Arizona Ambushers (14 page)

Fargo wasn't surprised the Apaches were being so blatant about it. As cats often did with mice, Apaches sometimes liked to toy with their prey.

The pair on his flanks didn't come within range of his Henry. They were too smart for that.

Fargo wondered if they knew that the fourth member of their little war party was dead, and they were out to repay the favor. In that case they might want to take him alive so they could make him suffer.

For the better part of an hour nothing changed. Then, on an impulse, Fargo reined toward the warrior on the right. The warrior immediately reined away to keep the same distance between them. When Fargo reined back again, so did the Apache.

Ahead reared another mountain range, the foremost slope was crowned by low cliffs.

From up there, Fargo mused, he could hold the warriors off a good long while.

A series of switchbacks led up to the cliffs, the bottom of the first littered with talus.

Fargo swung wide to avoid it. The last thing he needed was for the stallion to break a leg, or worse.

A flash of light caused him to draw rein. The sun had reflected off metal, he suspected. It could be a rifle barrel. He rose in the stirrups but the flash wasn't repeated.

The Apaches had stopped, too.

Sliding the Henry out, Fargo levered a cartridge into the chamber. He started up, hunched over his saddle.

The Apaches sat and watched.

Fargo raked the high slopes for anything out of the ordinary, but nothing.

Suddenly raising its head, the stallion pricked its ears.

Fargo was in a bind. Someone was above him, Apaches were on either side and behind him. He was in the open, exposed, easy pickings. And every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to get out of there.

He did.

Hauling on the reins, Fargo flew toward a manzanita fifty feet away. It wasn't much cover but it was better than nothing. He tapped his spurs just as a rifle cracked, high up. He felt a tug on his hat but it stayed on his head.

Another rifle opened up, and a third. But he was moving so fast, they missed.

Fargo avoided a boulder, clattered across a stretch of pebbles, and brought the Ovaro to a stop behind the manzanita. Vaulting down, he sank to his knees and craned his neck to see the upper slopes.

The women had stopped firing.

Momentarily safe, Fargo turned. The Apaches on either side were no longer there. He looked behind him. The third one had disappeared, too.

“Damn.”

Fargo settled down to wait. The women wouldn't stay up there forever. Eventually they would move on, and so would he.

About twenty minutes had gone by when a rider materialized up near the cliffs and descended toward him. Her size left no doubt as to who it was. Taking her sweet time, she worked her way down the switchbacks until she was within earshot of the manzanita.

“That's far enough,” Fargo said.

“We need to talk,” Big Bertha hollered.

“I'm listening,” Fargo replied, without showing himself.

“Face-to-face,” Big Bertha said. “It's important.”

Wondering what she was up to, Fargo called out, “Come ahead. But keep your hands where I can see them.”

Bertha held her palms out. “Don't you worry. I'm not looking to get myself shot. All I want is to have words. I promise.”

Fargo covered her as she came around the manzanita and reined up. “Let me hear what you have to say.”

Leaning on her saddle horn, Big Bertha wiped her sleeve across her sweaty neck. “You have more lives than a cat—do you know that?”

“
That's
what you came down to tell me?”

“Be serious,” Bertha said.

“What are you doing here, then?”

“I came to ask you to give up.”

Fargo stared in amazement. He could tell she was serious. “Has the sun baked your brains?”

“Last night you claimed I don't have any,” Bertha said. “But tell me. Do you gamble much? Cards and the like?”

“Every chance I get,” Fargo said. His fondness for poker was second only to his fondness for a willing vixen.

“Not me. I never take chances when I don't have to. Take now, for instance. You probably think I took a big chance riding down here like this. But the truth is, I have an ace up my sleeve that you can't beat.”

“I must have missed it,” Fargo said.

“You're the one who brought it to me,” Big Bertha said. “Or should I say, her.”

“Geraldine Waxler?”

“The very same,” Bertha said. “I would have shot her last night but I held on to her in case you showed up so I could use her to bargain with.”

“She's nothing to me.”

“I believe you,” Bertha said. “Ruby has told me that you and Geraldine don't get along. But that's neither here nor there. What matters is that she stays alive only if you do exactly as I say.”

Fargo glanced up the mountain. He should have expected something like this. “You are a work of art.”

“Now, now,” Big Bertha said. “We work with what we have, and I have her. Or, rather, my girls do, up yonder. Which brings us to Ruby again.”

“This should be good.” Fargo knew what was coming but couldn't think of a way to thwart it.

“You're not the only one who can't get along with Geraldine. Ruby hates her guts. They've had some disagreements, I understand, and Ruby would like nothing better than to put her rifle to Geraldine's temple and squeeze the trigger.”

“Ruby's a regular sweetheart,” Fargo said.

“Is that any way to talk about a gal who let you poke her?”

“She told you about that?”

“My girls tell me everything,” Bertha boasted. “She said that you should have your very own stud farm.”

“I aim to please,” Fargo said.

“Then hand me that rifle and your six-shooter,” Big Bertha commanded. “Or the next shot you hear will be Ruby splattering Geraldine Waxler's brains.”

“I give you my guns and my own brains will be splattered.”

“What if I give you my word they won't be? What if I promise to let you and Geraldine go. Take her and your horses and light a shuck.”

“Just like that?” Fargo said, snapping his fingers.

“You did hear the part about turning over your artillery?” Bertha said. “You're no threat to us without them.”

“Speaking of threats,” Fargo said. “Those three Apaches are dogging us. You must have seen them.”

“I did, indeed,” Bertha said.

“And you expect me to try and make it past them with nothing to fight with except harsh language?”

“If you use your wits you can do it.”

“I have a better idea,” Fargo said.

“I warn you. Don't try anything. Ruby will kill Geraldine if you do. All I have to do is raise my arm and Waxler joins her precious husband in the hereafter.”

“That works both ways,” Fargo said.

“How do you mean?”

“You raise your arm, Ruby shoots Geraldine, and I shoot you. So go ahead. Raise it.”

Bertha wasn't fazed. “You're bluffing. You had your chance to shoot me last night and you didn't.”

“I try not to make the same mistake twice,” Fargo said, and aimed the Henry.

“Now you just hold on,” Bertha said, showing concern for the first time. “I came down here in good faith to parley.”

“To threaten, is more like it,” Fargo said. “And to gloat and rub my nose in it once you got the better of me.”

“You're a man,” Bertha said. “You deserve what you get.”

“We're back to that again,” Fargo said. It occurred to Fargo she might be stalling, that perhaps she wasn't alone, that one of the others might be sneaking up on him as they spoke.

“We never left it,” Bertha said. “I'm sick to death of men, of them lording it over us women. If I could find somewhere in this world there aren't any males, I'd be the happiest person alive.”

“It will make me happy if you climb down and bring your horse over here.”

Bertha locked eyes with him. She was taking his measure, and she must not have liked what she saw because she slipped her right foot from the stirrup and alighted with as much dignity as she could muster. “Geraldine Waxler is as good as dead.”

“Is that so?” Fargo moved to where he could see the higher slopes. Up near the cliffs there was another flash, but no shot. Cupping his left hand to his mouth, he shouted, “If you can hear me up there, send someone else down to talk.”

“What are you up to?” Big Bertha asked.

“You have ten minutes,” Fargo hollered.

“No one will come,” Bertha said. “None of my girls are that dumb.”

“For you they will.” Fargo crooked a finger. “Why are you still standing here?”

Her lip twitching, Bertha led her mount over. “Happy now?”

“Not quite.” Holding the Henry steady on her face, Fargo relieved her of her revolver and her rifle and motioned for her to follow him around the manzanita where he tossed her weapons to the ground.

“Enjoy this while you can,” Bertha said.

Fargo was too tense to enjoy anything. He didn't dare turn his back on her, and the Apaches were still around.

“I'll be damned,” Bertha declared. She was looking up the mountain.

Another woman was on her way down.

“I told you,” Fargo said.

Big Bertha looked fit to tear into him. “So you were right. So what? It doesn't change the fact that before this is done, we're going to put you under.”

The woman coming down the mountain was Claire. She held her rifle across her saddle, and by her posture, she was ready to use it in an instant if she had to.

Fargo held up his hand when she was close enough to hear him. “That's far enough,” he said. He kept his Henry trained on Bertha.

Claire drew rein. She looked worriedly at Big Bertha and asked, “Are you all right? Has he hurt you?”

Instead of answering, Bertha said, “Why didn't I hear a shot? Why didn't you kill the Waxler woman like you were supposed to?”

“He has you,” Claire said.

“So?” Bertha said angrily. “What does it take to get through those thick heads of yours? You're to do as I say. At all times.”

“We were worried that if we shot Geraldine, he'd shoot you.”

Big Bertha sighed in disappointment. “I try and I try and you still don't listen. I told you girls from the beginning. For this to work we have to do what needs doing whether we like it or not.”

“We won't let you be harmed,” Claire said.

“Enough,” Fargo said.

Claire finally seemed to notice him. “Why did you want one of us to come down here?”

“To set up a swap,” Fargo said. “Bring Geraldine Waxler to me and you can have Bertha.”

“Why do you care what happens to her? Ruby told us she tried to have you killed.”

How could Fargo explain? Sure, if all he was interested in was an eye for an eye, then he should leave Geraldine to her fate. But that wasn't in his nature. He would do what he could to save her. “Do we have a deal or not?”

Big Bertha spoke first. “Don't do it, Claire. Tell the others I said they're not to trade her no matter what. You hear me?”

“What if we don't trade?” Claire asked Fargo.

“I'll hand Bertha over to the army and let them know about the rest of you. Your names. What you look like. Federal marshals
will be brought in to track you down. They might even hire the Pinkertons,” Fargo said. All of which was true except that last.

“The Pinkertons?” Claire said. “I hear they never give up. When they take a case, they hunt and they hunt until they find who they're after.”

“I've heard the same thing,” Fargo said.

“What if we don't hand Waxler over?” Claire asked. “What will you do then?”

“I'll take Bertha to Fort Bowie and tell the army all about you. Once she's behind bars, I'll come after you myself.”

“I don't want that,” Claire said. “You've been like a wolf on the scent of a deer. You don't know when to quit.”

“You're not to trade me, damn it,” Big Bertha said. “I'll be mad as hell and terribly disappointed if you do.”

Fargo could tell Claire was wavering. “Go and talk to the others. Ask what they want to do. Take a vote. I'll keep Bertha here until you decide.”

“There's nothing to decide,” Bertha said.

Claire gnawed on her lip.

“Damn it, girl,” Big Bertha said. “You're not to swap that prissy bitch for me. You hear me?”

“I'll talk it over with the others,” Claire told Fargo.

“Like hell you will,” Big Bertha said.

Claire raised her reins and said to her, “I'm sorry, Bertha. I know we're supposed to do as you tell us. But we won't let anything happen to you if we can help it, no matter what.”

“I'm not important,” Big Bertha said. “The money is.”

“What good is the money if we're not all alive to spend it?” Claire argued, and wheeled her mount.

“Don't take too long,” Fargo said. He was worried about those Apaches. They could be anywhere.

Claire nodded and slapped her legs.

“Damn it all,” Big Bertha grumbled, watching her ride off. “They're not going to listen. They're going to swap me. And after all the hours and days and weeks I spent getting it through their thick heads to listen to me.”

“You should be flattered they care,” Fargo said.

“What do you know?” Bertha shot back. “They should shoot that cretin, take the money, and go. That's the smart thing, and I've said all along that we have to do this smart. Feelings don't
enter into it. We let sentiment cloud our judgment, we're in for trouble.”

Fargo moved into the scant shade of the manzanita and squatted. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Her jaw muscles clenching, Big Bertha sat with her back to the bole. “Just so you know, if I ever get my hands on you . . .” She didn't finish.

“Just so
you
know,” Fargo said, “I'm through going easy on you. From here on out, I treat you the same as I'd treat a gang of men.”

“Thank you,” Bertha said.

Fargo arched an eyebrow.

“You still don't savvy, do you? What do you think this has been about?” Big Bertha paused. “We're tired of men lording it over us. Of treating us as if they're our betters. We want to be treated with the same respect men get.”

“Robbing the payroll and killing those soldiers is supposed to earn you respect?” Fargo said dubiously.

“The money will. Once we've set ourselves up in our new lives, with new identities.”

In a way, Fargo did understand. Ruby had been right about there not being many jobs for women, and those there were paid less. Women weren't even allowed to vote. Some women back east had started to raise a fuss about it but so far not much had been done. “You say you like to do things smart but this strikes me as being dumb as hell.”

“By robbing that payroll we've proved that women can do anything men can do,” Big Bertha said.

“You couldn't have thought of a better way?”

“None that would give me a new start in life with enough money to do whatever I want.”

“So the money does matter.”

“I won't deny it helps.”

Fargo scoured their vicinity. So far there was no sign of the Apaches. He hoped their luck held.

“Speaking of the money,” Big Bertha said. “How about if we strike a deal of our own?”

“This should be interesting.”

“I'll give you a thousand dollars out of my share if you'll ride off and forget about us. Tell the army you lost our trail. Or the Apaches got us. Anything you want.”

“No.”

“You can't use a thousand dollars? It'll buy a lot of drinks, a lot of ladies. Gamble to your heart's content.”

“And Geraldine?”

Big Bertha brightened, thinking he would accept. “We'll dispose of her and no one will be the wiser.”

“Except me.”

“A thousand dollars will soothe your conscience right quick.”

“I forget about the soldiers you killed. I forget about you sending Ruby to bushwhack me. I forget you tried to stomp me into the dirt. I forget everything and let you go your merry way.”

“A thousand dollars,” Bertha said again.

“I'll pass,” Fargo said.

Bertha shook her head as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Give me one good reason. You're not one of those sticklers for always doing right, are you?”

“Not hardly,” Fargo said.

“Then why, damn it?”

Fargo looked her in the eyes. “I don't like you.”

Bertha snorted, then cocked her head and said, “You're serious? You're taking all this personal?”

Fargo was going to tell her that he took everything personal but he decided not to waste his breath. A glance up the mountain showed Claire still climbing. It would be minutes yet before she reached the cliffs.

“You haven't answered me.”

“I'm done flapping my gums.” Fargo sat back and was placing the Henry in his lap when the Ovaro nickered.

The stallion was staring at a patch of brush about fifty feet away.

Shifting and raising the Henry, Fargo studied the brush and the ground around it.

“What's going on?” Big Bertha asked. “What has your horse bothered?”

“Quiet.” Fargo concentrated on the brush. Something wasn't quite right. The middle part was darker than it should be. As if someone was crouched behind it.

“Is it the Apaches?” Bertha said. “Give me a gun so I can defend myself.”

“Quiet, I said.” Rising into a crouch, Fargo took a couple of steps.

“I insist,” Bertha refused to shut up.

Fargo was about convinced it was nothing when he spied two
brown dots, low down.
They were eyes.
The instant he saw them, they moved. An Apache half rose, spun, and ran.

Before Fargo could shoot, the warrior went to ground again.

“Go after him!” Big Bertha urged. “What are you waiting for?”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Fargo said. She would grab her guns, or ride off, or both.

“Haven't you heard that the only good redskin is a dead one?”

Fargo didn't hate Indians just because they weren't white. And he didn't shoot them unless they were trying to do him in.

“What kind of scout are you?” Big Bertha scoffed.

Fargo didn't say anything. What would be the use?

“A scout who's an Injun lover,” Bertha said in contempt. “Now I've heard everything.”

For two bits, Fargo reflected, he'd shoot
her
.

“Folks say you're so tough. But you go easy on Apaches like you do on women,” Big Bertha said. She placed her hands on the ground in front of her and bent toward him. “Nothing to say? Cat got your tongue?”

Fargo was watching for the Apaches.

“Yes, sir,” Big Bertha babbled on. “You're nothing but a weak sister. You should give up scouting and be a store clerk. You won't have to hurt anybody at all.”

Annoyed, Fargo turned. “You talk too much.” He wondered if she was doing it on purpose. Maybe to distract him.

“I think this has gone on long enough,” Big Bertha said.

“What has?”

“I tried to goad you into going after him so this would be over but you wouldn't. Very well. I'm nothing if not adaptable.” Big Bertha sighed. “I wanted to keep my little secret but we're wasting valuable time.”

“Which secret would that be?”

“You'll appreciate it, I'm sure,” Bertha said smugly. “You see, when I planned this out, I knew the worst danger we'd face wasn't from the boys in blue. It was from the Apaches.”

“You got that part right, at least.”

“If you'd gone after that one just now, they'd have jumped you.”

“Another reason I didn't,” Fargo said.

“Ah. But I'm tired of being held at gunpoint. It's time to end this so my girls and me can be on our way.” Big Bertha smiled and raised her voice. “You might as well show yourselves, Grey Wolf.”

And just like that, two Apaches seemed to rise out of the very
earth with their rifles trained on Fargo, while the third rose over near the brush, his own rifle to his shoulder.

“Say hello to my friends,” Big Bertha said.