Apache Ambush

Cleopatra lost some of her good humor. ‘‘It gets my goat how some folks brand us as sinners for using our bodies as they are made to be used. If the Almighty didn’t want men and women to cuddle, He wouldn’t have made us cuddlesome.’’

Fargo had never looked at it quite like that. ‘‘You might have a point,’’ he conceded.

Just then Cranmeyer approached. Krupp, as usual, was in tow. ‘‘I want a word with you,’’ he said to Fargo, and gave the Frazier sisters a pointed glance. ‘‘Alone, if you ladies don’t mind.’’

‘‘That is twice in the past ten minutes we have been called ‘ladies,’ ’’ Cleopatra said. ‘‘We are no such thing.’’

‘‘We are women,’’ Myrtle declared.

Cranmeyer appeared puzzled. ‘‘There is a difference?’’

‘‘There sure as hell is,’’ Mavis said while rising. ‘‘Ladies don’t spread their legs unless a man licks their feet first. Women do it for the fun.’’

‘‘The things that come out of your mouths,’’ Cranmeyer said.

‘‘Be careful,’’ Cleopatra warned. ‘‘Just because we are not prissy does not give you call to treat us with disrespect. ’’

‘‘When have I ever?’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘I am only pointing out that you do not talk like any women I have ever met or am ever likely to meet.’’

‘‘We will take that as a compliment,’’ Cleopatra said, and impishly pinched his cheek. ‘‘Don’t keep Fargo long, you hear? Him and me have some special business to attend to later.’’

The three females ambled toward the nearest campfire.

‘‘Remarkable,’’ Cranmeyer said. Then he gave a toss of his head and sat on the blanket. ‘‘But enough about them. We have a weightier matter to discuss. Namely, reaching Silver Lode alive.’’

Krupp said, ‘‘We have made it this far, sir.’’

Cranmeyer paid him no mind and stared fixedly at Fargo. ‘‘I suspect that the attack will come soon. Jefferson Grind has been biding his time. Why he has waited so long to strike is a mystery, but strike he will.’’

Again Krupp broke in, saying, ‘‘Maybe not. Maybe he sees we have too many guns and he doesn’t want to tangle with us.’’

‘‘Do you know the country between here and Silver Lode?’’ Cranmeyer asked Fargo.

‘‘I have been through it before,’’ Fargo mentioned. As best he could recollect, they had a few more valleys and ridges to cross before they came to a rugged stretch of steep grades and switchbacks.

‘‘If you were Jefferson Grind, where would you jump us?’’ Cranmeyer wanted to know.

‘‘About ten miles out from Silver Lode,’’ Fargo answered. ‘‘Close enough that your drivers and guards think they are almost there and let down their guard, and far enough that the shots and screams won’t be heard by anyone in Silver Lode.’’

‘‘I was thinking the same thing,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘But then it occurred to me. Grind is sly. He might jump us sooner, thinking we won’t expect it.’’

‘‘There is that,’’ Fargo agreed.

‘‘Which is why I want you to ride out at first light and range on ahead. Sniff out the attack before Grind springs it.’’

‘‘I will try,’’ was the best Fargo could promise.

‘‘Take Mr. Stack along. Should you run into trouble, he will prove useful.’’

Fargo would be less conspicuous alone, and said so.

‘‘Perhaps,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘But four eyes are better than two, and by your own admission Fraco nearly added you to his long list of victims.’’

Logic like that was hard to argue with but Fargo did anyway. ‘‘You will need him more if we are wrong and the train is struck before we expect.’’

‘‘A possibility, I grant you,’’ Cranmeyer allowed. ‘‘But my mind is made up.’’

Fargo did not like being told what to do. Even as a boy he had balked at being told to do this or that. When he scouted for the army, as he did on occasion, he always made it plain that he would do his job as he saw fit and not be pushed, prodded or otherwise treated like a fresh recruit.

Cranmeyer was studying him. ‘‘I gather you do not approve?’’

‘‘I am not taking him, and that is that.’’

For a few moments Cranmeyer looked disposed to argue. Instead, he wheeled, saying, ‘‘Come along, Mr. Krupp.’’

No sooner did they walk off than a lone figure came toward him wearing a grin fit for a saloon dove. ‘‘I was worried they would talk your ear off and spoil our fun.’’ Cleopatra made sure no one was watching and slid the flask partway out of her sleeve. ‘‘We can finish this off.’’

‘‘Your sisters won’t mind?’’

Cleo tittered. ‘‘Hell, they can mind all they want. Fat lot of good it will do them when the bug juice is all gone.’’

‘‘What happened to share and share alike?’’ Fargo asked.

‘‘We still do.’’ Cleopatra lowered her voice, and giggled. ‘‘But I am not a fanatic about it.’’

Fargo wondered exactly how much whiskey she had already helped herself to. She passed him the flask. Careful that Cranmeyer and Krupp did not catch him, he took a sip.

‘‘These last few days sure have been boring,’’ Cleopatra commented.

‘‘When you are in Apache country, boring is good.’’

‘‘I counted on you paying me a visit these past few nights and you didn’t show.’’ Cleo did not hide her disappointment.