Range War (9781101559215) (12 page)

“I didn't reckon you would,” Shorty said.

“You said your boss wanted to see me.”

Griff Wexler came over from the cook wagon. “It's the only reason you're still breathin', mister.”

Another man was behind the foreman. Not much taller than Shorty, he was almost as wide as he was tall. His shoulders and chest were broad and powerful, his arms uncommonly long. On his right hip was a Smith and Wesson. “Behave yourself, Griff,” he said sternly.

“Trask, I take it?” Fargo said.

“Ben Trask,” Trask amended, and held out his hand.

It was the strongest handshake Fargo ever felt. For a second he thought that Trask was trying to break his fingers but the rancher's grip eased and Trask smiled and motioned. “Have a seat. I promised you a feed and I always keep my word.” He waited for Fargo to sit and then sank facing him, his legs crossed, his forearms on his knees. “Hope you don't mind beef and potatoes.”

“I've never met a cow I didn't want to eat,” Fargo said.

“Cows or whores?” Trask said, and burst into gruff mirth. He glanced at a cowboy and snapped his fingers, and just-like-that a tin cup brimming with coffee was placed in his hands. “One for our guest, too.”

Fargo decided he would let his host bring up why he'd been invited. For now he was content to take the man's measure.

“Skye Fargo,” Trask said. “I've heard of you. Hell, most anyone who can read has heard of you.”

“Hell,” Fargo said.

“That's what you get for bein' half famous.”

“It wasn't by choice.”

“No,” Trask said. “I can tell just by lookin' at you that you're not one of those fancy pants who puts on airs and pretends to be somethin' he ain't. You're the real article, sure enough.”

“I like to think I am,” Fargo said, for lack of anything better.

“I like to think I am, too,” Trask said. “So tell me. You ever hear of me before you met some of my boys the other day?”

“Can't say as I have, no,” Fargo admitted.

Trask chuckled. “Hear that, boys? Here I think I'm the cock of the walk in west Texas, and a famous feller like Fargo, here, doesn't know me from Adam.”

“I don't know many ranchers,” Fargo said.

“No need to spare my feelin's. My hide's inches thick.” Trask drained half his cup. “I reckon the place to start is to set you straight about me.”

“It's the sheepherders I'm here about,” Fargo began.

Trask held up a calloused hand. “We'll get to them directly. Just listen a spell.” He rubbed his square chin. “I run the Bar T, one of the biggest outfits in this part of the country, or most anywhere else, for that matter. It has more acres than some states, and we're always addin' on.”

“How big, exactly?” Fargo asked.

“Eh?” Ben Task gestured. “Last I checked, it was six hundred thousand acres, give or take forty or fifty thousand. I run about seventy-five thousand head. Got some hogs and goats too, but they don't hardly count.”

“Seventy-five thousand?” Fargo repeated in some astonishment.

“That's a heap of cows,” Trask agreed, “which is why I'm always on the lookout for new land to graze.”

“Uh-oh,” Fargo said.

“We ain't to it yet but we will be soon.” Trask nodded at Griff Wexler. “My foreman says he told you that I heard about this valley from some boys of mine who moseyed up this way to hunt elk. He says he made it plain as plain can be that I aim to lay claim to it.”

“He did,” Fargo said.

Trask grunted. “Then I don't know quite what to make of you. You don't
look
stupid.”

“How's that again?”

“I have pretty near forty hands with me. Any time I want, I can send a rider for forty more.”

“Your own little army,” Fargo said.

“That's a good way of puttin' it, only it's not so little. And every hombre on my spread, from my bronc breakers to my line riders to my brush poppers, they're all loyal to the brand.” Trask glanced at Shorty. “Ain't that right?”

“It sure as hell is, boss,” Shorty declared, and a number of the punchers nodded or voiced agreement.

“I didn't get where I am by bein' puny,” Trask said. “I take what I want when I want it.”

“Even if somebody was there before you?” Fargo asked.

Trask scowled. “Mister, it's not my fault if these sheepherders never thought to file a legal claim. I always file on land I make my own.”

Fargo could see where this was going and didn't like it.

“But to back up a bit, my foreman told you about the Bar T and about me and how Hermanos Valley will be called Trask Valley before too long, did he not?”

“Except for the Trask Valley part,” Fargo said.

“Then I'll say it again,” Trask said. “I don't know what to make of you, because only a fool would do what you've done.”

“Refresh my memory,” Fargo said.

Trask leaned toward him. Trask's face was steel and fire. “You've made me mad, mister. Do you know what happens to people who make me mad?” His hand darted down and when he raised it he had a beetle between his thick thumb and forefinger. The beetle struggled, its legs kicking. “I'll give you a hint,” he said, and crushed the beetle to a pulp.

Ben Trask wiped his fingers on his pants and smiled. There was no warmth in his smile, no friendliness. “We'll eat and then we'll get to it.”

Fargo didn't ask what “it” was.

Trask snapped his fingers again and a cowhand brought a plate heaped with a thick slab of steak and potatoes.

Another puncher brought a plate for Fargo.

Trask poked at his meat with a fork and said, “This came from one of the cows killed by . . . what the hell is it? I thought maybe the sheepherders had sicced a dog on my herd but my boys say the mutton lovers have lost sheep, too.”

“They've lost a lot more sheep than you've lost cows,” Fargo said.

“What's killin' everything?”

“I've seen its tracks and I've caught sight of it twice and I still don't know what it is.”

“How can that be?” Trask said. “From what I've heard, you're supposed to be one of the best scouts breathin'.”

“I've hunted most everything at one time or another,” Fargo said, “but this thing has me stumped.” He cut off a piece of juicy beef. “I agreed to hunt it for them but so far it has me licked.”

“Why would you do a thing like that? Help them, I mean? What are they to you?”

“Nothing special.”

“Then why, damn it? Help me to understand.”

“It killed a little girl.”

“Oh,” Trask said, and then again, more thoughtfully. “Oh. I didn't know.”

“It's killed two of their men, besides.”

“I don't much care about the grownups,” Trask said. “If they raise sheep, they're maggots. But kids now, that's different. I have two daughters. This changes things.” He lapsed into a silence that he didn't break until both of them had cleaned their plates and were washing the meal down with more coffee. Out of the blue he said, “That little girl has saved your bacon. For now.”

“She has?”

Trask nodded. “Three of my punchers are dead. Two of them, I understand, were shot by you.”

“They were trying to kill me.”

“Doesn't matter. No one kills a Bar T hand and lives. No one.” Trask stared at him. “I invited you over to get a look at you and try to figure what makes you tick, and then I was fixin' to have my boys beat you and strip you and drag you behind a horse until the skin was flayed from your body.”

“It wouldn't be easy.”

“Easy or hard, once I make up my mind, it gets done.” Trask paused. “I make my own laws, Fargo, and the top law is that the Bar T and those who work for me come before all else. I'm fair about it. I don't go hangin' rustlers without I have proof they've rustled. I catch a brand blotter workin' on my critters, I don't always kill them. Sometimes I chop off their hands as a message to others with the same notion.”

“You call that fair?”

Trask nodded. “In this country a man can't afford to be puny. Not if he's to make somethin' of himself. I have to be tough to keep what I have.”

“They were trying to kill me,” Fargo said again. “They didn't leave me any choice.”

“I believe you. And I'll take that into account. But you shouldn't have come down here with those two woolly lovers.”

“I didn't. I came to try and stop them.”

“Well now,” Trask said, and his thick eyebrows met over his nose. “Why are you explainin' yourself? You don't strike me as the type.”

“I don't want to have to kill any more of your men,” Fargo said. “But if they make me, I will. And I won't stop with them. I'll go straight to the top.”

Ben Trask sat up. His features shifted, first in surprise, then anger, and then he let loose with a belly laugh. “Did you hear him, boys?”

“We sure enough did, boss,” Shorty said. “Say the word and we'll bed him down, permanent.”

“Like hell you will,” Trask said, grinning. “Don't you see what we've got here?”

Shorty and some of the others exchanged confused looks.

It was Griff Wexler who said, “I'm afraid we've lost your trail, Mr. Trask.”

“What we've got here,” the rancher said, “is a man.”

“We're all men, boss,” Shorty said.

Trask looked at him. “You're young yet or you'd know there are men and then there are
men
.” He switched his gaze to Fargo and nodded in approval. “Him and me are of the same breed.”

Fargo didn't see it that way but he was sensible enough not to say so.

“Yes, sir,” Trask continued. “This puts everythin' in a whole new light.”

“It does?” Griff said.

Fargo took advantage of his host's newfound friendliness to say, “I don't suppose you'd be willing to share Hermanos Valley with the sheepherders?”

“Not on your life,” Trask said. “Sheep destroy the range for cattle. It's either them or us who stays and it won't be them.”

So much for friendliness, Fargo reflected. “They won't go without a fight.”

“That's up to them.”

“There are women and children.”

Trask frowned. “I told you I'm fair. I don't make war on females and kids. But I don't let them turn me to mush, neither.”

Fargo didn't know what else to say. He had tried every argument.

Just then a fierce howl was wafted down the valley by the night wind. The cry rose to a savage pitch that caused some of the horses to whinny and stomp.

“God Almighty,” Trask exclaimed. “Was that it?”

Fargo nodded.

“I've never heard the like.” Trask stared into the darkness. “It wasn't a wolf. And it didn't sound like no dog. But what else could it be?”

Fargo had no answer.

“All right,” Trask said. “Here's how it will be. For the time bein' I'll hold off on the woolly lovers. You can tell them for me that we have a truce.”

“Boss?” Shorty said.

Trask gestured sharply. “A truce,” he repeated. “We'll stay at this end of the valley and they stay at the other end. But only until we find that thing and end its cow-killin' days.”

“And little girl killing days,” Fargo said.

“We're goin' to hunt it?” Griff said.

“We'll start tomorrow. Every last hand except for those ridin' herd will lend a hand.”

“That's generous of you,” Fargo said.

Trask laughed. “Don't be thankin' me. I'm only doin' it so you can kill the thing and be on your way. I'm startin' to like you, and I'd hate to have to bury you.”

“I'd hate to have to be buried,” Fargo said.

The sheepherders greeted the news of a truce with elation,

Porfiro was the happiest of all. “I prayed he would see reason and he has. This is wonderful.”

Constanza muttered in exasperation and then snapped, “Haven't you heard a word the scout has said? The rancher still intends to drive us out.”

“We have bought time,” Porfiro said. “We can persuade him to live in peace.”

“There are days when I wonder why I married you,” Constanza said bitterly. “As soon as the Hound is dead, this Trask will turn his guns on us.”

For once Fargo agreed with her. But for now he was willing to concentrate on the beast. “Trask and his men will be here early,” he informed them. “We plan to split into groups of four or five and search the valley from end to end.”

“Do you really think you can bring the Hound to bay?” Delicia asked.

Fargo shrugged. The valley itself encompassed some sixty square miles. Then there were the adjacent slopes. Even with fifty or more searchers, finding the beast would be more luck than anything. He went to lead the Ovaro around to the horse string but Constanza grabbed his arm.

“Hold on. I demand to know where my grandson is.”

“What?” Fargo said in genuine surprise.

“You told me he would show up but he hasn't. Where did you leave him?”

“Up on that tableland where you graze half your sheep,” Fargo said. “They should have been here hours ago.”

“Perhaps they decided to remain overnight,” Porfiro said, “to keep watch.”

“No.” Constanza shook her head. “I told him not to stay out with the Hound on the loose.”