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Authors: C. J. Cherryh

BOOK: Range War (9781101559215)

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“Refresh my memory about something,” Fargo said. “How soon after the cowboys showed up did the attacks begin?”

“
Exactamente?
”

“
Si.
”

Constanza had to think about it. “It was three nights after we learned that the Americano vaqueros had come to Hermanos Valley, we first heard the howls.”

“Gracias.”

“Which is why we suspected they were behind it,” Constanza elaborated. “But now you say the Hound has killed their cattle and tried to attack one of them.” She sadly sighed. “I don't know what to think anymore. Or could it be that they lied to you?”

“They seemed sincere.”

“But it could all be an act?” Constanza pressed him.

“It could,” Fargo conceded.

“Then until you prove otherwise, I will continue to place the blame at their feet.”

The wagon door opened and out came Alejandro. Shuffling tiredly over, he helped himself to coffee. “Flavio is finally sleeping peacefully,” he said to the old woman.

“Good,” she said. “He needs rest more than anything.”

“His leg,” Alejandro said, and closed his eyes and winced. “He will be a cripple, won't he?”

“Perhaps not,” Constanza said.

“But you think he will?”

“
Si.
”

“I make this vow,” Alejandro solemnly declared. “From this day forth I will not rest until the Hound that did this to him is dead. I swear by all that's holy.”

“God does not like for us to swear by Him,” Constanza said. “Pick something else to swear by.”

“God will do,” Alejandro said.

Again the door opened. This time it was Delicia. Despite the clouds and the horror that permeated the very air, she was gorgeous. “
Buenos dÃas.
”

“Did you sleep well, sweet one?” Constanza asked.

“How could I, Grandmother, with all that was going on?”

Delicia focused on Fargo. “And you, senor. What will you do this fine day?”

“Go after the Hound,” Fargo said.

“With me at his side,” Alejandro informed her.

“Didn't you learn anything from what befell Flavio?” Delicia asked.

“
Si
,” Alejandro responded. “I learned that thing must die, and the sooner, the better for us.”

“Senor Fargo,” Delicia said. “Talk sense into him. Forbid him to accompany you.”

“He's a grown man,” Fargo said.

“But not a wise one. You, though, have the benefit of having hunted before. Explain the dangers to him.”

“I already know them,” Alejandro said.

“You will be maimed like Flavio. Or worse.”

“Perhaps,” Alejandro told her. “But I will be able to hold my head high and not bent low in shame.”

“There is no shame for anyone here,” Constanza interrupted. “The men have done all they can. That they have not slain this Hound is through no fault of theirs.”

“With two of us after the thing,” Alejandro insisted, “maybe we will succeed.”

Fargo didn't want him to go but held his peace.

“Just remember, you two,” Constanza said. “The Hound isn't your only worry.”

“It is all I think about,” Alejandro said.

“Don't forget that the cowboys have vowed to drive us out. Should they catch you, there is no predicting what they will do. They might shoot you. Or maybe they will tar and feather you, as the gringos are so fond of doing.”

“Over my dead body,” Fargo said.

The clouds darkened during the morning and by noon Fargo was sure they were in for a storm. He and the young sheepherder were on the grassy bench high above the valley, seeking signs. “We should hunt cover if it starts to rain.”

“I don't mind being wet, senor,” Alejandro said.

They left the bench and climbed. The higher slopes weren't as thick with trees and were dotted with boulders.

“The Hound has to be flesh and blood,” Alejandro said at one point. “Yes?”

“What else would it be?”

“Then why can't we find any sign? Why can't we find tracks or droppings?”

“It's canny, this critter,” Fargo said.

“Or it is the spawn of hell,” Alejandro declared in earnest. “I have heard of such things. My people whisper about them in the night.”

“I don't buy that nonsense. Anything that can hurt us, we can hurt. Or kill.”

“I hope you are right, senor,” Alejandro said. “It is one thing to be up against a wolf or a dog, another to contend with the Devil.”

“Keep thinking like that and you'll freeze when the time comes,” Fargo warned.

“Do not worry about me. Dog or devil, I will do what must be done.”

Just then Fargo spied a dark circle a quarter of a mile or more above them. “Look there,” he said, and pointed.

“A cave, you think?”

“Let's find out.”

It was a hard climb. Twice Fargo had to dismount and lead the Ovaro by the reins. The last slope was the steepest. They left their horses tied to a stunted pine and ascended the rest of the way on foot.

“It's a cave!” Alejandro exclaimed.

The opening was five feet across. The ground around it was undisturbed, with not so much as a single print.

Fargo wasn't surprised when he crouched and entered, only to find a lot of dust and an old spider web. The cave barely went in four feet.

“Nothing has ever lived here,” Alejandro said, unable to hide his disappointment.

“The spider,” Fargo said, with a flick of a finger at the tattered web.

“I had high hopes. I want the beast dead.”

“We'll get it sooner or later,” Fargo predicted.

“It is the later that bothers me,” Alejandro said. “How many more of my people will it kill?”

Fargo had no answer to that. He turned and gazed down at their horses and then out over the valley. From that high up the sheep were white puffy balls. He could see the encampment and the wagons.

“Who is that?” Alejandro asked, and pointed.

On a bluff behind and above the camp was a man on horseback. He was just sitting there, apparently staring down at the sheepherders without being seen.

“It is a cowboy!” Alejandro declared. “He is spying on my people.”

“So long as that's all he's doing,” Fargo said.

“We must go find out.” Alejandro moved out of the cave. “We will confront him.”

“Might be best not to,” Fargo advised.

“Senor?”

“Spying is harmless. We go after him, it might end in bloodshed.”

“So long as the blood is his.”

Fargo tried a different tack. “He'll spot us crossing the valley. We won't be able to get close enough.”

Alejandro thoughtfully scratched his chin and suddenly brightened. “Not if we circle around from up here. We can get above him and he'll never see us. Are you coming?” He started down, slipping and sliding.

“Hell,” Fargo said.

Plenty of timber provided the cover they needed to reach the north end of the valley without being spotted. They climbed higher while continuing to circle until they reached a point several hundred yards above the cowboy on the bluff.

“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.

“PerdÃ³n?”

“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.”

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
estÃºpido
,” Alejandro said, “but you are a fool.”