BooksBarbecue
Back Come Again No More Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover
  3. Title Page
  4. Contents
  5. PART I 
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. 9.
  15. 10.
  16. 11.
  17. 12.
  18. PART II 
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. PART III 
  38. 31.
  39. 32.
  40. 33.
  41. 34.
  42. 35.
  43. 36.
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. PART IV 
  48. 40.
  49. 41.
  50. 42.
  51. 43.
  52. 44.
  53. 45.
  54. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  55. Touchstone Reading Group Guide

Farron saw his opening. He would ride as close as he could on Pink, then bolt for the gap between the black and the rest of the band. The stallion would naturally veer to his right, toward his mares and into Farron’s loop. He shook out a 7/16 manila rope and held it coiled tight against his thigh. The wind worked in his favor. The black didn’t pick up his scent until they were within a hundred yards. By the time the stud whirled to run, Farron had put the spurs to Pink and the quick little horse gained ground with every stride. Still, the black was a whole lot faster than Farron expected him to be, even with a full belly. They ran nearly half a mile before they had closed on the big horse. Farron had a perfect angle, with the black slightly downhill to his left. As soon as he turned loose of the rope, he knew he had never made a better toss in his life.

Nothing in all his experience prepared Farron for what happened after that loop settled around the neck of the black. He figured the stallion would either try to run or fight the rope. Instead the black whirled, screamed in rage and came right at him with his teeth bared. Farron sat Pink down on his hindquarters. The roan was able to dodge twice, but now they were roped to the black as much as he was roped to them and he kept coming. On the third pass, the stallion locked his teeth into Farron’s rib cage below the armpit and came away with a hunk of flesh. It was Farron’s turn to squeal. He fumbled at his carbine, trying to pull it out of its scabbard as the black whirled and came at him again. He got a boot up out of the stirrup to fend it off, but the black set his teeth into Farron’s thigh, yanked him clear of the saddle, tossed him aside like a cat playing with a field mouse. The carbine discharged as it struck the ground a dozen feet from the spot where Farron landed on his back, but the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the rocks. Farron was left on foot and unarmed and the black might have killed him right there, except that Pink had seen all he wanted. He took off to the west. With the black pulling in the other direction, the rope snapped like baling twine.