Arizona Ambushers (9 page)

Fargo slept fitfully. Half a pot of coffee was partly to blame. His new “partner” had more to do with it. He should be grateful that Slits Throats had freed him. He should be able to let down his guard long enough to get a few hours sleep. But try as he might, he couldn't. He'd doze off for a few minutes and snap awake again to see Slits Throats lying on the ground on the other side of the charred remains of their fire. He couldn't make out much detail in the dark but Fargo had the sense that the breed was awake and staring at him.

The first trace of dawn was cause for Fargo to get up and get the fire going. He needed the other half of that pot of coffee.

Slits Throats opened his eyes and sat up. “You not sleep much.”

“My wrists,” Fargo said by way of excuse. The blisters bothered him, but not that much.

“That only reason?”

“What else?” Fargo said. He had a sense that the breed was laughing at him again.

“Whites let pain hurt too much,” Slits Throats said.

“No argument there,” Fargo replied. He'd witnessed firsthand how Apaches could endure pain that would make most anyone else scream in torment.

“You like being white-eye?”

Fargo set the coffeepot so it would heat up, and shrugged. “I've never thought about it much.”

“You think of it when you like me. Part white. Part red. Many hate those who half of each.”

Since Slits Throats was being so gabby, Fargo decided to say, “I'm curious. What do you want the hundred dollars for?”

“Buy new rifle,” Slits Throats said. He patted the Spencer in his lap. “This is good gun. It shoots true. But I want rifle like you have.” His lips quirked. “Rifle woman take.”

“Don't remind me.”

“How it feel to be beat by woman?”

“I knew it,” Fargo said. “You're rubbing it in. You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?”

“You funny man.”

“I thought I was silly.”

“You silly
and
funny,” Slits Throats said. “Most white-eyes one or other. You both.”

Fargo bit off a “Go to hell.”

“Tell me about shiny rifle,” Slits Throats said. “It called Henry, yes?”

“It's named after the man who came up with it, yes.”

“It true that Henry shoot more times than Spencer?”

“A Henry holds sixteen rounds. A Spencer can only hold seven,” Fargo confirmed.

Slits Throats' face lit with delight. “Sixteen,” he repeated, almost in awe. “Can kill many times with gun like that.”

“A Henry costs about forty dollars,” Fargo mentioned. A little more if the buyer wanted a sling or extras, like having the receiver gold-plated instead of brass.

“And bullets?”

“Ten dollars will buy you a thousand rounds.”

“Hundred dollars more than enough, then,” Slits Throats said, clearly pleased. “Can buy Henry and much bullets.”

“You really have your heart set on it,” Fargo said.

“Many Chiricahuas have Spencer. Few have Henry.”

Fargo thought he understood. To an Apache, owning a rifle like a Henry was a mark of prestige. Other warriors would secretly admire it, and want one of their own.

The coffee was soon ready, and Fargo savored his first cup. He offered some to Slits Throats but he wanted only a few swallows of water from Ruby's canteen.

A ring of orange crowned the eastern horizon when they were ready to head out. Fargo figured they'd ride double but Slits Throats surprised him.

“You ride. I run.”

“You sure?”

“Me Apache.”

“Suit yourself,” Fargo said. Apache endurance was legendary. It was said an Apache could travel seventy-five miles in a day at a dogtrot.

The trail was easy to follow. They made good time.

It was soon apparent that Geraldine hadn't stopped for the night. She should have. The Ovaro and the sorrel needed rest. By the middle of the day they would be flagging.

Not Slits Throats. He ran tirelessly, matching the fast walk of the bay, his breathing as normal as if he were taking a stroll.

The terrain became more mountainous.

Soon the hoofprints climbed toward an island of ponderosa pines, some of the trees over a hundred feet high.

Fargo wasn't quite to the trees when Slits Throats suddenly stopped.

“Voices.”

Fargo drew rein. He strained his ears but he couldn't hear anything other than a few birds.

“Women,” Slits Throats said. “They angry.”

Fargo took his word for it. Dismounting, he led the bay, careful to avoid rocks that might clatter and give them away. The first small pine he came to, he tied the reins and crept into the shadowed woods. His hand drifted to his empty holster, and he frowned.

At his side glided Slits Throats.

They had gone over a hundred feet in when Fargo halted and crouched. He'd heard the voices too.

“. . . tired of your griping,” Ruby was saying. “You're still alive, aren't you?”

“You tricked me, you cow,” Geraldine said bitterly.

“What the hell did you expect?”

Fargo stalked closer.

The women had stopped at a small clearing. There was shade from the sun, and something with even more appeal: a spring. The Ovaro and the sorrel were picketed close by, and a small fire gave off hardly any smoke. Ruby was hunkered beside it, drinking coffee she had brewed in Fargo's own pot, sipping from Fargo's own cup. Her rifle was at her feet, and she was grinning like the cat that just ate the canary.

Geraldine Waxler lay on the other side of the fire. Her wrists were tied. She had a gash in her temple, and a ribbon of dried
blood ran from the gash to her chin. “I should never have turned my back on you.”

“Did you think I was too scared to try and turn the tables? Did you think I was afraid of
you
?”

“You acted like you were.”

“Jackass,” Ruby said. “You're a whore, like me. What's to be afraid of?”

“So what now? You finish me off?”

“No,” Ruby said. “I'm taking you to my boss. She'd like that, I do believe.”

“She?”

“The person who organized the payroll robbery, the very one who shot your precious husband full of holes, is a woman.”

“The hell you say.”

Slits Throats nudged Fargo and whispered, “What we do?”

“We don't do anything yet,” Fargo whispered. He hoped to overhear more.

In the clearing, Ruby was saying, “And before you ask, no, I won't tell you who the woman is. I want it to be a surprise.”

Geraldine seemed dazed. “My husband could hold his own against Apaches. And he was shot by a female?”

“Women can be as deadly as men when they put their minds to it,” Ruby boasted.

Fargo agreed. He'd run across some ladies who were as deadly as they came.

“What is this world coming to?” Geraldine said.

“Maybe you should ask that scout,” Ruby said. “He was on your side, wasn't he? Helping you catch the ones who shot your major. And what did you do? Refresh my memory?”

Geraldine didn't respond.

“Now I remember,” Ruby said, smirking. “You left him to be whittled on by an Apache. So don't lie there and claim the notion of a woman shooting your husband shocks you. You're not much different than she is.”

“I couldn't let Fargo stop me.”

“Is that your excuse?” Ruby taunted. “By now he's probably been skinned alive and strangled with his own innards.” She shook her head in disgust. “If that's what you do to your friends, I'd hate to see what you do to your enemies.”

“I wasn't thinking straight,” Geraldine said.

“Liar,” Ruby shot back. “You knew exactly what you were up to. And truth to tell, I should thank you. With him out of the way,
you've made it a lot easier for me. He'd never have let me get the better of him.”

“Lord, I am tired of your chatter.”

“You can't stand to hear the truth, is more like it.” Ruby raised Fargo's tin cup and took several swallows. “Ah. That hit the spot. I'd give you some but you're not getting a drop to drink until we've caught up to my friends.”

“That could take days.”

“At least,” Ruby said.

“I'll die of thirst.”

“One can only hope.”

“But you just said you wanted to turn me over to your boss,” Geraldine reminded her.

“I never said you had to be breathing.”

“You'd kill me for no reason? How coldhearted are you?”

“No reason?” Ruby scoffed. “How about to keep you from killing us?”

Geraldine hung her head. “This isn't working out as I'd hoped.”

Fargo had listened to enough. He wasn't learning anything new. He turned to whisper to Slits Throats that they should move in.

The warrior wasn't there.

“What the hell?” Fargo blurted. He looked back at the clearing just as a muscular figure in a headband and knee-high moccasins reared up behind Ruby.

Slits Throats.

Ruby never heard him. She was smirking at Geraldine when the stock of Slits Throats' Spencer connected with her skull.

Ruby's beautiful green eyes rolled up into her head, and she collapsed.

Geraldine had been forlornly staring into the fire but now she cried, “God in heaven! Not you! Not here!” She scrambled back in terror.

Slits Throats stepped over Ruby and came around the fire.

“Stay back!” Geraldine screeched, all her courage flown.

Fargo walked out of the ponderosas and planted himself behind her. She was as oblivious to him as she had been to Slits Throats.

Geraldine gave a start when she collided with his legs. Half turning, she bleated in surprise, “You!”

“Miss me?” Fargo said.

“How are you still alive? Why didn't that stupid Indian kill you?”

“You'll have to ask him when you wake up.”

“Wake up?” Geraldine said in confusion.

Bending, Fargo slugged her on the jaw. He didn't use all his strength but one punch was all it took. She was out like a snuffed wick.

Slits Throats came up. “You look happy, white-eye.”

“Happy as hell,” Fargo said.

All was temporarily right with Fargo's world. He had the Ovaro back. He had the Henry. His Colt was in his holster.

He was seated at the fire Ruby had made, finishing the coffee she'd brewed. Both women were tied and lay to either side.

Slits Throats came over. “Women not come around yet?”

“My ears are grateful,” Fargo said.

The warrior gazed skyward. “Much daylight left. I ride ahead. Find where others be.”

“Don't let them see you.”

Slits Throats snorted and turned toward the horses.

“Watch out for Apaches,” Fargo said.

Slits Throats looked back and laughed. “See? You one funny white-eye.”

“I try,” Fargo told him.

The warrior left and ten minutes went by, ten minutes of blessed peace and quiet. Then Geraldine Waxler groaned and slowly raised her head, looking around in confusion. She saw Fargo, and her face hardened in anger. “You hit me.”

“I sure as hell did.”

“Don't sound so proud of it,” Geraldine snapped.

“You tried to have me killed,” Fargo said. “What did you think I'd do if I saw you again? Give you a big hug and a kiss?”

“I'm sorry about that.”

“Sure you are.” Fargo had made the mistake of trusting her once. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

“I can understand you being upset. . . .”

“Upset?” Fargo said. “I'd be dead now except that the Apache you counted on to do me in is part white himself and wanted me alive.”

“How about that?” Geraldine said.

“Don't sound so disappointed.”

“If you want my opinion . . .”

“I don't.”

“I think you're overreacting.”

“How's your jaw?”

That shut her up.

Fargo had other matters to think about. The first was that having two prisoners would slow him. The other was that the Ovaro and the sorrel could use another hour or so of rest, which would delay him even more. Since it couldn't be helped, he mentally shrugged and went on relaxing with his coffee.

Presently it was Ruby's turn to stir. She groaned louder than Geraldine had, and lifted her head more slowly. Her confusion was worse, too. She stared at Fargo for fully half a minute before recognition dawned and she came to her senses. “You bastard! You hit me from behind.”

“I cannot tell a lie,” Fargo said. “It wasn't me.”

“Who else?” Ruby turned to Geraldine and scowled. “It couldn't have been her. She was tied up.”

“It was my new pard,” Fargo said. “The one who was following you. Who stole your horse.”

“You don't mean that redskin?”

“The very same. His name is Slits Throats. When he comes back, you might want to thank him for not slitting yours.”

“Thank him? Hell, he about busted my skull.” Grimacing, Ruby struggled to a sitting position. She touched her bound hands to her head and winced. “I've got a hen's egg.”

“Maybe it knocked some sense into you,” Fargo said.

“He thinks he's funny,” Geraldine said.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Fargo asked.

“I don't think you're funny,” Ruby snarled.

“Thank you,” Fargo said.

Geraldine laughed, then said, “Damn.”

“You're both loco,” Ruby said. “If my hands were free I'd blow out your wicks and leap for joy when it was done.”

“Why are you mad at me?” Geraldine said. “I wasn't the one who bashed you over the noggin.”

“Have you forgotten you were hauling me around at gunpoint?”

“I didn't hurt you, did I? Seems to me you should be grateful,” Geraldine said.

Ruby looked as if she was about to explode. “Do you ever listen to yourself, you cow?”

“Ladies,” Fargo said.

“Who are you calling a ‘cow,' you pig?” Geraldine said. “What do you know about anything, anyhow?”

“Ladies?” Fargo said, louder.

“I know your type, bitch,” Ruby said. “You were one of those doves who gussied herself up all the time and pranced around like she was the Almighty's gift to Creation.”

“Ladies, damn it,” Fargo said.

“And I know your type,” Geraldine declared. “You're one of those who doesn't much care how she looks. You do just enough to get by because you're too lazy to better yourself.”

Fargo let out a roar worthy of a grizzly.
“Ladies!”

They both looked at him and Geraldine said, “What's the matter with you?”

“Not one more word out of either of you unless I say you can talk.”

“What will you do?” Geraldine taunted. “Pistol-whip us?”

Fargo held up his fist.

“Oh,” she said.

That bought half an hour of wonderful quiet. Fargo roused when the Ovaro whinnied, and Slits Throats rode out of the trees and vaulted down with the agile grace of a panther.

“You're back sooner than I thought you'd be,” Fargo said.

Slits Throats was about to reply when he saw that the women had recovered. Coming around the fire, he studied the pair intently.

“What the hell are you looking at, you red devil?” Ruby demanded.

“White women,” Slits Throats said.

“What did you find out?” Fargo asked.

Geraldine thrust her jaw at Slits Throats. “Yes, we're white,
and we won't abide any of your heathen ways. You keep your hands to yourself—you hear me?”

“You have spirit,” Slits Throats said. “I like that.”

“Slits Throats?” Fargo said.

Ruby rose onto her knees. “What do I have? I must have something because you were following me.”

“Big tits,” Slits Throats said.

Ruby looked down at herself. “How can you tell, as loose as this shirt is?”

“Damn it to hell,” Fargo said, and looked at the Ovaro. “Am I whispering and don't know it?” Picking up the coffeepot, he banged his cup against it.

The three of them turned.

“Why you do that, white-eye?” Slits Throats asked.

“He's peculiar,” Geraldine said. “I didn't realize it when I met him but the more I get to know him, the more I see how strange he is.”

“All whites strange,” Slits Throats said.

“He's grumpy, too,” Ruby said. “He yelled at us a while ago for nothing at all.”

“Ladies,” Fargo said. “Shut the hell up.”

“See what I mean?” Ruby said.

Fargo focused on Slits Throats. “What did you find out?”

“You want good news or bad news?” the warrior said.

“What I want is a bottle of whiskey,” Fargo said. “But let me hear it.”

“Tracks say women who stole money far ahead. We not catch till late tomorrow.”

“What's the good news?”

“That was the good,” Slits Throats said. “The bad is that four Apaches cut trail and follow them.”

“Make that two bottles,” Fargo said.

“Eh?”

“Nothing. How far ahead are the Apaches?”

“Two hours. Maybe three. They on foot but that not slow them much.”

“No,” Fargo agreed. “It won't.”

This affair was turning into a debacle. He was teamed up with a partner he didn't need, saddled with two women he'd rather be without, and now had an Apache war party as well as the female outlaws to deal with. “When it rains, it pours.”

“Not rain for many sleeps,” Slits Throats said. “This summer.”

“Did you just tell a joke?”

“What that?”

“I give up,” Fargo said, and stood. So much for letting the Ovaro and the sorrel rest a while longer. With Apaches after the outlaws, they needed to head right out.

After dousing the fire, Fargo put his pot and cup in his saddlebags and brought the horses over. Before Geraldine could guess what he was up to, he scooped her into his arms and threw her over the sorrel belly down, as he'd done with Ruby the day before. Geraldine swore and struggled as he tied a rope from her wrists to her ankles, under the sorrel's belly.

“Don't do this, consarn you. I'm not an outlaw like she is. I deserve better treatment.”

“What you deserve,” Fargo said, “is another pop on the jaw.” He went to Ruby, squatted, and untied her ankles. She seemed surprised, even more so when he took her arm and assisted her to her feet. “You get to ride double with me.”

“I do?”

Fargo cupped his hands. “I'll give you a boost.”

Ruby regarded him suspiciously. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”

“I can throw you over the sorrel with Geraldine if you want.”

“No, no,” Ruby said quickly. She placed her shoe in his palm, and he swung her up and over.

“Slide back,” Fargo said. When she did, he forked leather, snagged the sorrel's reins, and resumed the pursuit.

Slits Throats offered to ride ahead and keep an eye out for the Apaches and jabbed his heels to the bay.

No sooner was the warrior out of sight than Ruby snuggled against Fargo's back. “This is kind of cozy, ain't it?”

The feel of her breasts and the warmth of her body stirred Fargo, down low.

“Don't you think it's cozy?” she asked again, touching a finger to the nape of his neck.

“What are you up to?” Fargo said.

“Sweet little me?” Ruby replied, her breath fluttering his skin. “I'm as innocent as can be.”

Fargo grinned. Things had become a lot more interesting.