Apache Ambush

9

Fargo was adding a few last rocks to the pile when the wagons lumbered into view. The other three bodies lay in a row at the side of the road. They could rot there, for all he cared. Removing his hat, he wiped his face and neck with his bandanna, then retired the bandanna and stood next to the Ovaro to await the freight train.

Ezekiel Stack and the rest of the outriders spotted him and came on ahead in a group. Stack stared hard at the dead men, particularly the one called Becker, and said, ‘‘Some of Grind’s men, I take it?’’

It was the logical conclusion. Or was it? Fargo wondered. From the way Stack stared at them, it was almost as if he knew them. Fargo recalled Wilson saying that Jefferson Grind had an ace up his sleeve. Could that ace be someone on Cranmeyer’s payroll, but who was secretly working for Grind? And could that someone be Stack?

Presently, the wagons arrived, and everyone gathered to inspect the bodies and hear Fargo’s account of the affray. He kept it short and left out the part about the ace up Grind’s sleeve.

Cranmeyer stood over the bodies with his hands clasped behind his back and said to Krupp. ‘‘See? I told you Mr. Fargo was worth his weight in silver. His reputation is well deserved.’’

Krupp frowned and said, ‘‘These four are just the start. There will be more.’’

The Frazier sisters were huddled by themselves, whispering. When Fargo glanced at them, all three smiled sweetly and Cleopatra, the brazen hussy, moved her legs suggestively.

Fargo stayed with the wagon train the rest of the day. He constantly roved from point to the rear, keeping an eye out for more of Grind’s hired killers. Once an elderly couple in a buckboard came by. Another time it was a patent medicine salesman in a van.

Sunset found them camped a few dozen yards to the north of the road. The freight wagons were in a circle, the mules tethered and under the watchful eye of a nighthawk. Two crackling fires blazed, one on the north side of the circle, the other on the south.

A black man was preparing supper. Apparently he had worked as a cook in a restaurant until Cranmeyer hired him to do the same for the freight firm.

All the precautions that could be taken had been taken.

For the first time since they started out from Hot Springs, Fargo could relax. He sat cross-legged in the shadow of a wagon and nursed a cup of coffee, his Henry beside him.

Boots crunched, and Stack was there. ‘‘Anything else you need me to do?’’ he inquired.

Fargo hoped he was wrong about him. ‘‘Not at the moment, no. Except maybe remind the wrangler that if he falls asleep and we lose mules to the Apaches or anyone else, he will be walking on crutches for a while.’’

Stack smiled. ‘‘I will pass it on. But don’t worry. Frank is a good man. Cranmeyer only hires men he can trust to get the job done.’’

‘‘I hope so,’’ Fargo said.

About to go, Stack paused. ‘‘There is something I should tell you. I knew one of those men you shot. His name was Becker.’’

Fargo hid his surprise at the admission. ‘‘Knew him how?’’

‘‘He has been drifting around the territory for a few years now, hiring out his pistol. I have been doing the same. We worked together once about six months ago.’’

‘‘Was he a friend of yours?’’ Fargo asked.

‘‘An acquaintance, is all, and not one I was fond of,’’ Stack said. ‘‘Becker was hard to get along with. He always had a burr up his ass about something or other.’’

‘‘So you don’t hold shooting him against me?’’

‘‘You did what you had to. I would have done the same if I was in your boots.’’ Stack touched his hat brim and walked off.

Fargo went back to sipping his coffee but he was not alone for long. Three winsome forms, bullwhips in hand, made him the envy of the camp by coming over to see him.

‘‘That sure was something, what you did today,’’ Myrtle Frazier said.

‘‘Gunning down four at once!’’ Mavis marveled. ‘‘You must be lightning with that six-shooter of yours.’’

Cleopatra, always the vixen, grinned. ‘‘I hope you don’t do everything fast. Some things deserve to be done slow.’’

‘‘Have something special in mind?’’ Fargo asked.

‘‘As if you can’t guess,’’ Cleopatra replied, and laughed that husky laugh of hers. Her sisters joined in.

Fargo leaned against the wagon wheel and regarded them with keen interest. ‘‘Who is to be first?’’

‘‘I beg your pardon?’’ Mavis replied.

‘‘Don’t play innocent,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘We have a deal. I joined the freight train, so I get to have all three of you.’’

Myrtle frowned in disapproval. ‘‘You do not need to be crude about it.’’

‘‘Goodness, no,’’ Mavis said. ‘‘Only you do not get to set the time and the place. We do.’’

‘‘You aren’t trying to weasel out on me, are you?’’

All three flushed with anger. Cleopatra bent down, crooked a finger, and hooked her fingernail under his chin. ‘‘If you weren’t so damn good-looking, I would take my whip to you.’’

‘‘So would I,’’ Myrtle said. ‘‘We always keep our word. Ask anyone.’’

Mavis nodded. ‘‘When we say we will do something, we will do it.’’

‘‘But we are not common tarts,’’ Cleopatra added, lightly sliding her finger along his jaw to his ear. ‘‘We do not spread our legs for every male we see. We choose carefully. And when we do share ourselves, we like to do the deed in private.’’

‘‘Do you have a problem with that?’’ Mavis demanded.

‘‘Not at all, ladies,’’ Fargo assured them. ‘‘I don’t care if we do it in a wagon or off in the desert or in a ditch. Just so we do it. And since it will be harder to find time to ourselves once we are in the mountains, now is as good a time as any.’’

‘‘My, oh, my, aren’t you the randy?’’ Cleopatra teased. ‘‘But then, all men are. You can’t help yourselves. You are born that way.’’

‘‘Slaves to your peckers,’’ Myrtle said sagely.

‘‘Not that we are complaining,’’ Mavis threw in. ‘‘A man’s pecker is a like a nose ring on a bull. All a savvy gal has to do is take hold of it and the man is in her power.’’

‘‘My pecker is not a nose ring,’’ Fargo enlightened them.

‘‘Oh, please,’’ Cleopatra said. ‘‘All men ever think of is one thing. I have never met a man yet who did not have his brains below his belt.’’

‘‘That is harsh.’’

‘‘Don’t take it personal. Like Mavis just told you, you won’t hear us complain. We are fond of peckers, ourselves. ’’

Fargo laughed.

‘‘As for your notion that now is as good a time as any,’’ Cleopatra went on, ‘‘give us a minute or two and we will get back to you.’’

They went out of earshot of him and everyone else, and huddled. From their expressions and how they kept shaking their bullwhips at one another, they appeared to be arguing, and arguing heatedly.

Fargo had no inkling what it was about. Cranmeyer had noticed and did not look happy, probably because a lot of the drivers and guards had noticed, too.

Mavis fished in her pants and produced a coin. She flipped it high into the air and let it land at her feet. All three bent to see which side of the coin was up. Then Myrtle flipped it. Then Cleopatra took her turn.

Smoothing her shirt, Myrtle sashayed back to Fargo. She was grinning from ear to ear.

‘‘Guess what, handsome?’’

‘‘You won.’’

Myrtle nodded enthusiastically. ‘‘That is how we decide. We take turns tossing the coin so it is fair.’’

‘‘What if I want one of the others?’’ Fargo asked, and chuckled at her crestfallen expression. ‘‘I was joshing. The three of you look so much alike, it doesn’t matter.’’

‘‘Ah, but it does,’’ Myrtle disagreed. ‘‘Looks are not everything. We might seem to be as alike as like can be, but we are each of us different. Cleo is a wildcat when she is with a man. Mavis hardly ever does more than kiss and fondle until the deed is done.’’

‘‘And you?’’

‘‘Me?’’ Myrtle said, and showed her pearly teeth. ‘‘I like to give as good as I get, if you catch my meaning.’’

‘‘Prove it,’’ Fargo said.

Myrtle gestured at the campfires and the men. ‘‘In private, remember?’’ She touched his knee with her bullwhip. ‘‘Why don’t we go for a stroll and I will prove I am as I say I am?’’

Fargo drained his tin cup and pushed to his feet. ‘‘A stroll happens to be just what I need.’’

‘‘I’ll bet.’’

Fargo linked arms with her. ‘‘I am looking forward to this.’’ He was not exaggerating; he was curious to learn whether the parts of the Frazier sisters he could not see were as gloriously perfect as the parts he could.

‘‘So am I, handsome,’’ Myrtle admitted. ‘‘I know it is not proper for a lady to confess to carnal desires, but I refuse to go through life pretending to be someone I am not.’’

‘‘I don’t blame you.’’ Fargo made small talk while admiring the twin peaks that poked at her shirt.

They had taken only a few steps when someone came up behind them. Timothy P. Cranmeyer was without Krupp for once. His hands were behind his back, as was his habit, and he nervously rocked on his heels. ‘‘Pardon me, Mr. Fargo. But might I have a few words with you?’’

Fargo glanced at Myrtle, who shrugged to show she had no idea what Cranmeyer wanted. ‘‘So long as the words are few.’’

Cranmeyer smiled and motioned for Fargo to walk beside him.

‘‘This better be important,’’ Fargo grumbled. He had his mind, and body, fixed on one thing, and he did not appreciate the interruption.

‘‘It is,’’ Cranmeyer said. When they were a fair distance from Myrtle and everyone else, he stopped and bowed his head and commenced rocking on his heels again. ‘‘This comes hard for me.’’

‘‘What does?’’

‘‘Intruding where I have no right to intrude. But I must do what is best for the good of all.’’

‘‘You are taking the long way around the stable to get your horse in the stall,’’ Fargo said drily.

‘‘Very well.’’ Cranmeyer coughed and finally met his gaze. ‘‘I would take it as a personal favor if you would refrain from indulging your physical urges until we reach Silver Lode.’’

‘‘I should shoot you,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘Excuse me?’’

‘‘You are the one who sicced the Fraziers on me, remember? To convince me to change my mind? Well, they did, and here I am, and here they are, and if they want to go on convincing, by God I will let them.’’

Cranmeyer glanced at Myrtle, then toward Cleopatra and Mavis. ‘‘If only they weren’t three of the best mule skinners in the business I would have nothing to do with them.’’

‘‘That is between them and you.’’

‘‘True,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘But what goes on between them and you can cause all sorts of trouble for me. Trouble I could do without.’’

‘‘Spell it out,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘Since you insist.’’ Cranmeyer paused. ‘‘I doubt it has escaped your notice that they are three of the loveliest women on God’s green earth. They turn heads everywhere they go.’’

‘‘They turned mine,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘I was hoping they would,’’ Cranmeyer admitted. ‘‘But now that they have, it wouldn’t do to give the impression they are partial to you over everyone else.’’

‘‘The hell you say.’’

‘‘Every man here would love to get his hands on them. I have made it clear the Fraziers are off-limits, and the men have smothered their urges. But they will not keep those urges smothered if they see you carrying on as if you have your own personal harem.’’

Fargo saw where it was leading, and swore.

‘‘Please. All I ask is that you hold off until we reach Silver Lode. Once we are there you can do as you please.’’

‘‘You are making a mountain out of a prairie dog mound.’’

‘‘I have enough problems,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘What with the Apaches on the warpath and Jefferson Grind out to get me and creditors camped in front of my house. I do not need for my men to kill one another in fits of jealously.’’

‘‘Silver Lode?’’ Fargo said.

‘‘Yes, just until there,’’ Cranmeyer said hopefully. ‘‘Do I have your word?’’

Fargo stared at Cleopatra and Mavis, then at Myrtle, who was impatiently tapping her foot. Three of the most exquisite females he ever met, each the kind of woman a man remembered for the rest of his born days.

‘‘Well?’’ Cranmeyer prompted.

‘‘Let me put it this way,’’ Fargo said, and sought to soften the blow by placing his hand on Cranmeyer’s shoulder, and smiling. ‘‘There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell.’’

‘‘You insist on making love to them?’’

‘‘That is a god-awful stupid question.’’

Cranmeyer was not amused. ‘‘Fine. But I must say, I am disappointed. I expected better of you.’’

‘‘It is your own fault,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘Me? What did I do?’’

‘‘You should hire uglier mule skinners.’’