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post.
    â€œThese grounds are a safe haven for anyone who desires to visit. That applies to red and white alike.”
    Venom knew that. Tribes at war put aside their animosity when they visited Bent’s or they were banned from trading, and no tribe wanted that, not when Bent’s Fort was the only place within a thousand miles where they could trade for everything from rifles to steel knives to pots and pans. “So?”
    â€œSo I’m aware of how you earn your despicable livelihood, Mr. Venom. I don’t approve, but then each man to his own affairs.”
    â€œMy sentiments exactly.”
    â€œHowever”—St. Vrain leaned down, his face as hard as iron—“there will be no taking the scalp of any Indian who visits our post. Not here, not for fifty miles around.”
    â€œFifty miles?” Venom bristled. “Who do you think you are, God Almighty? You have the right to tell me what not to do when I’m within these walls, but you sure as hell don’t have the right to tell me what to do fifty miles from here. You don’t own the prairie.”
    â€œTrue,” St. Vrain conceded. “But all I have to do is snap my fingers and I’ll have twenty armed men ready to enforce my edict, along with a large number of our Indian friends.”
    â€œAre you threatening me?”
    â€œYes.”
    The man’s bluntness rankled. Venom wasn’t used to being treated as if he was of no account. “I should gut you where you stand.”
    â€œYou won’t find it easy. And keep in mind that if youtry, you and your cutthroats won’t make it out the gate alive.”
    The hell of it was, Venom was forced to back down. St. Vrain’s men were a salty bunch, and the Indians all thought highly of him. “Listen. I’m not after scalps. We’re here to buy grub and tobacco and whatnot. Then we’ll be on our way.”
    St. Vrain turned to go. “Remember what I told you about the fifty-mile limit. Word will get back to me if you don’t heed. You might think you can lift a few scalps and get clean away, but how long would you last with a five-hundred-dollar bounty on your own hair?”
    â€œYou wouldn’t.”
    â€œTry me and find out.” St. Vrain walked to the stable door and turned. “Some of us, Mr. Venom, happen to like the Indians. We regard them as human beings. One of my partners, William Bent, is married to a Cheyenne. All he has to do is get word to them and every warrior in the tribe will descend upon you and do what should have been done years ago.”
    On that sour note, their talk had ended. Just thinking about it left a bitter taste in Venom’s mouth.
    A shout brought him out of his reverie.
    â€œHere come the Kyler twins! And Rubicon is with them!”
    To say Venom was surprised was an understatement. He contained his anger as the rest of his men converged, and when the twins and the black man drew rein, he jabbed a finger at Rubicon. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to track those Arapaho bucks.”
    â€œI did,” Rubicon said, his face alight with suppressed excitement. “I killed one and took his hair and was saving the other one for you, like you wanted. But then some others came along.”
    â€œOther Arapahos?”
    â€œNo. Indians, the likes of which I’ve never seen, all of them wearing green buckskins.”
    â€œThe deuce you say.”
    â€œA whole family, from what I could make out, five in all.”
    â€œThis gets more interesting by the moment.”
    â€œThere’s a mother and a couple of girls. One of them is almost full grown and as pretty as can be.”
    â€œWell, now.” Venom grinned.
    â€œThere’s more. I’ve saved the best for last.”
    â€œSpit it out, damn you. What could be better than five scalps and some fun, besides?”
    â€œThere’s a white girl with them.”
    Venom’s grin