Apache Ambush

What mystified Fargo more was the absence of Fraco. He should be glad the breed did not continue to plague them but he had a feeling in his gut that Fraco had gone off for a reason, and that whatever the reason was, it did not bode well.

Then they came to a virgin valley thick with timber. Cranmeyer called a halt early beside a ribbon of a stream. The wagons were circled, men and animals drank greedily, and the cook caused many a stomach to growl with tantalizing aromas of the stew he was preparing.

Sentries were posted. Everyone was in good if guarded spirits, and there was a lot of smiling and laughing.

Fargo did not join in the festive spirit. He made a circuit of the valley, seeking sign of their enemies. He found nothing to cause alarm. Not so much as a trace of Jefferson Grind or any sign whatsoever of the Mimbres Apaches.

That was another puzzlement.

By now the Mimbres had to be aware the freight train was passing through their territory. Ordinarily, they would send warriors to spy on the train, gauging its strength of arms and whether it was worth the risk of an attack.

Fargo completed his circuit and returned to camp. He should be relieved that he found nothing, but he wasn’t. He let the Ovaro drink, then stripped off his saddle and saddle blanket. He was using a rock to pound a picket pin into the ground when shadows fell across him.

‘‘Don’t you ever relax?’’

Cleopatra, Mavis and Myrtle all wore mischievous grins. Myrtle had removed her sling. She’d mentioned to Fargo that morning that her shoulder was still sore and stiff but she was getting by fairly well.

‘‘I don’t ever relax in Apache country,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘They have not hit us yet,’’ Cleopatra said. ‘‘If you ask me, they are not going to.’’

‘‘We have too many guns,’’ Mavis said. ‘‘Too many men.’’

‘‘And women,’’ Myrtle chimed in, and chuckled.

‘‘None of that would not stop the Mimbres,’’ Fargo told them.

Cleopatra swore in mild exasperation. ‘‘I swear. You are a wet blanket. Here we are, everything is going well, and you see nothing but storm clouds on our horizon.’’

‘‘Blue skies don’t last forever,’’ Fargo said.

Cleopatra laughed. ‘‘Will you listen to yourself? You are doom and gloom up to here.’’ She raised a hand to her chin.

Mavis slid a hand under her shirt and produced a silver flask. ‘‘How about if we help you forget your cares and woes?’’

Fargo surveyed the camp. He had taken all the precautions it was prudent to take. There was nothing more he could do except wait for the other shoe to drop. Plopping down, he patted his blankets. ‘‘Be my guest, ladies.’’

The sisters grinned and sat facing him. Mavis took a swig and passed the flask.

When it came Fargo’s turn, he swallowed with relish. He would dearly love to have a whole bottle. Hell, he would love to be in a saloon somewhere, with a warm dove in his lap and four aces in his hand. Smiling, he held the flask out to them.

‘‘Will you look at this!’’ Cleopatra said in mock astonishment. ‘‘He is human, after all.’’

‘‘Go to hell,’’ Fargo said.

They all laughed, and Cleo, whose eyes had not left him since they came over, remarked, ‘‘This is a pretty little valley. When the moon comes out, it would be nice to go for a walk.’’

‘‘There might be Mimbres about,’’ Fargo mentioned.

‘‘There might,’’ Cleo agreed, but with a sarcastic edge. ‘‘There might be Grind. There might be a bear. There might be a mountain lion. There might be rattlesnakes and spiders and rabid coyotes. But I do not give a good damn. I am not scared of any of them and you should not be either.’’

‘‘I am only saying,’’ Fargo said.

Cleopatra clucked in disapproval. ‘‘I had no idea you were such a worrier. How you have lived so long is beyond me.’’

But not beyond Fargo. He had lasted as long as he had in a land overrun with cutthroats, hostiles and man-eating beasts because he was cautious by nature. ‘‘I like breathing,’’ he said.

‘‘I like to pant when the mood suits me,’’ Cleopatra replied, and chortled.

Fargo did not need to be beaten over the head to take her hints. ‘‘How about if we go for that walk after supper?’’

‘‘That would suit me just fine, tall and handsome. I have an itch that needs scratching.’’

Mavis looked up. ‘‘I lost the coin toss so I will be last.’’

‘‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to,’’ Fargo said. She had not sounded very enthused.

‘‘Are you joshing me?’’ was her rejoinder. ‘‘And listen to these two brag about you for the rest of my born days? No, thank you. I aim to find out if you are as terrific as Myrtle claims.’’

‘‘You three do this a lot,’’ Fargo said. It was a statement, not a question.

‘‘So?’’ Mavis said. ‘‘Oh, I know it’s not considered proper. Churchgoing gals look at us as if we are demons. But we make no bones about liking men, or bedding them.’’

‘‘We do what comes natural,’’ Myrtle remarked. ‘‘A body has urges, and we don’t deny ours like some women do.’’