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Tyler’s spread tomorrow morning at ten.”
    â€œWhy all at once?” Fargo asked.
    Dirk shrugged. “Tyler’s idea. Word is he’s got something he wants to say to those who go after the critter.”
    â€œSounds like a waste of time to me,” Rafer Crown said. “I’d have been off hunting it by now.”
    â€œFrom man hunter to bull hunter,” Dirk Peters said with a grin.
    â€œFor five thousand dollars I’d hunt a damn frog,” Crown said.
    â€œHow long has this bull been missing?” Fargo wanted to know.
    â€œAbout two months,” Dirk Peters said.
    Fargo took another swallow. “It could be dead by now. Or clear up in Canada.” He was only joking about that last but the bull might have wandered anywhere.
    â€œWord is that a couple of trappers spotted Thunderhead about two weeks ago not ten miles from the ranch house,” Dirk Peters revealed.
    â€œThunderhead? Tyler gave the bull a name?”
    â€œHe probably thinks it’s one of the family,” Dirk joshed.
    â€œWhy didn’t the trappers bring it back for the reward?” Fargo asked.
    â€œThey tried, but the bull didn’t want to come,” the bounty hunter said.
    â€œThey lost a packhorse for their trouble and nearly got gored, besides,” Dirk said.
    â€œSo Thunderhead is no kitten,” Fargo said.
    â€œMore monster than cat,” Dirk declared. “Half the size of a stagecoach, or so folks claim. With horns out to here.” He spread his arms as wide as they would go. “And the temper of a rabid wolf.”
    â€œHell,” Fargo said.
    â€œYes, sir,” Dirk Peters said. “Any gent who goes after Thunderhead is taking his life in his hands.”

9
    Fargo mulled that over the rest of the day.
    Both Crown and Peters could track, and with them after the bounty, finding the bull first wasn’t a sure thing.
    He entertained second thoughts about joining the hunt. But there was Candice’s promise of delights to come, and the Hollister brothers to deal with.
    Fargo decided he might as well try while he waited for her to heal and for him to have his chance at the Hollisters.
    His bottle was almost empty when he sat in on a poker game.
    The townsmen seemed in awe of him. That anyone had had the sand to stand up to the Hollisters, especially Grizz, was a wonderment. Many wanted to shake his hand and thank him. And more than a few were eager to sit in on the game.
    Fargo was happy to have them. Nearly all were piss-poor players and he liked taking their money.
    By eleven or so that night, fatigue started to set in. Fargo raked in his winnings and added them to his poke and rose. “This is it for me, gents,” he announced.
    Crown and Peters were already gone.
    Fargo nodded to a few townsmen who had been particularly friendly, and pushed on the batwings. A breath of cool night air fanned him.
    Fargo stepped from under the overhang and bent to unwrap the reins just as the Ovaro raised its head and looked above him. Simultaneously, there came a scraping sound from the overhang.
    Instinct propelled Fargo into whirling and going for his Colt just as a dark form smashed into his chest. Knocked back, he lost his hold on the revolver.
    Cold steel flashed in the light from the saloon window, nearly taking out an eye.
    Backpedaling, Fargo saw who it was.
    â€œI’ve got you now, you son of a bitch,” Kyler Hollister gloated. He wagged his antler-handled knife and grinned in glee. “Rance didn’t want me to come but I snuck off and here I am.”
    Fargo realized Kyler must have ventured into the back of the saloon and found their weapons. “I’m glad you did.”
    â€œGlad?” Kyler said.
    â€œOne less of you I have to track down.”
    â€œI by-God can’t wait to kill you.” Kyler came on in a crouch, his knife held in a way that told Fargo he knew how to use it. “For what you did to Grizz, I aim