Apache Vendetta Read Online Free PDF Page A

and commence the hunt for the prospectors.
    What they had done was despicable. Men who forced themselves on women ought to have their peckers cut off and shoved down their throats.
    Stifling a yawn, he started past an alley between a general store and a house.
    From its depths came a metallic rasp.

9
    Instinctively, Fargo threw himself from the saddle even as he clawed for his Colt. He dived at the alley, not away from it. If he put the Ovaro between him and the shooter, the shooter might drop the stallion to get at him. He was in midair when the night flared with a muzzle flash and a revolver boomed.
    Landing hard on his shoulder, Fargo fired. He heard a curse and the dark flamed a second time. A slug clipped the soil inches from his ear, and then boots pounded.
    In a heartbeat Fargo was up and running. Staying low, he hugged the side of the general store. He thought he spied a silhouette at the far end and raised the Colt but the silhouette vanished.
    He slowed as he reached the corner. Removing his hat, he peered out. Ahead was open prairie, to the right and left, the backs of buildings. He saw no movement. Nor did he hear retreating footfalls.
    Fargo stuck his hat out. Instantly, a gun boomed from off to his left. He threw himself flat and saw a figure two buildings down. He fired, thumbed back the hammer, fired again.
    The figure disappeared.
    Fargo was about to rise when another shot thundered to his right. There were two of them, as he’d suspected there would be. Twisting, he banged off another shot of his own. Then he lay there, reloading and listening.
    Shouts had broken out all over Unionville. Light brightened windows as lamps were lit. Pretty soon half the population would be out in the street, wondering what the shooting was about.
    Fargo could do without a host of questions. Jamming his hat on, he returned to the Ovaro.
    The bartender and three other men were in front of the saloon.
    â€œHey there, mister?” the barkeep called out. “What’s going on?”
    â€œPolecats,” Fargo replied. Swinging onto the saddle, he rode between the two buildings to the prairie, and tapped his spurs.
    He reckoned that would be the end of it, for now. But he hadn’t gone fifty yards when he heard hooves drum.
    Two riders were coming after him. They were reckless, doing it in the dark. Granted, the pair hadn’t impressed him as having more brains than a turnip, but still.
    Fargo was about to let the Ovaro have its head. But just then he came on a dry wash and changed his mind.
    After riding down into it, he quickly dismounted, and shucked his Henry from the scabbard. He dashed to the top and sank to a knee.
    There they were, darkling shapes. There was no moon and the pale starlight didn’t help, but he could see them well enough to shoot.
    Jamming the stock to his shoulder, he centered on the mass of the rider on the right, curled the hammer with his thumb, held his breath, and fired.
    The shape left the horse as if slammed by an invisible fist.
    The other rider was quick to return fire, several shots from a revolver. But he was shooting wild and the slugs came nowhere close. Then he hunched over his saddle horn and reined away.
    The one on the ground cried out but the man on horseback didn’t stop.
    Fargo stayed put until the drumming faded. Rising, he cautiously approached. He heard ragged breathing and a few gasps. When he was close he pointed the Henry but he didn’t use it. There was no need.
    Gant was on his back, grimacing and struggling to breathe. His hands were pressed to his side, and even in the faint starlight, the wet blood glistened.
    â€œServes you right,” Fargo said.
    Gant looked up and hissed like a kicked snake. “I’m lung-shot, you son of a bitch,” he said, and froth bubbled from his lips.
    â€œIf it had been daylight,” Fargo said, “you’d be dead.”
    Gant loosed a string of obscenities that weakened him more. He lay panting