Range War (9781101559215) by C. J. Cherryh

of them, and you’re to blame.” He kicked Carlos in the leg and Carlos whimpered and slid out of reach.
    â€œStop! It’s not my fault. They started it. Be mad at them, not at me.”
    Fargo stalked toward him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done, you miserable son of a bitch?”
    Fear on his face, Carlos cried, “Beat me if it will make you feel better but I did what I had to and I have no regrets.” He pushed to his knees. “My people will be proud of what I have done.”
    â€œAren’t you forgetting someone?”
    â€œEh?” Carlos straightened. “Oh. You mean Alejandro? The gringo you call Shorty shot him. So it is four of us they have killed now, and not three.”
    â€œToo bad it’s not five,” Fargo said, and drawing his Colt, he slashed the barrel across Carlos’ temple.
    Without a sound, Carlos pitched forward.
    Fargo climbed on the Ovaro before temptation got the better of him. He left Carlos lying there, grabbed the reins to the bay, and in half an hour was in sight of the sheepherder’s wagons.
    Constanza came to meet him, a shawl over her head and shoulders. “That is the horse my grandson was riding. Where is he?”
    â€œHe should be along in an hour or so,” Fargo said, alighting. “I can’t say the same for Alejandro.”
    â€œWhat has happened?”
    Fargo kept it brief. He omitted the part about knocking Carlos senseless. He figured she would be as angry as he was about the dead cowboys but he was wrong.
    â€œMy grandson has done fine,” Constanza said happily. “At last we have drawn blood.”
    â€œIt’s nothing to crow about,” Fargo said.
    â€œAh, but it is, senor. The gringos will think twice before they bother us again.”
    â€œYou think too little of them.”
    â€œAnd you think too much. They are greedy men with no regard for others. Carlos has shown them that we will not be pushed around.”
    â€œRemind me of that when their whole outfit swoops down on you.”
    â€œI most assuredly will. I’m not afraid of them.”
    â€œI see where Carlos gets it from,” Fargo said.
    â€œGets what? His dislike for gringos?” Constanza nodded.
    â€œHis father—my son—is also a lot like me. It is a shame he isn’t here. He took his wife for supplies before all this started and won’t be back for a week to ten days.”
    â€œHe’ll miss all the killing,” Fargo said.
    â€œ Si ,” Constanza said. “It is a shame.”

20
    More dark clouds scuttled in from the west, the second thunderhead in as many days.
    The sky matched Fargo’s mood. Hunkered by a fire with a cup of coffee in his hands, he sipped and pondered the comments he’d heard over the past hour.
    Somehow he’d gotten it into his head that sheepherders were peaceful, meek folk. Not this bunch. The deaths and the sheep kills had riled them to where they were ready to “wipe out the gringos,” as one man put it.
    He had to wonder if they had any notion of what they were up against. Cowboys, especially the Texas breed, weren’t known for turning the other cheek. They were hard as nails and tough as leather and woe to anyone who made trouble for their brand.
    A horse approached from the south bearing two people. Delicia was the rider; Carlos was behind her. She drew rein at the horse string and tied off her animal. Carlos made for his grandparents’ wagon but she gazed about, spied Fargo, and stalked over.
    â€œHow could you?” she angrily demanded.
    â€œIt’s good coffee,” Fargo said.
    â€œI am talking about my brother. You beat Carlos so bad, his face is swollen.”
    â€œHe’s still breathing.”
    Delicia squatted so they were face-to-face. “How can you be so callous? I thought you and I were friends, possibly even more than friends.”
    Fargo admired the color in her cheeks and how her