Seed of Evil Read Free Page B

smoke and food. In a corner sat a stove. By the counter was a pickle barrel.
    Nate couldn’t get over it: a mercantile in the Rockies. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Come on over and I’ll introduce you.” Geist ushered them to the counter.
    Behind it stood a remarkably grotesque individual. The man stood a few inches over five feet in height and was almost as wide as he was tall. His shoulders slumped, his body thickened at the middle, his legs were short and bowed, his feet wide and splayed. Then there was his face. It was broad across the chin but narrow at the brow. His brown eyes bulged as if seeking to burst from their sockets. His wide nose was flat, his mouth a slit. The total effect brought to mind the animal he was named after.
    “Toad, I’d like you to meet Nate King,” Geist said.
    “Pleased to meet you,” Nate replied.
    Toad’s bulging eyes fixed on him and he briefly touched a clammy palm to Nate’s. “Heard about you.”
    Nate was dumfounded. The man’s voice sounded just like the croak of a real toad. His reaction must have shown, because the other frowned.
    “You’re not one of those, are you?”
    “Those?”
    “The ones who look at me like I’m some kind of freak. I’ve had to put up with it all my life and I don’t like it one bit.”
    “Now, Toad,” Geist said.
    Toad colored and balled his thick fingers. “Well, I don’t,” he said sullenly. He shifted his bulging eyesback to Nate. “I’ve done a lot of asking around. They told me at Bent’s that you’re well thought of. One of the most respected men in the Rockies, St. Vrain said.”
    “News to me,” Nate replied.
    “Don’t be modest. Word is that you were a trapper once. You stayed on after the fur brigades disbanded and now you live deep in the mountains with a Shoshone wife and your family. The Shoshones even adopted you into their tribe, I understand. Grizzly Killer, the Indians call you.”
    “You have been asking around.”
    “I’m a businessman, King. And a businessman needs to know about those he might do business with. I came out to Bent’s a year ago and nosed around to see if I could make a go of it with my mercantile, and here I am.”
    “I wouldn’t think there are enough settlers for you to make a go of it.”
    “There aren’t. But I’m close enough to the Oregon Trail that wagon trains will stop. And then there are the Indians. I hope to trade with all the tribes.”
    “Really?” Nate said.
    Toad’s eyes grew defensive. “Is it me, or do you not sound too happy about my being here?”
    Nate decided to be honest with him. “Some years back another man opened a trading post. He said the same thing you have, that he was only interested in trade. But he stirred up trouble between two of the tribes so he could sell them a lot of rifles.”
    “I’m not him,” Toad declared. “Making money is in my blood, you might say. But stirring up a war is a damn stupid way to do business. I aim to be here a good long while, and to do that I have to stay friendly with everyone, white and red alike.”
    “I’m happy to hear that.”
    “What happened to that other meshuggener?”
    “The what?”
    “The putz who tried to stir up the war.”
    “Someone shot him.”
    “You?”
    Nate hesitated. “My son.”
    Geist had been listening with great interest. “We heard about him, too, at Bent’s. The notorious Zach King. A natural-born killer, they call him. Someone told us it’s because he’s a half-breed.”
    Had it not been for Geist’s perpetually friendly smile, Nate would have slugged him. “Who told you that?”
    “We forget,” Toad said with a pointed look of his bulging eyes at Geist.
    “Not that I believe that nonsense about breeds,” Geist added quickly. “Just because a person has mixed blood doesn’t mean he’s bad.”
    “No,” Nate gratefully replied. “It doesn’t.”
    “As for my mercantile,” Toad said, “you have