Woodland Warriors by Jon Sharpe

Author:Jon Sharpe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

11

Neither Paul nor Compton noticed how Fargo kept looking around. He had not told them or Melissa about the riders coming their way because there was no need to worry them, but he was getting antsy about their wagons. Bruno, Charles, and the other servants should be warned that they might be attacked since the wagons were a more likely target for outlaws than Compton and those with him.

Or were they?

“You finding enough gold?” asked Fargo, peering down where Paul knelt in the stream. His pants were wet and parts of his shirt turned dark with water. He looked thoroughly uncomfortable but said nothing.

“Not a speck of gold, Mr. Fargo. This is not a good stream. Perhaps we should try another,” Justin Compton said from his vantage point on the nearby rock. He was dry. He had let Paul do all the work sloshing water around in the pan, trying to get rid of dross and leaving only color.

If Paul had seen even a glint, he would have called Compton down and let him finish the work. That Compton was as dry as a bone told Fargo how poorly the hunt had gone so far.

“Let’s get back to the wagons. We can bring them up once the axle is repaired and do a thorough search for a good spot,” Fargo said.

“No!” cried Compton, jumping to his feet. He slapped his thigh and produced a snap that was close enough to a gunshot that Fargo jumped, his hand going for the Colt at his belt. Neither Compton nor Paul noticed how restless he was. Melissa did. Her blue eyes widened at his move for his six-gun, but she said nothing.

“It’s not good letting Bruno work all by himself,” Fargo said, trying to find an argument Compton would go for that didn’t require coming out and telling what he had seen from the hilltop. Fargo might be wrong about the riders, and crying wolf would jeopardize his credibility with Compton. From the way Compton seemed to be a lightning rod for trouble. Fargo knew one bad call on his part might doom Compton, his servants, and Melissa and her brother later.

“He’s competent to do the work without my supervision,” Compton said. “I feel we are close to gold here. Is there another stream to mine?”

“To pan,” Paul grumbled.

“It’ll be here tomorrow, and you can have the full comfort of everything in your wagons,” Fargo said, angling for another argument that might appeal to Compton. He had not counted on the gold fever being so strong in the man.

“Hang it all! I want to continue. I shall do so, with or without you, Mr. Fargo. I value your expertise in such matters, but others have found gold without it.”

“I can go back to see how the repairs are coming,” Melissa said. “If they’re done, I can bring them back here.”

“No,” Fargo said, sharper than he intended. Letting the dark-haired woman ride alone in the direction of the unknown men—who might well be the outlaws Fargo had fought—put her into danger.

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