Apache Ambush

PICK A FIGHT

Fargo did not much care for mistreating women and horses. A good horse, in his opinion, was more than an animal; it was a friend. To see a horse abused always rankled him. As for women, he was no knight in shining armor, but when one was being treated as Tilly was being treated, it made him want to stomp the prospector into the ground, preferably with a few teeth kicked in. So Fargo had plenty of motivation to do what he did next— namely, launch his fist from his hip and catch Stein flush on the jaw. For most that was enough. Fargo was big and he was rawhide tough. One punch would lay a man out as cold as ice.

But Stein had an iron jaw. Hitting it was like hitting an anvil. Stein staggered against another table and had to brace himself to stay on his feet, but he did not go down. Instead, shaking his head to clear it, he hefted his pick and straightened.

‘‘Mister, you just brought yourself a whole heap of trouble.’’