Apache Ambush

‘‘That sure was something, what you did today,’’ Myrtle Frazier said.

‘‘Gunning down four at once!’’ Mavis marveled. ‘‘You must be lightning with that six-shooter of yours.’’

Cleopatra, always the vixen, grinned. ‘‘I hope you don’t do everything fast. Some things deserve to be done slow.’’

‘‘Have something special in mind?’’ Fargo asked.

‘‘As if you can’t guess,’’ Cleopatra replied, and laughed that husky laugh of hers. Her sisters joined in.

Fargo leaned against the wagon wheel and regarded them with keen interest. ‘‘Who is to be first?’’

‘‘I beg your pardon?’’ Mavis replied.

‘‘Don’t play innocent,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘We have a deal. I joined the freight train, so I get to have all three of you.’’

Myrtle frowned in disapproval. ‘‘You do not need to be crude about it.’’

‘‘Goodness, no,’’ Mavis said. ‘‘Only you do not get to set the time and the place. We do.’’

‘‘You aren’t trying to weasel out on me, are you?’’

All three flushed with anger. Cleopatra bent down, crooked a finger, and hooked her fingernail under his chin. ‘‘If you weren’t so damn good-looking, I would take my whip to you.’’

‘‘So would I,’’ Myrtle said. ‘‘We always keep our word. Ask anyone.’’

Mavis nodded. ‘‘When we say we will do something, we will do it.’’

‘‘But we are not common tarts,’’ Cleopatra added, lightly sliding her finger along his jaw to his ear. ‘‘We do not spread our legs for every male we see. We choose carefully. And when we do share ourselves, we like to do the deed in private.’’

‘‘Do you have a problem with that?’’ Mavis demanded.

‘‘Not at all, ladies,’’ Fargo assured them. ‘‘I don’t care if we do it in a wagon or off in the desert or in a ditch. Just so we do it. And since it will be harder to find time to ourselves once we are in the mountains, now is as good a time as any.’’

‘‘My, oh, my, aren’t you the randy?’’ Cleopatra teased. ‘‘But then, all men are. You can’t help yourselves. You are born that way.’’

‘‘Slaves to your peckers,’’ Myrtle said sagely.

‘‘Not that we are complaining,’’ Mavis threw in. ‘‘A man’s pecker is a like a nose ring on a bull. All a savvy gal has to do is take hold of it and the man is in her power.’’

‘‘My pecker is not a nose ring,’’ Fargo enlightened them.

‘‘Oh, please,’’ Cleopatra said. ‘‘All men ever think of is one thing. I have never met a man yet who did not have his brains below his belt.’’

‘‘That is harsh.’’

‘‘Don’t take it personal. Like Mavis just told you, you won’t hear us complain. We are fond of peckers, ourselves. ’’

Fargo laughed.

‘‘As for your notion that now is as good a time as any,’’ Cleopatra went on, ‘‘give us a minute or two and we will get back to you.’’

They went out of earshot of him and everyone else, and huddled. From their expressions and how they kept shaking their bullwhips at one another, they appeared to be arguing, and arguing heatedly.

Fargo had no inkling what it was about. Cranmeyer had noticed and did not look happy, probably because a lot of the drivers and guards had noticed, too.

Mavis fished in her pants and produced a coin. She flipped it high into the air and let it land at her feet. All three bent to see which side of the coin was up. Then Myrtle flipped it. Then Cleopatra took her turn.

Smoothing her shirt, Myrtle sashayed back to Fargo. She was grinning from ear to ear.

‘‘Guess what, handsome?’’

‘‘You won.’’

Myrtle nodded enthusiastically. ‘‘That is how we decide. We take turns tossing the coin so it is fair.’’

‘‘What if I want one of the others?’’ Fargo asked, and chuckled at her crestfallen expression. ‘‘I was joshing. The three of you look so much alike, it doesn’t matter.’’

‘‘Ah, but it does,’’ Myrtle disagreed. ‘‘Looks are not everything. We might seem to be as alike as like can be, but we are each of us different. Cleo is a wildcat when she is with a man. Mavis hardly ever does more than kiss and fondle until the deed is done.’’

‘‘And you?’’

‘‘Me?’’ Myrtle said, and showed her pearly teeth. ‘‘I like to give as good as I get, if you catch my meaning.’’

‘‘Prove it,’’ Fargo said.

Myrtle gestured at the campfires and the men. ‘‘In private, remember?’’ She touched his knee with her bullwhip. ‘‘Why don’t we go for a stroll and I will prove I am as I say I am?’’

Fargo drained his tin cup and pushed to his feet. ‘‘A stroll happens to be just what I need.’’

‘‘I’ll bet.’’

Fargo linked arms with her. ‘‘I am looking forward to this.’’ He was not exaggerating; he was curious to learn whether the parts of the Frazier sisters he could not see were as gloriously perfect as the parts he could.

‘‘So am I, handsome,’’ Myrtle admitted. ‘‘I know it is not proper for a lady to confess to carnal desires, but I refuse to go through life pretending to be someone I am not.’’

‘‘I don’t blame you.’’ Fargo made small talk while admiring the twin peaks that poked at her shirt.