Arkansas Assault

Fargo woke up and grabbed his gun

A silhouette of a man in the tallest western hat he’d ever seen. Too bad the man wasn’t as slick as his hat. He came creaking in on cowboy boots with all the grace of an elephant turned ballerina. Always in sight thanks to the flickering sconce in the hall.

The intruder’s eyes obviously hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet. Fargo stepped out of the gloom and slapped the barrel of his Colt across the face of the startled, blinking man. Fargo swatted the man around for a time, hitting him on the jaw, knocking the wind out of him with a punch delivered straight to his sternum. He finished by taking the man’s fancy new six-shooter from him.

He was just busy enough that his mind didn’t register the other sound in the room. By the time he started to turn, it was too late. . . .