by Jon Sharpe
The solution was to take it one step at a time. The first step was to deal with the Apaches stalking the women. The second was to deal with the women. It would be nice to take them alive but if he couldn’t, he couldn’t. Afterward, he’d return the stolen payroll to the army, and get on with his life.
Easy as pie, Fargo thought, and grinned.
The stars were out in force and the wind had picked up. Sheltered by the bluff, their fire crackled undisturbed.
Fargo would like to turn in but he had his prisoners to consider. Binding them wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t put it past one or the other to wait until he was asleep and rip out his throat with their teeth.
There was still some rope left. Getting up, Fargo went to Ruby. She lay with her cheek on the ground and her eyes closed. Stooping, he grabbed her by her heels.
“What the hell?” Ruby squawked, trying to turn. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Fargo dragged her over to Geraldine and positioned them so their feet were practically touching.
“What are you doing?” Geraldine asked. She had been watching him.
Hunkering, Fargo commenced to tie one end of the rope around Ruby’s ankles.
“Let go of me,” she hollered, and tried to pull away.
Holding firm, Fargo said, “We can do this with pain or without. Which will it be?”
Ruby had quite a vocabulary when it came to cuss words. But she didn’t fight him as he tied a couple of tight knots. “What good did that do?”
“Don’t you see?” Geraldine said as Fargo reached for her legs. “He’s tying our feet together to make it next to impossible for us to sneak up on him in the middle of the night and do him in.”
“He thinks he’s so damn clever,” Ruby said.
“He is,” Geraldine said.
Fargo finished tying. Their legs were now bound fast together. One couldn’t move without the other. And with their wrists tied, too, they couldn’t get at him unless they undid the ropes—which would be next to impossible, as tight as the knots were. Smiling, he stood and moved back.
“Pleased with yourself, are you?” Ruby said. “Enjoy it while you can. Because as God is my witness, before this is over, you’ll be as dead as dead can be.”
21
The next day was more of the same, only Fargo had two women draped over saddles instead of one. They hated it. Ruby lit into him with that mouth of hers so he gagged both of them, too.
“Why are you gagging me?” Geraldine demanded as he was about to do her. “I haven’t said a word.”
“I’m looking forward to some peace and quiet.”
“What if I give you my word I won’t let out a peep?”
“I’d believe you,” Fargo said, and gagged her.
The day wasn’t quite as hot, which was a relief, and the trail left by Big Bertha’s gang was as plain as ever.
He saw no track of the Apaches.
By noon he’d covered a lot of miles and reined up to rest the horses.
Dismounting, he placed both women on the ground, removed their gags, and offered water from his canteen.
Ruby glared with every swallow. When he pulled the canteen away to keep her from drinking too much, she smiled and said with mock sincerity, “Thank you.”
Geraldine swallowed only once. “That’s enough for me, thank you,” she said. “We don’t want to run out.”
Fargo didn’t have any. He sat where he could watch them and the horses, both. A bee buzzed past, so close he could have snatched it out of the air.
Swiping at a bang, Geraldine said, “I must be getting used to riding on my stomach. It didn’t hurt as much today as it did yesterday.”
Ruby was still glaring. “All this trouble you’re going to, and what good will it do you?”
“Don’t start,” Fargo said.
“What does the money matter to you? Why risk your hide when it’s not even yours?”
“You’re forgetting the soldiers you killed.”
“Men you didn’t know, as I recollect,” Ruby said. “At least this pathetic fool has a reason for being here.”
“Why am I a fool?” Geraldine asked.
“You’re putting your life in danger for a man you were only married to for, what was it, six months?”
“He loved me.”
“Did you love him?”
Fargo was surprised when Geraldine hesitated.
“He was willing to forget my past. To overlook all I’d done. Do you realize how rare that was?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, I loved him.”
“It sounds like you were grateful more than anything,” Ruby said. “Is that worth dying for?”
“No more,” Fargo said. He was so tired of their spats, he could scream.
Ruby glanced at the bandanna he’d used to gag her, and subsided, her face a mirror of raw hatred.
Fargo went to lean back when he heard a slight sound behind him. It sounded like the scratch of a moccasin sole, and he whirled, drawing his Colt as he spun. But it was only a rattler, winding about the brush. It paid no heed to them and soon slithered away.
Fargo was glad it hadn’t spooked the horses. Shoving the Colt into his holster, he removed his hat and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.
Fargo had to hand it to Big Bertha, whoever she was. She’d chosen her escape route well. Most would have stuck to what few roads there were, but not her. They were well off the beaten pathways between settlements, in a remote region few whites had ever set foot in.
To the northwest reared hills. Beyond were more mountains.
Ruby cleared her throat. “I’d like to ask Mrs. Waxler a question, if that’s all right with you.”
“You’re asking permission?” Fargo said.
“I don’t want to be gagged.”
“Ask it.”
Ruby shifted. “It’s the same question I asked him. What do you plan to do if you catch up to my friends?”
“I thought I’d made that plain,” Geraldine said. “I’m going to kill each and every one of you.”
“Just like that?” Ruby scoffed. “When you’ve never snuffed a wick your whole life?”
“I can do it if I have to,” Geraldine said.
“What I don’t savvy,” Ruby said, glancing at Fargo as if to be sure he didn’t mind if she went on talking, “is why you’re willing—” She stopped again, her eyes widening in fear.
Fargo wondered why she was looking at him like that. He wasn’t doing anything. Then it hit him. She was staring at something behind him.
Turning, Fargo started to rise.
An Apache was almost on top of him, a stocky warrior wearing a red headband with a knife in his hand.
The warrior sprang. Fargo got his hand up and seized the man’s wrist even as he was slammed onto his back. Iron fingers found his throat, and locked.
The tip of the knife was poised over Fargo’s chest. It took all his strength to hold it at bay.
The Apache gouged his fingers deeper, choking off Fargo’s breath.
“Don’t let him kill you!” Ruby screamed.
Fargo bucked but it had no effect except that the Apache bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. The warrior was confident he would prevail.
Fargo rammed his knee into the Apache’s ribs. Once, twice, three times, and the warrior let go and threw himself to one side.
The Apache scrambled into a crouch.
Fargo did the same, but slower. His neck was throbbing. He clawed for his Colt, and discovered his holster was empty. His six-shooter lay a few feet away.
The Apache saw it at the same instant.
Fargo lunged but had to leap back when the warrior slashed at his neck. He backpedaled to gain room and the warrior came after him, his confidence undiminished.
“Do something!” Ruby shrieked.
Fargo wasn’t fooled. She was interested only in her own skin. If anything happened to him, the Apache could do whatever he wanted to the women.
Fargo circled, thinking to get close enough to try for his Colt. The Apache, smirking, cut him off.
At the back of Fargo’s mind was the worry that the warrior wasn’t alone, that others might show up. He dared not look. To take his eyes off the Apache was certain death.
The warrior feinted and came in fast and low, seeking to bury the blade in Fargo’s belly. Twisting aside, Fargo saved himself. But only for a moment. The warrior stabbed at his neck. Fargo dodged, and the Apache slashed at his eyes. Again the Apache missed.
Fargo kicked him in the knee. Something snapped, and the Apache grimaced and growled.
The warrior limped a couple of steps, and set himself. Fargo was ready when the warrior’s knife sought his chest, and sidestepped. Simultaneously, he landed an uppercut that jarred the warrior onto his heels.
Apaches were deadly fighters but they seldom fought with their fists. Which was why Fargo’s next punch, to the warrior’s abdomen, wasn’t blocked. Fargo cocked his arm to punch again, and a keg of black powder went off between his legs.
Cupping himself, Fargo tried to retreat out of reach but his legs wouldn’t work. He tottered, threatening to black out. His blood roared in his ears. Dimly, he was aware of one of the women shrieking a warning. He felt a sharp sting in his chest and braced for the feel of cold steel to be buried in his flesh.
Without warning, Fargo was on his knees. He looked down, expecting to see blood oozing from his wound or the knife hilt jutting from his body. Instead, he saw the Apache on his back, scarlet spurting from a cut that ran from ear to ear.
Over him, holding a bloody knife, was Slits Throats.
“Are you all right?” Geraldine asked.
Fargo nodded. Gradually, his senses returned. That he was alive and unhurt was a miracle.
Slits Throats squatted and began wiping his knife on the dead warrior’s breechclout. “You almost die, white-eye.”
“How?” Fargo said in confusion. “Where?”
Slits Throats gestured at the dead warrior. “He one of the four.”
“What’s he doing here?” Fargo said. “I thought they were after the women.”
“This one turned back,” Slits Throats said. “I not know why but I follow. He come straight here.”
“How did he know we were here?” Fargo wondered.
“I not know.”
Fargo touched the spot on his shirt where he had felt the sharp sting, and a tiny drop of blood formed on his fingertip. “Damn,” he said.
Slits Throats stood and slid his knife into his sheath. “You need eyes like eagle and ears like wolf or you die. Throw Ropes almost had you.”
“You know him?” Fargo said.
“Know many Apaches,” Slits Throats said. “Chiricahuas, White Mountain, others.”
“Yet you killed him to save me?”
“Apache sometimes kill Apache.”
“Yes, but . . .” Fargo let it drop. Slits Throats was right. Some of the bands weren’t all that friendly. And it wasn’t uncommon for an Apache to hire out as an army scout and track down others of his own kind.
“Now you owe me, eh?” Slits Throats said. “Is that not how whites think?”
“I owe you more than I can ever repay.”
“Good.” Slits Throats smiled. “I maybe find a way.”
22
The sunset was beautiful. It blazed a painter’s palette of bright colors. Red stood out the most. Not a raspberry red or apple red, but bloodred.
Some people would take that as an omen but Fargo wasn’t superstitious. Nor was he much interested in Nature’s tapestry. According to Slits Throats, the outlaws weren’t more than a quarter of a mile ahead, camped in a hollow.
Fargo was waiting for dark to fall. He’d placed Geraldine and Ruby on either side of a small boulder and looped a rope around them to be doubly certain they didn’t go anywhere.
Slits Throats had gone off to watch their quarry and was supposed to report back.
Fargo was impatient to get it over with. If all went well, by morning he’d have corralled the robbers and recovered the money and could head for Fort Bowie. It couldn’t happen soon enough to suit him.
“It’s nice of you not to gag us tonight,” Geraldine remarked. “I sleep better without that rag in my mouth.”
Fargo hadn’t told them how close they were to the outlaws. It might cause trouble.
“Why didn’t you gag us, anyhow?” Ruby asked, suspiciously.
“You won’t make any noise,” Fargo said.
“How can you be so sure?”
“The only ones likely to hear are the friends of that Apache we killed earlier,” Fargo said.
“The last thing I want is for them to find us,” Geraldine remarked. “I’m not about to spend the rest of my days in an Apache hovel.”
“It wouldn’t make much difference to me,” Ruby said. “One man is just like another between their legs.”
“You’re just saying that,” Geraldine said. “You wouldn’t want to live as a squaw.”
“Sister, at this point in my life, I don’t much give a damn,” Ruby said. “All my life I’ve catered to men and where did it get me?”
“Men didn’t put you up to robbing the payroll.”
“No, that was purely my doing,” Ruby conceded. “I finally got even for all they put me through.”
“Men didn’t force you to sell your favors for a living.”
“They might as well have,” Ruby said. “It’s next to impossible for a woman to make ends meet on her own unless she can sew and such. And why? Because men make a hell of a lot more than us women, that’s why. Because they control things so we’re always second best.”
“You could have done like I did and found a good man to marry.”
“They’re as rare as hen’s teeth, and you know it,” Ruby said, almost sadly. “It’s a fairy tale a lot of gals dream about, but it hardly ever comes true. You were one of the lucky ones.”
“And you and your friends killed him.”
“I never gave much thought to who we were shooting. I never even looked at their faces. They were obstacles, was all, to us getting our hands on that money.”
Fargo turned to look for some sign of Slits Throats and nearly jumped out of his skin. The Apache was close enough to touch. “Where in hell did you come from?”
“I scare you?”
“No.”
Slits Throats grinned. “Liar.”
“I’m ready to go.” Fargo stepped to the Ovaro and slid the Henry from the scabbard. He’d rather rely on the Colt in the dark but if the Apaches did happen by, he could kiss the rifle good-bye.
“Where are you off to?” Geraldine asked.
“To make sure those Apaches aren’t anywhere around.”
“Why not let the breed do it?” Ruby said.
“Two can cover more ground than one. We won’t be long.”
“I don’t like it,” Geraldine said. “Hurry back.”
Slits Throats took the lead, moving with a pantherish silence Fargo was hard pressed to match.
The stars were out, their pale glow doing little to relieve the gloom. In due course they climbed to the crest of a ridge and beheld a dancing finger of flame below.
“That them,” Slits Throats said.
“What about the Apaches?” Fargo whispered.
“Not see them in a while. Could be anywhere.”
“Wonderful.”
Warily descending, Fargo avoided loose dirt and rocks. He was eager to get the hunt over with but he couldn’t become careless. The women had already shown they were killers.
; At the bottom Fargo lost sight of the fire. His unerring sense of direction served him in good stead as he worked his way from cover to cover until muffled voices reached his ear. He crawled the rest of the way.
A woman laughed and others chimed in.
For a pack of murdering she-devils, Fargo reflected, they were in good spirits. He came to a natural bowl over an acre in extent, and there they were.
The fire was small, as it should be. Their horses were tethered in a string and saddled, ready for flight. Another smart move. The women wore revolvers and all had rifles at their sides or across their laps. They had rolled middling-sized boulders to the fire and were seated around it, relaxing.
Another thing Fargo noticed; all four wore riding outfits and riding boots made especially for women. Their hats had wide brims to protect them from the sun. More proof of how well they had planned things.
Three of the women were as ordinary as rainwater. One was a brunette, another a redhead, the third had hair the color of caramel, cut so short it was mannish.
The last one had to be Big Bertha. She was as wide as a buckboard, practically, with great rolling shoulders and legs like tree stumps. She had a deep voice, and a booming peal of a laugh that made her whole body shake. Her face was a moon with freakishly big eyes, her jowls sagged like extra chins, and her nose was twice the size it should have been.
Fargo couldn’t quite hear what they were saying. Taking a gamble, he slid over the edge. A few pebbles rattled, and he froze.
The redhead glanced in his direction. “Hold on,” she said. “Did any of you hear that?”
“What?” Big Bertha rumbled.
“I don’t know. Something.”
“Go have a look, Claire.”
The redhead snatched her rifle and rose. She walked with an exaggerated sway of her hips, as many doves did, but she was as grim as death.
Fargo hugged the ground, hoping she wouldn’t spot him. He’d like to avoid shooting them if he could help it, although there were plenty of folks who’d say they had it coming.
“Anything?” the brunette called out when Claire was halfway.
“Nothing yet, Theresa.”