Free Trailsman #377 : Bounty Hunt (9781101604007) by Jon Sharpe

spot it right away.
    The breed stopped again and intently scanned the trees. It was obvious he suspected something wasn’t right.
    Fargo admired the man’s instincts. They were a lot like his own.
    The breed’s dark eyes roved every which way. Suddenly he stiffened. He wasn’t looking at Fargo. He was staring at the tree Fargo had hidden the Ovaro behind.
    Fargo brought the Henry up but already the breed was hauling on his reins. He fixed a quick bead and fired and knew he’d missed.
    The breed’s bay was quick. In moments they were out of sight.
    Leaping erect, Fargo ran to the Ovaro. He vaulted into the saddle and gave chase. He came to the road and spied tendrils of dust and raced to the first bend and around.
    The breed wasn’t in sight. Nor was there any dust.
    Fargo brought the stallion to a stop and rose in the stirrups. He listened but heard nothing so he bent to read the tracks.
    In the forest on the right side of the road a rifle spanged and lead sizzled a whisker’s-width above Fargo’s hat.
    Fargo charged into the undergrowth. He went a short way and stopped. He listened but heard only the breeze.
    Sooner or later the man would move and Fargo would pinpoint his position. He stayed still five, ten, fifteen minutes. No sounds broke the stillness. He figured the breed must be doing the same thing. Then he happened to lift his gaze to the slopes above, and there, in a clearing out of rifle range, stood the bay.
    The breed raised a hand as if in salute, reined around, and rode off up the mountain.
    â€œI’ll be damned,” Fargo said. It was rare for anyone to get the better of him. The breed was slick, an equal if not a better.
    He went after him. He climbed to the clearing and found the bay’s tracks and followed them to the crest of the mountain, where they vanished.
    Fargo searched in ever widening circles and couldn’t find so much as a partial hoofprint. It was as if the breed and the bay had melted into thin air. “I’ll be damned,” he said, and smiled.
    With one eye always on his back trail, Fargo descended the mountain and made for Meridian. The breed didn’t reappear.
    It was the middle of the afternoon when he reached town. He didn’t go to Glenda’s; he tied the Ovaro off at the hitch rail in front of the Ace’s High.
    A couple of townsmen were playing poker and an old man was at the end of the bar deep in his cups.
    Fargo paid for a bottle and claimed the same corner table as before. He’d barely filled his glass when who should come sashaying out of a hall at the back but Tassy. Today she had on a red dress that had to be two sizes too small. She came to his table and without being asked pulled out a chair.
    â€œMind some company?”
    â€œThought you were mad at me.”
    â€œFor a little bit I was. But you’re too handsome to stay mad at for long.”
    â€œMe and all the other handsome fellas.”
    â€œDon’t start.” Tassy nodded at the bottle. “How about buying a girl breakfast?”
    Fargo pushed the glass across and was considerably impressed when she chugged it in a single gulp. “Damn, woman.”
    â€œI bet you could do the same.” Tassy pushed the glass back. “A refill, if you please.”
    Fargo obliged her. This time she sipped it and studied him. “Something on your mind?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” Tassy said, and uttered a light laugh. “Just admiring your good looks.”
    Fargo swirled the liquor in the bottle and took a long drink. “You’re right,” he said. “Nothing like whiskey to perk a body up.”
    Tassy winked. “You don’t look like you need too much perking.”
    â€œI ran into a friend of yours earlier,” Fargo remarked, setting the bottle down.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œThat breed you were telling me about.”
    â€œYou met Niyan?”
    â€œIs that his name?”
    â€œPart of it,”