Frame Angel! (A Frank Angel Western) #7 - Plot & Excerpts
(A Frank Angel Western) #7 @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } Chapter Eight He’d told them to make it look good, and they did. Almost too damned good. He and Briggs swung into the saddle and kicked the horses into a gallop just as the guards burst through the screening bushes into the clearing. Whacking away over the broken ground, Angel thought for a moment that he saw Angus Wells among the pursuers, but that wasn’t possible. Then he put his body down low along his horse’s neck and concentrated on getting the hell out of there. Behind him and to one side at least a dozen guards opened up with their Winchesters, the slugs whickering past the fleeing horsemen, smashing branches off the greasewood bushes, tearing leaping spouts of darkened sandy earth from the ground around, beside, and ahead of them. Interspersed amid the rattling cracks of the carbines was the duller gbbbooomffl of the riot guns, which were about as effective at the kind of range they were now being used over as throwing snowballs would have been.
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