by Jon Sharpe
“The hell you say,” Geraldine said. “I’ll do as I please, thank you very much.”
Fargo smothered an urge to climb down, find a suitable rock and bean her with it.
“Yes, sir,” Geraldine said, more to herself than to him. “By this time tomorrow it should be over.”
Fargo still didn’t see any smoke. If he didn’t spot some soon, he’d stop. He’d learned his lesson the night before.
“Have you clammed up on me again?” Geraldine asked indignantly. “I swear, you’re the most contrary man I’ve ever set eyes on.”
Fargo was about to tell her that she wasn’t easy to get along with, either, when fifty yards out or so, he saw a gleam of light. It was there and it was gone. If he’d blinked, he’d have missed it.
The last of the sunlight . . . reflecting off a gun barrel.
Fargo hurled himself from his saddle. He heard the boom of a shot as his arms went around Geraldine. She squawked in surprise, and they tumbled. Fargo tried to twist in midair so he would bear the worst of it but they thudded hard on their sides.
Pain flared, and Fargo gritted his teeth and rolled, taking Geraldine with him. She was so confused she resisted. The crash of a second shot brought her head up.
“Someone is shooting at us!”
None too gently, Fargo hauled her into some mesquite. “Keep your voice, and your head, down.” Wishing he had the Henry, he drew his Colt.
Geraldine drew her own revolver, so awkwardly it was apparent she’d never used it. “Who’s doing the shooting? The outlaws? Or Apaches?”
“Stand up and ask them.”
“You just told me to keep my head down,” Geraldine said, and blinked. “Oh. I get it.”
Fargo eased higher to try to see over the mesquite. The blast of the rifle disabused him; he swore he heard the slug whistle past his ear.
“Whoever it is,” Geraldine said, “they’re not a very good shot.”
A whinny filled Fargo with fresh worry. The Ovaro and her sorrel had stopped, and it might occur to the shooter to kill their mounts and strand them on foot.
“What do we do?” Geraldine whispered.
“We do nothing,” Fargo said. “You stay put while I get closer.” To forestall another argument, he crawled off. A boulder offered some protection. From there he snaked into a gully. It was shallow but it pointed in the right direction.
This was what came from letting Geraldine come along, Fargo chided himself. He’d been spatting with her instead of staying alert, and now look.
Putting her from his mind for the time being, Fargo concentrated on finding the shooter. There appeared to be only one. Or was it a trick, and others were lying in wait for him to show himself?
The snap of a twig caused him to freeze. It came from his left.
As quietly as possible, Fargo crawled to the top of the gully. High grass and scrub brush were all around him. Extending the Colt, he thumbed back the hammer.
A stone’s throw away, grass parted and out of it poked a rifle barrel.
The shooter had seen him.
12
Fargo threw himself at the bottom of the gully just as the rifle boomed. He rolled, pebbles clattering under him. Quickly rising to his knees in case the shooter rushed him, he waited with every nerve jangling.
No one appeared.
Keeping low, Fargo glided up the gully. When he had gone far enough to consider it safe, he moved to the top again.
The rifle barrel was gone.
Tensing, Fargo raced for the cover. He was halfway there when a rifle spanged. It felt as if his hat was slapped but it stayed on his head and in a few more bounds he was prone in the grass.
Time for some cat and mouse, Fargo told himself. Crawling away from the shooter, he circled wide to come up on the assassin from behind.
The rifle banged, and he hugged the ground, thinking he was the target. But, no. A revolver answered from over near the horses. It was Geraldine. She hadn’t stayed put as he’d told her to.
The shooter fired again.
Throwing caution aside, Fargo rose. The shots would drown out whatever sounds he made. He spied a crouched form partially hidden by mesquite and flew toward it.
Geraldine blasted twice with her six-gun.
The shooter ducked, then straightened, craning to try to see Geraldine. Fargo glimpsed a floppy brown hat and a man’s shirt. Streaking around bush, he hollered, “Hey!”
The shooter spun. A pair of green eyes widened in alarm.
Fargo slammed into her with his shoulder. The impact sprawled her on her back and her rifle, a Spencer, tumbled from her hands. Not missing a beat, she grabbed for a Smith & Wesson at her waist, worn for a cross draw. She was quicker than he’d have thought but not quite quick enough. He arced the Henry at her head. At the thud, she collapsed.
“Got you,” Fargo said. He relieved her of the Smith & Wesson and patted her clothes. There were no other weapons.
Fargo was about to yell to Geraldine when her revolver cracked. The bullet chipped mesquite not an inch away. Cupping a hand to his mouth, he bellowed, “Hold your damn fire!”
“Skye? Is that you?”
“Who the hell else?”
“Sorry. I couldn’t tell what was going on over there.”
Fargo swore under his breath. He was in as much danger from his “partner” as from the outlaws. “Bring the horses and get my rope.”
While he waited, he studied his prisoner. She looked to be in her mid- to late thirties. Brown hair hung from under her hat, and she had a dimple on her chin. She wore men’s clothes, except for her footwear. Popular with the ladies, they were called “riding shoes.”
Geraldine arrived out of breath, leading the Ovaro and her sorrel. She took his rope from his saddle, handed it to him, and squatted. “Let’s have a look at the—” She stopped in surprise. “It’s a woman!”
Fargo drew his toothpick to cut the rope. “The first of many surprises to come, I reckon.”
“She’s one of the outlaws?”
“Unless she mistook us for deer.” Fargo set to binding the woman’s wrists.
“I never heard of a female outlaw. Who do you think she is?”
“I left my crystal ball in my other saddlebags,” Fargo said.
“Want me to wake her?”
“Not yet.”
Geraldine shook her head in amazement. “This defies belief. Why did the other outlaws ride off and leave her?”
“There you ago again,” Fargo looped rope around the woman’s ankles. Better safe than kicked where it hurt most.
“Look at her face,” Geraldine said.
“What about it?”
“She has carmine on her lips. And blue eye shadow. What kind of outlaw gussies up like that?”
“She must want to look pretty when they put her on trial.” Fargo motioned. “Fetch my canteen.”
“Why am I doing all the work? Can’t you do it yourself?” Geraldine stepped to the Ovaro. “Or is it that you’re mad at me for almost shooting you and this is your way of getting back at me?” She brought the canteen back. “Here.”
Fargo took a swallow. The water was warm but relieved his dry throat. He poured some into his other hand and lightly splashed it on the woman with the red lips. “Rise and shine, lady.”
The shooter moaned and muttered but her eyes didn’t open.
Fargo wet his palm and pressed it to her forehead and her cheeks. “If you’re playing possum, I’ll gag you and drag you along behind us.”
The woman opened her eyes. Given that she had been hit over the head and tied up, she was remarkably calm. She looked Fargo up and down, then did the same with Geraldine.
“Who are you?” Geraldine asked.
Those red lips curled in a cattish smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know, dearie?”
“Men?” the woman said, and laughed.
“Their names,” Geraldine said. “All of them.”
“You silly, silly goose,” the woman said. “The truth isn’t what you think it is.”
Geraldine glanced at Fargo. “What is she talking about?”
“Why ask him?” the woman said. “He doesn’t know, either.” She wriggled and rose onto her elbows. “So what now? You take me to Fort Bowie and turn me in?”
“I’d just as soon shoot you,” Geraldine said, “but I want information first.”
“You’re no killer,” the woman said. “You’re a whore who got lucky, is all.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” the woman said. “That major fell in love with you and proposed. You saw your chance to get off the line and jumped at it. Now that he’s dead, what will you do? Go back to spreading your legs for money?”
Geraldine struck her. It happened so fast, there was nothing Fargo could do. She hit the woman flush on the cheek hard enough to rock her head. “You miserable bitch!” Geraldine raised her fist to hit the woman again.
Lunging, Fargo grabbed her wrist. “No.”
“You heard her,” Geraldine said, trying to wrest free. “She can’t talk to me like that.”
The woman regarded Geraldine with amusement more than anything else. “Feel better now?”
“How did you know that about me?” Geraldine said. “I’ve never met you before.”
“We know all about you,” the woman said. “About your husband, too. Former husband, I should say.”
This time Fargo was ready when Geraldine cocked her arm. “I told you no,” he said, clamping hard on her forearm.
“What’s going on here?” Geraldine said. “How does she know so much about me?”
“Hell, dearie,” the woman said, “that was nothing. You were born and raised in Ohio. Married your first husband out of love but he was a no-account and left you.”
“How in the world?” Geraldine marveled.
“You had a child to feed and needed work, but you weren’t good at much except sewin’ and lyin’ on your back. One thing led to another and you wound up at a sportin’ house in Denver. You weren’t there long when your little girl died. Fever, wasn’t it?”
Geraldine gaped.
“I almost feel sorry for you,” the woman said. “Lost one of my own about ten years ago, and I’ve never been the same. As for you, you were crushed. You drifted and ended up in Tucson, where you met your darlin’ major. And here you are.”
“Hank Waxler was the best man who ever lived . . .” Geraldine said.
“Spare me,” the woman scoffed. “There’s no such thing as a good man. They’re all as worthless as teats on a bull.”
“I don’t reckon I’ve ever been called a teat before,” Fargo said.
“By your buckskins and how you tracked us, I take you for a scout,” the woman guessed.
“So you don’t know everything.”
“Just about her,” the woman said, nodding at Geraldine.
“How?” Geraldine asked.
“You were the key, dearie.”
“The what?”
The woman smiled and shook her head. “No, you don’t. I’ve talked too much as it is.”
“Not nearly,” Fargo said, but he would let it go for now. “Where’s your horse?”
“Would you believe I walked the whole way?”
Fargo turned to Geraldine. “Can I trust you not to beat her senseless while I go find it?”
“You ask a lot,” Geraldine said. “I don’t like her playing with us. She was one of those as killed my Hank. I want her spitting blood.”
“Can I trust you?”
“You have my word,” Geraldine said reluctantly.
Fargo stood. “I suspect her horse is over that ridge, yonder. I shouldn’t be long.” He turned, but took only a single step.
Someone else was already on the ridge, looking down at them.
An Apache.
13
The warrior was astride a bay with a saddle. He was holding a rifle with the stock resting on his thigh and made no attempt to use it.
“That’s my horse!” the woman with the red lips exclaimed. “That redskin is stealing it!”
Showing no concern whatsoever, the Apache reined around and rode down the far side.
“Don’t just stand there, damn you,” the woman railed at Fargo. “Go after him. Bring my horse back.”
“It’s not my animal,” Fargo said. The warrior plainly had no desire to tangle with them and was leaving. He’d like to leave it that way.
Growling deep in her throat, the woman managed to sit up. “Then cut me free so I can try to stop him. My saddlebags are on that horse. Nearly everything I own, except the clothes and whatnot I left in—” She abruptly stopped.
“Left where?” Geraldine asked.
The woman shook her head. “I’m not saying another word.”
Geraldine turned to Fargo. “What do we do with her? We only have our two horses.”
“I say we leave her here,” Fargo said. “She’d slow us down, and we have the rest of the outlaws to catch.”
“Fine by me,” Geraldine said. “I have no sympathy for her whatsoever. For all I know, she might have been the one who shot my Hank.”
“You’d leaved me trussed up and helpless?” the woman said in disbelief.
“There are plenty of rocks around,” Fargo said.
“And what? I find one with an edge and cut myself free? What then? I have no water, no guns.”
“Poor you,” Geraldine said. She stood and stepped to her sorrel and reached for the saddle horn. “I hope you die from thirst. They say it takes a good long while and hurts like hell.”
“Sister, please,” the woman said.
Bristling in fury, Geraldine jabbed a finger at her. “I’m not your damn sister. I’m a woman you deprived of the man she loved, and I’ll hate you until my dying day.”
“You should be on our side, not theirs,” the woman said.
“Whose?” Geraldine snapped. “You make no damn sense.” She hooked her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up. “Come on, Skye. Let’s leave her like you said.”
Fargo stepped to the Ovaro and hiked his leg to climb on.
“Wait!” the woman cried. “Please.” She gazed anxiously about and licked her red lips. “I wouldn’t last three days on my own. If the sun doesn’t fry me, something else will do me in.”
Fargo faced her and folded his arms. “You want us to take you with us?”
“How many times do I have to say it?” she replied.
“Your name.”
“I can’t.”
Fargo shrugged and turned back to the Ovaro. “When you’re so thirsty you’ll drink you own blood, it will be too late.”
“Damn you,” the woman spat. “All right. Everyone calls me Ruby on account of I like a lot of carmine on my lips. Will that do?”
“It’s not your real name,” Geraldine said.
“You stay out of this,” Ruby said. “It’s between the scout and me.”
She focused on Fargo. “If you take me, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Oh, brother,” Geraldine said. “You didn’t just offer your body to him, did you?”
“Why not?” Ruby said. “He can’t tell by these clothes but I’m easy on the eyes. And I can do things with him that no woman has ever done.”
“That would take some doing,” Fargo said.
“Will you or won’t you?” the woman asked. “I’ll do as you tell me and not make trouble.”
“You expect us to trust you?” Geraldine said.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Ruby held out her bound wrists to Fargo. “What do you say, mister? Do right by me and I swear to God I’ll do right by you.”
“You’re not falling for her lies, are you?” Geraldine said.
“We take her,” Fargo said.
“She’s not riding with me.”
“Didn’t expect her to.” Walking over, Fargo hunkered, scooped Ruby into his arms, and carried her to the Ovaro.
“My, oh my,” Ruby teased. “Aren’t you the bundle of muscle.”
Fargo smiled and without breaking stride swung her up and over the Ovaro—belly down. Ruby squawked and tried to wriggle off, but he held her fast and climbed on behind her. Raising the reins, he said, “Comfortable?”
“Damn you, not like this.”
“You wanted to come.” Fargo clucked to the stallion.
“Let me ride double. I promise to behave.”
“It’s this or I dump you in the dirt.”
Geraldine laughed. “Now you’re talking.”
Ruby indulged in a string of oaths. She squirmed and kicked but Fargo held her down with ease.
“The mouth on that hussy,” Geraldine said.
Ruby finally subsided. Bending her neck to see Fargo, she said, “I’m not above begging if that’s what it takes.”
“One more word, one more kick, and I leave you,” Fargo said.
That quieted her for about an hour.
The heat was blistering. Fargo imagined it was worse for Ruby, what with the hot saddle under her and the sun broiling her back. When she muttered something, he smacked her on her fanny and said, “I didn’t catch that.”
“I was saying how I’d like to slit your throat,” Ruby said.
“Killed a lot of folks, have you?”
“No, not really.” Ruby looked up at him. “Those soldiers were the first I’ve ever killed, and it wasn’t like I thought it would be. I didn’t feel excited or anything. Mostly I felt sort of sad for them, after.”
“You almost shot me.”
“It wasn’t as if I wanted to. I drew the short piece of grass.”
“How’s that again?”
