Apache Ambush

‘‘If he had a horse, he will leave tracks. In the morning I will look for them.’’ Fargo might be able to trail Fraco back to Grind and put an end to the feud before the freight train reached the mountains.

‘‘If you don’t mind some company, I will go with you,’’ Stack offered.

Fargo was inclined to say no. He liked to work alone. But if Wilson had told the truth and Grind still had eleven men with him, it would be smart to trim the odds. ‘‘We head out at first light.’’

‘‘I will be ready.’’

Fargo rose, taking his coffee with him. He found Cranmeyer among a group watching Krupp tend to Myrtle. Cleopatra and Mavis hovered like mother hawks, not letting any of the men come too close. Fargo informed Cranmeyer of his plan.

Krupp overheard, and glanced up from winding a bandage. ‘‘Stack thinks it was Fraco who tried to get you with that arrow?’’

‘‘Have you heard of him?’’ Cranmeyer asked.

‘‘I have seen him,’’ Krupp said.

‘‘How did he impress you?’’

‘‘Mean as a stuck snake,’’ Krupp said. ‘‘He is not all that big and not all that scary-looking but there is something about him that makes you think he would slit your throat and not bat an eye.’’

‘‘One of those,’’ Cranmeyer said.

Krupp had more to impart. ‘‘He is more Injun than white. His hair, his skin, you would think he was Navajo or some such. Then you see his eyes. Gray as fog and as cold as ice.’’

Fargo had a question. ‘‘How many has he killed?’’

‘‘No one knows. For years he lived off up in the mountains. Some say with the Apaches. Others say he was with the Navajos. Rumor has it he went on raids with them and killed his share of whites.’’ Krupp paused. ‘‘A few years ago he began offering his talents for money, and has been hiring out ever since.’’

‘‘And now he works for my bitterest enemy,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘It figures Grind would hire him. The man has few scruples.’’

‘‘Fraco has even less,’’ Krupp said. ‘‘They say he can kill a man in a hundred ways. Men, women, even kids, it makes no difference to him so long as he is paid.’’

‘‘I am surprised the army has not gotten hold of him by now,’’ Cranmeyer commented.

Krupp looked away. ‘‘It is not for a lack of trying on their part.’’

Fargo wasn’t surprised. While it was true renegades were routinely hunted down, the army was more concerned about organized bands. Lone wolves like Fraco were low in priority.

Cranmeyer turned to him. ‘‘You would be doing the territory a tremendous favor if you were to give this Fraco his due.’’

‘‘So you don’t mind if Stack and me head out after him?’’

‘‘Not at all. We will get by. I will ride point myself.’’

‘‘With me at your side,’’ Krupp said.

Clapping him on the back, Cranmeyer said fondly, ‘‘Would that all those who work for me were as devoted as you.’’

Extra guards were posted, one at each point of the compass. Instead of a single nighthawk, Krupp assigned three. He was taking no chances on the mules being driven off or stolen. Without them, the wagons were so many dead turtles.

It was shortly after midnight when Fargo turned in. First he picketed the Ovaro. Then he spread his blankets, propped his saddle as a pillow and lay on his back with his hands folded on his chest. Soon he was on the verge of drifting off. The slight scrape of a sole brought him back to the world of the real. He pushed up, the Colt springing into his hand as if it were part of him.

‘‘I didn’t mean to spook you,’’ Cleopatra Frazier said.

Fargo let down the Colt’s hammer. ‘‘Shouldn’t you be with your sisters?’’ Myrtle was bundled in blankets over by a wagon, and Mavis was watching over her.

Cleopatra put a hand on his arm. In the starlight she was incredibly beautiful. ‘‘I don’t want any hard feelings between us.’’

‘‘Why would there be?’’ Fargo asked, knowing the answer but wanting her to say it.

‘‘Some of the men are mad at me over Dawson.’’

‘‘Can you blame them?’’

Cleo’s eyes flashed. ‘‘Can you blame me? He shot my sister. Maybe I lost my head but I had cause.’’

‘‘There is no maybe about it,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘You keep missing the point. He shot her.’’

‘‘By accident. I was there. I saw the whole thing.’’

‘‘And you are mad at me like all the rest.’’

‘‘I am not in love with you,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘I was afraid you would feel this way.’’

‘‘Go away. I need sleep.’’ Fargo turned back toward his blankets but she held on to his arm.

‘‘I don’t want you upset. I would like to go on being friends.’’

‘‘What does it matter?’’ Fargo was being hard on her but she had it coming. ‘‘You and your sisters get by just fine by yourselves.’’

‘‘We are women,’’ Cleopatra said.

‘‘And my horse is a horse and an owl is an owl,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘What does being female have to do with what you did to Dawson?’’

‘‘I am not talking about him. I have moved on and am talking about you.’’ Cleo ran her other hand through her copper hair. ‘‘When I say we are women, I mean we are no different than any other female.’’

‘‘Most females don’t go around blinding men with bullwhips.’’

‘‘Please stop. I accept I was hasty. I will send some money to his kin back East to atone.’’