Black Hills Badman tt-333

by Jon Sharpe

  The woman turned.

  “Look at her face!” Harris exclaimed.

  “She’s scarier than any ghost.”

  The woman fixed her good eye on Fargo. “Are these your brothers?”

  “They are Heyokas.”

  “They are clowns? Do they do everything backward?”

  “They try their best.”

  The woman gave half a smile and a little wave and shuffled into the darkness, singing.

  With a start, Fargo recognized the song. It was one Lakota mothers often sang to small children when they tucked them in at night.

  “She’s downright peculiar,” was Clymer’s opinion.

  “Shouldn’t we stop her?” Harris asked. “She’ll tell her tribe where to find us and we’ll be up to our neck in redskins.”

  “Let her go,” Fargo said.

  “I don’t mind shooting her. I’ve never shot a female but I’m not hankering to be scalped.”

  “No.”

  “Whatever you say. I just hope you’re not making a mistake.”

  So did Fargo.

  12

  Senator Fulton Keever was in fine fettle the next morning. He came out of his tent all smiles and saying good morning to everyone. In his wake trailed Gerty, who scowled at the world and everyone in it. Rebecca emerged last and was her usual quiet self. She glanced at Fargo only once, and when she did there were daggers in her eyes.

  Fargo hunkered by the fire, sipping coffee. He hadn’t slept well. Add to that his frame of mind over the shenanigans going on, and he was in a testy mood.

  Senator Keever came over and clapped him on the back. “How are you, sir, this morning? Have you made up your mind? Are you leaving us and heading back to civilization?”

  “No.”

  “I won’t hold it against you if you do. But I wish you would reconsider. I hired you for a specific reason. You are supposed to be the best there is at what you do, and I—” Keever stopped. “Wait? What did you say?”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Whether by coincidence or intent, just then Owen and his human shadow, Lichen, strolled over.

  “Did you hear him, Mr. Owen?” the senator said. “Apparently he has decided to stay with us, after all.”

  “I heard.” Owen grinned as if he found it funny. “You’re glad, I bet, all the trouble you’ve gone to.”

  Keever coughed. “Yes, yes, of course. I was a little surprised, is all. He seemed so determined to leave us last night.”

  Gerty said, “I wish he would. I don’t like people who don’t treat me nice. I don’t like them at all.”

  “I know,” Keever said. “I’ve heard you say that a million times. But be a dear and don’t interrupt when the adults are talking, all right?”

  “I’ll talk when I want. I’ll say what I want. If I don’t like someone, I’ll say that, too.”

  Owen was staring at Fargo. “What’s this I hear about some squaw paying us a visit last night?”

  “What’s that?” Senator Keever said.

  Fargo nodded. “She was harmless. Touched in the head. But it worries me, her showing up like that. Her village can’t be far. I’m going to look around. I want everyone to stay in camp until I get back.”

  “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?”

  “I couldn’t say. Rebecca doesn’t like my company much.”

  Fargo noticed that he called her by her first name. “So this is why he refused to leave when I wanted?”

  Owen beamed. “You’ve seen the light.” He kneed his horse closer to the Ovaro. “Listen. Keeping you in the dark wasn’t my idea.”

  “Since when did we become pards?”

  “We may not always see eye to eye but I know you’re a man of your word. I told Keever that if he let you in on it, you wouldn’t tell anyone. But he said that it wasn’t up to him, that his orders came from higher up and it had to be a secret from practically everybody.”

  Fargo grew warm with anger. After all the scouting and special work he had done for the army, to find out the government didn’t trust him was a kick in the gut. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Take it up with the senator. He’ll be mad at me for telling you but what can he do?”

  “I’ll take it up with him, all right.”

  Owen raised his reins. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have to go tell him that Little Face will meet with him tonight at sunset.” He paused. “You going back too?”

  “No.” Fargo had thinking to do, and there was something else.

  “Suit yourself. I won’t tell Keever you saw us. You can do that yourself.” Owen nodded and rode past, Lichen right behind him.

  Fargo waited until they were out of sight then shifted in the saddle and stared at a thicket. In the Lakota tongue he said, “You can come out. I saw you sneak up on us.”

  The young woman in the beaded buckskin dress who had been following Owen and Lichen stepped into the open. “I thought I was careful. You have eyes like an eagle.”

  “This day is chock-full of surprises,” Fargo said in English, and switched to Lakota. “We meet again, Sweet Flower.”

  “That is not my real name. That is what you call me.”

  “What is your real name?”

  “Sweet Flower will do.” She brazenly came over and stood smiling up at him. “I am not unhappy to see you again.”

  “Oh?” All of a sudden Fargo was in no hurry to get back. He slid his right boot from the stirrup and crooked his leg over the saddle. “You are as beautiful as ever.”

  “And you are as bold.” Sweet Flower laughed. “I should not say this but I have thought of you much since we met.”

  “I have thought of you too,” Fargo fibbed. The turn of events held unexpected promise. “I have thought of your body without that dress on. You would be twice as beautiful.”

  “No man has ever talked to me as you do.”

  “Is that so?” Fargo slid down. He deliberately brushed his chest against her bosom and put his hands on her hips. “I have a lot more words to describe you.”

  “I should not listen.”

  “Go or stay. It is up to you. But if you stay, you know what I will do.” Fargo paused. “Which will it be?”

  “I will stay.”

  13

  Fargo learned long ago that when a woman made up her mind that she wanted to share herself with a man there was nothing a man could do but give in to the inevitable. Not that he ever refused a pretty face and an enticing body. He was eager to explore her delights, but there were a few things he wanted to know first. “Why were you following those two white men?”

  “It is said they are with other whites. That a white woman and a white girl are with them.” Sweet Flower gazed in the direction the pair had gone. “I have never seen a white woman. I would very much like to.”

  Fargo remembered a tale he once heard about how the first white woman to venture west attended a rendezvous during the fur trapping days and was a sensation with the Indians. Curiosity was as common a trait as skin. He asked his other question. “I thought you were an Oglala?”

  “I am.”

  “The village back there is Miniconjou.”

  “I am visiting my sister. She is the wife of a Miniconjou warrior and I have not seen her in several winters.”

  Taking the Ovaro’s reins in one hand and Sweet Flower’s hand in the other, Fargo went deeper into the trees. She didn’t resist. She was looking up at him with a strange look on her face.

  “What?”

  “I am wondering how it will be. I have never been with a white man before.”

  “You honor me.”

  “I want to because of your hair.”

  About to reach for her, Fargo stopped. “What?”

  “She touched his jaw, and grinned. “I would like to kiss and rub a face that is not smooth.”

  “You sure are female.”

  Sweet Flower looked down at herself. “What else would I be? If I were male I would not have this body.”

  Fargo kept on walking. They needed a nice secluded spot for their tryst. It wouldn’t do to have Lakota warriors stumble on them in the midst of their passion.

  “I have a question.”

  “I have ears.”

  “Have you laid with many Indian women?”
>
  “One or two,” Fargo answered. The total was more like thirty or forty. He lost count long ago.

  “Have you been with an Oglala woman before?”

  Fargo tried to recollect. He was sure he had but she might take exception so he hedged by saying, “I have heard that Oglala women please their men better than any other.”

  Sweet Flower smiled. “My mother taught me that a woman must always excite the man. The more excited he is, the more he pleases the woman.”

  “Your mother was wise. You can excite me all you want.”

  “It will be strange. You are different from anyone I have ever touched.” Sweet Flower ran her hand over his beard. “I hope all your hair does not blunt my desire.”

  “I have met many women who like it.”

  “I thought about you last night and I think making love to you will be like making love to a bear. My grandmother told me once that she thought white men must be part bear because they are so hairy.”

  “We can stop talking about hair now.”

  “Do you like mine?”

  Fargo was no fool. If she were bald he would say what he now said. “You are beautiful.”

  “Thank you. You are beautiful too.”

  “Whites say men are handsome.”

  “Handsome or beautiful, I like men most when their clothes are off. I have sometimes thought that it would be better if we all went without clothes.”

  Fargo almost asked if she had been kicked in the head by a horse when she was little but he doubted she would appreciate the joke. “There are whites who think like that. They go around bare-assed naked.” He used the English words.

  “Bare-assed naked?” Sweet Flower slowly repeated it. “I will remember that, and when I meet whites from now on, I will let them know I like to be bare-assed naked. Would that be nice to do?”

  “They will think you are the friendliest female alive.”

  “Good. Thank you for your advice.”

  By then they were far enough in and hemmed by so many trees and the undergrowth that Fargo felt safe in tying the Ovaro and leading Sweet Flower to a patch of grass. He stopped and faced her. Admiring the twin peaks that poked at her doeskin dress and the swell of her shapely thighs, he remarked, “You really are beautiful.”