the trees began to thin, he smiled and went to shout to the Harpers. But the shout died in his throat. The forest
Hauling on the reins, Fargo brought the Ovaro to a sliding stop with barely three feet to spare. Twisting, he motioned and bellowed, “Stop! Stop!”
Nelly reined up sharply. So did Mary. But either Jayce didn’t hear the warning or he was too slow to react, because the sorrel went flying toward the brink at a headlong gallop.
Mary screamed.
Fargo darted out a hand as the boy went by. He seized Jayce’s arm and held on, virtually tearing Jayce from the saddle. The sorrel didn’t stop or slow but went on over. A strident whinny pierced the air. Fargo dropped Jayce in the snow, vaulted down, and ran to the edge. He saw the sorrel, tumbling end over end, hit among boulders. The effect was as if a keg of black powder went off. The snow exploded. So did parts of the horse. What was left of it lay kicking and squealing, its insides oozing from its ruptured belly, shattered bones sticking from its hide.
Mary had alighted and was holding Jayce to her. Nelly, still on the claybank, gazed sadly down.
“Get off,” Fargo directed. He snatched the Ovaro’s reins and made for an isolated circle of trees that grew close by. “Follow me!” He figured he had two minutes, maybe three. “Hurry!”
Fargo was in for it now. He had to make his stand with his back to a cliff. And he only had one rifle; the Sharps had gone over with the sorrel.
The trees were lodgepole pines. Arrayed in tightly spaced ranks, they offered some protection. Fargo got the Ovaro in among them and yanked the Henry out. Nelly came next, tugging on the claybank’s reins. Mary was leading the dun and had put Jayce in the saddle.
“I’d like to thank you for saving his life.”
“Later,” Fargo said.
The outlaws had caught up. Shadowy figures were moving about in the forest. But they wisely didn’t show themselves.
“We’re trapped, aren’t we?” Mary asked.
Fargo didn’t reply. There was no need.
Mary walked on but she was back in a minute, hunkered beside him. “I tied the horses and told Nelly and Jayce to stay with them.” She showed him her hand, and what was in it. “Nelly found these in Rika’s saddlebags.”
It was a pistol made by the Volcanic Repeating Arms Company. Only .31 caliber, it wasn’t much of a man stopper, but it was better than nothing. She also had a box of cartridges.
“Do you know how to load it?”
Mary sat and placed the ammunition in her lap. She fiddled with the lever—the pistol was a lever-action model—and said, “No.”
Fargo showed her. The Volcanic held ten shots. Between that and his Henry and the Colt and the Remington, they had considerable lead to spare, should Cud Sten take it into his head to rush them. “Here.” He gave it back to her.
Mary hefted the pistol and frowned. “I doubt I’ll hit much of anything. I’ve only ever shot a revolver twice my whole life.”
Fargo turned to the forest. During the brief time he had been distracted, the outlaws had gone to ground. He had no idea where they were. Then a head popped up from behind a mound of snow. Lear, it looked like. The head promptly ducked down again.
“What will they do?” Mary asked. “Wait until dark and close in?”
“It depends on how badly Cud Sten wants us dead.”
As if Sten had somehow heard, the forest erupted with shots. Slugs whistled and sizzled, smacking the lodgepoles, shattering limbs.
“Nelly and Jayce!” Mary cried, and started to rise.
Flattening, Fargo pulled her down beside him. She resisted, but only until he said, “They’re far enough back. They should be safe.”
Twenty to thirty shots were fired, and then silence.
“Shouldn’t we shoot back?” Mary whispered.
“Not until we have something to shoot at.”
“Ma?” Nelly hollered, and was echoed by her brother.
“I’m all right, honey,” Mary answered. “Stay where you are and do as I told you.” She said quietly to Fargo, “If you and I are shot, they’re to make a run for it.”
Fargo could predict the outcome. The kids wouldn’t get far. Hunger or the cold would finish them.
Mary placed her hand on his. “Will you think less of me if I admit I’m scared?”
“Only a jackass wouldn’t be.”
That was when Cud Sten shouted, “Hey, Mary gal! Have you missed me?”
“Go to hell!” Mary replied, and bit her lower lip. “Darn me. My kids heard that. And me always on them about behaving like a gentleman and a lady.”
It bewildered Fargo, her concern over her language at a time like this.
“Why, Mary, I do believe you are cross with me. Yet you’re the one who ran out on me. I should be cross at you.”
Mary’s mouth was a slit.
“How about you, simpleton?” Cud called out. “Have you missed me, too?”
Fargo knew what Sten was doing: finding out if either of them had been hit. He kept his mouth shut.
“Mary gal! Why doesn’t your friend answer? Could it be he can’t? Did he stake a slug, gal? Is that it?”
Mary opened her mouth to respond, but Fargo put a finger to his lips and shook his head.
“Come on, gal. You can tell me.”
Mary was a volcano ready to erupt.
“Well, now,” Cud said, brimming with confidence. “Seems to me I can end this sooner than I reckoned. Tell you what, gal. You and your sprouts come out with your hands in the air, and I give you my solemn word none of you will be harmed.”
Mary looked at Fargo, and he shook his head.
“So this is how you’re going to be, is it?” Cud hollered. “Too bad, Mary. If you won’t come to us, we’ll come to you. Get ready. I’m about to show you what happens to those who make me mad.”
20
Fargo was ready. The Henry was wedged to his shoulder, and the hammer was back. His finger was around the trigger.
“Do I shoot, too?” Mary asked.
“You sure as hell do.”
Three men rose from concealment and converged on the stand. Howell was the only one Fargo recognized. One of the others was faster and pulled ahead, firing spaced shots. None came anywhere near Fargo or Mary. She started shooting but she missed.
By then Fargo had a perfect bead. He thought of the two times fate had thwarted him and prayed there wouldn’t be a third. He stroked the trigger.
Thirty feet out, the outlaw pitched onto his belly. He lost his hat and his rifle and broke into fierce convulsions but they only lasted a few seconds. A screech, and he was no more.
Fargo fed another round into the chamber.
Howell and the other two had turned and were flying back to the forest.
They fired as they ran but they were poor shots when they were moving. Quiet fell.
The dead man had one arm bent under him. Red stained the snow with the essence of death.
“I didn’t hit anyone,” Mary said.
“Next time.”
Oaths blistered the air. Cud Stern could cuss rings around a mule skinner. “I know you’re in there, Fargo. My
