Thunderhead Trail

by Jon Sharpe

“If I knew the how,” Fargo answered, “they wouldn’t be.”

  “Whoever they are, they almost had us, too,” Aramone said. “The bastards shot at us from ambush.”

  Crown looked at the longhorn bull. “All these deaths. That farmer. That old gal. The others we found, and who knows how many we didn’t. And now Dirk and your brother.” He paused. “Is this critter worth all those lives?”

  “No,” Aramone said.

  “The important thing,” Fargo said, “is to find out who’s been taking them and take theirs.”

  “Amen to that,” Rafer Crown said.

  44

  They spent a remarkably peaceful night.

  Crown climbed back up into the pine and spent another three hours and then it was Fargo’s turn. He chose a vantage high up where he could see anyone who tried to get close.

  Fargo stayed up the tree until the first rays of the sun lit the eastern sky.

  Mabel stirred, and the calf woke and wanted a turn at her teats.

  As for Thunderhead, he was a whole new bull. Gone was the belligerence, the anger. He acted as tame and friendly as the calf.

  It was a mystery why the longhorn had been so set to gore them to keep them from the canyon, but now that they had a rope over Mabel and were leading her off, he came along as peacefully as anything.

  What was that saying? Fargo reflected as he took a swallow of his first coffee of the day. Be thankful for small blessings?

  Aramone awakened, fussed with her clothes, and poured a cup of her own. Or so Fargo thought until she stepped over to where Crown lay on his side with his arm for a pillow and lightly touched his shoulder.

  At the contact, the bounty hunter sat bolt upright, his hands sweeping to his six-shooters. He looked all around and said, “What is it? Are they out there?”

  “I brought you breakfast,” Aramone said, smiling and holding out the cup.

  “You did what?”

  “They call it coffee,” she joked.

  His brow knit, Crown accepted the cup. “I’m obliged, ma’am.”

  “Call me Aramone,” she said. “All my friends do.” She turned and moved back to the fire, her hips swaying a little more than they usually did.

  Crown’s expression almost made Fargo laugh. The bounty hunter might be a terror when it came to tracking wanted men but he had a lot to learn about females.

  To tease Aramone, Fargo said, “How about eggs and bacon while you’re at it?”

  “Would that I could,” she replied. “And how dare you mention food. I’m half starved.”

  “We’ll eat a good meal tonight,” Crown said, “if I have to make it myself.”

  “I’d be ever so grateful,” Aramone said sweetly.

  Fargo couldn’t be sure but he thought the bounty hunter’s cheek grew slightly red. He intruded on their romance by remarking, “I figure it’ll take us three to four days to reach the ranch.”

  “We can make it sooner if I throw the calf over my horse,” Crown said.

  “Why agitate the cow if we don’t have to?” Fargo said. “It might rile Thunderhead and we don’t want that.”

  “No, we sure as hell don’t,” Crown agreed.

  “Three or four days,” Aramone repeated, “with whoever is out there slinking after us every step of the way.”

  Crown squinted at the rising sun, pulled his hat brim lower, and gnawed on his bottom lip. “The way I see it, they won’t hit us when we’re close to the ranch. Too great a chance of them being seen.”

  “So it will likely be today or the next,” Aramone said.

  “The farther out, the better for them,” Crown said.

  “You expect them to try this very day?”

  “I do,” Crown told her.

  So did Fargo. They must be constantly on their guard. “It might be smart to have an outrider.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Rafer Crown said.

  “A what?” Aramone asked. “That’s a new one on me.”

  Crown answered before Fargo could. “One of us shadows the other two and our little family of beeves. The idea is that he spots the killers before they commence the killing, and blows them to hell.”

  “What if the killers spot him?”

  “There’s that,” Crown said.

  “Which of you will it be?”

  “Him,” Crown said.

  Fargo had thought the bounty hunter might want to. Then he remembered Aramone’s swaying hips and raised his tin cup to cover his grin.

  “If you’re sure,” Aramone said, sounding relieved.

  “I am,” Crown said. “I should stay with the”—he caught himself—“longhorns.”

  Fargo made a show of gazing about them. “It’s too bad roses don’t grow in the Rockies.”

  “Go to hell,” Crown said.

  “What?” Aramone said. “What was that about roses?”

  Crown distracted her by saying, “Even with him out there, we have to take precautions. I’ll lead the cow and you’ll ride close to the bull.”

  “Why don’t I lead Mabel?” Aramone asked. “Doesn’t that make more sense?”

  “They won’t shoot Thunderhead. He’s worthless to them dead. Odds are they won’t risk hitting him by shooting at you if you’re near him.”

  “Oh,” Aramone said. “You want to protect me.”

  This time Fargo was certain. The bounty hunter flushed.

  “Don’t make more of it than there is,” Crown said gruffly.

  “I’m not,” Aramone said in that sweet way she had.

  Fargo drained his cup and stood. “Yes, sir. A rose and a violin would come in handy right about now.” Before the bounty hunter could respond, he said, “Let’s fetch your horse and move out.” He added, “And for once, let’s hope luck is on our side.”

  “Yes,” Aramone said. “It would be nice to end the day alive.”

  45

  Pins and needles, some called it. Being on edge every second of every minute. Never knowing when they’d be attacked. Having to stay razor-alert every moment.

  The first couple of hours weren’t so hard but after five or six Fargo had to work at it to not let his mind wander.

  It didn’t help that the day was as ordinary as any other. Birds warbled and hawks and eagles soared. Deer grazed and several elk retreated into cover. Now and then a butterfly flitted about.

  It was so peaceful, it about put Fargo to sleep.

  Thankfully, the longhorns behaved. Thunderhead plodded along behind Mabel and the calf as happily as a married man on his wife’s leash.

  Fargo was constantly on the go. He shadowed them to the north and then he’d cut their back trail or ride ahead a ways and shadow them to the south.

  By the middle of the afternoon the Ovaro could use a rest and Fargo had to concentrate to stay sharp.

  And still no sign of anyone out to do them harm.

  By sundown Fargo was ready for a rest.

  They’d descended a series of forested slopes to a verdant valley. Instead of following it to the east, Rafer Crown rode out to the center near a stand of aspens and stopped. He and Aramone climbed down and set about making camp.

  Fargo broke from cover and joined them. To the west the sun was almost gone. The shadows were spreading and soon twilight would fall.

  “So far, so good,” Aramone said cheerfully as he rode up.

  “It’s only a matter of time,” Fargo said as he wearily alighted.

  Crown had loosened the cinch on his saddle and was about to slide it off. “We’ll tie the cow here and lie low in the aspens. Each of us at a different spot so between us we can see the whole valley.”

  “You think of everything,” Aramone praised him.

  “Here we go again,” Fargo said.

  “What?”

  “If yo
u bring up roses I will by-God shoot you,” the bounty hunter said.

  “Do we make a fire or not?” Aramone asked. “I could go with some coffee.”

  So could Fargo. “We’ll make the fire out here and keep it burning most of the night.”

  “Whoever is after us will see it,” Aramone observed.

  “We want them to,” Crown said. “So they try to sneak in for the bull and we blow out their wicks.”

  “I do so admire a man who knows what he is about,” Aramone said.

  Fargo could use a drink stronger than coffee. Better yet, a bottle.

  Crown used a picket pin to stake Mabel so she wouldn’t wander off. The calf took to her teats while Thunderhead stood gazing at them, looking for all the world like a proud father.

  “Aren’t they cute?” Aramone said.

  Fargo thought of the warriors the bull had gored and the other men he’d killed. “Cute,” he said.

  They led their horses into the aspens and tied them, then gathered firewood and came back out and Crown started a fire.

  By then the sun had relinquished the heavens to the brightening stars, and the lonesome wail of a wolf heralded the new night.

  Fargo saw to the coffee himself. He noticed that Aramone sat near Rafer Crown and kept showing him what nice teeth she had.

  “If they don’t try tonight,” the bounty hunter brought up, “it will be tomorrow.”

  “Do we do the same as today?” Aramone asked.

  “Unless Fargo has an objection,” Crown said, “I’m for it.”

  Fargo couldn’t resist. “The two of you and Thunderhead and Mabel make such charming couples, I wouldn’t want to break you up.”

  “Have I told you to go to hell lately?” Crown asked.

  Fargo laughed.

  “You men,” Aramone said.

  Fargo was amused by how she was throwing herself at the bounty hunter. He was even more amused that the bounty hunter didn’t seem to mind. It proved the saying down in Texas that when a filly threw a loop, there was always someone ready to step into it.

  He certainly wasn’t. It would be a good many years, if ever, before he was ready to have his spurs trimmed. Married life was fine for most men but for him it would be the same as a cage.

  “What do you plan to do with your share of the bounty?” Aramone asked Crown.

  “I don’t think about spending money until I have it in my poke.”

  “Wise,” Aramone said. “Very wise.”

  “Anyone hear a violin?” Fargo said.

  “A what?” Aramone said.

  Crown glared.

  “That reminds me,” Fargo said. “Didn’t you say something about cooking?”

  Muttering, the bounty hunter got up and strode into the aspens.

  “Is it me,” Aramone said, “or are you poking fun at him?”

  “Me?” Fargo said.

  Crown came back with a pan and flour and something wrapped in a bundle. A canteen hung from a strap over his shoulder. “Biscuits and bacon should do us.”

  “We’re having breakfast?” Fargo said.

  “She and me are,” Crown said. “One more jab out of you and you can go hungry.”

  Their banter had done wonders to ease the tension Fargo had been under all day. He was just starting to relax, and eased back onto his elbows.

  “I must say,” Aramone said, “this is a pleasant change after all the worrying I’ve been doing. Let’s hope we have a nice, peaceful night.”

  “I’m afraid you won’t,” someone said, and Rance Hollister stepped into the firelight with his Sharps to his shoulder.

  46

  The Sharps was a single-shot but that shot was powerful enough to bring down a buffalo at a thousand yards. Or to blow a whole in a man the size of an apple. Which was why Fargo froze.

  Rafer Crown didn’t. He spun, his hands poised to draw, then saw that the Sharps’s muzzle was pointed at Aramone Richmond.

  “You’re quick enough that you might get me,” Rance said, “but not before I blow her to hell.”

  Fargo wanted to beat his head against a boulder for being so careless. He’d let down his guard for just a bit, and look.

  As if Rance had read his thoughts, he smirked and said, “You made it plumb easy for us. Isn’t that right, brothers?”

  “It sure is,” Kyler Hollister replied as he and Grizz came out of the stand. Kyler held his knife, Grizz his six-shooter.

  “They’re dumb as stumps,” Grizz said, and guffawed.

  Aramone was staring at the muzzle pointed at her face. “You’re those Hollisters I’ve heard about.”

  “Good things, I hope?” Rance said, and his brothers chortled.

  “We have that five thousand to collect,” Kyler said.

  “It was right nice of you and your man friends to bring the bull this far for us.”

  “Right nice,” Grizz echoed.

  “Where’s that brother we know you have?” Rance asked Aramone. “And that Peters fella? How come they’re not with you?”

  “You don’t know?” Aramone said in surprise.

  “If I did, you dumb bitch, I wouldn’t have asked.”

  “They’re both dead,” Aramone enlightened him. “After what Skye told me, I thought you three might have been to blame.”

  “It weren’t us,” Kyler said. “It must have been those Blackfeet.”

  “Lousy redskins,” Grizz said.

  “Now, now,” Rance said. “They’ve done us a favor by whittlin’ the odds. We should be grateful for their help.”

  “We should?” Grizz said.

  “Not so grateful that we won’t shoot them on sight.”

  “That’s better. For a second there, I thought you were turnin’ into an Injun lover.”

  “Not me, brother. You know me better. It’s the three of us against the world.”

  It was then that the thought that had been gnawing at the back of Fargo’s mind leaped out as clear as a cloudless day. “I’ll be damned,” he blurted.

  “We all are,” Rance Hollister said. “But that’s neither here nor there. It’s time to tend to business. So how about if you and the bounty hunter shed your hardware or I kill the lady.”

  “You aim to kill us whether we do or we don’t,” Rafer Crown said.

  “Maybe so,” Rance said, “but if you don’t, this gal’s pretty eyes and nose are splattered over the grass that much sooner.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Aramone urged Crown. “Do what you must.”

  “I’ll gamble with a lot of things but not your life,” Rafer said. He undid his belt buckle and the Remington and the Smith & Wesson thumped to earth.

  “Like takin’ candy from a baby,” Rance gloated, and focused on Fargo. “Your turn, scout. And don’t forget your pigsticker.”

  Slowly sitting up, Fargo hiked at his pant leg. “There’s something you should know.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re not the only ones who will do anything for the bounty,” Fargo said.

  “Meanin’ yourself? What can you do with your claws clipped?”

  “Others besides me,” Fargo said.

  “Land sakes,” Kyler said in mock fear. “I do believe he’s tryin’ to scare us.”

  “Stupid scout,” Grizz said.

  Rance took a step nearer. “That knife and that Colt, and we don’t have all night.”

  Fargo set them to one side and raised his arms.

  “Good. Real good.” Rance chuckled and took a bound and drove the stock of his rifle into Rafer Crown’s belly. Crown doubled over and staggered, and Aramone heaved to her feet to help him.

  Kyler was faster. He flashed his knife to her throat and held it edgewise to her skin. “Another step and I cut you.”

  “This is fun,” Grizz said.
r />   Fargo wasn’t surprised the Hollisters hadn’t gunned them down. Not these three. They liked to play with their victims like cats played with mice.

  Crown was on his knees, retching, his black hat practically brushing the ground.

  “You’re right, brother,” Rance said to Grizz. “We’ll have us a lot of laughs.”

  Despite the knife at her throat, Aramone spat, “You’re animals, is what you are.”

  “And proud of it,” Rance said.

  Kyler said, “You don’t get it, do you, gal? We don’t live by no one’s say-so but our own.”

  “That’s right,” Grizz declared.

  “We do what we want, when we want, and everyone else be damned,” Kyler gloated.

  “That’s right,” Grizz said again, this time bobbing his bearded chin.

  “We’re curly wolves with the bark on,” Kyler continued to crow, “and no one has ever got the better of us.”

  “That’s right.”

  Kyler glared at Fargo. “Except once.”

  Grizz glared, too. “I owe you for the lickin’ you gave me.”

  “That you do, brother,” Rance said. “And pretty soon now you’ll get to break every bone in his body.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Please,” Aramone said. “Just take the bull and go.”

  “Listen to you,” Rance scoffed.

  “What if . . . ?” Aramone stopped and looked at Rafer Crown, who had stopped retching but was still doubled over. “What if I offered myself to you if you’ll leave my friends alone?”

  “God Almighty, woman? Do you even have a brain? We’re goin’ to have our way with you anyway. And kill them, besides.”

  47

  Fargo was glad the Hollisters were talkers. It gave him time to think, and increased the odds of them making a mistake.

  They were about to make one now.

  They were having so much fun mocking and threatening that Rance had let the barrel of his Sharps dip and Grizz had lowered his revolver to his side. Kyler still held his bone-handled knife but he was no longer pressing it to Aramone’s throat.

  Fargo was tempted to jump them but with Rafer Crown hurt it would be three to one. He tried another tack. “I have a question.”