Thunderhead Trail Read Free

glared at him. “Little brother, shut the hell up. That Sharps ain’t no feather. He’d put three or four slugs into me before I could point it.”
    â€œNow you, boy,” Fargo said. “The knife.”
    Kyler swept his hand to the hilt and took a half step as if he intended to try to use it. But it must have occurred to him that he couldn’t cover the fifteen feet that separated them before he was gunned down in his tracks. With an angry oath, he yanked the knife out and let it drop.
    That left Grizz.
    â€œYour turn,” Fargo said, “and then we’ll get to it.”
    â€œGet to what?” Grizz said. He looked at Rance, his brow furrowed. “What do I do? Do I shoot him or stab him or what?”
    â€œYou’d be dead before you cleared your belt. Just do as he says.”
    â€œI don’t like this,” Grizz said. “I don’t like this at all.” But he jerked his six-shooter and bowie and placed them at his feet. “Now what?”
    â€œNow I beat the hell out of you,” Fargo said.

4
    It had begun to sink in to those along the walls that the worst of the danger was over. Low murmurs broke out and a few drifted toward the overturned tables.
    Grizz’s face was scrunched up as if he was in the outhouse and couldn’t. “
You
are fixin’ to beat
me
?”
    Fargo pried at his buckle with his left hand, careful to keep his right hand close to his holster.
    â€œWith your fists?” Kyler said, and laughed.
    Rance appeared perplexed. “I don’t savvy you, mister. My brother will break you like a twig. And for what? A gal you don’t even know.”
    â€œYou two are to stay out of it,” Fargo said.
    Rance looked down at his Sharps, and slyly smiled. “Why, sure, mister. Whatever you say.”
    Spurs jingled behind Fargo, and the man with the black hat and mismatched revolvers came up on Fargo’s right. His thumbs were still hooked in his gun belt. “I’ll make sure they do.”
    â€œWho the hell are you?” Rance said.
    â€œHandle’s Crown,” the man answered. “Rafer Crown.”
    Fargo had heard of him. Crown made his living hunting men for bounty money. He’d also been involved in a few shooting affrays and was considered a bad hombre to trifle with.
    â€œWhat’s this to you that you’re stickin’ your nose in?” Rance said.
    â€œIt interests me,” Crown said.
    â€œYou didn’t say nothin’ when we were havin’ our fun with that dove.”
    Crown shrugged. “Don’t know her. No stake in it.”
    The next moment the man in the buckskin shirt was on Fargo’s other side. He’d come up so silently, Fargo hadn’t heard him. “I’d like to see this be a fair fight, too.”
    â€œWhat the hell?” Rance said. “And who are you?”
    â€œDirk Peters. I’m not as famous as Fargo, here, but I’ve done some scouting and tracking, and now and then, I shoot bastards like you three.”
    â€œYou talk big now,” Rance said, “but I didn’t hear a peep before.”
    â€œYou had that cannon trained on us,” Dirk Peters said. “And my ma didn’t raise no simpletons.”
    Fargo held out his gun belt to Peters. “I’d be obliged if you’d look after this.”
    Rafer Crown finally unhooked a thumb and jabbed it at Rance and Kyler. “You two, over by the window. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
    â€œAnd if we don’t?” Kyler snarled.
    Crown’s hand flicked, and the Remington was in it. Everyone heard the
click
of the hammer. “I’m not this gent next to me. I don’t care about fair. Sass me, I’ll gun you. Cuss me, I’ll gun you. You don’t get your asses over by the window, I’ll gun you.”
    Rance went to say something but closed his mouth and motioned for his younger brother to follow him to the