High Country Horror (15 page)

“I can’t wait to hear it,” Harve said.

“What
do
you aim to do with me?”

“Damn, you are stupid. What do you think? We aim to drag you out and throw you over a horse and take you into the woods and finish what we started the other night.”

Helsa placed a hand to her throat. “You mean you intend to
hang
him? That’s hideous.”

“He’s made us laughingstocks.”

Fargo’s hand was almost to the holster. He tensed to jerk the Colt but froze when Harve suddenly seized Helsa’s wrist and pressed his revolver to her head.

“On second thought we’re taking you with us. We leave you here, even trussed up, you might get free and raise a ruckus and we’ll have the marshal after us sooner than we want.” Harve glanced past her at Fargo and said, “Hell. We forgot to take his pistol, boys.” He cocked his. “How about you hand it over nice and easy or this just might go off?”

Fargo would have rather swallowed burning coals than give up the Colt but with that pistol against Helsa’s head, he plucked it out.

“McNee, take it and cover him. He’s not turning the tables on us this time.”

Fargo submitted to having the Colt taken and to having McNee step behind him and jam the muzzle of a six-gun against his spine.

Harvey lowered his pistol and smiled. “Well now. We have the upper hand at last. Dugan, go bring the horses into the backyard.”

“Why are you giving all the orders?” Dugan responded. “We’re in this the same as you.”

They argued, and Helsa shifted toward Fargo and said, “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I should have thrown the bolt on the back door but I wasn’t sure if you would come in through the front or the back.”

“Hush, bitch,” McNee said.

“I can talk if I want,” Helsa said. “And don’t use that kind of language around me. I’m a lady, I’ll have you know.”

“Sure you are.” McNee laughed. “I saw you on the kitchen table with him, remember? You’re as much a whore as any whore I’ve ever paid for.”

Helsa grew so red, she looked fit to burst a blood vessel. “How dare you talk to me like that?”

“Understand this, lady. You mean nothing to me. Harve says we should keep you alive but were it up to me I’d shoot you dead where you stand and not bat an eye.”

“You’re despicable, all of you.”

“We’re what?” Harve said. He had finished arguing with Dugan. “Is that any way to talk about the gent who is keeping you alive.” He put a hand on her arm. “You should be thankful.”

“I can’t let you hang him.”

“You can’t stop us.” Harve shoved her toward the back door. Helsa stumbled but recovered.

McNee said, “Your turn, big man,” and pushed Fargo at the same time as he rammed his revolver against Fargo’s backbone.

Fargo exploded. He whirled and swatted the revolver and slammed a right cross to the chin that rocked McNee onto his heels. Dugan swore and leaped to help, unlimbering his own six-shooter, but he did not quite have it out when Fargo caught him with a looping left to the gut and a hard right to the cheek that sent him crashing into the stove. Harvey spun and took aim and was smirking, confident he had Fargo dead to rights. Harvey didn’t count on Helsa jumping onto his back and wrapping an arm around his neck while clawing at his face and eyes with her nails. Howling in pain, Harvey sought to throw her off. Fargo went to help her but McNee was unfurling and raising his revolver. Fargo hit him in the mouth, in the nose, in the right eye; McNee flew backward over the table.

The Colt was at Fargo’s feet. Living quicksilver, he dropped to one knee and scooped it up as Dugan pushed clear of the stove. He fired as Dugan pointed his six-shooter, fired as Dugan banged off a shot into the floor, fired a third time and the top of Dugan’s head burst.

On the other side of the table, McNee was rising and cursing a mean streak.

He thrust out his six-gun.

Fargo fanned a shot from the hip. At that short a range he didn’t need to aim. The lead ripped into McNee’s left eye and flipped him around over a chair.

Both hit the floor with a crash.

That left Harvey. Fargo pivoted toward where he had seen him last but only Helsa was there, on the floor, holding her side in pain. The back door slammed.

“Are you all right?” Fargo asked, and when she nodded, he hurtled up and out and into the backyard. The gate was closing. Beyond, a darkling shape was clambering onto a horse. Fargo jerked the Colt up but another horse stepped into his sights.

Harvey Stansfield was fleeing into the night.

Fargo flew to the gate and shoved it open and had to smack a third horse that got in his way. Springing clear, he raised the Colt. He wanted to be sure. He aimed, and the opportunity was gone; Harve and Harve’s mount melted into the darkness. Fargo darted to a bay and in a heartbeat was in the saddle. He gave chase but went only a short way and drew rein. The night had gone quiet save for shouts in Haven. People were wondering what the shots had been about.

Fargo knew what Harvey had done; he had ridden a short distance and stopped to make it harder to locate him. Straining his ears, Fargo rode in a half circle. Nothing. He widened the circle as a commotion rose in town. Again nothing. He was set to sweep farther when Marshal Tibbit shouted.

“Fargo! Can you hear me? I want you back here and I want you back here now!”

Against his better judgment, Fargo returned. The backyard was filled with townsfolk. Helsa was being comforted by several women.

Waiting at the gate was the lawman, in shirtsleeves and looking rumpled.

“There are two dead men inside.”

“There would have been three,” Fargo said. He swung down and went to walk past.

“I’m afraid I can’t turn my back on this,” Tibbit said, and gripped his arm. “I’m placing you under arrest.”

“No,” Fargo said. “You’re not.” There were limits to how much he would abide and Tibbit had crossed the line.

“How is that again?”

“I don’t reckon I’ll let you arrest me.” Fargo crossed the yard toward the back door.

Tibbit overtook him, taking long strides to match his. “Just you hold on a minute. You can’t tell a law officer he can’t arrest you.”

“I just did.” Opening the back door, Fargo entered the kitchen and went to the stove. The coffeepot was good and hot.

“But see here. I’ve been duly appointed to uphold the law.” Tibbit tapped his badge to stress the point.

Fargo filled a cup and set the pot back on the stove. He leaned against the table and sipped and then looked at Tibbit, who was impatiently tapping his foot. “You’re more worthless than teats on a boar.”

“That is quite enough.” Tibbit dipped his hand toward the six-gun on his hip.

His arm a blur, Fargo drew the Colt. He had it out and level before Tibbit could touch his. Tibbit blanched and went rigid. With a flourish, Fargo twirled the Colt into his holster. “Don’t try that again.”

“You wouldn’t shoot me.”

“Pour yourself a cup and we’ll talk.”

“I can’t,” Tibbit said. “I have a weak constitution. It would keep me up all night and I’d be worthless tomorrow.” He caught himself. “Worthless. That was your word, wasn’t it?”

“I’ve already been in your jail and I’m not going there again,” Fargo set him straight. “I was defending myself. Ask Helsa Chatterly. Those three busted in here and said they were going to hang me. What else was I to do? Yell for help and hope you came?”

“I just don’t want more killing,” Tibbit said sullenly.

“Tell that to the son of a bitch who has been taking your women, chopping them into pieces, and throwing the pieces in a pit.”

“I forgot about him in all the excite—” Tibbit stopped. “Wait. What was that about a pit?”

Fargo told him all that had happened out at the black mesa, concluding with, “I was fixing to come to you in the morning and suggest you gather up a posse. If we head out early enough we can surround the mesa and sweep it from end to end before dark. We’re bound to find him.”

“I was under the impression you wanted him for yourself.”

“Ever been pheasant hunting?”

Tibbit shook his head. “Can’t say as I have, no. I’ve never hunted much. To be honest, I can’t stand the blood and the killing. It makes me want to cry.”

“Corsets,” Fargo said under his breath.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. What they do is get a bunch of men and walk the fields and flush the birds into taking wing and the hunter who is nearest shoots it.”

Tibbit was quiet a bit. “I see. You’re hoping we’ll flush him and you can shoot him.”

Fargo shrugged. “It could be me. It could be any of you.”

“You’re forgetting something.” Tibbit drew himself up to his full height. “I am obligated to go by the letter of the law and the law says I must try to take him alive to stand trial for his crimes.”

“Come down out of the clouds, Marion,” Fargo said. It was the first time he had used the lawman’s first name.

“Excuse me?”

“The man on that mesa won’t let you take him alive. He’ll fight, he’ll fight hard, and it could be some of your posse won’t come back.”

“If there are enough of us he’ll realize it’s pointless and might surrender.” Tibbit brightened at the notion. “Why, I’ll round up every able-bodied man in town and send for the closest farmers. I can raise forty men or better.”

“You do what you want.”

Tibbit regarded him thoughtfully. “You don’t like me very much, do you, Mr. Fargo?”

“I like you fine. It’s your stupid I don’t care for.”

“My what?”

“When you do what you shouldn’t.”

“But who is to say I’m wrong and you’re right?”

“That’s what stupid people always say.”

A flush spread from Tibbit’s neck to his hairline. “I don’t like being insulted, sir. I don’t like it at all.” He tromped to the hall, and paused. “I’ll have a posse ready to ride out at dawn. One way or the other, this whole mess will end.”

“We hope,” Fargo said.

“It’s your plan yet you sound pessimistic. He’s one man. We’ll have forty or more. He’s as good as caught.”

“There you go again.” Fargo swallowed more coffee. “This man is smart. He’s picked a good hiding place. And he’s a good shot.”

“Forty to one,” Tibbit emphasized.

“That won’t make a difference to him. He’ll be like a cornered wolf up there. A cornered
rabid
wolf. And you can never tell what a rabid animal will do.”

“He’ll surrender or he will die. It’s that simple.” Tibbit touched his hat brim and turned to go.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Fargo asked.

“Not that I can think of.”

Fargo pointed at the two bodies.

“Oh. Mercy me. Yes, I suppose it wouldn’t do to leave them there. Helsa wouldn’t like that at all.”

It took half an hour for the lawman to organize a handful of men to carry the bodies out and wipe up the blood.

Fargo stayed in the kitchen drinking coffee. Helsa Chatterly came in, her arms wrapped around her bosom, and moved tiredly to the pitcher and poured a glass of water.

“I’m glad that’s over.”

“It’s not,” Fargo said.

“You mean Harvey Stansfield? Surely he won’t try again.”

“He’ll want me dead more than ever,” Fargo predicted.

“I hope you’re wrong.” Helsa drank and set the glass down and bowed her head. “I’m going to turn in. How about you?”

“I’ll be up in a minute.”

She came over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry you had to shoot them.”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t mean that. You took two lives. Surely that will haunt you the rest of your days.”

Fargo had lost count of the number of lives he’d taken; he never gave another thought to any of them. Most were like the pair tonight, out to do him violence or to hurt someone else, and had to be stopped. In his book they deserved what they got, and good riddance. He didn’t tell her that. He said, “Get a good night’s rest and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Good night, handsome.” Helsa padded off.

Fargo finished his coffee. He bolted the front and back doors. He went from window to window, checking that they were latched. He blew out the lamp in the parlor and climbed the stairs to his room. Instead of stripping and climbing into bed, he took a pillow and placed it vertically under the blankets to give the illusion of someone sleeping. Then he blew out the bedroom lamp, stretched out on the floor with his back to a wall, and fell asleep with his arm for a pillow and his Colt in his hand.

A faint pink hue marked the eastern sky when Fargo awoke. Sitting up, he stretched and slid the Colt into his holster and put his hat on. He quietly went downstairs and out into the early-morning chill of the new day. Well before the sun was up he was in the saddle in front of the marshal’s office. He was the first one there.

A golden crown glowed bright when Tibbit showed. He had bags under his eyes and his clothes were a mess. He nodded at Fargo and went into his office. Fargo followed and claimed a chair while the lawman put a fresh pot of coffee on the stove.

“I got the word out,” Tibbit said. “I should have over forty men here by daybreak.”

“It already
is
daybreak,” Fargo pointed out. “And no one else is here.”

“Give them time.”

The sun was all the way up when Felicity’s father and several of his friends arrived. Then it was Myrtle’s father, Joseph, and some of his friends. In all, over two dozen gathered and talked in hushed tones until Marshal Tibbit emerged.

“Men, I want to thank you for coming. I’m expecting more so we’ll wait for them to get here.”

Fargo leaned against the jamb. “We should leave now.”

“What’s your rush?” Tibbit asked.

“It’s a big mesa. We’ll need most of the day to search.”

“Forty can search faster than twenty,” Tibbit said. “I say we give them another hour.”