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what I expected.” Angeline sighed and put her cup down. “I better try to get some sleep. We have another long day in the saddle ahead of us tomorrow.”
    â€œWe could go for a walk,” Fargo suggested, with a nod at the benighted woods.
    â€œOh, no, you don’t. I won’t be that easy.” Angeline stood. “I admit I’m flattered. And I admit I’m intrigued. This is all so new. A man wanting me.” She glanced around, then bent toward him and said quietly, “You might find it hard to believe. but I don’t have a lot of experience when it comes to, well, it . I’ve led a sheltered life, Skye. My parents are very protective. My mother especially. So if you really want me, you’ll have to be patient with me.”
    Fargo liked how her breasts swelled against her dress. He liked the hint of willowy thigh. He liked her full red lips. Most of all, he liked the suggestion that if he played his cards right, those lips and breasts and thighs would be his to do with as he wanted. “I’m the most patient gent alive.”
    â€œI thought you might be.” Grinning, Angeline made for her tent, her hips swinging with each stride.
    â€œWomen,” Fargo said.
    Half an hour went by.
    The camp still lay peaceful under the stars.
    Fargo rose to make another circuit of the clearing. He passed the tents, the horses. He came to the stream and stood on the bank, listening to the gurgle of the water. Cradling the Henry, he gazed across the valley at the range they must cross tomorrow. It was a steep climb to the next pass.
    Fargo wasn’t thinking of danger. The night was serene. It gave the illusion that all was well. He couldn’t say what made him suddenly glance over his shoulder.
    Strath was only a few yards away, stealthily stalking him with a knife in each hand.
    With an oath, Fargo whirled and started to level the Henry. But Strath was on him in a bound, one of the knives streaking high, the other low. One glanced off the Henry’s barrel. The other missed Fargo’s leg by a whisker. He drove the stock at Strath’s face but Strath nimbly sprang aside.
    Fargo didn’t shout for help. This was his fight. Again he went to shoot but Strath sprang in close and cut at his neck and side. Fargo twisted and took a step back—into empty space. He had forgotten he was standing on the bank.
    Gravity took over.
    It was only a five-foot drop; Fargo hit and rolled. He wound up on his belly, half in and half out of the stream. The Henry was under him. The thump of boots galvanized him into throwing himself to one side. Cold steel flashed past his eyes. He kicked and connected, eliciting a snarl of fury.
    But now Fargo was flat on his back and he no longer had the Henry. He clawed for his Colt.
    Strath darted in, both knives high, to stab. He slammed his knee down hard on Fargo’s chest. Pain exploded. Fargo flung his arms out and seized Strath’s wrists as the knives swept toward him. Strath sought to wrest free but Fargo’s grip was stonger.
    Locked together, they strained with all their strength, Strath to use his knives, Fargo to prevent him.
    Fargo bucked in an effort to heave Strath off, but the killer clung on. Hissing, Strath threw all his weight into forcing the tips of his knives into Fargo’s neck.
    Water lapped at Fargo’s ears. He drove his knee into Strath, once, twice, three times. At the third blow Strath let out a howl, wrenched loose, and jumped up and back.
    Fargo kicked him in the groin.
    â€œBastard!” Strath staggered toward the bank but didn’t make it. He fell to one knee.
    In a blur, Fargo drew his Colt. He swept upright, swinging as he rose, and clubbed Strath across the temple. That was all it took. Grabbing hold of Strath’s shirt, Fargo hauled him out of the water.
    â€œWell done.”
    Fargo glanced up.
    Cosmo, wearing a heavy robe, stood at the top of the bank. “Sounds woke me and I came out