Free Renegades by William W. Johnstone

horse. That was at least one they could take prisoner, Frank thought.
    There might not be any more prisoners, though. The fighting was fierce in the barranca as guns spouted flame and lead. The muzzle flashes lit up the wash like the constant flickering of lightning. In that uncertain light, Frank saw another of the bandits race past him. This man was dressed completely in black and wore a flat-crowned hat.
    The Black Scorpion!
    Frank wheeled Stormy and jammed his heels into the Appaloosa’s flanks as he called, “Dog!” Stormy lunged into a gallop, and Frank leaned forward in the saddle as he gave chase after the leader of the bandit gang.

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    Instantly, Frank knew this was better. If he caught up to the Black Scorpion, the showdown between them would be man-to-man, not an ambush out of the darkness. He wanted to capture the bandit chief, but if it came down to a hook-and-draw, each man would have to take his chances. That was the way it ought to be, the way Frank Morgan had always lived his life ever since he had discovered his skill with a gun. If a fight wasn’t fair, it wasn’t worth fighting.
    Stormy thundered along the barranca, leaving the battle between the Rangers and the bandidos behind. Frank had to listen closely to hear the hoofbeats of the Scorpion’s horse, but hear them he did, and he knew his quarry was still in front of him.
    He was a little surprised that the Scorpion would cut and run like this, abandoning his men. Usually the sort of man who ascended to leadership wasn’t the type to turn tail. Yet every man was different, and Frank could understand how suddenly being surrounded by death coming out of the darkness could unnerve a fella. He wouldn’t have run, but that was just him.
    The hoofbeats of the Scorpion’s horse were closer now. Stormy was cutting the gap between them. After a few more minutes, Frank realized he could actually see the Black Scorpion now, a slightly deeper shade of darkness moving against the lighter-colored terrain. The bandido was only about ten yards ahead of him.
    Suddenly the Black Scorpion twisted in the saddle. Frank saw the move and ducked as the Scorpion fired. The bullet whistled over Frank’s head. He knew he couldn’t afford to give the Scorpion many more chances like that. “Take him, Stormy!” he urged the big Appaloosa.
    Stormy poured on the speed as the Black Scorpion fired again. Frank didn’t know where the bullet went, but he and Stormy weren’t hit, and that was all that mattered. With a final lunge, Stormy drew even with the Black Scorpion’s horse.
    Frank lashed out as the bandit tried to bring his revolver to bear for another shot. He hit the Scorpion’s arm and knocked it up. The gun blasted, but the bullet went harmlessly into the sky. Frank veered Stormy even closer, until the two horses’ shoulders were touching as they galloped along. Kicking his feet free from the stirrups, Frank tackled the Black Scorpion, knocking him out of his saddle and off the horse.
    Both men fell, landing heavily and coming apart as the impact of landing made them roll over and over on the sandy ground. Even though the breath had been knocked out of him, Frank was able to get to his feet first. He lunged at the Scorpion, swinging a fist as the bandit tried to get up. The blow landed solidly on the masked face and knocked the Scorpion backward. Frank went after him.
    The Black Scorpion wasn’t out of the fight yet. His foot came up and his boot thudded into Frank’s midsection. Frank grunted as still more air was driven from his lungs. The Black Scorpion grabbed him and heaved, pivoting Frank over him on that upthrust leg. Frank flew through the air and slammed to the ground on his back.
    Now the momentum had shifted to the Scorpion as Frank tried to catch his breath and get out of the way of the man’s rush. He rolled over and threw himself to the side, sweeping a leg out to knock the