by Jon Sharpe
“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.
17
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.”
“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.
18
They stopped for the night in chaparral country. A bluff offered shelter from the wind. There was no water other than the water in their canteens.
Geraldine was in a foul temper. When Fargo slid her off the sorrel, she tried to bash his face with her elbow. As he set her down, she kicked at his leg. He was tempted to slug her again but didn’t. “Behave, damn it.”
“Do you have any idea what it was like, slung over that saddle all day? I’m chafed and sore and half sick.”
“You brought this on yourself,” Fargo said. She’d get no sympathy from him whatsoever.
“What if I promise to do whatever you tell me from here on out? Will you untie and let me ride tomorrow?”
“No.”
Geraldine’s invective would make a river rat proud. She ended with, “Keep treating me like this and there will be hell to pay.”
As Fargo set to kindling a fire, Ruby turned to Geraldine and said, “You are one haughty bitch.”
“What do you know?” Geraldine shot back.
“I know you have only yourself to blame for everything that’s happened to you,” Ruby said, “including the death of your husband.”
Geraldine’s nostrils flared like a riled buffalo’s. “If I had a gun, I’d shoot you. That’s a despicable thing to say.”
“That’s enough,” Fargo growled. He wasn’t going to put up with them bickering all night.
“Fine by me, handsome,” Ruby said. “I’m not the one with a broom up her ass.”
“If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll kill you,” Geraldine vowed.
Fargo remembered her shoving that derringer in his face when they first met. He should have known then and there that she was about as levelheaded as a rabid she-wolf. “When will I learn?” he said to himself.
He set about putting coffee on, then rummaged in his saddlebags for a bundle of jerked venison. He gave several pieces to each of them.
Ruby thanked him.
Geraldine glared, but took them anyway.
Twilight descended. Fargo chewed on jerky and listened to the crackle of the fire and the distant lament of a coyote.
Ruby finished eating and asked for more. “I’ve never had this before. It’s kind of tasty.”
“You’ve never had jerky?”
“I was raised a city gal. Jerky is for farmers and hunters and whoever.”
Fargo supposed it was.
Ruby bit into a new piece, her eyes twinkling. “You treated me decent today. I’m grateful.”
“You behaved,” Fargo said, and gave Geraldine a pointed look.
“I hope there’re no hard feelings over my trying to shoot you. To be honest, my heart wasn’t really in it.”
“You could have fooled me,” Fargo said.
“This outlaw business,” Ruby said. “I’m not really cut out for it. I like my comforts. A soft bed. A willing man. A night of lovemaking.” She grinned and winked.
“Yet here you are.”
“What can I say?” Ruby gazed wistfully into the fire. “I like money as much as the next person. My share of the payroll is six thousand dollars. That’s more than I’d make in ten years of selling my body for pokes.”
A hoof thudded, and Fargo was on his feet in a twinkling, the Colt in his hand. But it was only Slits Throats, leading the bay by the reins.
“Good news or bad news?” Fargo asked.
“Four Chiricahuas make camp. They in no hurry. White women not get away.”
“What will those Apaches do?” Ruby anxiously asked. “Kill them outright?”
Slits Throats shrugged. “Not know. Maybe kill. Maybe take to wickiup.”
“A couple of those gals are good friends. I’d hate for them to come to harm.”
Slits Throats turned to Fargo. “How about I go . . . What is white word? Spy on them?”
“You’re a busy bee,” Fargo said.
“Eh?”
“Spy to your heart’s content.” Fargo had no objections. It would be nice to know what the warriors intended to do.
Without another word, Slits Throats climbed on the bay and rode off into the dark.
Fargo still didn’t know what to make of how reasonable the breed was being. It was almost unnatural. He couldn’t help wondering if there was more to it than Slits Throats let on.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Ruby said.
“You should get some rest. Both of you. We’re heading out at first light and we’ll be in the saddle all day.”
“I never have needed that much sleep,” Ruby said. “It’s why I’m so frisky under the sheets.”
“Too bad we don’t have a bed handy,” Fargo joked.
“Who needs one?”
Fargo imagined her without that bulky shirt and those britches, and felt a familiar urge.
Ruby bent toward him. “Did you hear me?”
Geraldine said in contempt, “Throw yourself at him, why don’t you?”
“Stay out of this.”
Geraldine said to Fargo, “You can do better than a cheap tart like her.”
“I’ll have you know I can get top dollar anytime, cow,” Ruby said.
“There’s no accounting for taste.”
Fargo did as he’d done the night before and whacked the coffeepot with his almost empty cup. “You two are doing it again. Keep it up and I’ll gag you.”
“So?” Geraldine said.
“With a
dirty sock.”
Geraldine sniffed as if she could smell it. “Yes, I believe you would. You’re not the gentleman I took you for. You’re not like my poor Hank at all.”
“Never claimed to be.”
“That’s telling her,” Ruby said, and laughed.
“It goes for you, too,” Fargo said.
“Well, hell,” Ruby said.
Fargo spent the next fifteen minutes hobbling the Ovaro and the sorrel and walking in a wide circle to look and listen. The night was deceptively still.
As he reclaimed his seat, he noticed Ruby studying him.
“Mind if I ask a question?”
“Not when you’re polite about it.”
“What do you plan to do when you catch up to my friends? I won’t stand by and let you gun them down.”
“I aim to take them back to Fort Bowie.”
“And if they won’t go?”
“That’s up to them.”
“In other words, you’ll shoot them if you have to.”
“I sure as hell won’t let them shoot me.”
“You could have killed me back when I ambushed you. But you didn’t. How come?”
“You’re complaining?”
Leaning back, Fargo let himself relax. Between the jerky and the warmth of the fire and the long day he’d had, he began to feel drowsy. Yawning, he shook himself.
“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?” Ruby teased.
“Ladies first.”
Geraldine muttered something and rolled over so her back was to them. “A bitch in heat and a bull in rut.”
Ruby colored and went to reply but Fargo wagged a finger and she clammed up.
Fargo did more yawning. He refused to sleep until both women had turned in.
Close by, an owl hooted.
Instantly alert, Fargo sat up. Sometimes an owl wasn’t what it seemed. Apaches were masters at imitating bird calls. He listened, scarcely breathing, for more hoots.
“What’s the matter?” Ruby whispered.
“We might have company.”
“Lord, no.” Ruby slid closer, pressing her side to his leg. “You can’t keep me tied. I need to be able to defend myself.”
“I don’t know as it’s them yet.”
Ruby gripped his pants and glanced about them in fear.
