Range War (9781101559215) Read Online Free Page A

was singin’ to the cows to keep ’em calm and almost didn’t hear the damn thing come up behind me. If my horse hadn’t caught its scent and made a fuss, it would have jumped me. I’m sure of it.” He stopped. “As it was, I turned and saw somethin’ big slinkin’ toward me. I drew my pistol and shot at it but I was so spooked I missed and the thing ran off.”
    â€œWhat was it?”
    â€œBeats the hell out of me,” Shorty replied. “All I know is it’s big and has a long tail.”
    â€œThat leaves out a bear,” another cowhand said. “Bears ain’t got tails to speak of.”
    Griff was scratching his head. “I reckoned maybe the sheepherders sent it after us but now you say it’s after them, too. What in hell is goin’ on?”
    â€œIf I can find its tracks I can tell you what it is,” Fargo said. He had more experience at tracking than most any man alive.
    â€œGood luck, mister,” Griff said. “Those cows that were killed? We looked all around their bodies and there wasn’t a print of the thing anywhere.”
    â€œThere had to be.”
    â€œDid you find any around that dead sheepherder?”
    Fargo shook his head.
    â€œThere you go,” Griff said.
    Fargo knew it was pointless but he had promised he would try so he said, “The sheepherders wanted me to give you a message.”
    â€œDid they, now?”
    â€œThey would be pleased as could be if you would kindly leave their valley.”
    Several cowboys cursed and muttered.
    â€œ Their valley?” Shorty angrily declared. “They never filed a claim on it. Our boss checked.”
    â€œHow about you give them a message for us?” Griff said. “I’d go myself but they’re liable to take a potshot at me before I can have my say.”
    â€œI suppose I could.”
    â€œGood.” Griff’s smile was vicious. “You tell those miserable mutton lickers that when the rest of our outfit gets here, we’re goin’ to run them and their hoofed locusts out. They’d best light a shuck while they can.”
    â€œWhat if they won’t go?”
    â€œThat’s fine with us,” Griff said, and patted his Remington. “Whether they do or they don’t, we’ll be shed of them one way or the other.”
    â€œDamn right we will,” Shorty said. “They don’t leave, this valley will run red with blood.”

6
    It was late afternoon when Fargo started for the sheepherder camp. The sun was low on the horizon and the shadows in the timber had lengthened.
    The Bar T hands had been friendly enough. He hadn’t learned a whole lot, although one thing was certain: barring a miracle, Shorty’s prediction was bound to come true.
    Fargo took to thinking about Delicia and the ten kisses he’d earned. He grinned in anticipation—and suddenly became aware of movement on the slope above. He was close to the west edge of the valley, only a few yards from the tree line, and he saw . . . something . . . dart from behind a pine tree and around a thicket.
    Drawing rein, Fargo palmed the Colt. He’d had only a glimpse but he was sure it wasn’t a deer or an elk. It was too low to the ground. “I wonder,” he said, and reined into the trees. There was a chance it might be the creature that killed Ramon and the others. Cocking his Colt, he warily approached the thicket.
    The Ovaro didn’t shy or whinny. He found out why when he rounded the thicket and a coyote lit off up the mountain. He didn’t shoot it. Coyotes were seldom a threat. Not long ago he’d been tied to a tree by an enemy and several coyotes had tried to eat him but that was a special circumstance.
    Fargo twirled the Colt into his holster and resumed his ride. The sun was halfway gone. It didn’t worry him that the wolf or dog or whatever it was might soon be abroad. Shorty’s experience suggested it