Thunderhead Trail by Jon Sharpe Read Free Book Online

said. “That is one feisty gal.”
    â€œFeisty won’t help her much with the Blackfeet,” Rafer Crown said.
    Now it was the farmer who approached, his thumbs hooked in his suspenders. “Mr. Tyler,” he said with a nod of greeting.
    â€œHumphries,” Tyler said. “Shouldn’t you be tending to your fields?”
    â€œFor five thousand dollars they can wait.”
    â€œYou’re worse than Esther,” Tyler said.
    â€œWorse how? Your bounty is more than I’d earn in ten years. I could have a bigger farmhouse built, treat my family to things.”
    â€œYou can’t if you’re dead,” Tyler said.
    â€œI’ve hunted. I’m not helpless.”
    â€œI hope not, for your family’s sake.”
    Humphries smiled at them and strolled away.
    â€œWhat have I done?” Tyler said to himself. “These people are going to get themselves killed.”
    â€œYou haven’t seen anything yet,” Dirk Peters said, gesturing.
    The young couple in the smart city clothes approached, looking for all the world as if they were out for a Sunday stroll. The woman twirled her parasol, the young man ran a finger over his neatly trimmed mustache.
    â€œMr. Tyler,” the young man said. “We wanted to make your acquaintance, my sister and I.”
    â€œGood God,” Tyler said.
    â€œNow, now,” the young man said. “I’m Glyn Richmond and this is my sister, Aramone. Don’t let our attire deceive you. My sister and I are more competent than you appear to think. She’s a fine shot. She once bagged a squirrel at two hundred yards.”
    â€œA squirrel?” Dirk Peters said, and snorted.
    â€œSquirrels don’t claw you to pieces,” Rafer Crown said. “Grizzlies do.”
    â€œI assure you, good sir,” Glyn Richmond said, “we’re prepared for anything.”
    â€œDoes that include the Blackfeet?” Dirk Peters asked.
    Aramone was eyeing Fargo. She ran her gaze from his hat to his boots and up again. “And who might you be, tall and silent?”
    Fargo told her.
    â€œYou won’t be disappointed, will you, handsome, if we beat you to the bull?” she teased.
    â€œSis,” Glyn said.
    â€œI’m only being friendly.” Aramone twirled her parasol and winked at Fargo and they ambled off.
    â€œThe females fall right over you, don’t they?” Dirk Peters said, and laughed.
    â€œMust be nice,” Rafer Crown said.
    Jim Tyler wasn’t the least bit amused. “They shouldn’t be here. Nor most of the rest.”
    â€œThey’re grown-ups,” Dirk said. “They can do as they please no matter how dumb it is.”
    â€œNot all of them are grown,” Crown said. He was staring at the three redheaded boys.
    â€œThese Blackfeet,” Fargo thought to bring up. “Is it a war party? And how many?”
    â€œThe word I got is that there’s seven or eight,” Tyler answered. “The hunter who saw them didn’t say if they wore war paint or not.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter if they do,” Dirk Peters said. “They’d likely as not scalp any white they caught anyway.”
    â€œThere’s something else,” Jim Tyler said, and lowered his voice. “Something I should have told everyone else, I reckon. It’s about Thunderhead.”
    â€œLet me guess,” Dirk Peters said. “He’ll balk at being brought back.”
    â€œI figured as much but that won’t stop me,” Rafer Crown said.
    â€œHe’ll do more than balk,” Tyler informed them.
    â€œWhat else can he do?” Dirk asked.
    â€œKill you.”
    â€œHow’s that again?”
    â€œThunderhead has gored three men to death.”

13
    To Fargo this bull hunt was getting better by the moment. First there were all the greenhorns. Then there were the Blackfeet. And now, “You’re saying Thunderhead is a