Thunderhead Trail Read Online Free PDF Page A

about a week?”
    â€œDeal,” Candice said. She began to laugh, winced in pain, and closed her eye again. “I’ll ride you until you chafe,” she said softly, and passed out.
    Fargo touched her hair. “Quite a gal,” he said. He left quietly. In the hall he paused. Instead of turning to the back door, he walked to the front of the house.
    A parlor on the left was occupied by a man and a woman in their middle years. The woman was in a chair, tense with fear. The man was staring out the front window and jumped when Fargo said, “Folks.”
    â€œWho are you?” the man demanded in a tone that told Fargo he was more mouse than lion. “What are you doing in here?”
    â€œYou run this boardinghouse?” Fargo asked.
    â€œWe both do,” the woman said. “Harold works at the general store but this gives us extra money.”
    â€œThe woman, Candice . . .” Fargo began.
    â€œCandice Phelps,” the woman said.
    â€œShe was beat by the Hollisters. She’s in her room, hurt bad.”
    â€œOh God,” Harold said. “I was sent home and Mr. Ogilby closed the store, he’s so scared of them.”
    â€œSeems to be a lot of that going around.” Fargo focused on the woman. “I hear there’s no doc in this town.”
    â€œThere isn’t,” she confirmed.
    â€œCandice is asleep now but in a few hours you should look in on her.”
    â€œDon’t you worry. I like Candice. We’ll take real good care of her.”
    To the man Fargo said, “You can stop trembling. The Hollisters have left.”
    â€œThank God,” the man said. “It’s a wonder they didn’t kill anybody.”
    Fargo touched his hat brim to the woman and left by the front door. The sudden glare of the afternoon sun after the half shadow of the house made him squint. He turned up the street and happened to gaze its full length to the prairie beyond.
    A flash of light gleamed far off.
    Fargo flung himself at the ground. Hardly had he done so when something whistled over his head. The distant boom of the shot followed half a second later.
    Rance Hollister was out there with his Sharps.
    In the hands of a marksman, a Sharps could hit a target from half a mile off. But it was a single-shot and took a few seconds to reload.
    Rolling, Fargo heaved up and ran between two buildings before Hollister could get off another. Hot fury boiled in his veins. The Hollisters would have been smart to leave it be. Now he couldn’t just ride off.
    Staying out of the open, Fargo reached the saloon.
    Nearly everyone was drinking and talking excitedly and a couple of card games had resumed. They were making so much noise, no one had heard the shot.
    The place fell as silent as a cemetery when Fargo strode in.
    Rafer Crown and Dirk Peters were at a corner table, and Peters beckoned.
    The bartender had just brought a couple of glasses over for them.
    Going over, Fargo pulled out a chair and set down his bottle. “I’m obliged for the warning about Rance.”
    â€œHe tried?” the barman asked.
    â€œHe did.”
    â€œThey won’t give up, you know,” the bartender said. “I put the rest of their weapons in the back room if you want them.”
    â€œI don’t.”
    The bartender shrugged and returned to the bar.
    â€œIf it was me,” Rafer Crown said, “I’d gun them on sight the next time I see them. Whether they are heeled or not.”
    Fargo chugged and let out an “Ahhh” at the welcome burning that spread from his throat to his belly. “I take it you gents are going after the bull?”
    Dirk Peters nodded. “The hunt commences tomorrow. That rancher, Jim Tyler, sent circulars all over about a month ago. I saw one in Utah.”
    â€œIt was Denver for me,” Crown said.
    â€œThere’s a lot of others who have shown up,” Dirk Peters said. “We’re to meet at