Arizona Ambushers (17 page)

“I'll be damned,” Fargo echoed her.

Ruby was out near the horses. She had her Henry and was gazing intently about.

Almost too late, Fargo realized what she was doing. Slipping between Wendelin and the bar, he slumped down.

“What on earth are you doin'?” Wendelin asked.

“Stand still,” Fargo said. He had a hunch that Ruby had spotted the Ovaro and was hunting for him.

“You playin' some sort of hide-and-seek?” Wendelin asked in amusement.

Fargo peeked over at her.

Ruby had turned toward the Ovaro, and for a few moments Fargo feared she'd try to steal it. But no. Wheeling on a heel, she strode off.

Gulping the rest of the Monongahela, Fargo set the empty glass on the plank. “I'll be back, gorgeous,” he said, and smacked Wendelin on her fanny.

She laughed merrily. “I hope so.”

Fargo hurried out. He glimpsed Ruby going around a tent and ran to catch up. He almost collided with a man coming out of a tent and the man cussed and told him to watch where he was going.

He came to where he'd last seen Ruby. She wasn't anywhere in sight. Worse, she could have gone any of a number of ways.

Fargo sprinted straight ahead and after a minute realized it was the wrong direction. He veered right, running around tent after tent, but no Ruby. He tried to the left of where he'd seen her, with the same result.

He'd lost her.

Fargo reckoned the women must be holed up somewhere, but where? He asked a gent in a frock coat and wide-brimmed hat if Gold Gulch had a hotel and the man chuckled.

“Where do you think you are, mister? St. Louis?”

“There's nothing at all?”

“There are some tents where you can pay for a cot for the night,” the gambler enlightened him.

“Do any of them take women?”

“You have to ask around. I have my own tent, so I wouldn't know.”

Fargo returned to the saloon, and the Ovaro. Mounting, he rode in search of the man who sold grain and water. It took longer than he liked but it was worth it for the stallion's sake. He asked if the man had seen anything of two women in men's clothes and the man looked at him as if he were loco.

How to find them? Fargo wondered. It would take days to cover the entire camp from end to end. By then they'd be long gone.

Twilight was falling when Fargo made his way to the saloon yet again. He tied the Ovaro where he could keep an eye on it and went in.

Work had stopped in the gulch for the day, and many of the gold seekers were drifting into camp for a night's entertainment.

Fargo shouldered his way to the bar. He paid for a bottle and roved the tables until a chair emptied. Claiming it, he spent the next hour and a half playing poker. Lady Luck favored him. His twenty dollars became sixty. The next hand, he was dealt a full house. He went all in and won another sixty.

By then lanterns had been lit. The liquor flowed like water. Men who had toiled hard all day in the heat of the blazing sun for a few nuggets gambled them away at cards or faro or dice, or drank them away with the bug juice of their choice. Tomorrow they'd back in the gulch, breaking backs from dawn until dusk, and lose whatever they dug out all over again.

Fargo's cards had turned cold when a warm hand brushed the nape of his neck. Perfume wreathed him, and a friendly voice purred in his hear.

“The boss is letting me off in ten minutes or so,” Wendelin said. “Any interest in walking a girl home?”

Fargo knew he shouldn't. He needed to find Ruby and Theresa. But an extra hour wouldn't hurt. “I'll be here.”

The ten minutes were about up when someone poked his shoulder. He glanced up, thinking it was Wendelin.

“You're in my chair, mister.”

The newcomer was rake thin, with a sallow complexion. He wore a bowler, a suit, and expensive boots. The gun belt around his waist was decorated with silver studs. His Remington had ivory grips.

Fargo took him for a gambler. “You can have it when I'm done,” he said.

Smiling coldly, the man in the bowler took a couple of steps back. “You're done now.”

“Go pester someone else.”

A gray-haired man across the table bent toward him. “You shouldn't ought to talk to him like that. Don't you know who he is?”

“A nuisance,” Fargo said.

“That's Leferty,” the gray-haired player said.

“He's a gunhand,” another threw in.

Leferty slid his hand close to his holster. “I won't say it again, mister. Get out of that chair.”

Fargo set down his cards. “Are you drunk?” It was the only reason he could think of for the man to goad him into drawing.

“Sober as can be,” Leferty said. “I never drink when I work.”

“Work?” Fargo said, and insight hit him like a punch between the eyes. He was being provoked on purpose.

“When you're ready,” Leferty said, “go for your six-shooter.”

“You're that sure of yourself?”

“Take a good look at my pistol,” Leferty said. “Count the notches for yourself.”

Fargo did. There were nine. “Well, now,” he said.

“You can stand up,” Leferty said. “I like it to be fair.”

“Damned decent of you.” Fargo pushed back his chair. “How much are they paying you?”

“Who?”

“Don't be a jackass,” Fargo said.

“Four hundred dollars.”

The gray-haired player whistled, then said, “Mr. Leferty, sir, do you mind the rest of us get out of the way?”

“Do whatever you want, old-timer,” the gunhand said.

Chairs scraped, and the card players retreated. It drew the attention of others, and whispers began to spread.

Fargo rose and faced the would-be assassin. “How do you fit in? Are you part of their gang?”

“What gang?” Leferty said. “They asked around, looking for a shooter, and someone recommended me. I'm pretty well-known hereabouts.”

“You're about to be pretty dead.” Fargo was curious. “Did they tell you who I am?”

“No, and I never ask. Names don't matter. Only the dying, and the money.”

“Did they pay you in advance?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

Fargo asked another. “Where can I find them when it's over?”

“Now who is sure of himself?” Leferty said. Backing off another step, he turned sideways to make himself harder to it. “Start the dance whenever you're of a mind.”

“Jackasses first,” Fargo said.

“I gave you your chance,” Leferty said, and his hand flicked.

Fargo had his Colt out before the assassin. He fired as Leferty cleared leather, fired as Leferty staggered, fired as Leferty's legs slowly buckled and he oozed to the ground.

“God in heaven,” someone said.

A hush fell. No one moved. No one seemed to breathe.

Fargo reloaded, taking his time. He finished, twirled the Colt into his holster, and went to the body. No one objected when he helped himself to the killer's poke.

The gray-haired gent cleared his throat. “We all saw it, mister. It was self-defense. Not that it matters. Gold Gulch don't have any law.”

Fargo stood. Since he had everyone's attention, he took advantage. “Two women,” he said, and described Ruby and Theresa once more. “They hired this hombre to kill me. Anyone who tells me where to find them gets fifty dollars.”

There were no takers.

Scooping up his winnings, Fargo placed them in the poke. Not a soul interfered as he backed out. The Ovaro was dozing but roused when he opened his saddlebags and slid the bottle in.

Out of the saloon hustled Wendelin. She was waving a bottle of her own, and called out, “Hold on there, handsome. Did you forget about me?”

Truth to tell, Fargo had. “No,” he said.

“That's good to hear,” Wendelin said in delight. “I was worried that jasper might have spoiled your mood.”

Draping an arm around her, Fargo said, “Forget a pretty gal like you? How about you show me to this room of yours?” He snagged the Ovaro's reins.

“With pleasure.”

Wendelin puffed herself up and strolled along as if she were a queen showing herself off. “That was some shootin' back there. I never saw anybody as fast as you. Folks will talk about it for days.”

“Folks do love to flap their gums.”

“Me, I'm partial to pokin' more than flappin',” Wendelin said.

Fargo could stand to relax for a spell, himself. A lot had happened since daybreak, and he had a feeling the worst was yet to come. “Makes two of us.”

“Good,” Wendelin said, and pecked him on the cheek. “We'll have us a grand time.”

They weren't followed, as near as Fargo could tell. Her place turned out to be another tent. A bed filled a third of it. The only other furniture was a chair, and a lantern hung from the center brace.

“Cozy,” Fargo said.

“Ain't it, though,” Wendelin said, patting the bed. “I had it brought in from Tucson. Cost me a pretty penny for the freight but it's worth it. Most men like a bed better than a cot.”

“I'm one of them,” Fargo said. Cots were uncomfortable as hell. Sinking into the chair, he opened his bottle.

Wendelin plopped onto the bed and playfully kicked her legs high in the air, causing her dress to slip down around her thighs. “You plannin' to get drunk first?”

Fargo would love to but he needed his wits about him. Ruby and Theresa might take it into their heads to hire another killer. As much money as they had, they could hire a whole army.

“Are you?” Wendelin said when he didn't answer.

“Just enough to wet my whistle,” Fargo said, chugging. He noticed that she hadn't tied the tent flaps, got up, and began to tie them himself.

“Afraid we'll be disturbed?”

“Not much privacy in a place like this.” Fargo was thinking of more gunhands.

“Not in a tent, no.” Wendelin snickered. “But don't you worry. It goes against my grain but I'll keep the ruckus down.”

Done with the flaps, Fargo moved to the bed. “I should be honest with you.”

“You're not into something strange, are you? Like that lunkhead who wanted his dog to watch. Or that time a miner wanted to do it in the dark in his mining duds.”

“There are people out to kill me.”

“No foolin'.”

“They might try again.”

Wendelin placed her foot on his leg and ran it up and down his thigh. “If I'm not worried, you shouldn't be. Hell, a little danger will add some spice.”

“You could take a bullet.”

“I'll be so busy gushing, I doubt I'd notice.”

Now it was Fargo who laughed. “Just don't say I didn't warn you.”

“The only thing I want to hold,” Wendelin said, lightly rubbing her sole over his manhood, “is that pecker of yours.”

“Let's get to it, then,” Fargo said, and stretched out on the bed beside her.

“Your spurs. Bedspreads and sheets cost money.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Wendelin bent and peeled off white net stockings, casting each aside with a toss of her foot. She had nicely firm legs, and when she parted them, gave him a glimpse of alabaster thighs. “Like what you see?”

Fargo grunted while undoing his gun belt and his pants.

“Men,” Wendelin said. She started in on her buttons and stays and shed her dress with a speed borne of a lot of practice. Her chemise was next. Propping herself on an elbow, she cupped one of her breasts and wriggled it at him. “Still like what you see?”

Did Fargo ever. Her melons were large, her tummy flat, her waist narrow for her size. A golden triangle crowned her womanhood. Without realizing it, he licked his lips.

“Good Lord,” Wendelin said in mock horror. “Are you fixin' to eat me?”

“There's an idea,” Fargo said thickly. Swooping his mouth to a nipple, he inhaled it and swirled it with his tongue. She cooed softly and entwined her fingers in his hair, knocking his hat off in the process. Her other hand drifted lower and she uttered a tiny gasp.

“My, oh my. What have I found here?”

Fargo's hunger for her mounted. Pressing her onto her back, he kissed her face, her neck, her cleavage. For her part, Wendelin couldn't get enough of his pole. She rubbed and stroked and turned his blood to fire in his veins.

“I think the pump is primed,” she said with a grin.

Fargo couldn't even grunt for the knot in his throat.

“Ready when you are, big man. And I do mean ‘big.'”

Fargo was more than ready. His hands caressing her thighs, he knelt between them.

Gasps of pleasure fluttered from Wendelin's lips. Raising her hips, she rubbed against him, making him wet from tip to stem. Pushing her breasts into his chest, she bit his shoulder and dug her fingernails into his back.

Fargo squeezed one, hard.

“Yes, oh yes,” Wendelin gasped. With a deft movement, she impaled herself on his pole, enveloping him in her velvet sheath. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she kissed him, panting into his mouth even as she pumped her hips.

Fargo matched her stroke for stroke. He could feel her triangle brush his skin, feel her contract inside, feel the wild beat of her heart under his fingers. Wendelin was one of those women who gave as passionately as she got. One of those women who genuinely liked to make love.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

Fargo was on the verge. Gritting his teeth, he held off.

His partner, on the other hand, was in the grip of carnal abandon. She moved ever faster, ever harder. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip, evidently to keep from crying out. And then she was there. She exploded violently, bucking and thrashing. It was a wonder her bed held together.

As for Fargo, he let himself go, savoring the violent throbs of pleasure she gave him. After a while they coasted to a stop, and he rolled off her onto his side, completely spent.

“You magnificent stallion, you,” Wendelin breathed. “It's too bad we can't do that a few more times.”

“Who says we can't?” Fargo said. A short rest, and he would take her again.

Wendelin didn't answer. Snuggling against him, she kissed his shoulder and his arm. “Damn,” she said.

“What?”

Again she didn't reply.

Fargo didn't think much of it. He closed his eyes, resting. He felt her move and cracked them open again to see what she was
doing. She had slid a hand under her pillow and was pulling the pillow toward her.

“I've had to do it before, you know,” Wendelin said. “That time a drunk tried to beat me. And that fella who wanted a patch of my skin as a keepsake. But this is different. This is for my nest egg.”

Wondering what she was talking about, Fargo saw her glance at his face.

“When you saw her, she wasn't looking for you. She was coming back to talk to me. I knew her in Tucson.”

Fargo realized she meant Ruby.

“I knew Big Bertha, too.”

Her hand swept from under her pillow and clutched a pearl-hilted dagger. Fargo barely threw himself back in time. The double-edged blade ripped into the bed, missing him by a hair. Seizing her wrists, he rolled and kicked and sent her tumbling to the floor. He was on his feet in a twinkling but so was she.

Naked, the dagger glittering, Wendelin stalked toward him. “I'm sorry. I truly am. But it's more money than I'd earn in a month of Sundays.”

Backing away, Fargo desperately pulled at his pants. He couldn't do much with them down around his ankles. He got them to his thighs just as she lunged. Sidestepping, he retreated farther.

“Damn, you're quick.”

Fargo's hands were free but his Colt was on the other side of the bed, and if he bent to get his toothpick, she'd plant that blade. Stalling, he said, “You're working with Ruby?”

“She and that other gal showed up about the middle of the morning,” Wendelin said while moving her dagger back and forth. “First thing they did was stop at the saloon. You're not the only one who likes a drink. That's when I saw her and went over to get reacquainted.”

“And she offered you money to kill me.”

Wendelin nodded. “Said you were after them but didn't say why. Said you'd murdered Big Bertha. Said she'd pay me if I kept my eyes peeled and if you showed up, did her a favor.”

“And here we are,” Fargo said. He had been circling toward the chair and it was almost in reach.

“I thought I wore you out. I thought you'd be easy.”

Fargo stopped. “Drop the blade and step back, and I'll leave, no hard feelings.”

“Can't.”

“Then this is on you.”

Wendelin came at him fast and low. Whirling, Fargo gripped the chair and swung it with all his force, full at her knife arm and head. There was the crack of a bone breaking, and the chair itself shattered.

Crying out, Wendelin pitched to the ground, her dagger skittering under the bed. She tried to rise, and collapsed.

Fargo threw down what was left of the chair. Hunkering, he felt for a pulse. Her nose was broken, her ear was pulped, and she'd have to wear a sling for a month or more, but she'd live. He smothered an impulse to tend to her. She'd tried to kill him. She could go to hell and take Ruby and Theresa with her.

Mulling what she'd told him, Fargo dressed and strapped on his Colt. He had gone from being the hunter to the hunted. First Leferty, the gunhand, and now Wendelin. Who knew how many others Ruby and Theresa had sicced on him?

Reclaiming his bottle, Fargo jammed his hat on and loosened the tent ties. The Ovaro was dozing. No one was in sight so he slipped out, slid the Monongahela into his saddlebags, and mounted.

Gigging the stallion, Fargo went around another tent. Several men were coming toward him. He tensed but they walked on by, talking and joking and paying no attention to him.

By now, Fargo reasoned, Ruby and Theresa had heard about Leferty. Would they run? Theresa might, but not Ruby. Ruby would want to finish it.

With the advent of night, most of the tents glowed with lamp and lantern light. Tinny piano music filled the night, along with boisterous voices and merry laughs. Now and then an angry curse was heard. Once, a shot.

Fargo saw no sign of Ruby and her friend. They didn't have a tent of their own, so they might be camped at the outskirts of Gold Gulch. Unless they'd bought a tent, or paid someone else to use theirs.

Fargo was so deep in thought that when a man was silhouetted against a backdrop of glowing canvas, raising a rifle, he was a shade slow to react. The rifle boomed but the man rushed his aim. Drawing, Fargo fanned three swift shots of his own and had the satisfaction of seeing the figure crash against the tent and fall.

Reining away, Fargo got out of there before he was badgered with questions. Shouts broke out. When they faded, he stopped
and reloaded. “So that's how it's going to be,” he said grimly. Cat and mouse, with him the mouse.

From then on he stuck to the shadows, riding in ever wider loops until he reached the edge of the camp.

Here and there campfires dotted the plain. Dozens lit the gulch, itself. Not everyone had a tent, or wanted one. To check each fire would take the entire night, and he still might not find them.

Fargo had seldom been so frustrated. He turned back into Gold Gulch and headed for the saloon. Maybe, just maybe, Ruby would come back there.

By avoiding bright areas, Fargo reached the saloon without incident. The place was busier than ever. He stopped in a patch of shadow and sat watching for more than half an hour. He had about decided he was wasting his time when two women appeared from around the side.

It was Wendelin and Theresa, the latter with her arm around the former, helping her. Wendelin's arm was in a crude sling. Her nose was swollen to twice its normal size, and one of her eyes was discolored. They drew stares as they entered and made their way to a table where five men were playing cards.

One of the men got to his feet. Taller than most, he wore a buckskin shirt and store-bought pants. His hat had a high crown and the front rim was curled down. On his right hip was a revolver, on his left a bowie.

Wendelin apparently knew him. She put her arm on his shoulder, and he bent his face to hers, probably so he could hear over all the noise. Several times she motioned with her good arm at Theresa.

The tall man straightened, and nodded. He said something to two of the other card players and they rose and joined him. Both had the air of two-legged wolves.

With Theresa helping Wendelin, the five of them emerged from the saloon. The three men climbed on horses and followed the women around the side.

Careful to stay well back, Fargo followed. They weren't in any hurry, which made it easier. He thought they were making for Wendelin's tent but they presently stopped at another. The men dismounted and all five went in.

Swinging down, Fargo shucked his Colt. On cat's feet he glided around to the rear of the tent and put his ear to the green canvas.

Wendelin was speaking. “. . . of the toughest hombres I know. Him and his pards can get the job done.”

“That's what you said about Leferty.”

Fargo tingled with elation. That was Ruby.

“Leferty made the mistake of bracing Fargo,” Wendelin said. “Cullen, here, won't be that stupid.”

“I sure as hell won't,” Cullen said.

“You understand it has to be done quickly?” Ruby said. “For reasons I can't explain, we have to leave as soon as we can. But we don't want to show ourselves with him out there hunting through the entire camp.”

“How much?” Cullen asked.

“A thousand dollars.”

One of the hard cases gave a snort of surprise. “You must really want this scout dead, lady.”

“You have no idea,” Ruby said.

“Half now,” Cullen said, “and half when he's dead.”

“No,” Ruby said.

An edge came into Cullen's voice. “What are you tryin' to pull? We're not killin' him for free.”

“I paid Leferty and another man half in advance and look at how that turned out. They're both dead and I'm out that money.” Ruby paused. “You want the thousand? You earn it. You kill him and I'll give you the full amount.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Cullen said.

“Wendelin will vouch for me,” Ruby told him. “We've been friends a good many years.”

“That we have,” Wendelin said. “Take my word for it, Cullen. If she says she'll pay you, she will.”

“She'd better,” Cullen said. “She tries runnin' out on us, she'll regret it.”

“No need for threats,” Ruby said. “Besides, I don't have the money with me. It's with our horses, and they're well hid.”

Fargo frowned.

“So will you or won't you?” Ruby was saying. “Because if you won't, I'm sure we can find others who will.”

“We'll do it,” Cullen said. “All you have to do is tell us where to find him.”

“How would I know?” Ruby retorted. “I've been here all night.”

“Don't look at me,” Wendelin said. “I have no idea where he got to after he hit me with my chair.”

“We can't search the whole damn camp,” Cullen said. “That would take days.”

“Find him,” Ruby said. “There has to be a way.”

“Hell,” one of the other men said.

“Let's go,” Cullen said. “We'll ask around. Could be someone has seen him.”

“His horse is like a pinto,” Ruby said. “If that helps.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Cullen said. “Either it is or it ain't.”

“I don't know how else to describe it,” Ruby said. As an afterthought she added, “Oh. And it's a stallion. A big one.”

“Come on,” Cullen said, apparently to his pards.

“I'm going back to the saloon,” Wendelin announced. “I need to let my boss know I won't be much use for a while.”

Fargo heard the tent flap rustle. Their footsteps faded, and he started around the other side, thinking to catch Ruby and Theresa off guard. A sudden yell from a short distance away brought him to a stop. There was a commotion, and the tent opened again.

“Look at what we found!” Wendelin hollered.

Fargo crept to the front corner. One look, and he cursed himself for a fool.

The man called Cullen had hold of the Ovaro's reins and was leading it back, his pards on either side.

Wendelin, walking ahead of them, giggled and motioned. “It was over yonder, just standing there.”

Framed in the opening, Ruby and Theresa looked at each other and Ruby put her hand on her six-shooter. “The hell you say.”

“What's the matter?” Wendelin said. “You wanted him found, didn't you? His horse is a start.”

“You damn simpleton,” Ruby snapped. “Don't you get it? If his horse is here, he must be, too. Instead of us finding him, he's found us.”

“Oh, hell,” Wendelin said.

“He's probably watching us right this second,” Ruby said.

“In that case,” Cullen said, “there's only one thing to do.” Drawing his revolver, he pointed it at the Ovaro's head. “Show yourself, mister!” he yelled. “Or they'll be feeding your horse to the dogs.”