Idaho Gold Fever by Jon Sharpe Read Free Book Online Page A

to crawl off. He grabbed hold of the back of the youngster’s shirt and hauled him out. “I don’t much like being spied on, boy.”
    “It’s not my fault,” Billy said defensively. “I was under there when you and Sissy came up.”
    “Then you heard everything?” Fargo could see him running to his parents, and his parents throwing a fit.
    “So what if I did? I don’t care what my sister does. Besides, as Ma keeps telling her, she’s a grown woman and can do as she pleases.”
    “You’re not mad at me?”
    “For wanting to kiss my sister?” Billy laughed. “I was brought up on a farm, remember? I’ve seen cows do it. I’ve seen horses do it. Heck, I even saw two mallards in the pond do it. To me, you and Sissy are those ducks.”
    Fargo grinned. He had never been compared to a randy mallard before. “You have a good head on your shoulders, boy.”
    Billy laughed. “You don’t fool me. You want me to be your friend so I won’t tell Ma and Pa about your plans for tonight.”
    “Like I said, you have a good head on your shoulders.”
    “I also have empty pockets.” Billy held out a hand. “A dollar will fill one of them just fine.”
    “You little outlaw.”
    “I could ask for two dollars.”
    Fargo snorted. “The most I’ll give you is fifty cents.”
    Billy waggled his palm. “Didn’t you say she’s awful pretty? A dollar ain’t much. And you have to promise to keep her out as late as you can.”
    “What for?”
    “Sissy has some chocolate hid in the wagon. I’ve been trying to find it for weeks but she’s never away from the wagon for very long.”
    Fargo fished a coin from his pocket, flipped it into the air and caught it, then dropped it in the boy’s palm. “If I see your face on a wanted poster in a few years, it won’t surprise me.”

6
    It had been a while since Fargo had home cooking, even if the cooking was done over a fire on the trail.
    Martha Winston was a quiet woman. She didn’t say a lot, and when she did, she said what was on her mind with no hemming and hawing. Lester was lucky in that she wasn’t one of those women who talked a man to death. Doubly lucky, because she could cook. The food was delicious.
    Supper consisted of thick venison steak, with salt if Fargo wanted some. Martha also heaped fried potatoes, cooked carrots and a couple of slices of bread smeared thick with butter on his plate. Saratoga chips were brought from the wagon and Fargo helped himself to a handful. For dessert there were cookies. She had made them days ago, and she didn’t stint on the sugar. To wash it all down, Fargo was told to drink as much steaming hot coffee as he wanted. He downed six cups.
    The meal alone almost made all that Fargo had gone through worth it.
    After supper hour came the social hour. Other farmers and their wives came over to talk to the Winstons. Mainly they talked about farming, to where Fargo got tired of listening to whether this crop or that crop was better than this other crop or that other crop. And about growing seasons, and how much fertilizer should be used.
    Rachel hardly said two words to him. She sat across the fire, her hands in her lap, and now and then gave him a furtive glance. He pretended not to notice except once when their eyes met. He smiled and she started to return it but caught herself.
    Billy chattered like a chipmunk. He pestered Fargo with questions about being a scout and the army and Indians, and even asked how many men Fargo had killed. At that point, Martha cleared her throat and told the boy enough was enough, and he should hush. When Billy asked another question anyway, she reminded him that a hickory switch was in the wagon and he was never too old for her to tan his bottom. That shut him up.
    Victor Gore ate with them but then went off to visit other families. It was pushing nine when he returned, and he wasn’t alone. He brought Rinson along. Martha poured coffee for them and Gore made himself comfortable.
    “I trust you