customer,” Sadie said. “Which reminds me. Usually I ask for the money in advance.”
Fargo started to reach for his poke but she placed her hand on his wrist.
“In your case I’ll make an exception.”
“Awful nice of you.”
“Like I said, you’re easy on the eyes. And you don’t stink to high heaven, like those who think that takin’ a bath is bad for the health.”
Fargo grunted. His nose was assaulted by the stink of the unwashed practically every day. “You smell real nice, like a flower.”
“Flattery, dear sir,” Sadie grinned, “will get you everywhere.”
“Then let’s shut the hell up and get to it.”
Placing his hands on her bottom, Fargo lifted her off the ground.
“What in the world?” Sadie blurted.
Turning, Fargo carried her to a clear space along a wall and pressed her against it and set her down.
“Oh.” Sadie chuckled. “I get it. You aim to have me standin’ up.”
“Unless you want to try it standing on our heads,” Fargo said.
Sadie chortled. “That is one way I haven’t. Well, that, and on top of a kitchen table, which I’ve always hankered to do.”
Fargo silenced her with his mouth. Their hands were everywhere, exploring, massaging, stoking, stroking. Presently his pants were down around his ankles and her dress was up around her waist.
Sadie ground against him and said throatily, “I want you so much.”
“I bet you say that to all the gents.”
“No, you jackass, I don’t,” Sadie said, and fiercely kissed him.
Fargo was about to part her legs and penetrate her when he heard the storeroom door open.
“Sadie? Mister?” Cotton said. “What’s keepin’ you two so—” He stopped in his tracks. “Oh shit,” he exclaimed, and slammed the door shut again. “You better not break anything!”
“Goodness gracious,” Sadie said. “We must have shocked him.”
“I doubt it,” Fargo said. “He’d probably stay and watch if he wasn’t afraid I’d shoot him.”
“Would you?”
“Hell yes. I don’t need an audience.”
Sadie laughed and nipped his neck. “I do so admire a man who knows his own pecker.”
Fargo placed a hand on her knee, slid it up her inner thigh to her bushy thatch, and parted her nether lips.
“How do you feel about a man who likes to fuck?”
“Need you ask, silly goose?”
He rammed up into her and she gasped and arched her back. Her legs rose and she locked her ankles at the small of his back.
“Keep goin’!” Sadie husked.
Fargo did. He drove up and in, over and over, moving faster and harder. Sadie matched his thrusts with the rhythm of her pelvis. She panted and clawed and tried to suck his mouth into hers. Suddenly she gave a low cry, and spurted. It triggered his own.
Afterward, as they sagged against one another, spent and breathless, Sadie giggled and nibbled his earlobe.
“I’ve taken a shine to you, handsome. There’s no charge for the poke.”
“In that case,” Fargo said, covering her tits with his hands, “how about a second helping?”
“Oh my,” Sadie said.
7
“You look like something the cat dragged in,” Sergeant Morgan remarked, a rare smile creasing his stony countenance.
Fargo grunted as he poured steaming coffee into his tin cup.
“Are those scratch marks on your neck?”
“A tree limb poked me.”
“Did the tree limb suck on your throat and leave that red mark, too?” Morgan chuckled and walked toward the horses.
“Funny hombre,” Fargo said, and took a sip. God, he needed it. Sadie hadn’t been content with seconds; she’d craved a third helping of his redwood. When it came to lovemaking, that gal was a bottomless well of desire. Insatiable, was how those who liked big words would describe her. She had just about fucked his brains out.
He grinned at the thought.
“Something has you in fine spirits,” Clementine Purdy commented as she took a seat across the fire. “Good morning, by the way.”
Fargo grunted.
“What time did you get in?”
“That’s your business how?” Fargo wasn’t about to mention that it had been about three a.m.
“I take it back,” Clementine said. “You’re not in fine fettle. You’re prickly.”
Major Davenport appeared, scrubbed and shaved and as ramrod straight as ever. “I see you made it back,” he said sarcastically.
Fargo tried to ignore him.
“Did you find out anything about that surveyor, Williams, and his people?”
“Nothing new.”
“I told you that you’d be wasting your time.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Fargo said.
Davenport gazed in the direction of Suttree’s Landing. “With any luck, one of the locals will volunteer to be our guide and we’ll be able to rent the extra boats we need and get under way.”
“Into the heart of the Archaletta Swamp,” Clementine said excitedly. “It promises to be quite an adventure.”
“That it will, dear lady,” Davenport said, “and a feather in both our caps.”
“Provided we make it back here in one piece,” Fargo couldn’t resist reminding them.
“We will,” Davenport confidently predicted. “Williams was a civilian. So were his helpers.” He gestured at Morgan and the four troopers. “We’re military. We’re professionals. The savages won�
��t find us anywhere near as easy to slay.”
“You ever hear of a duck out of water?”
In the act of bending to grip the coffeepot, Davenport paused. “Are you suggesting we’re out of our element? We’ll have boats. We’re armed with the latest rifles and revolvers. The Kilatku use knives and clubs, I understand. They don’t even have bows and arrows.” Davenport shook his head. “No, swamp or no swamp, we have every advantage. I dare say we can hold their entire tribe at bay.”
Fargo’s mood went from prickly to sour; overconfidence killed more men than stupidity. “I won’t say you don’t know what in hell you’re talking about,” he said, “but you don’t know what in hell you’re talking about.”
“I warned you before about the tone you take with me.”
“Major”—Fargo curbed his temper—“the Kilatku have lived in the swamp since before the Pilgrims came over from England. They know it inside and out. And their knives and clubs can kill as easy as our rifles and revolvers.”
“Only if they can get close enough to use them,” Davenport said. “We won’t let them.”
“The seven of us,” Fargo said.
“Each of us has a Henry rifle,” Davenport said, “each of which holds fifteen rounds. Sixteen, if there’s a cartridge in the chamber when we load the magazine. Do the arithmetic. That’s over one hundred shots we can fire before we have to reload. And from what we’ve gleaned, there aren’t more than forty or fifty warriors in the whole tribe.”
“You have it all worked out,” Clementine complimented him.
“Indeed I do, my dear,” Davenport boasted. “I was at the top of my class in military strategy at West Point.”
Fargo sighed.
“What?” Davenport said.
“Book learning and drilling on a parade ground don’t make you a match for the Kilatku.”
“Honestly,” Davenport said in undisguised scorn, “I’m beginning to wonder why the general felt you would be of any use. Your attitude leaves considerable to be desired.”
And yours, Fargo wanted to say but didn’t, could get all of us killed.
Davenport smiled at Clementine. “You need not worry in the least, Miss Purdy. My men and I will ensure you accomplish your mission and return safely.”
