Six-Gun Gallows
Six-Gun Gallows
“He got off a snap-shot, blowing the ambusher’s lower jaw away, then hit him dead-center in the forehead with his second shot. The McCallister boys, who had once discussed with Fargo their potential to be “gunfighters,” were so taken aback by the ambush they never even got a shot off.
“Jerusalem!” Nate exclaimed. “You was right, Mr. Fargo. He’s dead, ain’t he?”
Dub snorted. “Nate, you turnip head. Look at him—he’s dead as a can of corned beef.”
The man had toppled over onto one side of the pit. ...A red rope of blood fountained from his forehead. Fargo dismounted and threw the reins forward, then walked up for a closer look.
“It’s a jayhawker, all right. And a pretty ingenious trap. My stallion saved all three of us, boys.”
Fargo pried the scattergun from the dead man’s grip and broke open the breech. He pulled a shell out, then whistled sharply.
“Great jumping Judas! No wonder this son of a bitch was confident he’d kill all three of us. The shells are packed with pesetas, Spanish coins.MoreLess
“Jerusalem!” Nate exclaimed. “You was right, Mr. Fargo. He’s dead, ain’t he?”
Dub snorted. “Nate, you turnip head. Look at him—he’s dead as a can of corned beef.”
The man had toppled over onto one side of the pit. ...A red rope of blood fountained from his forehead. Fargo dismounted and threw the reins forward, then walked up for a closer look.
“It’s a jayhawker, all right. And a pretty ingenious trap. My stallion saved all three of us, boys.”
Fargo pried the scattergun from the dead man’s grip and broke open the breech. He pulled a shell out, then whistled sharply.
“Great jumping Judas! No wonder this son of a bitch was confident he’d kill all three of us. The shells are packed with pesetas, Spanish coins.MoreLess
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