Thunderhead Trail by Jon Sharpe Read Free Book Online Page A

man-killer?”
    Tyler nodded. “It’s why the rancher in Texas was willing to sell him.”
    â€œHell,” Dirk Peters said.
    â€œTwo of the men he gored were trying to herd him into a pen,” Tyler said. “For some reason he snapped and gored them. The third man was on the way here. One of my hands was trying to persuade him to ford a river and he brought down the hand and his horse.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t think to tell everyone else?” Dirk said.
    â€œI don’t want them so scared of him that they shoot him if he acts up.”
    â€œI won’t be gored,” Rafer Crown said. “Your bull tries that with me, I’ll put lead in his brainpan.”
    â€œSee? Please, try not to,” Tyler said. “I’m begging you.”
    â€œBetter and better,” Fargo said.
    â€œHow’s that?”
    Before Fargo could answer, a woman on the porch called to the rancher and he excused himself, saying simply, “It’s the missus.”
    â€œWhat do you think?” Dirk Peters asked when the rancher was out of earshot.
    â€œI’m right pleased,” Crown said.
    â€œWhy?”
    Crown motioned. “Most of these folks don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of finding that critter. I can almost feel the money in my poke.”
    â€œPut the cart before the horse, why don’t you?” Dirk said. “Any one of them could have a stroke of luck and find him.”
    â€œMore likely they’ll find an early grave.”
    The pair went on talking as Fargo made for a pump toward the side of the house. He worked the handle and after half a dozen tries water splashed out. Cupping his hand, he caught some and drank.
    â€œHow about a little for a lady, there, handsome?”
    Fargo turned.
    Aramone Richmond had closed her parasol and was holding it across a slender shoulder. She smiled and ran the tip of her tongue along her ruby lips. “I’m terribly thirsty.”
    â€œThere’s no cup,” Fargo said.
    â€œWho needs one?” she said, with a meaningful look.
    Fargo pumped and cupped and held out his hand to her. Grinning, she pressed her lips to his palm and sipped, her eyes on his the whole time. When she was done, she flicked her tongue across his wet palm.
    â€œThat was nice of you.”
    â€œI can be nicer,” Fargo said.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œCome visit me sometime when your brother isn’t around.”
    â€œListen to you,” Aramone said huskily. “What would you do if we were alone?”
    â€œScrew you silly.”
    Where some women would be offended, Aramone laughed merrily. “Promises, promises,” she said, and stared at his crotch. “You never know what might happen up in those mountains.”
    â€œAnytime,” Fargo said.
    With a saucy flip of her hips, Aramone sashayed toward her brother. She looked back and puckered her lips as if blowing Fargo a kiss.
    â€œI’ll be damned,” Fargo said.
    Over on the porch, Jim Tyler turned from his wife and raised his arms to get everyone’s attention. “You’re welcome to start hunting for Thunderhead anytime you want.”
    â€œHold on, mister,” a man called out. “What about those trappers who saw him? Where did they see him at?”
    â€œAbout ten miles northwest of here.”
    â€œAnything else we need to know?” someone else asked.
    Fargo expected the rancher to tell them about the gorings but Tyler shook his head.
    â€œI wish each of you the best of luck. Thunderhead means everything to me. Whoever finds him will have my eternal thanks.”
    â€œI’d rather have the money,” Humphries, the farmer, said, provoking more laughter.
    Rafer Crown and Dirk Peters came to the pump.
    â€œI reckon this is where we part company,” Crown said. “From here on out it’s every hombre for himself.”
    â€œWe could work together,” Dirk suggested. “Split