16
“Don’t move,” Fargo whispered. Darting to the end of the wall, he scrambled to the top and moved back along it until he was above the women.
Yago was almost there. He had his torch over his head and was peering into the dark. Bartolo and Slate trailed after him.
Fargo didn’t shoot. It would bring the rest of the bandits. He coiled, and when Yago came around the last tree and the light splashed over Sister Angelina and the girls, he vaulted out and down. Yago was focused on the women. He looked up just as Fargo slammed into him. Fargo smashed the Henry’s stock against Yago’s head as he struck, and they both tumbled, Yago to fall flat and lie still, Fargo to roll up into a crouch with the Henry pointed at Bartolo and Slate, who had drawn rein in surprise and were reaching for their pistols.
“Touch them and you’re dead.”
Slate froze.
Bartolo hesitated, then jerked both his hands in the air. “You are the one who is a dead man, gringo. Terreros will have you staked out and your skin peeled from your body.”
“He has to catch me first.” Fargo stepped closer. “Climb down.”
“Damn you to hell,” Slate said, but he obeyed.
Again Bartolo hesitated. “Shoot us and our friends will be on you like mad bees and gun you down.”
“Maybe so,” Fargo allowed, “but you won’t be around to see it.” He trained the Henry on Bartolo’s swarthy face.
“Very well, gringo.” Bartolo’s saddle creaked and he planted both boots flat and elevated his arms. “But know this. If Terreros doesn’t kill you, I will.”
“Is that a fact?” Fargo rammed the stock against his ear and Bartolo folded at the knees. He pointed the rifle at Slate. “How about you? Anything to say?”
“I never argue with a gent holding a gun on me.”
“Smart,” Fargo said, and drove the muzzle into Slate’s gut. Slate doubled, and Fargo brought the stock down hard on the back of his head. Slate’s torch fell and lay sputtering like the others.
“What are you waiting for?” Fargo said to the women. “Pick a horse and get on.”
Sister Angelina moved to Slate’s horse, saying, “You are brutal, senor.”
“Better brutal than dead.” Fargo helped her mount. The sisters climbed on Bartolo’s animal, leaving Yago’s for him. Before he forked leather he helped himself to Yago’s Colt and jammed it into his holster.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Paloma said.
“Guns for you?” Since they couldn’t shoot worth a damn, Fargo didn’t think it necessary.
“No, them.” Paloma nodded at the sprawled forms. “You have a knife. Slit their throats before they come around.”
“Paloma,” Sister Angelina said.
“It is common sense. If he doesn’t they will come after us.”
She had a point, Fargo conceded, but he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. He didn’t shoot men when their backs were turned, or when they were asleep, or unconscious.
“And you want to join the Sisters of Apostolic Grace?” Sister Angelina chided. “You must learn compassion, child.”
“Compassion is a worthy trait,” Paloma said, “but not if it gets you killed.” She appealed to Fargo. “Tell her it is a mistake to let them go on breathing.”
“It’s a mistake,” Fargo said.
“Then you will do it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Fargo pointed. Torches blazed about in the woods. Other bandits were straying in their direction. He pricked his spurs to the horse and the dark enveloped them. There was no moon, which worked in their favor.
Fargo’s main concern was to get the woman to safety. But in all that vast wilderness the only haven was the convent, which was days away even if they rode their mounts into the ground. Or they could head back to Santa Fe but that was even farther.
They were caught between a rock and a hard place, the rock being the banditos and the hard place being the Apaches, with no help to be had other than their own wits.
Then there was the matter of the Ovaro and his Colt. He would be damned if he would let the bandits keep them.
Something moved higher up the slope.
Fargo drew rein and brought the Henry to bear. Whatever it was, it was gone. He’d caught only a glimpse and it might have been an animal.
“Why have we stopped?” Dalila whispered.
“Be quiet.” Fargo would swear that unseen eyes were on them. Not Apache eyes, he hoped, and rode on.
A pair of torches were moving along the stream. Others seemed to float through the air on the other side of the valley.
An owl hooted. To the north a mountain lion screamed.
Fargo neared the end of the valley below the pass. To attempt to climb at night would be foolhardy. The women were poor riders. He remembered seeing a knoll that stood apart from the timber but was covered with pines. It would be as good a spot as any to wait out the night.
The torches were congregating near the bandit camp. Evidently Terreros had called off the hunt.
Fargo rode a little faster. He spooked a small animal. A raccoon, he thought, although all he saw was a bushy tail.
A short climb brought them to the knoll. The pines were thick except in the center.
Sister Angelina was the last to ride up. She was bent over in her saddle, her head hanging.
“Here,” Fargo said, and helped her down. She was light as a feather and as frail as a twig. Sagging against him, she put her forehead on his chest.
“Gracias, Senor Fargo.”
“Are you all right?”
“Perfectly fine.”
Paloma spread blankets while Dalila fussed with her hair. It was the latter who said, “Tell him the truth, Mother Superior. If you don’t, I will.”
“Now, now,” Sister Angelina replied. Taking a step back, she clasped her hands and smiled. “Pay no attention to her, senor. She worries needlessly.”
“Tell him about the pains,” Dalila insisted.
“They are nothing,” the nun said. “I am not as young as I once was. All this activity tires me.”
Dalila turned to Fargo. “She confided in me last night. I woke up and she was holding her side and groaning. I wanted to wake you but she wouldn’t let me.”
“What pains?” Fargo asked.
Sister Angelina acted embarrassed. “They are nothing, I tell you. I’ve had them for a while now. A month or so. They come and they go. Here.” She pointed at her garment on her right side. “It is just a stomach upset.”
“You didn’t go to a doctor while you were in Santa Fe?”
“Doctors cost money. Besides, I have faith that the Lord will not have me die before my time.”
“You’re having the pain now?” Fargo asked, and when she nodded, he pressed his hand where she had pointed. She gasped and doubled over and would have fallen had he not caught her. Gently, he carried her to a pine and sat her down with her back to the trunk.
“Sorry,” she said weakly. “You caught me by surprise.”
“Stomach upset, my ass,” Fargo said.
“For the last time, please watch that tongue of yours.” Dalila and Paloma had rushed over. Dalila tenderly touched the old woman’s wrinkled cheek.
“I may not want to be a nun but I still hold you in high regard. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, my dear,” Sister Angelina said. She patted Dalila’s hand. “Why don’t you and your sister lie down and get some sleep? We have another grueling day ahead of us tomorrow, I’m afraid.”
“I’d rather stay with you,” Paloma offered.
“Please. I am perfectly all right.”
Fargo held his peace until the girls were covered to their chins. Then he whispered, “I want the truth. How long have you really had the pains?”
“About a year,” Sister Angelina confessed.
“You must have some idea what’s wrong,” Fargo said. Nuns ministered to the sick a lot, and knew a lot about illness.
“I think I have a cancer.”
“Hell,” Fargo said.
“Don’t tell them. The girls would fuss over me and I’m not helpless yet.” Sister Angelina wearily closed her eyes. “I am sorry to be a burden.”
“Do you hear me complaining?”
“No, but you wouldn’t. You act tough and you don’t take, what is the white word, guff? But you have a good heart whether you admit it to yourself or not.”
“You have me all figured out.”
Sister Angelina chuckled. “I have lived a long time, senor. I have learned to see people as they are and not as they pretend to be.”
“You sure had me fooled.”
“Pardon?”
“Terreros. He’s a mean son of a bitch. He doesn’t care about anyone but him. Yet you keep appealing to the good nature he doesn’t have.”
Sister Angelina looked away. “I should think I know him better than you.”
“And then there’s me,” Fargo said. “I like whiskey. I like a game of cards. I like whores. Some folks wouldn’t call that being good.”
“I spoke of your heart, senor. You could abandon us and save yourself but you don’t. Is that not the mark of a good man?”
“I gave my word,” Fargo said. “Just as I’m giving you my word now that before this is over, that son of a bitch you think so highly of will burn in hell.”
“Oh, senor.”
Fargo got Yago’s bedroll and spread it out for her. “This should keep you warm. We can’t risk a fire.”
“I understand.”
Fargo walked to the valley side of the knoll and sat with the Henry across his legs. The only light anywhere was the glow of the bandit campfire. The night was still save for periodic gusts. The wolves, the coyotes, the owls were quiet. He tiredly rubbed his eyes and wished he could heat coffee to keep him awake. He yawned, and shook himself.
The stars were molasses in their nightly orbits.
Suddenly footfalls padded. Fargo swung around and caught a suggestion of long hair and the rustle of a dress. “What are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Dalila said. She sat next to him. “I thought you wouldn’t mind company.”
“Your sister and Angelina?”
“Sound asleep.” Dalila fluffed her hair. “I am worried about the Mother Superior. What will we do if she dies?”
“Bury her.”
“We should take her to the convent.”
“Pack her body all that way?” Fargo shook his head.
“She’ll be ripe long before we get there.”
Dalila leaned back so that her breasts bulged and then rubbed her arms. “It is chilly, is it not?”
“I’m fine,” Fargo said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her frown.
“What can I do to keep warm?”
“The first bear we see, I’ll shoot it and skin it and make you a fur coat.”
Dalila did more rubbing. She was watching to see if he noticed and when he didn’t react, her frown deepened. “It is a shame men are so thickheaded.”
“What was that?” Fargo said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“We are safe here, are we not?” Dalila asked.
“As safe as we can be anywhere in these mountains,” Fargo answered. Which, when he thought about it, wasn’t safe at all.
“The bandits do not know where we are, yes?”
Fargo grunted.
“The others are asleep, yes?”
Fargo grunted again.
“I have given you hints and you sit there like a bump on a log and make pig noises at me.”
“Oink,” Fargo said.
“You are not nearly as funny as you think you are. It would serve you right if I got up and left.”
Fargo didn’t take his eyes off the woods. He was bothered by the thing he saw earlier. It could have been a deer—or it could have been an Apache. Most people believed, with good reason, that Apaches rarely attacked at night. While it was true they didn’t like to, they still would when it suited them.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“I’m trying not to.”
“How can you sit there and insult me after I have given myself to you? Have you no decency?”
“Not a lick,” Fargo said.
Dalila was growing mad. She slid around in front of him so he had to look at her, and put her hands on her hips. Her breasts appeared to be trying to climb out of her dress. “You know what I want.”
“Tacos?”
“It will help me sleep.”
“So will a conk on the head.”
“Yes or no,” Dalila demanded.
“Since you put it that way.” Fargo reached out with both hands and placed them on her mounds.
“Oh my,” Dalila said huskily. “You’ve been playing with me this whole time, haven’t you?”
“You think so?”
Fargo squeezed, hard. Dalila glued her mouth to his and her tongue probed his lips.
She was panting through her nose and they had hardly begun. He kneaded her breasts and sucked on her tongue while around them the valley lay peaceful under the myriad of stars.
“I’ve wanted you so much,” Dalila whispered when they broke for breath. “I can’t stop thinking about the last time.”
Fargo nipped her earlobe.
Unexpectedly, Dalila drew back. “Did it surprise you, Sister Angelina wanting you to make love to me? It surprised me. But now I do not need to be a nun, thanks to her.”
“I helped,” Fargo said, running a hand down her thigh.
“Sí. But I think you would help Paloma, too, if she were willing, and any other woman in New Mexico.”
“That’s me,” Fargo joked. “A heart as big as the whole territory.”
“It is not your heart that is big, senor,” Dalila said, and placed her fingers on his manhood. “It is this magnificent pole of yours. You are a stallion.”
“How would you know? I’m your first.”
“A girl hears things. And she spies when she can.”
“You watched your own folks?” Fargo would have laughed except it might wake the others.
Dalila shrugged. “I was curious, and much younger.” She rubbed him through his pants. “When I touch you, my blood grows hot. It is a good feeling.”
Fargo bent his mouth to hers to shut her up. He pulled her onto his lap and she parted her legs and straddled him. Face-to-face, they kissed and caressed while he undid her dress. Her breasts were gorgeous; round and full and peaked by twin tacks. He cupped one and inhaled it and swirled the nipple. She pulled him hard against her and knocked off his hat running her fingers through his hair.
“Ohhhhh, yes. I like that.”
Fargo cupped the other breast. She rubbed against his leg, her hips rocking. A dreamy expression came over her, and she moaned.
“I could do this forever.”
Not Fargo. Not with Apaches out there somewhere. He slid her dress up around her waist and freed his member, then stiffened when she wrapped her warm hands around him and commenced to lightly stroke.
“Magnífico!” she breathed.
Fargo grit his teeth and barely kept from exploding. She would have gone on stroking but he moved her hands and raised her off his lap. The tip of his manhood brushed her nether slit. She sensed what he was going to do and gripped his shoulders.
“Yes,” she said.
Fargo rammed up into her. Her velvet sheath quivered and her whole body shook and she sank her teeth into his upper arm and then grinned devilishly.
“It feels so good.”
Fargo began to thrust and she put her feet flat and pumped her legs to match the pace he set. Up and down, in and almost out, over and over. A part of Fargo stayed alert to the night sounds that might forewarn of a slinking enemy.
Voicing tiny moans of pleasure, Dalila pumped harder. Her eyes were closed, her rosy lips parted. The tip of her tongue stuck out.
Fargo couldn’t say what made him look over his shoulder.
A sense, maybe, that they were being watched. He glanced around, and there was Paloma, not ten feet away. Her face was in shadow. The moment he turned, she whirled and bolted.
Dalila didn’t see her. Eyes still shut, she was at the apex of release. She ground against him almost violently, arched her body, and gushed.
“Ahhhhhhhh!”
Fargo felt her tighten, felt the wet, and a keg of black powder exploded below his waist. He humped off the grass, battering her with his ram, the slaps of their bodies muffled by the folds of her dress. Eventually they subsided and she collapsed against his chest, completely spent.
“I could do that every night.”
So could Fargo. He groped at his side, found his hat, and jammed it back on. “You should go back.”
“In a minute.” Dalila kissed his chin and his cheek and his mouth. “You’ll always be special.”
“Special?” Fargo repeated. He was thinking of Paloma. It was best, he decided, not to tell Dalila.
“You are my first,” she said, and traced his jaw with her fingertip. “The first one is always special, no?”
“For some,” Fargo said.
“Have you no romance in your soul?” Dalila teased. She slid off and set to rearranging her clothes.
Fargo patted his holster to be sure the revolver hadn’t fallen out from all the bouncing, and pulled at his pants. “We need to talk.”
“About us?”
“About Angelina. She needs a doc. We should forget about the convent and take her to Santa Fe.”
“I have no objection. I never wanted to go to the convent in the first place. But she won’t agree.”
“I’ll tie her on her mule and take her anyway.” Fargo had another reason for turning back. Terreros expected them to try for the convent and would ride to head them off. By the time the bandit leader realized they had tricked him, it would be too late to stop them.
“She will be mad,” Dalila said.
“Better mad than dead.” Fargo grasped her wrist. “I can count on you to back me on this?”
“Sí, senor. I have always had great affection for the Mother Superior. I have even more now that I have learned what she did to spare me from spending the rest of my life miserable.”
Dalila smoothed her dress. “If you need me to keep watch, come wake me. I will be happy to take a turn.” She blew him a kiss and walked off.
Down the valley the bandit campfire still flickered. Fargo figured they would keep it going all night as a precaution against the Apaches. Not that it would help much. Apaches were ghosts when they wanted to be.
No sooner did the thought cross Fargo’s mind than an iron arm looped around his neck from behind and clamped onto his throat. At the same instant, a blade glinted in the starlight.
He got his arm up to block it and seized the warrior’s wrist. A knee slammed into his back, racking him with torment, and he was shoved toward the ground. He went with it, tucking into a roll, and flipped his attacker over his shoulder.
Twisting in midair, the warrior landed on his feet. For a few heartbeats they stared at one another.
Fargo’s right hand was in his boot. He swept the toothpick out just as the Apache lunged. Dodging, he slashed the warrior’s arm and the Apache sprang back. They circled, seeking an opening. Fargo feinted and backpedaled to avoid a counterthrust. He speared the toothpick at the warrior’s face but the man twisted aside. Fargo did it again and the Apache twisted in the same direction. Expecting it, Fargo planted a boot. The blow knocked the warrior back but he stayed on his feet. Deadly quick, the Apache stabbed at Fargo’s middle. Fargo spared himself by the width of a whisker and cut at the Apache’s jugular. He felt the knife sink into flesh. Before he could close in and finish it, the warrior wheeled and sped down the knoll with a hand pressed to his neck.
Fargo didn’t go after him. It could be a trick. Or it could be the Apache was going to find another Apache to treat the wound. Apaches were fierce fighters but they weren’t fools. They never threw their lives away if they could help it.
Of more concern were the warrior’s friends. Wheeling, Fargo ran to where the women lay. He regretted having to wake them. They were worn out. Sister Angelina was on the verge of exhaustion. He stepped to Dalila and bent and saw that her eyes were open and that she was grinning.
“Have you come to do it again?” she asked.
“Apaches. Get your sister up.” Fargo went to the nun. Her wrinkled face was smooth in repose, making her look twenty years younger. He hesitated, then gently shook her. She didn’t stir. He shook again, a little harder. Her eyelids fluttered and she mumbled in her sleep. “Angelina. You need to wake up.”
She was slow doing so. Rising on her elbows, she gazed about in confusion. “¿Quién es?”
“Fargo,” he answered. “The Apaches know where we are. We have to make ourselves scarce and we have to do it now.”
“Apaches?” Sister Angelina looked toward the horses and then at the sisters. “Oh. Now I remember. I’m not at the convent, am I?”
“Let me help you.” Fargo slipped a hand under her arm.
“Por favor, a moment,” Sister Angelina said. “I feel light-headed. I do not have my wits about me.”
Fargo waited but his nerves jangled. He had barely held off one Apache; he sure as hell couldn’t hold off seven.
“I was having the most pleasant dream. I was young, and with Fermin, and he and I were happily married. We were going to have a baby and I was so happy.”
“That’s nice,” Fargo said. He was listening for the pad of moccasins.
“That is the one thing I most missed when I was a novitiate,” Sister Angelina said. “I had always wanted children.” She put a hand to her forehead. “I have seldom had a dream so real.”
“The Apaches,” Fargo said again.
“Sí, sí, comprendo. We must be on our way.”
Fargo carefully raised her off the ground. He was appalled at how weak she was. She had to lean against him for a bit before she could take her first step. “How bad off are you?”
“I am fine.”
“Bullshit.”
Sister Angelina waggled a finger. “Have you lived so long on the frontier that you have forgotten how to behave in the presence of a lady?” She took several halting steps toward their animals. “My legs do not seem to want to do as they should.”
“We have no time for this,” Fargo said, and sweeping her up, he carried her to the horse and deposited her astride its back. “Are you fit enough to ride?”
“I will do what I must. You can count on me.”
Fargo reined toward the high pass. With a little luck they would be over it by morning. But it was slow going. They had gone about a quarter of a mile when hooves clattered and someone was next to him. “What do you want?”
“I would have words with you, senor,” Paloma said.
“Now?” Fargo said. She’d hardly spoken to him the whole journey. “Can’t it wait until daylight?”
“No, senor, it cannot. My sister tells me you do not intend to take us to the convent. She says we are going back to Santa Fe.”
“So?”
“So you did not ask my opinion and in my opinion it is a mistake. The Mother Superior wants to go to the convent. I want to go to the convent. You were hired to take us to the convent and that is what you should do.”
“Aren’t you forgetting the bandits and the Apaches?”
“I forget nothing. But the Apaches do not bother the nuns. I imagine it is only you they want to kill.”
Fargo wondered if she realized what she was saying. “You don’t give a damn if I’m dead?”
“No, senor. Not even a little damn. Remember, I saw you with my sister. I know you for what you are.”
“And what would that be?”
“You are a typical man, senor. That is to say, you are a pig. To you a woman is good for one thing. Two things, if you count cooking to fill your pig bellies.”
“Don’t beat around the bush,” Fargo said. “Give it to me straight.”
Paloma ignored his taunt. “My sister doesn’t mind that men are pigs but I do. I never want to marry. I never want to so much as be touched by one of you. I would rather be dead than be defiled.”
“Your mother must have liked it.”
“You mock me, senor. But I think no more highly of her than I do of you. My mother is a cow. She is slow and stupid and picked a man as stupid as she is.”
“She know how highly you think of her?”
“The only good thing my mother has ever done is to arrange for me to become a nun. Once I am behind the convent walls, I can say good-bye to her and all the men in this world and be happy at last.”
“Speaking for the men,” Fargo said, “we won’t miss you.”
“Again you belittle me. But we have strayed off the subject. I demand you turn around and take us to the convent.”
Fargo chuckled.
“I fail to see the humor, senor. I am most serious.”
Fargo had met her kind before, people so full of themselves, they didn’t give a lick about anyone else. “You want to go to the convent, be my guest. The rest of us are heading for Santa Fe.”
“I can’t seem to make you understand how important it is to me. To be a nun has long been my dream. Since I was little I have imagined how wonderful it will be.”
“Good for you.”
“You are too frivolous, senor. What must I do to make you see that I will not let you or anyone else stand in my way?”
“Should I be scared?”
“You are making a mistake,” Paloma warned. “I want to go and I will go, and the Mother Superior will go with me.”
Fargo’s patience was at an end. “No way in hell, little girl. Now clam up and get back in line.”
Paloma slowed to fall behind him, saying, “Very well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I am not weak like my sister. From here on out, as you gringos say, you would do well to watch your back.”
Just what Fargo needed.