Man with No Name- Saving Tuco from Hanging

  “Go along,” the hunter said, swinging down. “I’ll put up my own horse and be there in a minute.”

  “Gees, thanks, mister.”

  He took off at a gallop, arms flapping.

  The hunter unbarred the corral gate and drove the penned horses out. A few well-aimed rocks sent them stampeding out into the bleak desert. He grinned faintly and led his own mount into a gap between buildings, dismounted and ground-reined the animal. He took his rifle from its scabbard and moved up to a point where he could see the street.

  The trial was in its final stage. Tuco, mounted on his horse, his hands tied behind him, was the centre of the mob’s attention. A gaunt man in a black hat, obviously the judge, stood on a barrel, facing him. The sheriff held the bridle of Tuco’s horse.
...

  The sheriff raised his whip. At its stinging lash the horse would lunge from under Tuco, leaving him to dance at the end of the rope.

  The hunter in the alley settled his left hand on the wall and rested the rifle across his ann. He sighted carefully.

  The crack of the sheriff’s whip was lost in the thunder of the shot. The rope parted with a twang a foot above Tuco’s head as the horse lunged forward, scattering the yelling crowd. The animal pounded down the street and out of town at a dead run before anyone could recover his wits and open fire on the bandit crouched over its neck.

  The hunter ran to his own mount and set off, following the dwindling dust cloud of the bandit’s horse. He rode at a leisurely gallop, unworried at the possibility of pursuit. It would take the sheriff and his pow at least the rest of the day to find and round up their own horses on foot.

- The Good, the Bad and the Ugly novel, chapter 4