Read Range War (9781101559215) Online
Authors: C. J. Cherryh
Range War (9781101559215) (16 page)
“What do you aim to do?” Hank said.
“Find the son of a bitch.”
The tracks of the two mules were fresh enough. Rolf had gone south at a gallop.
Fargo used his spurs and endured the torment. For half an hour he pushed and then he slowed to spare their animals. It was obvious catching Rolf would take some doing. Fargo bent to study the mule tracks and gauge how far ahead Rolf was. Abruptly drawing rein, he swore.
“What is it?” Hank asked.
Fargo pointed. “He's not alone.”
The cowboys came up.
“I'll be damned,” Billy-Bob said.
Imprinted in the dirt were the tracks of the two beasts that had been terrorizing Hermanos Valley.
“Am I readin' this right?” Billy-Bob said. “These things are his pets?”
“Sure looks like it,” Hank said.
“What in hell is goin' on, anyhow?” Billy-Bob said.
Fargo wished he knew.
36
They lost the trail on a rocky flat, over a hundred acres of solid rock that barely showed the scratches of shod hooves, and the mules weren't shod. Fargo suspected that Rolf had wrapped pieces of hides over their hooves to make it even harder.
Two hours Fargo spent roving the edge of the flat in the belief that he could find where the tracks took up but he and the others couldn't find a single print.
“It beats all hollow they've licked us,” Hank said.
“What do we do now?” Billy-Bob asked.
Carlos answered before Fargo could. “We go back, gringo. We have come all this way and accomplished nothing.”
“We know who we're up against now,” Hank said. “That's somethin'.”
“How about we stake out that shack of his?” Billy-Bob proposed. “He's bound to show up sooner or later.”
“You can if you want but I'm going back,” Carlos reiterated.
“What put a burr up your ass, sheepman?” Hank said.
“I'm only here because Porfiro made me come,” Carlos replied. “As to your question, unlike your friend, I'm not stupid. Do you really think he will return to his hovel now that we know about it? And even if he did, he will have his animals with him. He will wait until night and set them on us in the dark.”
“Not if I can help it.” Billy-Bob patted his six-shooter. “And who are you callin' stupid, mutton eater?”
Fargo nipped their argument by saying, “We have to go back anyway.”
“Why?” Hank asked.
“To warn your boss and the sheepherders. It was one thing when we thought we were up against wild animals. They need to know someone is behind this, and he's out for blood.”
No one objected. They had many miles to cover and their horses were tired so they held to a walk most of the way and it was nearly ten that night when they wound down out of the mountains to the valley floor. To the south were the fires of the cowboys, to the north those of the sheepherders.
Fargo and the cowboys stopped but Carlos reined north and broke into a trot.
“We'll go tell Mr. Trask,” Hank said. “We'll explain about Shorty, about how he prodded you, but Mr. Trask won't like it none.” He touched his hat brim.
Fargo was in no hurry. By the time he reached the wagons, all the men and women were gathered around Porfiro and Carlos, having a heated talk. He went around to the string and tiredly dismounted. As he was untying his bedroll the fragrance of mint wreathed him.
“You're back,” Delicia said.
“Miss me?” Fargo joked, and was troubled by her expression.
Delicia kissed him on the cheek and stepped back. “More than you know.” She paused. “Do you think you are in the mood tonight?”
“Women,” Fargo said.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Fargo bent to the cinch.
“Carlos has told us about the . . . what did he call him? Mountain man? Everyone is stunned. Why would he harm us? What have we ever done to him?”
“Ever hear of a place called Antelope Springs?”
“I have not. Why?”
“Ask Porfiro if he has.”
“Ask me what, senor?” said their leader, coming over. Fargo put the same question to him.
“No, senor, I have not,” Porfiro said. “Of what importance is it?”
“I don't know yet,” Fargo admitted.
Porfiro cleared his throat. “I have a question of my own. Carlos says the cowboys tried to kill him and you stopped them. Is that true?”
“They hung him from a tree. I don't think they aimed to do him in.”
“But
you
killed one of
them
?”
you
killed one of
them
?”
“Don't remind me.” Fargo slid the saddle off and held it over his shoulder.
“This is bad,” Porfiro said. “You are our friend so they might blame us in some way. I would avoid trouble if I can. Perhaps I should go talk to this Trask.”
“It's best you leave it be,” Fargo advised.
“I don't know,” Porfiro said uncertainly.
“Us gringos have a saying,” Fargo said. “Cross that bridge when you come to it.” He walked past and went to the wagon and swung his saddle under. They followed him.
“Everything has become so complicated,” Porfiro lamented. “All we ever wanted was to be left alone.”
“Life does that,” Fargo said.
“Does what, senor?”
“Kicks us in the teeth when we least expect.”
“Perhaps you canâ” Porfiro began, and stopped, his mouth half open.
From off the high slopes to the east came the familiar ululating cry. Pregnant with savage menace, it seemed to hang on the very air.
“Madre de Dios,”
Porfiro exclaimed. “It is back.”
Porfiro exclaimed. “It is back.”
“
They
are back,” Fargo corrected him.
They
are back,” Fargo corrected him.
“That's right. Carlos told us there are two Hounds. As if one wasn't calamity enough.”
Delicia broke her silence with, “Now that we know about
el hombre de Montana
, you would think he would go away.”
el hombre de Montana
, you would think he would go away.”
“Not him,” Fargo said. “He's out for blood. I doubt he'll stop this side of the grave.”
“Are you saying the only way to stop him is to kill him, senor?”
“As dead as dead can be.”
37
The sheepherders reminded Fargo of folks at a funeral waiting for the casket to be lowered into the ground. They sat around in a glum mood, talking in low tones and casting anxious glances into the dark whenever a bray wafted up the valley.
“The beasts are at the south end tonight,” Delicia said. “Let's hope they stay there.”
Fargo would like a shot at the brutes but not at the expense of more lives. “I'm tempted to go after them.”
“Whatever for? The cowboys don't trust you. Give them an excuse, any excuse, and they'll turn on you.”
“Please, senor,” Porfiro said. “I beg you to stay with us. We have little experience with matters like this.”
“And you think I do?”
A wagon door slammed and out lurched Carlos with a bottle of wine. He tilted it to his lips and gulped, spilling some down his chin. Wearing a vicious grin, he swaggered among his people, heedless of the looks of disapproval.
The wagon door opened again and Constanza hastened after him. She put a hand on his arm and tried to stop him but he smacked her arm away.
“Look at how he acts,” Porfiro said. “The blood of my blood.”
“Brother, please,” Delicia said as Carlos came to their fire.
“Shut up,” Carlos snapped. Glaring at Fargo, he swallowed more wine. “Don't think I've forgotten about you, gringo.”
“Carlos, stop,” Porfiro said.
“You can shut up too, old man,” Carlos said. “This is between the gringo and me.”
“You embarrass all of us,” Porfiro said.
“No more than you embarrass me, Grandfather,” Carlos retorted. “Bending over backwards to those miserable cowboys. You sicken me.”
Constanza touched his elbow. “Enough of this, grandson. For once my husband is right. Behave yourself.”
“I'll behave, all right,” Carlos said, and swept his serape aside. A revolver was in his waistband.
“Carlos, no!” Delicia said. She stood and sought to snatch the six-shooter but he pushed her away.
“What do you think you are up to?” Porfiro demanded.
“Look at my face.” Carlos fumed. “This gringo pig has beat on me, twice. I look in the mirror and I am reminded of it. But no more.”
Porfiro rose and moved between Fargo and his grandson. “You've had too much to drink. Go back into the wagon and sleep it off.”
“Move, old man,” Carlo said.
“Don't use that tone with me.”
A man at another fire hollered, “Do as your grandfather tells you, boy.”
“Stay out of this!” Carlos raged. “All of you.” He glued his mouth to the bottle but it was empty and after shaking it, he threw it down and swore.
“Carlos, please,” Delicia pleaded.
“I do not forget an insult.” Carlos splayed his fingers over the revolver. “On your feet, gringo. Or I will kill you where you sit.”
“Enough,” Porfiro said. He placed his hands on Carlos' arms and tried to push him toward the wagon.
“Yes, enough,” Carlos said, and suddenly backhanding his grandfather across the face, he took a step back, drew the revolver, and shot Porfiro in the chest.
Delicia screamed.
Constanza clutched at her throat.
Everyone else, from oldest to youngest, was rooted in shock and disbelief.
Not Fargo. He drew and threw himself to the right just as Carlos pointed the pistol at him and fired. The slug dug a furrow in the spot where Fargo had been sitting. Prone on his side, Fargo shot Carlos in the forehead. The rear of Carlos' cranium exploded and the lifeless body, animated by a brief last spark, tottered a couple of steps and buckled, oozing into a pile of disjointed limbs.
Fargo slowly got to his feet. Gun smoke rose from the muzzle of the Colt as he replaced the spent cartridge.
No one else moved. No one else spoke.
Delicia broke the spell. She let out a wail and threw herself on her brother and sobbed.
Constanza stumbled to Porfiro and sank silently beside him, tears pouring.
And now others were up and coming to comfort them. The few glances thrown at Fargo were cold and resentful. He went around the fire and over to Porfiro's wagon. He still had half a mind to mount up and go but he couldn't accomplish much in the dark so he slipped underneath and spread out his bedroll.
The whole camp was in anguish over their loss. Half a dozen women were weeping and more than a few children. An old man kept yelling to the stars, “Why, Lord? Why?”
Fargo rolled onto his side. He thought maybe he wouldn't be able to drift off but in no time he was under and slept as deeply as a baby. His last thought before sleep claimed him was about Carlos; he should have shot the son of a bitch days ago.
38
The first thing Fargo noticed when he opened his eyes at the crack of dawn was the silence. Usually a few of the sheepherders were already up and there would be the clink of breakfast dishes or the ding of a spoon against a pot and the crackle of a fire or two. But this morning there was the absolute quiet of a cemetery.
Puzzled, Fargo rolled onto his back. He was about to put his hat on when he noticed the second thing that was strange. The wagon was completely surrounded by legs and feet. The legs of men, the legs of women, even the legs of children. Jamming his hat on, he poked his head out from under.
“We have been waiting for you to wake up,” Constanza said.
Fargo gripped the edge of the wagon and levered out from underneath. Only one face was the least bit friendlyâDelicia's, and she was standing well back. Apparently she had been told to.
“What's this?” Fargo asked.
“As if you can't guess,” Constanza returned. “We've been up all night. We buried our dead, and then we held a council. It was about you.”
“Bet it was your idea,” Fargo said.
She smiled. “Can you guess the decision we came to?”
“Too much guessing this early in the day,” Fargo said. “Why don't you come out with it? I can tell you can hardly hold it in.”
“You are the most despicable man I have ever met.”
“And you're the biggest bitch. So we're even.”
Muttering broke out. Expressions became darker and a few of the men balled their fists.
“I have not liked you from the beginning,” Constanza said. “I begged Porfiro to make you leave but he felt you could help us. And look at where it got him.”
“You can't blame me for that,” Fargo said.
“But I can. If you had left, none of this would have happened. My grandson would not have been humiliated, and would not have gotten drunk and sought revenge.”
“It's my fault he was a jackass?”
“Don't speak ill of the dead,” Constanza said harshly. “Have you no decency?”
“More than you ever will.”
“How dare you?” Constanza said.
For a few moments Fargo thought she was going to strike him but she controlled herself and folded her arms across her scrawny bosom.
“No. I will not stoop to your level. But I have a few things to say.” Constanza's mouth compressed into a slit. “You have cost me my husband, the man I spent more than fifty years of my life with. You have cost me my grandson, whom I adored. In my heart I grieve, in my soul I am stricken.”
Fargo didn't say anything.
“We have talked it over, all the elders, and we have decided that you have brought nothing but pain and sorrow to our people. We do not want you here. We want to you pack your things and saddle your animal and leave.” Constanza paused. “And we want you to do it right this instant.”
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