Read Northwoods Nightmare for Free Online Page B

brains out.”
    â€œThe trouble with you, sonny, is you ain’t been citified.”
    â€œI hope to God I never am.”
    McKern let a minute go by before he said, “So listen. You want me to keep an eye on Allen from here on out? On the sly. There’s no telling what he might try next.”
    â€œRabbits don’t scare me any, but maybe you better.” Fargo wasn’t eager for a knife in the back.
    â€œThe thing to remember about rabbits is that they’ll bite when they’re cornered.”
    â€œI’m obliged.”
    â€œThink nothing of it. Or if you insist, buy me a bottle of red-eye when this is over and we’ll call it even.”
    â€œDeal.” Fargo raised his reins. “I’m going to scout ahead. I should be back by noon. Keep a watch until I get back.”
    â€œYou can count on me, hoss.”
    Fargo was glad to get away. He trotted for a while and then slowed to a walk. The trail they were following, one of several used during the gold rush days, was easy to follow.
    About ten in the morning Fargo topped a rise. Off to his right was a slope sprinkled with talus. And climbing ponderously up it was the lord of the Rockies: a grizzly.
    Fargo was glad the griz was going in the other direction. From the way it was sniffing and nosing about, he reckoned it was after marmots. His hunch was confirmed when the griz came to a dark spot that must be a hole and commenced scooping out great wads of earth with its immense paws. Dirt and rocks flew. A cloud of dust rose.
    The bear’s massive head half disappeared.
    Then came a faint squeal. The grizzly drew its head out and shook it from side to side. Clamped in its iron jaws was the marmot, limp in death.
    â€œLife in a nutshell,” Fargo said, and clucked to the Ovaro.
    Shortly after Fargo spied some elk in a high meadow. Later still, high on a rocky crag, he saw splashes of brown that might be mountain sheep.
    This was Fargo’s kind of country. Raw, ripe with life, ruled by the natural law of fang and claw. He could see himself one day, when he was on in years, building a cabin and living out what was left of his life in a place like this. To him it was as close to heaven as anywhere could be.
    By now he was half a mile above the valley floor, climbing toward the pass. He wasn’t expecting to encounter anyone. So when he went around a bend and spied four men sitting by the side of the trail, it was an unwanted surprise.
    Fargo put his hand on his Colt. He liked to think he was a good judge of men, and his judgment told him the four might be trouble. They were scruffy and dirty and had unkempt beards. More important, each man was an armory. Their horses were cropping grass or resting.
    Fargo drew rein a good ten feet out.
    A block of muscle with an anvil jaw stood. His smile lacked two upper teeth. “Morning, mister,” he said amiably enough. “Glorious day, ain’t it?”
    â€œNot for marmots,” Fargo said.
    The man cocked his head. “I don’t rightly know what you mean by that, but never you mind. I’m called Bucktooth on account of I don’t have any.”
    Fargo didn’t offer his own handle.
    â€œThese here are my pards,” Bucktooth said with a sweep of his arm. “We’re on our way back to the States and stopped to rest a spell.”
    â€œYou don’t say.” Fargo gave them the benefit of the doubt—for the moment.
    â€œWe came up here a few years ago thinking to strike it rich, but we never did,” Bucktooth revealed. “It’s not right how some folks strike it and others don’t. Life just ain’t fair.”
    â€œI know a marmot who would agree if he was still breathing.”
    Bucktooth’s brow puckered. “There you go again with the marmots. You’re not addlepated, are you?”
    â€œNot last I took stock, no.”
    â€œYou sure don’t look addlepated. But then, you never can tell about