Apache Ambush

‘‘We have as much right to be here are you do,’’ Timothy P. Cranmeyer said. ‘‘Saloons are open to the public, after all.’’

‘‘Just so you are not here to badger me,’’ Fargo warned.

‘‘As a matter of fact,’’ Cranmeyer said, ‘‘I would like to make the same offer I made earlier. Come work for me for two weeks and I will pay you seventy-five dollars.’’

‘‘Earlier it was sixty.’’

‘‘Earlier I only had a hunch you are the kind of man I need,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘Now I am sure of it. You are not squeamish about killing.’’

‘‘Only when I have to.’’

‘‘Frankly, I don’t care why you do it just so you will squeeze the trigger if we are set upon by Apaches or others. A lot of men lose their heads and their nerves and can’t or won’t.’’

Fargo had sometimes wondered how it was that some men could not kill, no matter what. ‘‘No.’’

‘‘What will it take to persuade you?’’

Fargo sighed. ‘‘Let me make it plain. There is no chance in hell. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Run along or I will throw you out like I did that other idiot lying over in the trees.’’

‘‘Honestly, now,’’ Cranmeyer said.

‘‘Jackass.’’

Krupp chose that moment to start around the table, declaring, ‘‘That does it. I warned you about insulting Mr. Cranmeyer. The only way to teach you some respect is to pound it into you.’’

4

It was Fargo’s night for lunkheads. He pushed out of his chair, his fists balled. In the mood he was in, he was the one who would do the pounding.

But before the slab of muscle could reach him, Cranmeyer hastily intervened. ‘‘There will be none of that, Mr. Krupp. I came in here to talk. Nothing more.’’

Krupp stopped but he was not pleased. ‘‘You heard how he talks to you. I can’t allow that.’’

‘‘Again, I decide what I will and will not allow,’’ Cranmeyer said curtly. ‘‘You will do as I say or you will seek employment elsewhere.’’

Sullenly glaring at Fargo, Krupp relented. ‘‘This is not over, mister. Something tells me that sooner or later you and me are going to bump heads, and when we do, you are the one who will be shy some teeth.’’

‘‘Anytime you want to bleed, look me up,’’ Fargo countered.

‘‘I swear,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘You two are worse than twelve-year-olds. But there are better ways to settle disputes than with violence.’’

Just then the batwings creaked and in came Tilly Jones, her shawl over her shoulders. She looked flustered and said with a sharp gesture, ‘‘I swear! If people were any more stupid, they would not have any brains at all.’’

‘‘Is something the matter, Miss Jones?’’ Cranmeyer asked.

‘‘Only that they expect me to stand out there and tell them every little detail about what led up to the killing. I started to explain that Stein had been hounding me for some time to go up into the mountains with him, and one fool had the gall to ask if I ever slept with him!’’ Tilly swore. ‘‘As if I ever would. But the point is that my personal life is my own, and they can all go to hell.’’ She came to the corner table, placed her hand on Fargo’s shoulder and kissed him warmly on the cheek. ‘‘Did you miss me, handsome?’’

For some reason, Timothy P. Cranmeyer lit up like a candle and said cheerfully, ‘‘So it was jealously that spawned the fight.’’

‘‘Weren’t you listening?’’ Tilly said harshly. ‘‘My personal life is my own. If I happen to find a man attractive, that is my business and no one else’s.’’

‘‘My dear, I could not agree more,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘And I am delighted that your new friend here is fond enough of you to kill a man in your defense.’’

Fargo was puzzled by the remark, and so, apparently, was Tilly.

‘‘Why is that?’’

‘‘It means he is fond of women.’’

‘‘Most men are,’’ Tilly wryly observed. ‘‘If they weren’t, the human race would not be around long.’’

Cranmeyer chuckled, then touched his hat brim to her and nodded at Fargo. ‘‘This has been illuminating. We will talk again, sir.’’ Wheeling on a heel, he crooked a finger at Krupp and they departed.

‘‘What in God’s name was that all about?’’ Tilly wondered aloud.

‘‘I wish I knew.’’ Fargo had a hunch that Cranmeyer was up to something, but what it could be was beyond him. He shrugged it away, saying, ‘‘Let’s forget about him and forget about Stein and start thinking about you and me.’’

‘‘You and me how?’’ Tilly asked with an impish grin.

Looping an arm around her slender waist, Fargo pulled her down onto his lap. ‘‘Guess,’’ he said, and molded his mouth to her warm lips. Hers parted, and her tongue entwined with his. She could kiss, this gal. When they broke for air, both of them were flushed.

‘‘Oh, my. That was nice.’’

‘‘There is more where that came from,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘I don’t get off until midnight,’’ Tilly informed him. ‘‘If you want, you can wait for me at my place. I have a small shack all to myself at the west end of the street. Do you want the key?’’

Fargo had intended to play some poker but it appeared that it would be a while before the excitement outside died and the saloon refilled. And, too, he had been on the trail so long, he could stand to wash up and trim his beard. ‘‘Don’t mind if I do.’’