Apache Ambush

They had taken only a few steps when someone came up behind them. Timothy P. Cranmeyer was without Krupp for once. His hands were behind his back, as was his habit, and he nervously rocked on his heels. ‘‘Pardon me, Mr. Fargo. But might I have a few words with you?’’

Fargo glanced at Myrtle, who shrugged to show she had no idea what Cranmeyer wanted. ‘‘So long as the words are few.’’

Cranmeyer smiled and motioned for Fargo to walk beside him.

‘‘This better be important,’’ Fargo grumbled. He had his mind, and body, fixed on one thing, and he did not appreciate the interruption.

‘‘It is,’’ Cranmeyer said. When they were a fair distance from Myrtle and everyone else, he stopped and bowed his head and commenced rocking on his heels again. ‘‘This comes hard for me.’’

‘‘What does?’’

‘‘Intruding where I have no right to intrude. But I must do what is best for the good of all.’’

‘‘You are taking the long way around the stable to get your horse in the stall,’’ Fargo said drily.

‘‘Very well.’’ Cranmeyer coughed and finally met his gaze. ‘‘I would take it as a personal favor if you would refrain from indulging your physical urges until we reach Silver Lode.’’

‘‘I should shoot you,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘Excuse me?’’

‘‘You are the one who sicced the Fraziers on me, remember? To convince me to change my mind? Well, they did, and here I am, and here they are, and if they want to go on convincing, by God I will let them.’’

Cranmeyer glanced at Myrtle, then toward Cleopatra and Mavis. ‘‘If only they weren’t three of the best mule skinners in the business I would have nothing to do with them.’’

‘‘That is between them and you.’’

‘‘True,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘But what goes on between them and you can cause all sorts of trouble for me. Trouble I could do without.’’

‘‘Spell it out,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘Since you insist.’’ Cranmeyer paused. ‘‘I doubt it has escaped your notice that they are three of the loveliest women on God’s green earth. They turn heads everywhere they go.’’

‘‘They turned mine,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘I was hoping they would,’’ Cranmeyer admitted. ‘‘But now that they have, it wouldn’t do to give the impression they are partial to you over everyone else.’’

‘‘The hell you say.’’

‘‘Every man here would love to get his hands on them. I have made it clear the Fraziers are off-limits, and the men have smothered their urges. But they will not keep those urges smothered if they see you carrying on as if you have your own personal harem.’’

Fargo saw where it was leading, and swore.

‘‘Please. All I ask is that you hold off until we reach Silver Lode. Once we are there you can do as you please.’’

‘‘You are making a mountain out of a prairie dog mound.’’

‘‘I have enough problems,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘What with the Apaches on the warpath and Jefferson Grind out to get me and creditors camped in front of my house. I do not need for my men to kill one another in fits of jealously.’’

‘‘Silver Lode?’’ Fargo said.

‘‘Yes, just until there,’’ Cranmeyer said hopefully. ‘‘Do I have your word?’’

Fargo stared at Cleopatra and Mavis, then at Myrtle, who was impatiently tapping her foot. Three of the most exquisite females he ever met, each the kind of woman a man remembered for the rest of his born days.

‘‘Well?’’ Cranmeyer prompted.

‘‘Let me put it this way,’’ Fargo said, and sought to soften the blow by placing his hand on Cranmeyer’s shoulder, and smiling. ‘‘There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell.’’

‘‘You insist on making love to them?’’

‘‘That is a god-awful stupid question.’’

Cranmeyer was not amused. ‘‘Fine. But I must say, I am disappointed. I expected better of you.’’

‘‘It is your own fault,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘Me? What did I do?’’

‘‘You should hire uglier mule skinners.’’

10

Myrtle was fidgeting when Fargo returned. ‘‘What was that all about?’’ she asked.

Fargo had no reason not to tell her. He did, thinking she would get a chuckle out of it.

‘‘I should have known. It was only a matter of time. But then, he was not obvious or we would have caught on sooner.’’

Taking her arm, Fargo steered her between two of the freight wagons, saying, ‘‘That made no kind of sense.’’

‘‘It is Cranmeyer,’’ Myrtle said, and sighed. ‘‘We reckon he has a thing for Mavis.’’

‘‘Lust or love?’’

‘‘It could be either but I lean to the love. We catch him giving her looks from time to time. When she talks to him, his face lights up like a candle,’’ Myrtle related. ‘‘Then when we were loading a wagon for this trip, she bumped against him by accident and he turned as red as a beet.’’

‘‘Sounds like love to me,’’ Fargo agreed.

‘‘So now he is particular about who we spend our nights with?’’ Myrtle sighed. ‘‘He is in for heartache. We like our nights more than we like our days.’’

Fargo saw where Cranmeyer’s devotion could pose a problem, and mentioned as much.

‘‘We run into his kind a lot,’’ Myrtle said bitterly. ‘‘Men who believe they are in love. And since they are in love, they expect us to love them back, and they can’t understand it when we don’t.’’