Arizona Ambushers by Jon Sharpe

for God’s sake. And you want to tangle with Apaches?”
    â€œIt doesn’t take much to squeeze a trigger.”
    â€œNot everybody can. Some folks can’t hurt another human being if they tried.”
    â€œThey don’t have cause,” Geraldine argued. “I do.”
    Fargo raised the flask again. He might as well drink as much as he could before she demanded it back. Smacking his lips, he said, “You have cause. I’ll grant you that.”
    â€œThen you’ll do it?”
    â€œNo way in hell,” Fargo said bluntly.
    Those nice lips of hers became a slit. “You’re just like every other man I’ve ever met except for Hank. Pigheaded through and through.”
    â€œListen to you,” Fargo said, and laughed. “What do they call that? Something about a pot and a kettle?”
    â€œPoke fun. But I won’t be denied. If you refuse to let me help you, I’ll go by myself.”
    â€œI didn’t take you for dumb,” Fargo said. The notion of her waging war on the Apaches was plumb ridiculous. “You wouldn’t stand a prayer.”
    â€œI don’t care. Hank was everything to me. He took me out of a life I despised and made me whole again. For six months I was Mrs. Henry Waxler, the proudest woman alive. My heart was his for as long as we lived.” Geraldine stopped, her eyes glistening. “And now those redskins have crushed it. They’ve taken him away from me, and my new life, besides. I’m back where I was before he asked me to marry him. Back to having people look down their noses at me. Back to them thinking I’m no good for nothing at all except one thing.”
    â€œI don’t think that.”
    Geraldine blinked, and a tear trickled down her cheek. “I believe you. But you’re an exception. Lieutenant Bremmer, and I suspect Colonel Chivington, believe I used my body to entice Hank into marrying me. That I tricked him with my feminine wiles.”
    â€œWho cares what they think?”
    â€œI do. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help it. And the enlisted men are even worse. They act as if they expect me to go back to my former ways any moment now.”
    â€œThere’s no shortage of idiots,” Fargo said.
    Despite herself, Geraldine smiled. “Isn’t that the truth. Not many men are as understanding as you.”
    â€œUnderstanding, hell,” Fargo said. “I like a good time under the sheets as much as anybody.”
    â€œBut you don’t think less of me because of how I used to make my living.”
    â€œWe’ve strayed off the trail,” Fargo said. “This was about you going after the Apaches.”
    â€œDon’t think I won’t. I have my mind made up. With you or without you, I will avenge my Hank.” Rising, Geraldine smoothed her skirt. “Keep the flask. Consider it a gift.” Turning, she walked off.
    â€œThat’s some gal,” Fargo said to himself. But he wasn’t about to let her get herself killed. He’d talk to the colonel, persuade Chivington to have her escorted to Tucson under guard.
    Relaxing, he shook the flask to tell how much whiskey was left. About half, he reckoned. He treated himself to a few more sips, then reluctantly replaced the cap and slid the flask into a pocket. It wouldn’t do to be caught with it by Bremmer or some other stickler for regulations.
    Standing, Fargo stretched. The nap had done him some good. He felt rested and eager to do something, but what? Bending, he rolled up his blankets, tied one end of the bedroll and then the other.
    The scuff of rapid footsteps behind him came too late. He tried to unfurl but a blow to his back pitched him to his hands and knees.
    â€œI’ve got you now, you son of a bitch.”
    Fargo looked up.
    It was Orley again, and he was holding a knife.

9
    Fargo shook his head in disgust. “Some folks never learn.”
    â€œYou hurt me,