by Jon Sharpe
“Not with me, exactly.” Bertha gestured at the tallest. “Grey Wolf, there, and his friends like their firewater. They buy it from a friend of mine who runs a saloon and sells whiskey to the Indians on the side. I asked him to put me in touch with them.”
Fargo had to keep her talking until he was ready. “They helped you kill those soldiers?”
“No. I hired them for safe passage through Apache territory. A case of liquor for each of them for escorting us.”
Fargo was stunned. The Apaches hadn’t been shadowing the women with the intent of harming them. The warriors were protecting them, seeing to it that other Apaches left them alone. “Was it you who sent that one to kill me?”
“I asked Grey Wolf to take care of you, yes,” Big Bertha said.
The tall warrior frowned. “Our friend not come back. Now we make you suffer, eh, white-eye?”
Fargo saw no point in telling them that it was Slits Throats who had slain the other warrior.
“Shoot him and get it over with,” Big Bertha said.
“He kill Shis-Inday,” Grey Wolf said. “We take him, kill him our way.”
“How long will that take?” Bertha asked.
“He be a long time dying.”
“What about me and my girls while you’re having your fun?” Bertha said. “Who will protect us if other Apaches come along? You promised, damn you, and I’m holding you to your word.”
Grey Wolf’s craggy features hardened.
“If you want that whiskey, I damn well have a say,” Big Bertha insisted. “The safety of me and my girls comes before anything. You hear me?”
The other two warriors hadn’t said a thing. They were watching Grey Wolf and Bertha, caught up in the argument.
Fargo slowly lowered his arm. No one was paying attention to him. Their mistake. Bertha had made him drop the Henry but she’d forgotten about his Colt.
“We take him,” Grey Wolf was saying. “We stake him out. We skin him. Cut out his eyes. Cut off his nose. He will die in two sleeps, maybe three.”
“Two to three days? No, I say,” Big Bertha said. “The army is after us. We can’t hang around that long.”
“Women not tell warriors what to do.”
Big Bertha reacted as if he’d slapped her. “You damned redskin. You’re no different than a white man. Looking down your nose at us because we’re female. I have half a mind to shoot you.”
Grey Wolf swung his rifle toward her. “You not threaten Apache.”
One of the others turned his own rifle on Bertha.
Fargo couldn’t have asked for anything better. The third warrior was still pointing a Spencer at him but watching Grey Wolf and Bertha.
“Damn you mangy redskins,” she was saying. “I trusted you to keep your word and this is how you repay me?”
The moment had come. His hand a blur, Fargo drew and fanned a shot into the third warrior’s chest. Without waiting to see the effect, he fanned a second shot into Grey Wolf, swiveled, and shot the other Apache in the face as the warrior jerked his rifle to his shoulder.
Grey Wolf staggered but didn’t fall. His trigger finger tightened and the slug plowed into the earth next to Fargo’s leg.
Fargo shot him in the forehead. All three were down, and he began to push to his feet.
Big Bertha had been rooted in shock but now she bellowed in rage and brought her own rifle to bear. “Die, you son of a bitch!” she screamed.
“Ladies first,” Fargo said, and shot her in the chest. She was jarred but fired, and missed. Extending his arm, Fargo shot her in the cheek. That should have done it but she steadied herself and took aim. He fanned two swift shots at where her heart should be.
Big Bertha swayed. Her arms drooped and she sank down as if she were taking a seat, plopping hard on her bottom. Her eyelids fluttered, and she tried to say something.
“Just die,” Fargo said.
Bertha let out a long breath and folded in on herself. The thud of her body hitting the ground was followed by the clatter of her rifle. Her legs twitched a few times and she was still.
Reloading the Colt, Fargo stood. He went to each of the Apaches, ensuring they were dead. When he looked up, someone was standing next to the manzanita. “I wondered where you got to.”
Slits Throats came into the open. “I come to help you but you no need help.”
“I was lucky,” Fargo said.
Slits Throats nudged Bertha with his toe. “She was tough woman. Like buffalo cow.”
Fargo suddenly remembered Geraldine and the others.
Up at the cliffs, the lady outlaws had reappeared. All four, along with their packhorses. They had heard the shots. Another flash of light made Fargo think one of them had unlimbered a rifle but they were too far off to hit him. There were more flashes, moving from rider to rider, which puzzled him.
On a hunch, Fargo went to Bertha’s mount and rummaged in her saddlebags. He didn’t find what he was looking for.
Fargo faced the cliffs. Those flashes were the spyglass. The women were passing it back and forth. They knew Big Bertha was dead. Or did they? They’d see her lying there, but they wouldn’t be able to tell if she were breathing.
Quickly, Fargo moved to the body. Stooping, he sat Bertha up. It took some doing, as heavy as she was. Keeping himself between her and the others to block their view, he propped her against the manzanita.
Stepping back, Fargo mopped his brow. Hopefully, the women would think she was wounded and come down, bringing Geraldine Waxler with them. He stepped into the open and caught another flash. Raising an arm, he waved and beckoned.
The women didn’t move.
“Take the bait,” Fargo said out loud. He beckoned again, and could have whooped when they did. Three of them, anyway. The fourth, with the pack animals, stayed put.
Fargo frowned. There was no sign of Geraldine. He turned to ask Slits Throats if he’d caught sight of her, only to find the warrior had pulled his vanishing act again.
About twenty yards from the manzanita was a waist-high boulder. Fargo went over and stood behind it, the Henry cradled. He had a long wait but eventually the women drew near enough for him to tell which three it was: Claire, Theresa, and Alvena. Slowing, they spread out. Claire was in the middle, Theresa and Alvena to either side.
Claire drew rein well out from the boulder and the others followed her example. Rising in the stirrups, she looked toward the manzanita. “Bertha? Can you hear me?”
“She’s been shot,” Fargo said.
“Is she alive?”
“She needs doctoring,” Fargo said.
Theresa raised her reins but Claire snapped a quick, “Stay put until we know what’s what. I don’t trust him.”
“But Bertha . . .” Theresa began.
“Use your head,” Claire said. “Do as Bertha taught us.” She focused on Fargo. “What caused all the shooting?”
“The three Apaches,” Fargo said.
Alvena was suspicious, too. “Why would they shoot? They’re working with us, keeping us safe.”
Fargo shrugged. “I don’t know what it was about.”
“He’s lying,” Alvena said to the others.
Claire cupped a hand to her mouth. “Bertha? If you’re alive, answer us. Or move your arms. Something.”
“She’s unconscious,” Fargo said, slowly sliding his right hand down the Henry to the hammer and the trigger.
“Bertha?” Claire tried one more time anyway.
A flash of light up at the cliffs told Fargo that Ruby was watching through the spyglass. “Is Geraldine Waxler still alive?” he asked.
“Forget her,” Theresa said. “We’re only interested in Bertha.”
“Come see for yourself,” Fargo said.
Theresa started to dismount but again Claire stopped her.
“No
. He might be trying to trick us.”
“We need to know,” Theresa said. “She could be bleeding to death and we’re just sitting here.”
“I say we shoot him and then see how she is,” Alvena said, and began to raise her rifle.
“No! If there’s any chance at all Bertha is still alive, we owe it to her to keep her that way,” Theresa argued.
Fargo waited. It would help if they came closer so he could drop all three. As extra incentive he said, “She’s hurt bad. I don’t have bandages but maybe you do.”
“I’m going to her,” Theresa declared, and swung down.
“No, damn it,” Claire said.
“After all she’s done for us,” Theresa said, “you’d let her die without lifting a finger?”
“Bertha is already dead,” Alvena said flatly. “She hasn’t so much as twitched since we got here.”
“I have to see for myself,” Theresa said, and came toward the manzanita. “As for you,” she said to Fargo, suddenly pointing her rifle at him, “if this is a trick, you’ll regret it.”
Claire raised her own rifle. “Be ready to protect her,” she said to Alvena.
“Count on it,” Alvena said.
Fargo thought of the slaughtered major and his men. He had meant it when he told Bertha he was through holding back. Time to do or die.
29
The woman called Theresa had her rifle pointed at Fargo, but in her worry for Big Bertha, she was staring at the body slumped against the manzanita.
Claire kept glancing between Fargo and Theresa and the tree.
Not Alvena. Her cheek was to her rifle and she didn’t take her eyes off Fargo.
Fargo put on the poker face that had won him more pots than he could count. “Once you see she’s alive, you can have her if you hand over Waxler.”
Theresa and Claire both looked at their leader.
Fargo dropped behind the boulder. Alvena’s rifle boomed, and he felt a sting in his cheek. Diving to one side, he fired as he struck the ground, but Alvena was already swinging low over her saddle, and he didn’t think he’d hit her.
“Theresa! Look out!” Claire cried, and jerked her Henry to her shoulder.
Fargo shot her.
Shock rooted Theresa but only for a few seconds. Working her rifle’s lever as she ran, she darted toward some mesquite.
Fargo shot her. He went for a chest shot but as he squeezed the trigger she twisted. He thought he caught her in the side.
Scrambling to his knees, Fargo hugged the boulder. It hadn’t gone as he’d hoped. Now he was pinned down, and two, maybe three were still alive—Theresa in the mesquite, Claire somewhere by her mount, while Alvena had reined into a gully and wash and disappeared.
Silence fell.
Fargo inched his head around for a look-see and nearly lost an eye to a ricochet. The shot came from over where he’d last seen Alvena.
Splashes of red on Claire’s saddle told him that she was hard hit. Since it wouldn’t hurt to try, he hollered, “It doesn’t have to be like this. Give yourselves up and I’ll take you back to Fort Bowie.”
“Go to hell!” Alvena yelled.
Over in the mesquite Theresa anxiously bawled, “Bertha? Bertha? Can you hear me?”
“Get it through your thick head she’s dead,” Alvena shouted. “The bastard tricked us.”
Fargo was glad they were concentrating on him. It might have occurred to one of them to shoot the Ovaro to keep him from escaping if it came to that.
He saw Alvena’s head pop up and banged off a quick shot that kicked dirt in her face.
Another boom, from the mesquite, chipped slivers from the boulder.
Claire hadn’t joined in, which must have been why Theresa called out, “Claire? Are you still with us?”
There was no reply at first, and Fargo thought he must have got her. But no.
“I’m still here,” Claire said, sounding as if she were in pain. “Don’t worry about me.”
More quiet, save for the buzz of a fly that took an interest in the nick in Fargo’s cheek. Fargo swatted at it and must have exposed his arm because Alvena’s rifle cracked and more slivers went flying. The woman was a good shot.
Fargo could use a swig from his canteen. His throat was dry, and he was sweating buckets.
“You couldn’t let us get away, could you?” Theresa unexpectedly yelled. “You had to keep after us.”
“Theresa, hush,” Claire said.
“You’re hurt, I can tell,” Theresa responded, and raised her voice. “Fargo? What if I give you my entire share of the payroll to let us go? How would that be?”
Fargo saw no harm in answering. “Save your breath.”
“Six thousand dollars,” Theresa said. “That’s more than most people make in ten years. All yours.”
“What do I tell the army?” Fargo said. “That I lost a trail any ten-year-old could follow?”
“You don’t have to tell them anything. Take the money and disappear. Go to Mexico. Or Canada. Hell, I don’t care. You decide.”
“I already did,” Fargo said. “I take you back alive or I take you back dead. It’s up to you.”
“Fine,” Theresa said bitterly. “Be that way.”
More silence ensued. Fargo leaned his shoulder against the boulder and pulled his hat lower to keep the sun out of his eyes. He figured that the longer the standoff lasted, the better it was for him. The women must be as uncomfortable as he was, maybe more so. And Theresa and Alvena had to be worried about Claire. That might make them do something rash. But no sooner did he get his hopes up than they were dashed.
“Theresa? Alvena?” Claire hollered.
“I hear you,” Theresa said.
“What?” from over at the gully.
“The two of you sneak away while I keep him here.”
Fargo sat up.
“Forget that,” Theresa said. “We’re not leaving you. We lost Bertha. We won’t lose you, too.”
“Damn right, we won’t,” Alvena said.
“Listen to me,” Claire said. “I’m done for. I don’t know how much time I have left but it should be enough that I can keep him from going after you until you’ve gotten clean away.”
“No,” Theresa said.
“Absolutely not,” Alvena echoed.
“Damn it,” Claire said, her voice breaking with emotion. “Don’t be so noble. I tell you I’m finished. I’ve lost too much blood. Get out of here and join Ruby and ride like hell. You have to get away. It’s not right that Bertha died in vain.”
“Hell, girl,” Alvena said.
“You know I’m right.”
“I don’t like deserting you,” Theresa said.
“You don’t have to like it,” Claire said. “Just do it before I’m too weak to lift my rifle.”
“I hate this,” Theresa declared.
No more was said. Fargo tried to spot Claire but couldn’t. After about five minutes hooves clattered and Alvena broke into view, riding like a madwoman. He took aim but had to whip back when Claire fired, clipping the boulder.
When next Fargo looked, Alvena was out of range and had drawn rein. He thought she had changed her mind, but no. It wasn’t long before Theresa appeared. Alvena swung her up behind her, and riding double, they continued on up the mountain.
“Now it’s just you and me,” Claire said, sounding happy that her friends were safe.
Fargo pegged her position as slightly to his left and not more than fifty feet away. Easing flat, keeping the boulder between them, he started to slide backward.
“Fargo?” Claire yelled. “I’d like to ask you something.”
Fargo stopped.
“Are you there?”
“Where else would I be?” Fargo replied.
“Good. I have a question.” Claire sound
ed weak. “Do you have a shred of sympathy in your soul?”
“That’s what you want to ask?”
“I want you to put yourself in our shoes. Imagine what it’s been like, having to lick men’s boots all our lives. There are a lot of women who feel the same way.”
Fargo considered that a poor excuse for shooting soldiers but he held his tongue.
“Are you still there?”
“Why do you keep asking that?” Fargo replied.
“You weren’t saying anything. And I want to make you understand. To sympathize with us.”
“Lady, some of those troopers you massacred had wives and families. Ask them if they feel sorry for you.”
“What would it take to get you to let the others go?”
“Not a chance in hell,” Fargo said.
“Please. I’m begging you.”
Fargo had said all he was going to. He continued to slide back from the boulder, careful not to scrape the Henry or make some other noise that might give him away.
Claire cleared her throat. “I never wanted to spread my legs for money. I was forced into it by circumstance. I can’t sew worth a lick, and I’m not much of a cook, so what else is there?”
Fargo put his hand on a flat rock and winced. It was hot enough to fry an egg.
“Are you listening? Are you still there?”
She was stalling, Fargo realized, trying to keep him talking to delay him from going after the others.
“Fargo?”
Moving faster, Fargo came to a wash. It was shallow but it would do. Snaking down into it, he commenced his stalk.
“Fargo? Don’t ignore me. Please. You talked about families. Think of what it will mean to Alvena and Ruby and Theresa to have families of their own. The money lets them bury their pasts and start over.”
Screened by mesquite, Fargo rose high enough to glance up the mountain.
Alvena and Theresa were almost to the cliffs.
“Granted, what we did was wrong,” Claire prattled on. “But we were desperate. When Bertha came up with her brainstorm, we leaped at the chance. Can you blame us?”
Fargo wasn’t about to answer.
“You can’t imagine how much this means to us. Or the lengths we’ll go to in order to carry it off.”
