A tide of inner blackness threatened to wash over him but he resisted. Dimly, he was conscious of pounding hooves and loud voices, and he braced for certain discovery.Thunder filled his ears. Riders were on either side of him. He tried to move his right hand to draw his Colt but his body would not do what he wanted.Someone—it sounded like Tork—shouted, “There’s his horse!” A fresh flurry of shots spiked Fargo with fear for the Ovaro’s life. The pounding faded and quiet descended, complete, utter quiet.Fargo’s senses returned. He hurt. He hurt like hell. He tested his arms and poked at his chest and he decided nothing was broken. Sitting up, he listened but heard only the sigh of the wind.Fargo got his hand under him, and stood. The same whimsical fate that had twice thwarted his attempts to put an end to Mike Durn had now saved his life. Thanks to the moonless night, Tork and his men had not seen him when he was lying practically under the hooves of their horses. It was a wonder none of their mounts had stepped on him.Fargo started north, walking slowly at first and then faster as he regained his strength.
