The Ovaro had raised its head and was staring to the south with its ears pricked.
Mabel snapped, “I am aware of how vicious grizzlies can be, but I am more afraid of wolves since they travel in packs.”
“Wolves hardly ever attack people,” Fargo set her straight. “The only time I ever heard about it, it was winter, and the wolves were so starved they were skin and bones.”
The Ovaro was still staring. Fargo sat up and peered into the benighted woods but saw only the dark.
“Wild beasts are wild beasts,” Mabel flatly declared. “I would as soon not end up in the belly of one.”
Fargo slid a hand to his Henry. The Ovaro looked at him and stamped a front hoof, then stared to the south again.
“What is going on between you and your horse?” Mabel asked. “Why did he just do that?”
“Something is out there,” Fargo said. Something, or someone.
“I have not heard anything.”
“His ears are better than ours.”
“For all you know it could be a raccoon or a deer,” Mabel teased. “You worry too much.”
That was when thunder boomed, and twin flashes of fire spat hot lead….