“. . . can’t use just any dog. It is best if they are bred to the wool, as we like to say. Unfortunately, good sheepdogs are hard to find.”
“Enough about dogs,” Fargo said, and traced a finger from her shoulder to her elbow.
“Typical man,” Delicia said. “Always with one thing on your mind.”
“Whiskey?”
Delicia laughed. “I would love to spend a night in town with you. Any town. I would wear the best dress I have, and we could dine, and dance, and have a wonderful time.”
“We can have a wonderful time right here.”
“You have no romance, senor,” Delicia said, but not unkindly.
“I could go pick some flowers if it will put you in the mood.”
“The thing that will put me in the mood,” Delicia said, “is if you ravish me.”
“That I can do,” Fargo said.
23
Fargo kissed her. Delicia’s mouth parted and her tongue met his. After a while he put his arm around her and lowered her onto her back. Stretching out, he pressed his chest to hers and kissed and licked her throat and ears. She cooed softly.
Removing his hat, she ran her fingers through his hair and over his shoulders.
Fargo covered her left breast with his hand and squeezed. Delicia wriggled, nipped his earlobe, arched. He felt her nipple harden under his palm. She raised her right thigh and rubbed it against his leg.
Fargo was going to cup her bottom but she suddenly pushed him onto his back and slid on top of him. Breathing into his ear, she grinned and said huskily, “Relax and enjoy.”
Delicia lavished wet kisses on his lips and cheeks and neck while rubbing her body against his. Her mouth, her body, were hotter by the moment.
Fargo felt a tight sensation as his bulge tried to burst from his pants.
Delicia felt it, too. Grinning, she said, “What do we have here?” and placed her hand on his manhood.
A constriction formed in Fargo’s throat. He had to will himself not to explode as she rubbed up and down in languid motion. Her hair fell over his face. Moving it aside, he pressed his mouth to hers. She practically devoured him.
Her hips ground light and easy to heighten their pleasure. When he cupped her bottom and dug his nails into her backside, she gasped and rubbed her nether mound harder on his pole.
Fargo hiked at her dress. It took some doing. She had to rise up for him to pull it up around her waist. Once he did, he ran his hand down one inner thigh and up the other. Her skin rippled to his touch.
Covering Delicia’s bush with his palm, Fargo ran a finger along her moist slit. She shivered deliciously. He parted her lips and moved his fingertip in small circles over her tiny knob and she raised her face to the sky and opened her mouth wide but didn’t utter a sound.
Fargo lost all sense of time. There was her body, and his, and their rising need. When he finally entered her, Delicia clung to him and whispered his name. When he thrust, ever harder, her eyes grew wide and her mouth parted and she moaned deep in her throat. When he gripped her hips and imitated a steam engine piston, she matched him, stroke for stroke.
It was Delicia who gushed first. For a brief moment she was completely still, then she went into a frenzy of release, her pelvis churning, her breasts heaving. She rammed against him so hard, it was a wonder she didn’t break him in half. She came and she came, and when she was spent, when she lay weak and panting, it was his turn. He rammed into her with renewed vigor until he, too, exploded with a violence that lifted both of them off the ground.
Afterward, Delicia lay with her cheek on his shoulder, her fingers stroking his hair, her eyes closed and her beautiful face composed in the contentment of sweet release.
“That was nice,” she said dreamily.
“Could have been better,” Fargo teased, and earned a light smack on the arm.
“I will miss you when you go,” Delicia said.
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry, but I will. Any woman would not mind having you for her own.”
“I’m not ready to be tied down, and I never gave you the idea I was.”
“I know, but I am starting to have feelings for you. Strong feelings.”
“I don’t want you shedding tears on my account,” Fargo warned her.
“I can’t help myself,” Delicia said. “I’m a woman.”
Fargo was uncomfortable talking about it and glad when she fell silent. He closed his eyes and let himself drift and he was almost asleep when a whinny from the Ovaro snapped him awake. He raised his head.
“What is it?” Delicia dreamily asked.
Fargo wasn’t sure. The stallion was staring off into the woods with its ear pricked. Something was out there, but it could be anything—a wolf, a bobcat, a bear. Or the mysterious Hound. “Let me up.”
Delicia raised her head. “Is there danger?”
Sliding out from under her, Fargo put himself together. He strapped on his gun belt, picked up the Henry, and stood. “Stay here.”
He moved to the west edge of the clearing. Shadows dappled the greenery. Somewhere a squirrel was chattering. A pair of hummingbirds flitted about, and in the distance he heard the rat-a-tat of a woodpecker. All perfectly normal, but the Ovaro never whinnied without cause.
Fargo stood there until Delicia impatiently called his name. He was turning to go back to her when a shadow low to the ground did something shadows shouldn’t do—it moved. Jerking the Henry to his shoulder, he took a bead. Whatever it was, it slipped behind a thicket. He waited for it to reappear and was so intent on catching sight of it that he nearly jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder.
“What’s out there?” Delicia whispered.
“I don’t know yet.”
“I’ll get the horses,” she offered.
Fargo covered the thicket. If it was the Hound, he might have time for only one shot before it reached them and he must make that shot count. He continued to cover it as he climbed on the Ovaro and as he rode toward it with Delicia behind him.
“Be careful, Skye.”
Fargo reined to the right to go around. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that nothing was there. “Keep an eye out,” he said, and dismounted. A few bent blades of grass were all he found.
“It could have been anything,” Delicia said when he told her. Fargo climbed back on. “I suppose.”
“Something tells me that when the time comes, the beast will not be easy to kill,” Delicia remarked.
Something told Fargo she was right.
24
It delighted Delicia that there had not been any new attacks on the sheep. They were grazing or resting, oblivious to their peril.
“You’ll think this is silly,” she said as they sat their horses and gazed out over the valley. “But I’m as attached to them as I would be to my own children.”
“Wait until you have some,” Fargo said.
“Sheep are in our blood,” Delicia said. “My grandmother likes to say that God put sheep on this earth to teach us to be humble.”
That made no sense to Fargo but all he said was, “Constanza is a fine one to talk. She’s as bloodthirsty as an Apache.”
“Not where sheep are concerned. She’d no more harm one than she would a baby.”
Fargo had something more important on his mind. “How much of this valley have your people explored?”
Delicia shrugged. “I don’t know. Some of the men have hunted in the mountains a lot. Why?”
“The Hound has to have a place to lie up.”
“Find the lair and we can put an end to the monster?” Delicia nodded. “My people had the same idea. My brother and several others spent days searching but didn’t find it.” She looked at him. “You think it will strike again soon, don’t you?”
“Odds are,” Fargo said.
“I saw how upset that cowboy was when he told us about the dead cows. I believe you, now, that they are not to blame. It must be a wolf. A lobo.”
Fargo was
scanning the heights. “I have most of the afternoon to myself,” he said. “I reckon I’ll spend it keeping my promise to your grandpa.”
“By your lonesome?” Delicia shook her head. “I’ll go with you.”
“No,” Fargo said. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I can’t hunt and protect you, both. Go back to the wagons where you’ll be safe.”
“What if I refuse?”
“I’ll tie you over your saddle and send you back anyway.”
“I believe you would,” Delicia said, annoyed. But she clucked to her horse and started down.
Fargo didn’t budge until he was sure she wasn’t going to try to trick him and circle back.
Above the bench grew thick timber. Above the timber were difficult grades with sparse vegetation. Given the size of the valley, searching for tracks was akin to looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Not that Fargo didn’t find any. There were plenty of deer tracks. There were elk. He found bear sign, including a tree covered with claw and rub marks. At the highest elevations there was evidence of bighorn sheep.
Smaller game was everywhere. He came across raccoon tracks and skunk tracks, badger and weasel. A careless bobcat had left a few, and he even found a mountain lion print. He discovered coyote tracks and a few fox tracks.
But nowhere did he come across the tracks of the creature he sought.
By four in the afternoon Fargo was ready to head down. He had a long ride to the cowboy camp. He idly scanned the valley from end to end—and stiffened. On the far side, almost directly across from him, an animal was loping down an open slope. At that distance he couldn’t tell much other than it had the build of a dog or a wolf but it was a lot bigger. It disappeared into a patch of pines, and although he waited another quarter of a hour, he didn’t see it again.
Fargo gigged the stallion down the mountain. He reached the bench and started across. He wasn’t expecting trouble. When three riders loomed at the crest he suspected they had been there all along, waiting for him.
“Hold up, gringo,” Carlos demanded. “We want a word with you.”
Fargo drew rein. “You don’t want to do this,” he said.
“But we do,” Carlos said with a smirk. “Permit me to introduce my friends. On my left is Pablo, on my right is Horaz.”
The other two were young, like Carlos, and like him, they were smirking at how clever they thought they were being.
“Can you guess what we want to talk about, gringo?” Carlos asked.
“You want advice on how not to be so stupid?”
Carlos lost his smirk. “Insulting me, gringo, proves that you are the one who isn’t very smart.”
“You won’t like what happens if you do this,” Fargo said.
“Can you read my thoughts now?” Carlos said. “Do you know what I am going to do before I do it?” He uttered a cold bark. “I think not.”
“Have it your way,” Fargo said. “We’ll play this out. Go ahead and say what’s on your mind.”
“My sister,” Carlos said.
“A fine filly,” Fargo said.
“Too fine for the likes of you. You are an outsider. We do not like it when outsiders trifle with our women. I want you to stop talking to her. I want you to stop going for rides with her.”
“That’s up to her.”
“No, it isn’t. She only thinks it is.” Carlos paused. “But she is just part of the reason I have come to see you. The other part is this.” He touched his swollen face. “You beat me, made me look the fool.”
“You had it coming.”
“Who are you to judge? I was doing what I thought best to protect my people.”
“And you got Alejandro killed.”
“He went with me willingly. He knew what might happen.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?”
“He is gone. It is pointless to talk about him. But my sister is very much alive, and I tell you now, to your face, that you have no right to be with her.”
“Is that all?” Fargo wanted to be on his way.
“There is just this. Pablo, Horaz and I have had enough of you, and we are escorting you out of the valley, here and now.”
“What about Trask?” Fargo said. “I’m to meet with him tonight. You don’t care that I might be able to smooth things over so that your people and the cowboys can get along?”
“Filthy gringos,” Carlos said. “What gives you the idea we want to get along? This is our valley. They are the ones who must leave. So long as they stay, we will go on spilling their blood.”
“This isn’t about the good of your people,” Fargo said. “It’s about your hate.”
Carlos put both hands on his rifle. “What will it be? Will you leave or will you die?”
25
The other two didn’t have rifles or revolvers. They had knives in sheaths at their hips, and when Carlos gripped his rifle, each gripped the hilt of his weapon.
“I take back what I said about you being stupid,” Fargo said.
Carlos blinked in surprise. “You do?”
“To be stupid you have to have a brain.” And with that, Fargo whipped out his Colt and jabbed his spurs. The Ovaro bounded between Carlos’ horse and Pablo’s. With a lightning swing to either side, Fargo slammed the Colt against their heads. Carlos fell but Pablo stayed on and reined aside, reeling.
Fargo shifted to cover Horaz but Horaz did an incredible thing: He rose onto his saddle, leaped onto Carlos’ horse, and from there sprang at Fargo. And as Horaz sprang, he drew his knife.
Fargo barely got his arm up in time. Horaz was big, and his weight was enough to knock him from the saddle. Each got a grip on the other’s arm as they toppled. Fargo tried to turn so that Horaz bore the impact but they both came down hard on their sides. Horaz made it to his feet first. Fargo was only to his knees when the sheepherder slashed at his neck. Fargo ducked and smashed the Colt against Horaz’s knee, and Horaz cried out and staggered. Fargo smashed his other knee. Horaz swore and came down on his hands and toes.
“Damn you, gringo!”
Fargo hit him once, and then again, and Horaz crumpled, unconscious.
Hooves drummed as Fargo pushed to his feet. Pablo had recovered enough to try to ride him down. Fargo darted aside and the horse swept past. Instantly, Pablo reined around to try again.
Fargo took a long bound and leaped. With his left hand he grabbed Pablo’s serape even as with his right he rammed the Colt into Pablo’s side. Pablo cried out, and the next moment Fargo hauled him from the saddle and slammed him to earth. Pablo groaned and went limp.
Fargo thought that was the end of it but a blow to his shoulder spun him half around. His gun arm went numb.
Carlos had his rifle by the barrel and was wielding it like a club. His face contorted in hate, he hissed, “I will cave your head in, gringo!”
Fargo dodged a swing but lost his hat. He skipped back and Carlos came after him, swearing furiously. Fargo tried to raise the Colt but his arm wouldn’t work. He went to border shift, and tripped over Pablo.
Before Fargo knew it, he was flat on the ground with Carlos rearing over him and the rifle hoisted high to bash his brains out.
“Now, gringo! Now!” Carlos screamed.
Fargo rolled and the stock thudded into the dirt. Scrambling onto his knees, Fargo crossed his left hand to his right boot to try to draw the Arkansas toothpick. But Carlos came at him again, swinging. It was all he could do to twist away. His right arm was tingling but he still couldn’t bring the Colt to bear.
And Pablo was slowly getting up.
Carlos swung the rifle low, seeking to sweep Fargo’s legs out from under him. Leaping into the air, Fargo kicked Carlos in the chest. Gripping the Colt by the barrel with his left hand, Fargo whipped it out and around and had the satisfaction of seeing Carlo’s mouth explode with blood and bits of teeth.
Carlos screeched and dropped the rifle and clutched at his face.
Fargo hit him again. There
was a crack and Carlos dropped where he stood.
Pablo was almost to his feet. He had a hand to his head and was shaking it to clear it.
“Had enough?” Fargo said.
Pablo spun. Glaring, he clawed at the knife on his hip.
Fargo kicked him in the groin. The tip of his boot caught the young sheepherder where it would hurt any man the most and Pablo shrieked and folded as Carlos had done. Pablo’s eyelids fluttered and his body convulsed before he lay still.
Fargo looked at the three of them.
“Jackasses.”
He tried his right arm and although it was tingling to where it hurt, he could move it. He proceeded to climb on the Ovaro and gathered up their horses. “Enjoy the walk,” he said to the limp figures, and headed down the mountain.
The camp was quiet when he arrived. Most of the women were in their wagons; most of the men were off tending the sheep.
A few children scampered about but paid him no mind. He had tied the horses and was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Constanza stalked over, her flinty face pinched with wrath.
“Where are my grandson and his friends?”
“Here we go again.”
“Don’t treat me like fool,” Constanza said. “I saw you ride up with their horses and I know they went to have a talk with you.”
“Talk?” Fargo sipped and peered at her over the tin cup. “Your grandson tried to bash my brains out. And I bet it was with your blessing.”
Constanza smiled.
Insight dawned, and Fargo said, “It was your idea, wasn’t it? That grandson of yours wouldn’t do anything without your say-so. Was it you who told him to kill those cows, too?”
“My grandson stands up for us, which is more than I can say about my husband.” Constanza folded her arms. “Now where is he? Have you killed them?”
“I should have,” Fargo said.
“You are a tough hombre, senor,” Constanza said. “I will grant you that much.”
“I don’t give a damn what you think.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind my telling you that I hate you and your kind.”
Range War (9781101559215) Page 8
