He jerked back on the reins, stopping and whipping his horse’s head to the side, just as another arrow hissed past where his chest would’ve been an instant later. Snatching the double-barrel shotgun from the saddle boot, he wrenched his horse around and charged directly where the arrows came from, noting that the big Ocelomeh to his left was already down, an arrow through his throat. Silly bastard, he reflected philosophically. Guess I should’a been lookin’ his way too.
Always charge "into" an ambush.
