Beyond Squaw Creek

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Keeping his eyes on the big man before him, Fargo reached back, plucked the coin pouch off the bar, and thrust it against the man’s chest, the coins clinking around inside.

The freighter dropped his gaze to the pouch, returned it to Fargo.

The Trailsman held the man’s hard glare.

The freighter lurched forward, red-faced, swinging his ham-sized right fist toward Fargo’s face.

The Trailsman, anticipating the punch, grabbed the man’s wrist and, pivoting, bulled the man’s back against the bar and thrust the man’s hand out across the planks. Pressing his own back against the man’s chest, wedging him against the bar, Fargo reached out with his free hand, plucked the knife from the bar top, and slammed it through the freighter’s open palm and into the wood….

THE TRAILSMAN #316

BEYOND SQUAW CREEK

by Jon Sharpe

1

“I bet you could do a lot of damage with that thing—couldn’t you, Mr. Fargo?” the major’s daughter asked.

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