Range War (9781101559215) Read Free Page A

boy, and they will be obeyed,” said the man on the right.
    â€œQuit calling me that,” Carlos snapped. He took a step back and held his hands up, palms out. “And I would never hurt my grandfather, were he our líder or not. I am of his blood, and blood is always to be honored.”
    The sheepherder in the poncho impatiently waved a hand. “All this petty bickering is bad enough, but we still have to decide what to do with this Buckskin.”
    â€œMy name is Fargo,” Fargo said.
    â€œI will have a talk with him,” Porfiro said, and gestured at the men who had hold of Fargo’s arms. They reluctantly let go.
    â€œI’m obliged,” Fargo said.
    â€œVen conmigo,” Porfiro replied, and ushered him to the rear of a wagon. Opening a small door, he motioned for Fargo to precede him.
    Fargo had never been in a sheepherder’s wagon before. He’d figured there would be seats, like in a stagecoach, or maybe it would be littered with personal effects, like in a Conestoga. But it was nothing like either.
    The wagon was a home on wheels. There was a small stove. There were cupboards and shelves. There was a table. There was even a bed big enough for two, with a flowered quilt. Along one side was a bench, built as part of the wall. The interior smelled of pipe smoke and food.
    â€œMy humble home,” Porfiro said. He indicated the bench.
    Fargo sat and placed his hands on his knees. “The girl took my Colt,” he mentioned. “I’d like it back.”
    â€œFirst things first.” Porfiro sank down and thoughtfully studied him. “Were you telling the truth about not harming Ramon?”
    â€œLike I told Delicia, what reason would I have?” Fargo countered.
    â€œOur enemies don’t need a reason other than we tend sheep and they tend cattle,” Porfiro said. “Ramon is not the first one of us to have his throat torn out by their dog. He is the third.”
    â€œIt wasn’t a dog,” Fargo said.
    Porfiro sat up. “You have seen it?”
    â€œI saw its eyes,” Fargo said.
    â€œWe have heard it howl at night, as a dog does.”
    Fargo was going to point out that wolves howled, too. Instead he said, “And you say the cowboys are using this dog to try and drive your people off?”
    â€œ Si , senor,” Porfiro said. “Until they came our valley was peaceful.”
    â€œWhere are these cowboys? I didn’t see any sign of them.”
    â€œAt the south end of the valley,” Porfiro revealed. “There are eight of them and they brought over a hundred cows.”
    â€œThat’s all?”
    â€œI know what you are thinking. But they have many guns and we have only a few. And besides, I do not believe in killing.” Porfiro sadly bowed his head. “A lot more of them are coming, senor, along with a great many more cattle.”
    â€œThey told you this?”
    â€œ Si. When they first came, they invited us to eat with them and some of us went. We thought they were passing through, as you gringos say. But that was not the case. They told us they are making Hermanos Valley part of their range, and we must take our sheep and leave. Can you imagine?”
    Yes, Fargo could. Cattlemen and sheepmen were always at odds. In Texas and elsewhere they had clashed and spilled blood on both sides. With more and more cattle ranches starting up thanks to the demand for beef from back East, the problem was bound to get worse. “I’m sorry for your troubles.”
    Porfiro looked at him. “I almost believe you mean it.”
    â€œI do,” Fargo said. He was a firm believer in every man, and woman, being allowed to live as they damn well pleased without interference from anybody.
    Porfiro’s brow knit and he bit his lower lip. “You sound sincere, senor. I wonder . . .”
    â€œWonder what?” Fargo prompted when he didn’t go on.
    â€œI wonder if you would be willing