Flathead Fury Read Free Page A

rather it was quick than slow. One Ear is better than lying abed for a month of Sundays, wasting away.”
    Fargo had to admit the old man had a point but he still said, “A bear can be messy. A bullet to the brain would not hurt as much.”
    â€œShoot myself? Hell, boy, if I could, I would. But I don’t have the sand. If I did, Martha and Simon would still be breathing.” Thaddeus resumed walking, his head hung low.
    â€œYou keep bringing them up,” Fargo mentioned. “What happened, if you don’t mind telling?”
    â€œIt was Martha,” Thaddeus said. “She wouldn’t keep quiet. She wasn’t one of those who look down their nose at Indians just because they are different from us.”
    â€œYou have lost me.”
    â€œDon’t your ears work? Martha was heartbroke at how the Indians were being treated. Some of our best friends are red, and it tore her apart to see them abused, and to hear all the talk of wiping them out.”
    â€œWho would want to wipe out the Indians?”
    â€œWho else?” Thaddeus retorted. “Big Mike Durn, as they call him. He hates Indians. He thinks the only good one is a dead one.” He stopped and stabbed a finger at Fargo. “How about you, mister? Are you a red-hater?”
    â€œI have lived with the Sioux and other tribes,” Fargo revealed. “They are not the evil many whites make them out to be. They are people, like us.”
    Thaddeus showed his yellow teeth again. “A man after my own heart. Maybe I will ride with you, after all.”
    Fargo almost regretted his offer. The old man had not taken a bath in a coon’s age, and to say he stunk was being charitable. Fargo breathed shallow and held his breath when he turned his head to say something. And now that they were friends, Thaddeus was in a talkative mood.
    â€œA word to the wise: When we get to Polson, keep your feelings about Indians to yourself.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œDurn and his men do not take kindly to anyone who speaks well of the red man. Remember my wife? Why, just last week they beat someone for saying as how the Indians had been here first and had as much right to the land as anybody.” Thaddeus swore luridly. “That Mike Durn is the meanest cuss who ever drew breath.”
    â€œWhy doesn’t someone do something?”
    â€œIt would take a heap of doing. Durn has pretty near twenty tough characters working for him, and they are not shy about getting their way.”
    â€œOutlaws?”
    â€œNot strictly, no. But they are as bad a bunch as I ever saw. They will beat a man as soon as look at him.”
    The situation sounded worse than Fargo had been told. “What about Polson’s law-abiding citizens? Why don’t they drive him out if it is as bad as you say?”
    â€œHell, mister. Most are married, and some have kids. Sally Brook stood up to Durn a month ago at the general store. Let him have a piece of her mind, she did, and for that, she was pushed around a bit by Tork and Grunge.”
    â€œI have met Tork,” Fargo said, and briefly related his run-in.
    â€œHe is one of the worst of the bunch, a weasel of a back-shooter who only picks on those weaker than him. The other one you met, Kutler, is what you might call Durn’s second-in-command.”
    â€œAnd Grunge?” Fargo asked.
    â€œA freak of nature, is what he is. Grunge is not much bigger than you but he has hands the size of hams. He can break a door with one punch, or cave in a man’s face.”
    Fargo was mentally filing the information. He had learned a lot but there was a lot more yet to uncover. “Old-timer, mind if I ask you a question?”
    â€œI thought that was what you have been doing.”
    â€œIt is about your wife and brother—”
    â€œAbout how they died?” Thaddeus broke in. “I would rather not talk about it. But this once I will make an exception.” He drew a deep