High Country Horror Read Free

reached around and took Fargo’s Colt. “Let go or I’ll squeeze this trigger, so help me.”
    Fargo swore, and let go.
    Harvey was struggling to his feet. “Thanks for seeing sense, Danvers,” he said. “Now let’s revive Dugan and McNee and get to it.” He leveled his revolver at Fargo. “Fetch a rope.”
    Danvers moved toward their horses.
    “What are you up to?” demanded the man on his knee. “It can’t be what I think it is.”
    “Shut the hell up,” Harvey said. “We’re going to do what we should have done when we found this bastard.” He grinned a vicious grin. “We’re going to hang him.”

2
    Fargo was furious. With a revolver jammed to the back of his head and another pointed at his face, there was nothing he could do as his arms were seized and his wrists bound behind his back. They brought the Ovaro over and he was boosted onto the stallion.
    Harvey took the reins. Dugan and McNee kept their weapons on Fargo as Harvey led the stallion toward the trees on the east side of the clearing. Danvers snatched a burning brand from the fire and held it aloft to light the way.
    Tom Wilson still hadn’t come around. The last two men stayed with him. They made it plain they wanted no part of the hanging.
    “Last chance to tell us what you did with Myrtle,” Harvey said.
    Fargo had one chance. But for him to succeed he needed to whittle the odds of taking lead. So he lied. “She’s in the trees yonder.”
    Harvey stopped. “What?”
    “She’s trussed up in the trees to the west,” Fargo said. “About ten steps in from the clearing.”
    “Did you hear that?” Dugan said excitedly. “She’s alive!”
    “You and McNee go see,” Harvey directed. “Be quick about it. We want to get this done before the marshal shows up.”
    They hustled across the clearing.
    Fargo tensed his legs. Danvers was watching the other two run off but Harvey was still holding the reins and looking up at him. He needed Harvey to look away. The next instant Harvey did. Hunching forward, Fargo jabbed his spurs and clamped his legs tight and the Ovaro burst into motion, tearing the reins from Harvey’s grasp. Harvey cursed and banged off a shot but by then the Ovaro was in the woods. Fargo bent as low as he could as branches whipped at his face and eyes.
    The reins were dangling and he hoped they didn’t become snagged.
    Behind him Harvey was bellowing for the rest to mount and give chase.
    Usually the stallion could outrun most any horse alive. But it was night and the woods were thick and, worse, Fargo couldn’t control the stallion with his arms tied. He used his spurs again, his chest nearly flat on the Ovaro’s back. His cheek was nicked by a limb. His left shoulder seared with pain.
    Fargo leaned to the right and the Ovaro veered in the direction he wanted. He was counting on enough of a quick lead to stay ahead of his pursuers. But when he glanced back they were in hard pursuit and closer than he liked. Revolvers boomed but they were shooting in the dark on moving horses and they were poor shots.
    The Ovaro crashed out of the trees onto the road. Instinctively, it turned and raced down it rather than into the woods on the other side.
    Fargo tried to hike his leg to get at the Arkansas toothpick in the ankle sheath in his boot but he was afraid of losing his balance so he lowered it again.
    His pursuers reached the road and goaded their mounts to greater effort. He used his spurs. The road was straight, thank God, and he held his own. Then a sharp bend hove out of the night and the stallion went around it so fast that Fargo had to cling tight with his legs or be thrown violently off.
    Someone was shouting. It sounded like Harvey, yelling for the others to shoot Fargo. A few more shots were sent his way to no effect. Few townsmen or farmers ever practiced daily at shooting. They might plink targets once in a while, and hunt now and then, but that was it.
    Another bend, and the Ovaro veered dangerously near the