“He had acted in some wildly ribald skits in low theaters and barrelhouses from Manhattan to San Francisco. But what he had just witnessed was unsurpassed in his wide experience. He had been certain that Fargo and his partner were gone-up cases. Until . . . holy Jesus, until . . . He suddenly burst into paroxysms of laughter that forced him to grip the horn. K.T. Christ! Those Indians had howled like dogs in the hot moons and fled quicker than scat. It wasn’t just Fargo—this Old Billy Williams w...as savvy and cunning. Deets resolved yet again to exercise extreme caution. Otherwise he’d soon be playing checkers with the devil. He sat his horse in the only concealed spot in sight, a narrow, shadowed declivity in the base of a mesa. Fargo and Williams were perhaps a mile north of his position, now bearing west toward Salt Lake City. This next attack, he mused, would have to be done with great precision and care. And this time he must toss a loop around Fargo, because Deets wanted nothing to do with the Great Salt Desert.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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