| THE LANGUAGE OF
DEATH Fargo
glanced up. Two apaches were on the rock shelf above him, poised like twin hawks
about to swoop down on prey.
One of them was Nah-Tanh, the deadliest warrior of them all.
The pair sprang as Fargo back-pedaled and brought the Henry to bear.
He got off a shot, catching Nah-Tanh's partner just as Nah-Tanh smashed
into him. They both went down, the Apache on top, a long knife clutched in his right
hand, the Henry skittered off, leaving Fargo defenseless. He struggled to rise, but Nah-tan's
knees pinned his shoulders. Fargo bucked to dislodge his foe, but Nah-Tanh
was too shrewd and strong for him.
The warrior paused to gloat, as his knife arm tensed. "Pindah
lickoyee das-ay-go, dee-dah tatsan."
Fargo knew the words meant, "White-eye, you will soon be
dead."
But he didn't have to know the Indian tongue to realize that, without a
doubt or a chance of escape, death was a heartbeat away.... |
WHIP HAND Skye Fargo knew what Bullwhip
Mulligan could do with his weapon of choice. The Trailsman had seen the corpse with
its strips of skin flayed off, its face slashed to ribbons, its toes lopped off to bloody
stumps.
Now he faced Mulligan, aching for revenge. The trouble was,
Skye's hands were empty. Mulligan had his coiled whip in his.
Shaking it so that the long lash curled out, Mulligan rasped, "I was
hopin' I'd get a crack at you, mister. Say your prayers."
Skye tried to dodge, but it was no use. the whip sizzled the air as it
shot toward Fargo more swiftly than the human eye could follow. It caught him across
the thigh. The pain was excruciating.
Mulligan sneered as Fargo futilely hobbled a few feet. "Hurt, did
it? I've got news for you. It's just the beginning."
And the bullwhip hissed through the air again.... |
