Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860) by Jon Sharpe

ideal spot. He left the Ovaro in brush at the base of a bluff and moved around the bluff to a boulder. He was sure Oster and the women would pass close by. The chink of a shod hoof on rock proved him right. He heard voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying. The first words he did understand were from Roselyn.
    â€œI don’t care what you say. I don’t care what you want. I want to go home.”
    â€œEnough bellyachin’, girl,” Garvin Oster said. “I’ve had my fill of it.”
    â€œNow, now,” Ginny said. “It would please me greatly if the two of you would stop this nitpicking.”
    â€œMother,” Roselyn said in exasperation. “He brought me against my will.”
    â€œI know, dear,” Ginny replied, “but you’re not helping matters by making him mad.”
    â€œHug and kiss him, why don’t you?” Roselyn said.
    â€œRoselyn Deerforth,” Ginny exclaimed. “That will be enough of that kind of talk.”
    They were near enough for Fargo to hear the creak of saddle leather. Tucking the Henry to his shoulder, he stepped from behind the boulder and centered the rifle’s sights on Garvin Oster’s chest. “Hold it right there.”
    â€œSkye!” Roselyn shrieked in delight.
    All three drew rein.
    â€œI’m so glad to see you!” Roselyn cried, and made as if to climb down.
    â€œNot yet,” Fargo said, and sidled a few feet to his right so he had a clear shot at Oster. “Everyone is to sit still. Except you, Garvin. Use two fingers and two fingers only and shuck your six-shooter.”
    â€œGo to hell.”
    â€œI have a lot to tell you,” Roselyn said excitedly.
    â€œNot now ,” Fargo stressed. He didn’t dare let himself be distracted. His cheek to the Henry, he said, “Shuck it or die, Oster.”
    â€œHe means it, Garvin,” Ginny said.
    â€œI won’t go down easy,” Oster said.
    Fargo took a step closer. “I can’t miss at this range.”
    â€œShoot him,” Roselyn urged.
    â€œHush, child,” Ginny said, and twisted in her saddle to look at Oster. “Please, Garvin. I don’t want your blood on my hands.”
    â€œIt would be on his,” Oster said, with a bob of his chin at Fargo.
    â€œNo. Make no mistake,” Ginny said. “Whatever happens now is because of me.” She turned to Fargo. “Please don’t shoot him. Not on my account.”
    â€œIt’s his choice,” Fargo said gruffly, annoyed that she was interfering.
    â€œFor me, Garvin.” Ginny appealed to her captor.
    Oster swore. Imitating a turtle, he plucked his revolver from his holster and let it fall to the ground. “There. Want me to drop my gun belt too?”
    â€œNo need,” Fargo said. “Climb down, nice and slow.” He covered him. “Now move away from your horse with your hands out from your sides.”
    â€œI’ll get you for this, mister.”
    â€œDo it.”
    Glaring his spite, Garvin obeyed. “What now? You tie me and take me back?”
    â€œWere it up to me I’d shoot you,” Fargo said.
    â€œEnough of that,” Ginny intervened. “I’d like for all of us to get along.”
    â€œYou’re ridiculous, Mother,” Roselyn said.
    â€œThat’s no way to talk to your mother,” Ginny said. “I demand an apology.”
    â€œBoth of you be quiet,” Fargo said. “Oster, lie on the ground and keep your hands where I can see them.”
    â€œI should have put that slug in your head,” Garvin said, slowly sinking.
    â€œYou almost did.”
    â€œHe wasn’t trying to kill you,” Ginny said. “I begged him not to.”
    Garvin was down, his arms outspread. “Where’s Marion? Back at the mansion where he’s safe?”
    â€œDon’t insult him,” Ginny said. “It’s unbecoming.”
    â€œYou’re