The sun was still only faintly coloring the sky as Fargo checked in with Jim at the Brant mine road.
“Keep your eyes open and your men on guard,” Fargo reminded him.
“Understood,” Jim said.
Fargo moved on, leading his big Ovaro down and into the stable at Sharon’s Dream, making sure his horse was fed and taken care of.
Then, with his heavy carbine in his hand, he headed up toward the ridge between the two mines.
The sky had turned a faint blue, but the sun had yet to color the tops of the mountains. It wouldn’t be long until full daylight was on them. Again, the coming day promised to be clear and hot. He hoped to have this over with before it got too hot.
At the top of the ridge, he met Hank and Walt.
“Better send a dozen more men to Jim on the road,” Fargo said as he stepped up near the top of the ridge to their base camp.
Hank nodded and told another man to take twelve from along the ridge and get going.
“So, what’s happened?” Fargo asked.
“We threw all but our last six sticks of dynamite at them,” Walt said. “We figured we had better save those for an emergency.”
“Good idea,” Fargo said. “When did you throw the last ones?”
“Thirty minutes ago,” Hank said. “We varied the length between throwing them, so they wouldn’t get used to a pattern.”
“Again, good thinking,” Fargo said. “Any movement down there?”
“Nothing,” Hank said. “Guards are all still at their posts. They haven’t been switched out, which tells me there’s no one left to replace them.”
“Do you have the spyglass?” Fargo asked.
Walt went back to a pack and pulled it out. “Not enough light for it to work at night.”
Fargo slung his carbine over his shoulder, took the heavy metal spyglass, and moved to a position on a rock where he could see the compound below. In the morning light, the destruction seemed even worse than before. Except for the big ranch house, which had all of its windows blown out, there was almost nothing left down there.
He had Walt tell him where the six guards were stationed, and he checked out each one. Two of them were asleep; the other four were nodding.
Six guards at posts. No bunkhouse left to hold any others, so those that were still alive were in the big house with Brant and Sarah and Kip.
That meant there were nine survivors total, maybe a few more, but not many.
Fargo spent a few minutes with the spyglass scouting the hillside below him for a way down and a place that had good enough cover and was close enough for the Henry to do its work. All the dynamite had really changed the hill above the mine, but finally Fargo found what he was looking for.
He slipped back off the rock and handed the spyglass to Walt. “I’m going down there. If I get pinned down, I’ll shout for help. But unless I do, you stay here and keep your people at their posts.”
“Nothing at all we can do?” Hank asked. “This is our mine. Cain was our boss.”
“I understand that,” Fargo said, “but he was my
He went on before the two good men could argue. “You’ve done everything you can. This is my fight now and I like to go it alone. If I need help, I’ll shout out.”
Fargo turned to start over the ridge, then thought better of it and turned back to the two men. “If something happens to me, I want you to carry on. You know what Brant did to Cain. Take care of the bastards for me.”
Both men nodded and said nothing.
Fargo turned and headed up over the ridge, not spending too much effort to hide as he went, but moving fast and staying in what cover he could.
He made it all the way to the rock he had picked out for cover without a shot coming his way. The guards were either asleep or had lost the will to fight. It didn’t much matter to him.
Fargo slid up on the rock and pulled down on the guard slightly below him, the one closest to the mine tunnel. That was the guard that had the best angle on him and the one Fargo needed to take care of sooner rather than later.
The shot seemed very loud as it echoed over the silent compound. The guard he had targeted snapped around and slumped over a rock, a moment later sliding to the ground, leaving a bloody trail on the rock.
Fargo slammed another shell into the chamber and quickly took out the guard in the rocks above the destroyed bunkhouse.
That man fired into the air as Fargo’s lead ripped through him.
The other four guards opened up on Fargo as he slipped back slightly into more cover. He could take his time with those four. He had the angle and the advantage on them.
With a fresh cartridge in the chamber, he waited until they had all fired, then eased up and took out the guard closest to the road.
He hit the second guard beside the road next.
Fargo slid back as the last two guards fired on him. From around the edge of the rock, he could see the big house. No movement from there at all.
“Fargo,” one of the two guards yelled. “How about we just call this a draw and get out of here? We have no fight with you.”
“Your boss won’t like it.”
“Haven’t seen him all night,” the other guard shouted. “More than likely he’s dead in the house from the dynamite blast.”
Fargo yelled, “Get out of here.”
“Thanks,” the first guard shouted back.
As Fargo watched, the two men stood and climbed out of their guard posts, heading for the road.
Fargo then eased up on the rock so he could check the compound completely. There was nothing left moving at all.
Nothing. Not even a slight wind to blow around some of the dust from the night of explosions.
“Those still in the big house,” Fargo shouted into the silence. “I have some bad news. The men you hired aren’t coming. The entire gang of them, including Mick Rule, is lying in the morgue in Sacramento. If you don’t believe me, just ask Marshal Davis.”
No movement, no sound, nothing came from the big house.
Fargo checked the compound one more time for any sign that any man was still alive, then eased out of hiding and headed down the hill toward the big building, keeping his attention focused on the black openings of the blown-out windows.
He took his time, moving from cover to cover, until he finally reached the side of the building with no windows. He stopped there, again staring at the compound, at the mine entrance, at the ruins of the buildings, waiting and watching for any movement.
On the ridge back toward Sharon’s Dream, he could see a few of the miners standing on rocks, watching him. They had lost all fear of a stray shot hitting them now. They figured there was no one left to shoot at them.
Fargo put his carbine over his shoulder and took the heavy Colt from its holster. Then he eased onto the front porch, moving slowly in the splinters of wood and small stones. There was no glass, since it had all been blown inside.
From the looks of the destruction, he was starting to wonder if he had killed the Brants with the explosion.
He stepped through what had been a large window with a low sill and into the dark insides of the ranch house, freezing in place with his Colt ready to send lead.
This had been a living room, but much of the furniture was smashed against the wall or out behind the large building. He could see through the back windows that even the two-seater outhouse had been knocked over, and a couch that had been in this room lay tipped on top of it.
Two bodies were thrown against the back wall between two windows. One was impaled by a long spike of wood that had nailed him to the wall like a wild animal.
