Arizona Ambushers (11 page)

Two handfuls caught Fargo full in the eyes. He instinctively recoiled. His vision blurring, he raised his hands to wipe the dirt away. He heard Geraldine yell for him to “Watch out!” and saw Ruby hurtling at him with her shoulder down. His chest exploded with pain, and he was smashed against the bluff.

Half blinded, desperate, Fargo clutched at the Henry and felt someone try to tug it out of his hand.

Ruby had hold of the stock.

Blinking furiously, Fargo tried to stand. He wasn't prepared for the knee that caught him in the gut. Doubling over, he managed to hold on to the Henry. Another kick missed his knee but sent pain shooting up and down his leg.

“Let go, damn you!” Ruby snarled.

The venom in Ruby's voice surprised Fargo as much as the dirt in his face. Not five minutes ago they'd made love, and here she was, trying to kill him. Belatedly, it dawned on him that she had let him have his way with her so she could take him unawares. She'd wanted him to think she could be trusted. And like a fool, he'd fallen for it.

Fargo's vision cleared just as her foot swept at his crotch. He absorbed the blow on his hip but it still hurt. He made it to his feet, firmed his hold on the Henry, and pulled with all his might.

“No!” Ruby cried as she stumbled and almost lost her grip. “I won't let you.”

Thrusting his boot out, Fargo yanked, trying to trip her. Ruby stumbled and fell to her knees. He wrenched on the Henry but all he succeeded in doing was lifting her partway off the ground.

Ruby's face was close to his leg. Gaping her mouth wide, she bit him.

Fargo had been bitten before but never a bite that hurt as bad. He tried to jerk free and fell against the bluff.

Ruby ground her teeth like a wolf gnawing a bone.

Driving his knee into her temple, Fargo knocked her back. Taking advantage, he pulled on the Henry and lurched toward the fire. He expected her to cling to the rifle, and she did.

Ruby struggled mightily. She wasn't about to give up, and didn't realize what he was up to.

Fargo swung her into the fire.

In a panic, Ruby screamed.

Fargo had counted on it scaring her. He'd also counted on her doing what she did next—letting go of the Henry, she scrambled out of the fire to keep from being burned.

Fargo gripped the Henry like a club. He wasn't feeling merciful. As she started to stand he struck her across the head and felled her in her tracks.

“Took you long enough,” Geraldine said.

“I don't want to hear it,” Fargo growled. Every sinew hurting, he stepped to his saddle, and his rope.

“For a bit there I thought she had you.”

“What would you care?” Fargo retorted.

“About you? Not a lick. But if she'd gotten hold of your rifle, she'd have shot me after she shot you.”

“You're welcome for saving your bacon.”

“Hell. You barely saved your own.”

Wrapping one end of the rope around Ruby's ankles, Fargo ran coil after coil up the entire length of her long legs to her waist. Several knots ensured it wouldn't come undone.

“Gag her while you're at it,” Geraldine said. “I'm tired of listening to her voice.”

“I'm tired of listening to yours.”

“Why are you picking on me? I tried to warn you, didn't I?”

“To save your own hide.”

Suddenly weary, Fargo reclaimed his seat by the bluff. His tin cup was in the dirt, and he had to wash it off before he could use it.

“At least now you know I'm not your real enemy,” Geraldine said. “The outlaws are.”

“The only friend I have is right there,” Fargo said, and pointed at the Ovaro.

“I'm not out to do you harm,” Geraldine insisted.

“Could have fooled me.”

“I was afraid you'd try to stop me, and I made a mistake. How many times must I say it?”

“You're making another.”

“Oh?”

“If you don't shut the hell up,” Fargo said, “I'll do to you what I just did to her.”

Geraldine scowled and turned away.

Refilling his cup, Fargo gratefully swallowed. He had blood on his cheek from where Ruby had scratched him, and blood on his leg from where she'd bit him. His ribs ached, his hip hurt, and his head throbbed when he moved it. He decided to sit there a while and not do a thing except berate himself for being the biggest jackass west of the Mississippi River.

Ruby revived sooner than he reckoned. Muttering, she tried to sit up, discovered she was practically wrapped in rope from her waist to her toes, and swore. Looking over at him, she growled, “You son of a bitch.”

“I don't see what you have to gripe about,” Fargo said. “You're still alive.”

Wriggling furiously, Ruby swung herself around and flexed her legs as if she were contemplating trying to kick him.

“I'll break both of them,” Fargo said.

Her mouth a slit, Ruby let her legs sink to the ground. “I almost had you. If I'd had a rock to bean you with instead of just dirt, your brains would be leaking out.”

“You had me fooled,” Fargo admitted.

“What did you expect? That I'd let you turn me over to the army? That I'd spend the rest of my life behind bars? Or, worse yet, end my days at the end of a rope?”

“I hope it's that,” Fargo said.

“Of course you do. You're a man, and men have it easy. You have no notion of how hard it's been for me. How I've had to work twice as hard just to make ends meet.”

“Do I break out a violin now or later?”

“For once in my life I stand to get ahead. To have more money than I ever had scrimping and saving. Enough to last a lifetime.”

“You think it is.” Fargo's personal experience had been that money was like water. It ran through his hands much too easily.

“Six thousand dollars,” Ruby said. “I'll do anything to get it. Kill. Steal. Trick a stupid scout so I can bash in his skull.”

“That's the Ruby I know and love.”

“Go to hell.”

Fargo wondered if the other outlaws were as fanatical about their share of the loot as she was. If so, it didn't bode well.

“You've licked me but you won't lick my friend. They'll do to you as they did those blue coats. Just see if they don't.”

“Lights out,” Fargo said.

“You're putting out the fire?”

“It's what they say at an army post when the soldiers in the barracks have to turn in,” Fargo explained.

“You're saying you want me to shut up?”

“You don't have to if you don't want to.” Fargo patted the Henry. “I'd be glad to do it for you.”

Now Fargo had two sulking women on his hands. One motivated by revenge, the other by greed.

To him this was a job, nothing more. A job that became more and more complicated as time went on.

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.”

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.”