Thunderhead Trail Read Online Free

bodily off the floor, and squeezed.
    The pain was excruciating. It filled Fargo’s chest, numbed his arms, blurred his vision.
    Grizz laughed. “Got you now,” he gloated. “Got you good as dead.”
    Fargo grit his teeth and twisted and kicked. With someone as immensely strong as Grizz, a bear hug could prove fatal. He needed to break free before his ribs gave under the pressure. They’d fracture and break and maybe puncture a lung.
    Over at the window, Rance was laughing too. Kyler let out a whoop of joy.
    Fargo couldn’t pry loose, couldn’t get leverage. In desperation he tried to drive his knee into Grizz’s groin.
    He heard himself gasp. He saw Grizz’s chin swimming before him, and in fury slammed his forehead into it. To his surprise, it cleared his sight. He did it again and again and yet once more.
    Grizz swayed.
    Fargo’s forehead was pure torment but he smashed it into Grizz’s jaw two more times.
    Grizz tottered and his grip weakened slightly. Not much but it fired Fargo with hope. He tucked his chin to his chest and slammed his head up under Grizz’s jaw. There was a sharp crack and the crunch of teeth and Grizz howled and cast him to the floor.
    Scrambling out of reach, Fargo regained his feet. His arms were tingling but he could use them. He countered a weak jab and kicked Grizz in the knee.
    Grizz cursed, and his leg partly buckled. It brought his chin lower.
    Now! Fargo thought. He whipped into an uppercut that snapped Grizz’s head toward the ceiling. Once. Twice. And a third uppercut that left his hand hurting like hell—and brought Grizz crashing to the floor.
    Fargo didn’t know who was more surprised, him or the onlookers. He waited, his fists hiked, for Grizz to get up and renew their fight, but Grizz lay still, spittle flecking his mouth.
    â€œWell,” Fargo said.
    Behind him, someone let out a long breath.
    â€œYou did it, by God,” a townsman said.
    Fargo’s whole body was a welter of pain. He was barely aware when someone shoved something into his hand.
    â€œYou’ll be wanting your six-shooter back,” Dirk Peters said.
    Fargo looked down at his holster. He drew his Colt and gave it a twirl and turned to the pair at the window. “Get over here.”
    Rance was boiling with hate. Kyler stared at Grizz in disbelief.
    â€œWhat do you want now?” Rance snapped.
    â€œStrip him.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me,” Fargo said. “Take off his clothes and leave them in a pile.”
    â€œWhy in hell—” Rance began, and stopped. “Oh. I savvy. For the damn girl.”
    Fargo pointed the Colt. “You don’t have all day.”
    They set to it, Kyler saying, “Grizz will by-God kill you for this, mister.”
    â€œHe’s welcome to try.”
    It took some doing. Grizz was so heavy, they had to work together, lifting him and rolling him so they could peel his shirt and pants. Tugging off his boots was a feat in itself. But at last they were done.
    â€œWhat now, bastard,” Rance snarled.
    â€œTote him out and light a shuck.”
    â€œWe won’t forget you for this,” Rance vowed.
    Each grabbed a huge arm. Bodies straining, they dragged their brother toward the batwings.
    The saloon stayed still until Grizz had been pushed and shoved over a horse and Rance and Kyler climbed on theirs and Rance led the third animal off by the reins.
    Then whoops and hollers broke out.
    A small man in an apron came over. “I’ll remember this all my born days. Would you care for a drink, mister?”
    â€œI sure as hell would,” Fargo said. His throat was parched.
    â€œComing right up. It’s on the house for what you did for Candice.”
    That reminded Fargo. “Bring a blanket if you have it.”
    â€œWhat?” the bartender said. Then, “Oh. Sure. I have one in the back.”
    A gray-haired townsman approached and offered Fargo