Range War (9781101559215) Read Online Free Page B

was gun-shy.
    If he had any sense, Fargo told himself, he’d be on his way to Dallas. He had no stake in the sheepmen/cattlemen war shaping up. He should make himself scarce and let them do as they will.
    But there was Delicia.
    Fargo envisioned her eyes and those long legs of hers and felt a twitch below his belt. He’d be the first to admit that women were his weakness. He liked bedding them more than he liked just about anything. Give him a willing filly, and a bottle or three of whiskey, and he was as content as a man could be.
    Fargo smacked his lips. He wouldn’t mind a drink right about now.
    In the forest above, a twig snapped.
    Once again Fargo brought the stallion to a halt. He scanned the woods but saw nothing. He was about to raise the reins when an uneasy feeling came over him, a feeling he sometimes had when unseen eyes were watching. He sat and waited but except for a pair of sparrows flitting gaily about, the woodland was still.
    As a precaution Fargo reined away from the tree line until he was a hundred yards out. Then he continued to the north. His unease persisted. It could be that whatever was up in the trees was shadowing him. Then again, how did he know it was a what and not a who ? He wondered if one of the cowboys was keeping an eye on him.
    Before long, the sun sank. The blue sky changed to gray and then black, and a sparkling legion of stars blossomed.
    The fires and the lights in the sheepherder camp came into view.
    Fargo thought again of Delicia, of the two of them alone in a wagon, of him pressing her warm body to his and—
    The Ovaro whinnied.
    Fargo swore. It was damned careless to let his attention lapse. He looked around but saw no cause for the stallion’s agitation.
    Smoke was curling from the stovepipes in the wagons. Others were doing their cooking over the campfires. Large pots hung on tripods and women were stirring the concoctions.
    A boy spotted Fargo and yelled.
    Once again the sheepherders converged. This time Porfiro was one of the first to reach him and when he raised an arm, the rest stopped.
    â€œYou came back. I thought we might have seen the last of you.”
    Fargo glanced at Delicia, who blushed. “I gave my word. I relayed your message.”
    â€œWhat did the cowboys say?”
    Fargo gave it to them straight. “As soon as more of them show up they’re driving you out.”
    Heated outbursts resulted. Curses were heaped on the punchers.
    â€œLet them try!” Carlos cried. “They have more guns but we have right on our side.”
    â€œBig help that will be,” Fargo said.
    Delicia put her hands on her hips. “You mock our will to fight for what is ours?”
    â€œYou can’t fight bullets with good intentions,” Fargo said. “The bullets win every time.”
    â€œDid they say when they will come for us?” Porfiro asked.
    â€œThey don’t have a set date,” Fargo said. “It depends on when their big augur shows up.”
    â€œTheir what?” a man asked.
    â€œBen Trask, the rancher they work for.” Fargo alighted and grinned at Delicia. “Miss me?”
    â€œNot even a little bit.” She whirled and stalked off, her dress swirling about her long legs.
    â€œThat granddaughter of mine has fire in her veins,” Porfiro said, smiling.
    â€œShe’s isn’t the only one,” Carlos declared. He came past Porfiro and poked Fargo in the chest. “Stay away from my sister, gringo, if you know what is good for you.”
    â€œAnd if I don’t?” Fargo said.
    Carlos placed his hand on the hilt of his knife. “Three guesses,” he said.

7
    Porfiro let Fargo add the Ovaro to the string. Fargo stripped his saddle and saddle blanket and bridle off and slid them under Porfiro’s wagon. The bottom was a good three feet off the ground so there was plenty of room.
    By the time he strolled back to the fires and the cooking pots, the sheepherders