Apache Ambush

‘‘You have it backward,’’ Mavis said. ‘‘Our family has been giving girls names with an M for as long as I can remember. Myrtle. Me. Ma was Margaret. Her sister was Mary. Her sister’s girls were Milly and May. Our cousins were Marjorie, Marigold, Matty and Minny. It is stupid. I would give anything to have a name like yours. A name that does not begin with an M.’’

Krupp gestured. ‘‘Enough. We are not here to talk about names. I have heard this bickering before and I am tired of it.’’

As one, the three sisters stared at him. As one, each held her bullwhip in front of her at waist height.

‘‘I don’t know as I like your tone,’’ Myrtle said.

‘‘Me either,’’ Mavis echoed.

Cleopatra gave her bullwhip a sharp shake. ‘‘No one tells us what to do. Ever. Do you need a reminder?’’

Fargo was puzzled to see Krupp take a step back and hold up both hands, palms out. The man had stood up to him—yet he was wary of tangling with the triplets.

‘‘Now you just hold on, Cleo. I have always respected you gals and you know it.’’

Cleopatra frowned but lowered her whip. ‘‘Yes, Captain, you have. But I still did not like your tone. My sisters and me have had to scrabble hard to make it in this world, and we will not be slighted on account of our being women.’’

‘‘When have I ever?’’ Krupp countered. ‘‘I made the three of you my lieutenants, didn’t I?’’

Fargo was familiar with how freighters were organized. Each train had a captain and usually a couple of lieutenants who passed on his orders and helped ensure things went as they should. The drivers took turns watching over the animals at night, although on some trains, a man was chosen as night wrangler and had the job for the duration.

‘‘I would never treat you any different than I do the men,’’ Krupp was assuring the sisters. ‘‘Now please. You were sent over here for a purpose, remember?’’

All three switched those dazzling green eyes of theirs from the captain to Fargo.

‘‘We hear that Mr. Cranmeyer wants you to join our train,’’ Cleopatra said softly, coming closer.

‘‘But for some reason you told him no,’’ Myrtle huskily mentioned, doing the same.

‘‘What can we do to get you to say yes?’’ Mavis asked, and hefted her bullwhip.

Fargo smothered a laugh. He could not decide if they were threatening him or appealing to the part of a man that needed no convincing where women were concerned.

‘‘You don’t say a lot,’’ Cleopatra said.

Fargo disagreed. ‘‘I do when I have something to say. I told Cranmeyer, I told Krupp, and now I am telling you. I am not going with you.’’

‘‘What if we make it worth your while?’’ From Myrtle.

‘‘How?’’

Myrtle touched her coiled whip to his hip and slowly ran it down to his knee. ‘‘Can’t you guess?’’

Fargo’s confusion climbed. One minute they were going on about how they were struggling for respect in a man’s world; the next they were practically throwing themselves at him. It made no sense. ‘‘If that is all, ladies, ’’ he said, and started to back through the doorway.

‘‘Hold on,’’ Mavis said, clutching his hand. ‘‘We are not accustomed to a man saying no.’’

‘‘Hell, I don’t even know what I said no to,’’ Fargo said, twisting loose.

‘‘Why won’t you lend Mr. Cranmeyer a hand?’’ Myrtle asked. ‘‘He says that he is willing to pay you extra. More, in fact, than he is paying anyone else.’’

‘‘Why is that?’’ Cleopatra wanted to know.

‘‘What makes you so special?’’ Mavis chimed in.

Krupp cleared his throat. ‘‘I can answer that one, ladies. Fargo, here, has done a lot of scouting for the army. He has fought redskins more times than all our drivers and guards put together and lived to tell the tale.’’

‘‘You don’t say,’’ Myrtle said, impressed.

‘‘Not only that,’’ Krupp continued, ‘‘but he has fought Apaches. Even better, he has been in the Mimbres Mountains a few times. He knows the trails, the water holes.’’

Fargo’s brow knit in perplexity. ‘‘And how is it you know all that?’’

‘‘I wasn’t always a freight captain,’’ Krupp said.

Mavis touched her whip to Fargo’s chest. ‘‘It sounds to me like you are just the gent we need.’’

‘‘Mr. Cranmeyer thinks so,’’ Krupp told her. ‘‘He told me that whether we make it or not could depend on having Fargo along.’’

‘‘One more gun won’t make much of a difference,’’ Fargo said.

‘‘It is not your gun; it is you,’’ Krupp responded. ‘‘Or are you going to stand there and deny you have met Cuchillo Negro?’’

All three sisters betrayed their surprise.

While not as influential among his people as the likes of Mangus Colorado or Ponce, Cuchillo Negro led a band of some thirty to forty warriors who routinely conducted raids both north and south of the border. It was true Fargo had run into him before—but it was not common knowledge.

‘‘That devil has been acting up of late,’’ Cleopatra said. ‘‘If you know him, you owe it to us to talk him into leaving our train alone.’’

‘‘The last time I saw Cuchillo Negro, he was trying to kill me.’’ Fargo had been lucky to escape intact.

‘‘It can’t hurt to have you along,’’ Krupp insisted. ‘‘We leave in a couple of hours. You have until then to decide.’’