Apache Ambush

Fargo admired her full strawberry lips and the delightful curves her clothes could not entirely conceal. ‘‘Tonight you get your wish.’’

‘‘I better,’’ Cleopatra said. ‘‘I need a man so bad, I could scream.’’

‘‘Don’t let Cranmeyer hear you say that.’’

Cleopatra snorted. ‘‘Do you think I am loco? He tolerates my sisters and me because we are the best damn mule skinners in the territory. But he does not much like how frank we are about our needs. He is one of those who thinks a woman should be seen and not heard.’’

Fargo detected a note of hostility. Her next comment confirmed it.

‘‘Men like Cranmeyer annoy the hell out of me. They are cold fish when it comes to sharing their bodies, and have the gall to think everyone should be the same.’’

‘‘Not everyone likes it as much as we do.’’

‘‘I am glad you included yourself. But that is as it should be. No two people are alike.’’ Cleo snorted. ‘‘Try telling that to the Cranmeyers of the world, though. They think everyone should be exactly like them.’’ She placed her hand on her bullwhip, which was coiled on her right hip. ‘‘I would as soon chuck them off a cliff.’’

‘‘If it bothers you so much, let’s not talk about it,’’ Fargo suggested. It would not do to spoil her frame of mind.

Cleo saw right through him. ‘‘Don’t fret,’’ she smirked. ‘‘You will still have a night to remember.’’

Fargo imagined sliding his hands up under her shirt and felt himself stir below his belt.

Out of the blue Cleo said, ‘‘I could never live back in the States. The things they make women do would have me pulling my hair out.’’

Despite himself, Fargo said, ‘‘What things?’’

‘‘Always having to wear a dress, for one thing. Always needing to be prim and proper, for another. Never give men any sass. Spend all day cooking and sewing.’’ Cleopatra actually shuddered. ‘‘I would rather be dead than have to do all of that.’’

Fargo shared her sentiments to a degree. The life of a store clerk or a bank teller was not for him. Doing the same thing day in and day out would torment him worse than having an arrow in his gut.

Simultaneous with his thought, an arrow whizzed out of the night and thudded into the earth a few feet from them.

‘‘What the hell?’’ Cleopatra blurted. She glanced up, and recoiled. ‘‘Oh, my God!

Fargo followed her gaze and his breath caught in his throat.

The arrow had friends.

Barbed shafts were arcing down out of the dark vault of sky, scores of them in a deadly deluge.

17

It was so unexpected that for a fraction of a second Fargo was rooted in shock. Then his instincts took over and he hurled himself at Cleopatra while bawling at the top of his lungs, ‘‘Arrows! Take cover!’’ That was all he got out before the hardwood rain fell.

Cleo bleated in surprise and not a little pain as Fargo slammed into her and bore her to the ground, covering her body with his. He heard the chuk of an arrow striking the ground, and then the chuk-chuk-chuk blended into so many, there was a continuous loud CHUK.

A man screamed. Others cursed. Boots pounded and bedlam broke out, but it lasted only as long as the arrows fell.

In the unnatural silence that followed, Fargo raised his head from Cleopatra’s shoulder. She was looking at him strangely, her face twisted in the oddest expression.

An arrow jutted from the soil not an arm’s length from their heads. But most of the shafts had fallen farther away, near the two campfires. Incredibly, only one man had been hit and was pinned flat by an arrow through his leg. Everyone else was shaken but all right. Many had sought cover under or in wagons.

‘‘You can get off me now,’’ Cleopatra said in a small voice.

Fargo rolled off and up, palming his Colt. He scanned the sky for more arrows but none appeared.

Others were anxiously doing the same or staring into the surrounding woodland.

Krupp took immediate charge, issuing orders. ‘‘Stay close to the wagons! Keep your rifles handy and watch for our attackers! Have that arrow taken out of Baxter and get him under a wagon where he will be safe.’’

Cranmeyer was looking across the clearing. ‘‘Mr. Fargo, will you and Miss Frazier get over here, please?’’

Fargo did not like leaving the Ovaro in the open. That was when he noticed that none of the arrows had fallen anywhere near the mules or horses. The animals had been deliberately spared.

‘‘Do you think it was Apaches?’’ Cranmeyer asked.

‘‘Who else?’’ But Fargo snatched up one of the arrows and examined it. The way it was made, the feathers, the type of tip, all pointed to one conclusion. ‘‘These are Mimbres arrows,’’ he confirmed.

‘‘I never heard of them doing anything like this,’’ Cranmeyer said.

Neither had Fargo. Usually Apaches did not forewarn their quarry with an attack like this.

‘‘It is a miracle none of our stock was hit,’’ Cranmeyer mentioned.

Fargo had been thinking about that. The only reason to spare them was so they could be used to move the wagons. But what possible use would Apaches have for freight wagons? Normally they burned wagons and took their plunder with them.