“I told you it would work,” Alejandro boasted. “Now we can sneak close.” He wedged the Sharps to his shoulder. “If I were a good shot, I would drop him from here.”
“No,” Fargo said.
“Perdón?”
“No shooting,” Fargo said. “We’ll talk to him, is all.”
“Who are you to say what we do? He and his kind brought the Hound to our valley. He deserves to pay for the horror they have let loose on us.”
“Didn’t you hear me say that the Hound has killed some of their cows?”
“Their cows?” Alejandro said, and snorted. “What are cows when it has killed three of us?” He paused. “And tell me. Did you see these dead cows with your own eyes, or do you only have their word for it?”
“I didn’t see the dead cows,” Fargo admitted.
“There you have it,” Alejandro declared. “They lied to you, and now they spy on us. I will try and take him alive so Porfiro may question him but if he resists, I will shoot him.”
Fargo let him think that until they had stealthily descended to within a hundred yards of the unsuspecting cowboy.
It was Shorty. He had a leg hooked around his saddle horn and looked as bored as a man could be.
Alejandro grinned at Fargo and raised the Sharps. “A little nearer and he is as good as ours.”
Fargo drew his Colt and pressed the muzzle to the young sheepherder’s ribs. “I’ll take that,” he said, and wrested the rifle from Alejandro’s grasp.
“What are you doing?” Alejandro demanded. He grabbed for the Sharps.
Fargo swung it behind him and cocked the Colt.
Alejandro turned to stone. “Carlos was right,” he hissed. “You have been lying to us. You are one of them.”
“Carlos is a jackass,” Fargo said. He stepped back but kept the Colt level. “Walk ahead of me. Keep your hands where I can see them. And when I tell you to stop, you damn well stop.”
“You plan to hand me over to your friends, is that it?”
“Use your head,” Fargo said, and gave him a push.
Muttering under his breath, Alejandro complied, his arms out from his sides.
Fargo led the horses. They skirted boulders and trees and avoided a small patch of talus.
Shorty heard them and turned in the saddle. His hand dropped to his six-shooter but he didn’t unlimber it. A puzzled expression on his face, he reined his mount around and waited.
Fargo gave Alejandro another push out into the open. “Behave yourself,” he warned.
“Go to hell.”
Shorty brought his horse over. “You again,” he said to Fargo. “Who’s your friend?”
“You can go to hell, too, vaquero,” Alejandro spat.
Fargo got straight to the point. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” Shorty rejoined. “Griff sent me to keep an eye on the mutton eaters.”
“Where is your dog?” Alejandro demanded.
“Ain’t got one,” Shorty said. “And if you mean that critter that’s killed our cows, we figured it belonged to you until Fargo, there, told us different.”
“You lie, gringo.”
Shorty put his hand on his six-shooter. “Mister, them’s fightin’ words.”
13
Fargo stepped between them. “You’d shoot an unarmed man?”
“Not normally, no,” Shorty said. “But if there’s anything I hate worse than a pack of sheep lovers, I’ve yet to come across it.”
“Does your boss feel the same way?”
“Mr. Trask? He sure as hell does,” Shorty said. “Why, he hates sheepmen worse than he hates Apaches, and it was an Apache that killed his grandpa.”
Alejandro bristled and declared, “That is fine, gringo, because we hate your kind as much as you hate us.”
“You’re not helping matters,” Fargo said.
“The thing you need to decide,” Shorty told him, “is which side you’ll throw in with. Because I can tell you now that if you’re friendly with these sheepers, Mr. Trask won’t like it. He’s liable to have us do to you as he’ll have us do to them.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“You need to ask?” Shorty said, and laughed. “When Mr. Trask gives the word, we’ll drive them out. Drive you out, too, if you’re in their camp.”
“This valley is big enough for the two sides to share.”
“Hell, mister. The whole blamed world ain’t big enough for cows and sheep to mix. Sheep are locusts on the hoof and there’s only one way to control locusts.”
“Do me a favor,” Fargo said. “Ask Trask not to act until he talks to me.”
Shorty snorted. “I can ask him, sure, but I can’t guarantee he’ll agree. And even if he does, talkin’ won’t do you a lick of good. He has his mind made up.”
“Any word on when he’ll get here?”
“Soon,” Shorty said. He raised his reins. “Enough palaver. Now that this peckerwood knows I’m here, I might as well light a shuck.”
“Yes, run,” Alejandro said, “or my amigos and I will drag you from that horse and break every bone in your body.”
Shorty leaned down, his smile ice. “I can tell you this, wool man. When the killin’ does start, it’ll be a pleasure to blow out your wick.”
“I dare you to try!” Alejandro exclaimed.
For a moment Fargo thought Shorty would draw but all the short puncher did was grunt in disgust and rein around. “Be seein’ you, Fargo. Better make up your mind quick. And make it up right. Mr. Trask wants you gone or dead, I’ll be first in line to get the job done.” He jabbed his spurs.
Alejandro pumped a fist and swore in Spanish.
“That was stupid,” Fargo said.
“You heard him,” Alejandro hissed. “They hate us. They want us dead. And the feeling is mutual.”
Fargo sighed.
“Nothing you say or do can stop our revenge. If you think it can, you might as well get on your horse and leave Hermanos Valley.”
Fargo was commencing to think he should, at that. Only he’d given his word to Porfiro. And then there was Delicia. “Get on your horse.”
“Mi rifle, por favor?” Alejandro requested, holding out his hand.
“When that cowpoke is out of range and not before.”
“You call me estúpido,” Alejandro said, “but you are a fool.”
Neither of them uttered another word until they reached the wagons. By then Shorty was long out of sight. Fargo tossed the Sharps to Alejandro, who glowered at him and went to join a group of young sheepherders huddled by a fire.
Fargo tied the Ovaro behind Porfiro’s wagon. He walked around the corner and nearly collided with someone coming the other way.
“I saw you ride up,” Delicia said. “How did it go? Or do I even need to ask?”
“Spent half the day riding all over creation,” Fargo said, “and didn’t accomplish a damn thing.”
“Alejandro doesn’t look happy.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
Delicia clasped her hands and smiled demurely. “Would you like some coffee?”
“If it includes your company,” Fargo said.
“Do not let it go to your head,” she remarked as they strolled to a fire, “but I have been thinking about you all morning.”
“You don’t say.”
Delicia glanced about as if to ensure she couldn’t be heard. “You are a good kisser, senor. My instincts tell me you have a lot of experience with the ladies.”
“Some,” Fargo said, and rubbed his wrist against hers.
Delicia reacted as if a snake had bit her. Jerking her arm away, she whispered, “Be careful, senor. There are some who would be very angry were they to see you making advances.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I am serious,” Delicia said. “Some of the men might do you harm.”
“They’d have to join the line,” Fargo said.
14
Along about
the middle of the afternoon the storm broke with fierce intensity. For more than an hour the clouds darkened and the wind rose.
Fargo had stripped the Ovaro and placed his saddle and effects under Porfiro’s wagon. He had just deposited his saddlebags and was about to swing out from under the wagon and knock on the door when the rain began to come down in sheets. Within seconds the ground and everything else was drenched.
A lithe figure ducked underneath next to him.
“I wondered what was keeping you,” Delicia said, sinking to her knees. Water dripped from her hair and trickled down her cheeks and smooth chin.
“We’d better get you inside,” Fargo said, and placed his arm over her shoulders.
“No,” Delicia said.
“No?”
She nodded at the downpour and her ruby lips quirked in a smile. “What is your hurry? No one can see us.”
It was Fargo’s turn to smile. The rain was so heavy, visibility was a few feet. It was as if they were in a cocoon—or their own private little room. As much as he would like to indulge, he said, “Are you sure it’s smart?”
“Why not?” Delicia sidled closer.
“Your grandfather and grandmother are right above us.”
“So? If we are quiet they will never know.” Delicia lightly touched her mouth to his neck.
Fargo could think of a better reason; the storm could end as abruptly as it started. But he’d be damned if he’d look a gift horse in the mouth. Facing her, he cupped her chin. “Last chance to come to your senses.”
“I am a grown woman, senor,” Delicia said, and fused her mouth to his.
Her lips were delicate, yet firm. She didn’t so much kiss him as devour him. Her tongue rimmed his mouth and entwined with his. Her breath grew molten. And her body, where he touched her, responded with the taut ardor of a carnal nature too long denied.
Delicia ground against his manhood, her bosom swelling. Her breasts were ripe melons ready to burst from the vine. He cupped one and then the other, and squeezed, and she moaned deep in her velvet throat.
Easing onto his back with his shoulders propped on his saddle, Fargo pulled her to him. She came willingly, hungrily.
Her hands were everywhere, exploring. Her mouth roamed from his face to his neck to his ear.
Fargo liked this gal. She didn’t agonize over whether it was wrong or right; she just did it. He lathered her neck and glued his mouth to hers.
Wet drops spattered his hand. Some of the rain was getting under but not enough to matter. He ran a hand through her hair and down her back to the curve of her bottom. He massaged, and pinched, and she wriggled in delight.
“I like that,” Delicia breathed huskily.
So did Fargo. He did it again, then slid a hand along her thigh to her knee. She shivered as if she were cold but her body was as hot as lava.
“I like that, too.”
Fargo devoted attention to her legs. Each upward motion brought his hand nearer, until finally he covered her, down low.
Delicia bent into a bow and her mouth parted. So did her legs, to grant him easier access. “I have dreamt of you doing that.”
Fargo hiked at her dress while kissing and caressing. He was about to undo his belt buckle when a dark shape moved past the wagon. It was there and it was gone. On two legs, so it couldn’t be the Hound. Someone was moving about in the rain for some reason.
“Why did you stop?” Delicia asked.
Fargo didn’t realize he had. He got her dress up around her waist and tilted his head to appreciate her alluring symmetry. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and meant it.
“I want you.” Delicia stretched her full length against him and bit him, hard, on the chin.
Below his waist, Fargo’s pants bulged. When she unexpectedly placed her hand on him, he thought he’d explode. She had none of the timidity of her more civilized sisters in cities and towns. Her need was urgent, and immediate.
To Fargo’s extreme pleasure, she wore no undergarments.
A twist of his wrist and he was there. Her slit was wet with her yearning. He stroked, lightly, and she stifled a groan.
“I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”
Fargo kept one ear primed to the rain. The storm continued in all its elemental fury, with no sign of relenting, which suited him just fine.
Delicia lived up to her name. From her soft lips to her smooth thighs, she was exquisite. Her hands were all over him.
When he slid a finger into her, she thrust with her hips, the friction adding heat where they were already burning.
Fargo hiked her dress higher to expose her globes. As her melons fell free, he inhaled a nipple and sucked. She cooed and wriggled. He nipped lightly with the tip of his teeth, and she shuddered. He cupped and pulled and she sank her teeth into his shoulder.
Petting, kneading, lips locked, their breaths became furnace pants of pure desire. When, at length, he inserted the tip of his manhood, she looked into his eyes and whispered, “Si. Oh, si.”
Fargo penetrated her. Delicia’s face became a mirror of ecstasy. She threw her head back and nearly bumped it on the bottom of the wagon. She did more grinding, matching her rhythm to his.
Above and around them the rain pelted the world. In their own little shelter, they drifted on the rising tides of mutual pleasure until, with her next impalement, Delicia gushed. She came and she came, and at the height of her release, Fargo went over the brink.
In inner free fall from the heights, Fargo happened to glance at the rear of the wagon and for a fleeting instant he swore that he saw a pair of legs and boots. They were there and they were gone. As Delicia collapsed on top of him, he placed his hand on his Colt.
“You are a magnificent lover,” she whispered.
Fargo was watching for the legs to reappear. When they didn’t, he let himself relax.
Delicia kissed his chin. “Thank goodness for the storm, eh? I hope we can do this again soon.”
“You and me, both,” Fargo said.
15
The tempest lasted another hour. By then they had put themselves together, and as soon as the rain slackened enough that she wouldn’t be soaked, Delicia pecked Fargo on the cheek and darted out from under the wagon.
The rear door opened and closed.
Fargo was one of the first to emerge after the last few drops fell. The Ovaro, and everything else, was dripping wet.
The fires were black circles. Dozens of nearby sheep looked miserable.
Fargo decided to rekindle a fire and put coffee on. Firewood was kept in a box attached to the side of the wagon, and he was opening it when the squish of a stealthy footstep gave him a split-second’s warning. He turned, and a steel blade bit into the box instead of between his shoulder blades.
“Bastardo!” Carlos hissed. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he cut at Fargo’s neck.
Ducking, Fargo backpedaled.
“I know what you did with my hermana,” Carlos snarled, and came at him like a madman.
Fargo did more backpedaling. He didn’t want to kill him if he could help it but he might not be able to. He skipped aside, avoiding a stab at his chest, grabbed Carlos’ wrist, and wrenched. His intent was to disarm him but Carlos not only held on to the knife, he kicked at his knee. Fargo managed to shift so that his shin took the blow but it still hurt like hell and he stumbled and nearly fell.
“I will kill you, gringo!”
Fargo smashed his fist into the young sheepherder’s jaw.
The blow rocked Carlos onto his heels but he was tougher than he looked and didn’t go down. Hooking a foot behind him, Fargo tripped him and slammed him onto his back. As they crashed down Fargo contrived to ram his knee into Carlos’ gut. It had the desired effect—Carlos cried out, and his knife arm went slack.
Fargo slugged him, and Carlos went limp.
“What is the meaning of this?”
It was Porfiro.
Fargo stood and stepped back. “I reckon your grandson
isn’t too fond of me.”
Porfiro squatted and plucked the knife from the wet grass.
“My grandson has always had a bad temper. What set him off?”
“You’d have to ask him,” Fargo hedged. To admit the truth might get Delicia in trouble.
“I napped during the storm,” Porfiro said. “Constanza just woke me and I came out to see how you were. You should have come inside with us where it is dry.”
“I was fine out here.”
Porfiro looked down in disappointment at the fruit of his family’s loins. “I am sorry, Senor Fargo. This was no way to treat a guest in our camp.”
“Forget it.”
“How can I? He shames us with his behavior.” Porfiro gave a shake of his head. “But we have other matters to discuss, do we not?”
“The cowboys.”
“Si,” Porfiro said. “Alejandro has told me what the vaquero said about this man called Trask, and how he hates our kind. It does not bode well.”
“No,” Fargo agreed. “It doesn’t.”
“It is not enough we have the Hound to deal with,” Porfiro said. “What have we done that God inflicts so many difficulties on us?”
“I’m no parson,” Fargo said.
“I am worried, senor. My people mean more to me than the breath of life. I have led them for more than twenty years, and I think of them as my children.”
“You’re a good man, Porfiro.”
“Not good enough or I would have solutions to our problems. The beast kills us, the cowboys say they want to kill us.” The old sheepherder closed his eyes and rubbed his brow. “I am afraid I am not equal to the task of protecting those I care for.”
“You’re doing all you can.”
“It’s not enough, senor.” Porfiro looked at Fargo, his eyes haunted by the prospect of the possible horrors to come. “Advise me, senor. Help me help my people.”
Before Fargo could reply, hooves drummed and two of the men who had gone out with guns were back.
“The sheep!” one of them exclaimed. “So many sheep!”
Range War (9781101559215) Page 5