helped that twilight soon fell. As the darkness deepened and the Apaches realized they had little hope of catching him, they gave up and turned back.
An hour after sunset Fargo brought them to the same stream they had visited twice already, to a belt of cottonwoods that bordered its bank. He stripped the stallion and was leading it to drink when a jackrabbit popped out of the gloom. The Colt seemed to blossom in his hand. A single shot, and the rabbit lay twitching in spasms.
It was a gamble, firing a gun. Fargo had to pray no Apaches heard, or come morning they would investigate. Holding the rabbit by the ears, he let the Ovaro slake its thirst, then returned to Gwen. After gathering wood, he used his fire steel and flint to start a small fire. The toothpick made short shrift of butchering their supper. Fargo impaled bite-sized chunks on a makeshift spit. Soon the delicious fragrance of roasting meat wafted among the trees.
Fargo was starved enough to eat the rabbit raw. His mouth watered in keen relish as he slowly rotated the meat so it would cook evenly. A groan informed him that his companion was reviving. He gave the spit a few more turns.
“I hate you.”
Fargo touched a piece and licked his finger. “You woke up just in time. In another minute or so we can eat.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I hate you.”
“I heard you.” Fargo faced around. Gwen was propped on her elbows, glaring at him. “I did what I had to.”
“Those soldiers. Burt. All dead. If we had a shred of the same courage they did, we would have died at their side.”
“Throwing our lives away isn’t my idea of courage.” Gwen sat up and rubbed her jaw. “Easy for you to say. You’re the one who ran off and left them.”
Fargo was patient with her. “What good would it have done for us to die? What purpose would it serve? I’ll tell you. We would have thrown our lives away for nothing. And Melissa and Buck would be on their own.”
“So you’re saying you ran off to save them? You expect me to believe that?”
“Them, and you. But believe what you want.” Fargo devoted himself to their supper. The odor was intoxicating. He pinched off a piece and set it on his tongue to test. The taste nearly made him drool.
Gwen would not let the matter drop. “Did I ask you to save me? No. I told you to leave. But you had to be the hero. Am I right?”
“Whatever you say.”
“I hate you,” Gwen repeated, and rose. She came to the fire but she deliberately moved to the other side and sank down across from him. Hesitantly, as if afraid the food was a figment of her imagination, she bent low and sniffed several times. “Lordy. It’s been so long since I ate last, I bet my stomach has shrunk to the size of a marble.”
“He’s alive.”
Gwen couldn’t take her eyes off the meat. “Who is?”
“Raidler. I saw them take him. Tomorrow I’m going after him.”
“You’re sure? Why would they keep him alive when they slaughtered everyone else?” She blanched. “They’re going to torture him, aren’t they? How do you know he’ll even be alive by morning?”
“I don’t. But I’m wore out, you’re wore out, and my stallion is on its last legs. We need rest or we won’t be of any use to anyone. We’ll end up just like those troopers.”
Gwen studied him. “Maybe I was a bit harsh. Maybe I misjudged you. But I still feel bad about deserting Burt and those poor cavalrymen.”
“Would you feel better if the Apaches had you in their clutches, too? Instead of complaining, you have a lot you should be thankful for.” Fargo lifted the spit and blew on the simmering chunks. “But I’ve learned my lesson. The next time you want to die, I’ll let you.”
“You’re being sarcastic.”
“Me? I don’t even know what the word means.” Fargo peeled off a dripping piece and held it out. “You must be as hungry as I am, so try not to bite my fingers.”
Despite herself, Gwen Pearson grinned. Accepting, she sniffed some more, then rimmed her mouth with her pink tongue. “I can’t describe how good this smells. Now if only we had some coffee and fresh bread and butter to go with it.”
Fargo shook his head. There was no satisfying some people. The ones who, if they stumbled on a vein of gold, would complain because they had to go to the trouble of digging it out of the ground before they could spend it. “Don’t wolf your meal or you’ll be sick. Take small bites until your stomach grows used to food again.”
“Do you think I don’t know that? You must believe I’m awful dumb.” Gwen bit her piece in half. “Believe it or not, I learned a lot of things on the farm. I can take care of myself.”
“Lieutenant Jones probably felt the same.”
“That was cruel. He gave his life in the service of his country. If I knew how to contact his folks, I’d write them and tell them how well he died. I only hope when my time comes, I die as bravely.”
Fargo treated himself to his first bite. His mouth puckered as if he had bitten into a lemon and he had to wait a bit before he could chew. It reminded him of the time he had gone three days without eating on a trek across Death Valley. He had been so famished that when he came on a week-old cougar kill, he had boiled the putrid meat until it was paste and wolfed it down. Somehow, it had stayed down.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Nothing.” Fargo did not care to spoil her supper with the revolting details. “When we’re done, you turn in and I’ll keep first watch.”
“Nonsense. Weren’t you the one who said Apaches rarely attack at night? Why not sleep? You must be as tired as I am.”
“Never take anything for granted,” Fargo recited the most important lesson life in the wild had taught him. Anyone who did was either a fool or tired of living.
“I need some more,” Gwen said. But rather than reach around the fire, she stood and walked around, taking a seat at his side. “I’ll feel like a whole new person before long. All I’d need then to make me as happy as a lark is a bath.”
“The stream is that way.” Fargo nodded.
Gwen placed a hand on her straggly hair. “Oh, mercy! It’s too good to be true.” Her eyes narrowed. “But can I trust you to behave like a perfect gentleman?”
“No.”
About to take a bite, Gwen laughed. “I admire a man who’s honest. Most would lie and sneak up on me in the dark to take a peek, or worse.” Her teeth sheared the meat and she talked with her mouth full. “Like Burt said about that Cherokee friend of his, you’d do to ride the river with.”
Fargo couldn’t let her comment pass. “I thought you hated me?”
“That was five minutes ago. This is now. A gal has the right to change her mind, doesn’t she?”
“Now and then,” Fargo said, and she didn’t catch on that he was being sarcastic again. “But I should warn you. The only blanket we have is the saddle blanket. You’ll be cold after you get out of the water.”
Gwen snorted. “How delicate do you think I am? I told you, didn’t I, that I could beat my brothers at wrestling any day of the week? The oldest, Hiram, outweighed me by seventy or eighty pounds but I pinned him every time. Care to give it a go yourself?”
Fargo imagined grappling with her. “No thanks.” No man could concentrate with her ripe, vibrant body pressed against his own. The fondness her brothers had for wrestling took on a whole new meaning. “I’ll pass.”
“Too bad. It would be fun.”
They finished the meal in silence. Fargo set some aside for breakfast, a handful for her and a strip the size of his little finger for himself. Wrapping it all in his extra shirt, he stuffed the shirt back in his saddlebags.
Gwen sat gazing into the fire awhile, deep in thought, then stretched and stood. “Why not?” she said.
“Why not what?” Fargo asked.
“I think I’ll take that bath now. If I give a holler, come running.” Humming softly, Gwen skipped off.
