Range War (9781101559215) (5 page)

Not in it but close by, as Fargo learned when he slicked his Colt, grabbed her wrist, and ran around the wagon. Everyone had leaped to their feet and the men were brandishing knives. Mothers poked their heads out of wagons to fearfully ask if the beast had slain another of them.

A ferocious bray focused all eyes on a patch of blackness to the west.

Fargo found himself standing near Porfiro.

“The Hound is close, senor. The closest it has ever come.”

“And all our guns are with the men watching our sheep,” someone lamented.

“I'm still here,” Fargo said.

“Do something,” a woman urged, “before it attacks and some of us die.”

Fargo doubted that any carnivore short of a grizzly would dare come closer to so many campfires. He ran to the Ovaro and saddled it anyway. It took a bit, and when he returned, Porfiro and a knot of men were at the edge of the circle of light.

As Fargo drew rein the old man said, “We heard it growl, there.” And he pointed.

“Build up the fires,” Fargo suggested, “and don't let anyone stray off.”

“No one would be that foolish, senor,” Porfiro said.

Delicia ran up clutching a burning brand. “Here.” She held it up. “You will need something to see by.”

Fargo thanked her. Holding it aloft, he rode at a walk into the maw of night. A tiny voice railed at him for putting himself in peril. He didn't owe these people anything. He should light a shuck. Instead, he rode on, moving the torch back and forth.

The Ovaro nickered at the same instant that Fargo spied a pair of gleaming eyes. Big eyes, like those the night before.

He drew rein and raised the Colt.

The eyes disappeared.

“Not this time,” Fargo said, and used his spurs. The glow of the torch washed over a long shape flowing low to the ground away from him. He rode faster, the flames flickering and dancing.

The Hound, if that is what it was, went faster, too.

It was making for the timber, Fargo realized, and if it reached the trees it stood a good chance of getting away. He was so intent on overtaking it that he didn't give much attention to the torch.

Suddenly a gust of wind caused it to sputter and nearly go out.

Fargo swore and slowed.

The shape pulled ahead and was soon lost in the pitch.

In frustration Fargo fired two swift shots. He doubted he hit it. He kept riding in the hope that the thing would circle back and try to jump him.

He had covered a quarter of a mile when hooves thudded and a pair of riders swept out of the west.

Fargo recognized them as two of the sheepherders who had ridden off earlier. Both were young and had mustaches. One carried a Sharps rifle, the other a Colt Dragoon.

“Senor Fargo!” the man with the Colt exclaimed. “Alejandro and I saw your torch and heard your shots.”

“Did you kill the beast?” Alejandro eagerly asked. “Tell me it is dead.”

Fargo shook his head.

The young man with the Colt cursed colorfully and shook the Colt at the empty air.

“Calm yourself, Flavio,” Alejandro said. “At least he had a shot at it. That is more than any of us have been able to do.”

“It is a demon,” Flavio declared. “That is why no one can kill it.”

“It's a dog or a wolf,” Fargo said. “Nothing more.”

“Did you see what it did to Ramon's throat, senor?” Flavio asked.

“I found Ramon, remember?”

“Show me a dog that can rip a man's throat out with one bite,” Flavio said. “I say to you it is more than a dog, but what is the mystery.”

Fargo had seen victims of dog attacks, and Flavio was wrong. Some dogs
could
rip out a throat—and do a lot worse.

A thought struck him. “Tell me something. How were the rest killed? Angelita and the other one?”

“By the Hound, senor,” Flavio said, his tone suggesting the question was silly.

“No, he wants to know
how
,” Alejandro said. “Both had their throats torn out, senor, as Ramon did.”

“Do tell,” Fargo said.

“Is that important?” Alejandro asked.

It had been Fargo's experience that dogs didn't always go for the throat. Some went for the arms or the legs or the body. “It could be.”

“How so?”

“It's too soon to say yet,” Fargo hedged. All he had at the moment were vague possibilities.

Flavio jabbed the Dragoon at the forested slope. “We should go after it while it is still near.”

“We won't catch it,” Alejandro said.

“We should
try
,” Flavio argued. “We owe it to our people.” He slapped his legs against his sorrel.

“We should go with him, senor,” Alejandro urged, “to keep him from harm.”

“I've got nothing better to do,” Fargo said, but he was thinking of Delicia.

The torch lasted until they were almost to the trees.

Casting it down, Fargo drew rein. So did Alejandro. They could hear Flavio crashing about higher up, making a god-awful amount of racket.

“What is he doing, senor?”

“Scaring off every animal within ten miles,” Fargo said.

Alejandro shouted his friend's name but Flavio didn't answer. “He is always so
impetuoso
.” Alejandro jabbed his heels.

Fargo sighed and followed. He'd be surprised if the Hound was still in the vicinity.

Higher up, Flavio yelled something.

“Did you hear what he said, senor?” Alejandro asked. “I didn't catch it.”

Neither did Fargo.

Then came another yell, louder and clearer: “The beast! I have found it! Hurry, Alejandro! Hurry!”

The boom of Flavio's Colt rolled down the slope and off across the valley.

“Flavio!” Alejandro cried.

Fargo brought the Ovaro to a gallop and swept past Alejandro. A second shot came from off to the left somewhere. Fargo veered in that direction.

There was a third shot, and a heartbeat later a strident whinny.

Flavio let out a shriek.

Behind Fargo, Alejandro was practically beside himself, screaming his friend's name.

Fargo caught movement. He burst into a clearing and beheld Flavio's horse on its side, struggling to rise. He also spotted Flavio on his belly with his arms flung out in appeal.

“Help me, senor!”

Something had hold of Flavio's leg and was pulling him into the undergrowth.

Flavio screamed and dug his fingers into the ground, trying to stop himself from being dragged off. But the creature that had hold of him was too powerful. “Help me!” he cried again.

Fargo resorted to his spurs and the Ovaro swept past the struggling horse. The thing dragging Flavio heard him and raised its head. Fargo fired, and in the flash of his Colt he had a fleeting impression of baleful eyes and a lot of teeth.

The thing spun and leaped into the forest in a prodigiously long bound that few wolves or dogs could rival. Fargo fired again and started in after it only to be confronted by an inky mass of vegetation. To try and catch it would be futile. Cursing, he reined around.

Alejandro had arrived and vaulted off his mount. Running to his friend, he dropped to his knees. “Flavio! Speak to me!”

Flavio had gone limp but he raised his head and said weakly, “I am alive, Alejandro.”

Fargo swung down and gave Alejandro a hand, carefully moving Flavio to the middle of the clearing.

“His right leg, senor,” Alejandro gasped.

Fargo had already seen it. Flavio's pants were shredded from the knee down and stained dark. “I'll build a fire,” he offered, and went about gathering downed branches and the tinder he'd need. He was out of lucifers but he had a fire steel and flint in his saddlebags. As the flames rose, Alejandro gasped again.

The leg was bad. The beast's fangs had ripped so deep, the bone was exposed. Flavio had lost a horrendous amount of blood.

“Flavio?” Alejandro said, but his friend had passed out.

Untying his bandanna, Fargo applied it to the leg above the knee. His crude tourniquet stopped the blood but Flavio needed immediate attention. “We have to get him to your camp.”

“
Si
,” Alejandro agreed. “Constanza is our healer. She can sew him up and restore him.”

Fargo had seen people die from losing as much blood as Flavio but he didn't say anything. Together they boosted Flavio onto Alejandro's horse and Alejandro climbed up behind him and wrapped his arm around Flavio's waist.

“Wait for me,” Fargo said, but Alejandro was already heading down. He forked leather and snatched the reins to Flavio's animal.

From the woods came a growl.

The Colt leaped into his hand and Fargo shifted in the saddle. He saw nothing other than a wall of black but he sensed the thing was close. All he wanted was a clear shot. The seconds dragged into minutes and the growl wasn't repeated. He shoved the Colt into its holster and lit down the mountain. The entire ride to the bottom he had the sensation that he was being followed, but the wolf or hound or whatever it was didn't show itself.

As he started across the valley floor Fargo looked back in the hope of spotting it. It galled him that, twice now, whatever it was had gotten the better of him. He was commencing to take it personal.

Alejandro was well ahead. Fargo tried to overtake him but the sheepherder was flying for his friend's life and reached the encampment first. By the time he came to a halt and dismounted, a crowd had gathered and Constanza was ministering to Flavio. Constanza had slit open the rest of the pant leg with a knife and was probing the deep lacerations with her fingers.

“We must get him into our wagon,” she said to Porfiro. “I will need hot water and my needles and cat gut.”

“It will be done,” Porfiro said.

Nearly all of them drifted toward the leader's wagon. Two exceptions were a frowning malcontent and a friend of his who stalked up and sneered.

“Big help you were, gringo,” Carlos declared.

“Go away, boy,” Fargo said.

Carlos stayed where he was. “Another of us might die. And you are supposed to be our great protector, are you not? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Flavio went up the mountain on his own,” Fargo said. “He should have waited for Alejandro and me.”

“That is what Alejandro told us,” Carlos responded. “But do you want to know what I think?”

“No.”

“I'll tell you anyway.” Carlos glanced at his companion as if for support. “I think you are a liar, gringo.”

“Do you, now.”

“I think your grand promise is hot air. I think you are not any better at killing the Hound than we are.” Growing bolder, Carlos poked Fargo in the chest. “I think also maybe you are a coward.”

“Think again,” Fargo said, and slugged him, unleashing an uppercut that smashed the point of Carlos' chin so hard, Fargo nearly broke his hand.

Carlos landed on his back and didn't move.

The friend grabbed for a knife on his right hip but froze at the click of Fargo's Colt.

“I wouldn't.”

“You are quick, gringo,” the other man said.

“You haven't seen anything yet,” Fargo said. “Take that jackass and make yourselves scarce. When he comes to, tell him that if he ever prods me again, I won't be nice like this time.”

The man sniffed. “You took him by surprise, that is all. Mark my words. Carlos is not the kind to forgive and forget. When he comes to his senses he will be out for your blood.”

The morning dawned gray and bleak. More clouds had scuttled in overnight and the day threatened rain.

Fargo was one of the first up. He seldom slept past daybreak. He kindled a fire and put some of his own coffee on and pondered all that had occurred. Something was troubling him.

A wagon door creaked and Constanza emerged. She looked bone-weary. Putting a hand to the small of her back, she arched and stifled a yawn.

“Long night, I take it,” Fargo said.

Constanza gave a slight start. “Senor Fargo, I didn't see you there.”

“Will he live?”

“
Si
,” Constanza said. She came to the fire. “I have seen bites before but never any so gruesome.”

“How so?”

“Whatever it is, it has powerful jaws. There are teeth marks on the bone. And it worried the flesh so badly, I had to cut much of it away to forestall infection.” Constanza sadly shook her head. “I am afraid Flavio will walk with a limp for the rest of his days.”

“At least he's alive.”

“There is life and then there is life,” Constanza said. “But I take your point.” She looked at him. “I also tended to my grandson. Someone hit him and broke a tooth.”

“Poor baby,” Fargo said.

“He wouldn't tell me who but we both know it was you.”

“Your grandson is a pain in the ass,” Fargo said.

“Even so, he is still blood of my blood, and I will not permit you to harm him more than you have.”

“That's up to him.”

“It is in your best interests, too. My advice to you is to ride on.”

“I promised your husband I'd go after the Hound.”

“He will not hold it against you if you change your mind,” Constanza said.

“I'd hold it against me.”

“We can't matter that much to you,” Constanza argued. “You hardly know us.”

“I know Yoana,” Fargo said.

“No,” Constanza said. “I suspect there is more to it. Confide in me or not, it is your choice.” She bent and picked up a cup and filled it. “I am old, senor. I am patient.”