“A deer, maybe,” Fargo said. Or it could be an elk or a bear or another animal.
“No. I thought I saw the shine of metal. Maybe . . .” Rafer got no further.
The night was shattered by the thunder of rifles. Lead struck the coach with loud
Fargo’s Henry was in his saddle scabbard. He clawed at his Colt even though the range was too great. “Do you have a rifle?”
Instead of answering, Rafer dropped the ribbons and cried, “I’m hit!”
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