The men in the cell heard the front door open and close.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” someone said from just outside the jailhouse. “You and your boys sure did a fine job this mornin’. You done the whole town just real proud. Yes, sir, that was a fine job you and the deputies done.”
“Thank you, Mr. Allen,” Ferrell answered. He chuckled. “Hope you remember that come next election day.”
“Oh, I’ll ’member it all right. The whole town will remember it, if you ask me. So, how about it? Are we goin’ to get to see us a hangin’ soon?”
“Looks that way,” Ferrell replied. “It sure looks that way. Course, that’ll be up to Judge Norton, but if I was a bettin’ man, I’d say we’ll be building a gallows within a week or so.”
“All right, that’s good,” Fargo said. He looked at the others.
“Good? What the hell are you talking about? All I heard the son of a bitch talking about was us hangin’,” Dagen said. “I’d like to know what the hell is good about that.”
“What’s good about it is, he was outside when he was talkin’,” Fargo replied.
“So he was outside. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Didn’t you hear the sheriff when he told Wilcox to watch things until Baker gets back?” Fargo said.
“Yeah, I heard it.”
“That means Wilcox is the only one here.”
“Hell, Fargo, it wouldn’t make no never mind if there wasn’t no one here at all. Case you ain’t noticed, we’re locked up in this here cell. And they don’t none of us have a key,” Dagen said.
“One of us has a key,” Fargo said.
“Who?”
“Wilcox.”
“Wilcox has a key,” Dagen said, scoffing. “That don’t make a lick of sense. What the hell good does it do us if Wilcox has a key?”
“I got me an idea,” Fargo said.
Up in the front of the sheriff’s office, Wilcox used a folded-up cloth to keep from burning his hand as he picked up the blue coffeepot from the top of the stove. He poured himself a cup of coffee, and had just taken a swallow when he heard a loud commotion coming from the cells in the back. Everyone was shouting at the same time.
“Deputy! Deputy Wilcox! Get back here quick! Hurry!”
Wilcox put the coffee cup down, then started toward the back.
“What the hell is goin’ on back here?” he called. “What’s all the shoutin’ about?”
As soon as he opened the door, he saw what had them all excited. One of the men had wrapped a blanket around his neck, then looped it over one of the overhead pipes. He was now hanging by the neck, twisting slowly in the cell.
“What the hell?” Wilcox asked. “Who is that? What is he doin’ up there?”
“That’s Casey and what he is doin’ is, he’s hangin’ hisself,” Fargo said.
“Son of a bitch, what’d he do that for? Couldn’t he wait for us to do it?”
Wilcox stepped up close to the bars, his eyes on the hanging prisoner. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he got too close. He was paying too much attention to the hanging man to see what happened next.
Dagen reached out to grab him by his gun arm while, at the same time, Fargo got a handful of his hair. Fargo jerked the deputy’s head hard against the iron bars, and though it didn’t knock Wilcox out, it stunned him enough for Dagen and Monroe to twist him around until his back was against the bars.
Fargo took a leather shoestring and looped it around Wilcox’s neck. He began tightening the string ... drawing it so tight that it cut into the deputy’s neck, causing blood to flow down on his shirt.
Fargo held it until Wilcox stopped struggling. Then he let him fall.
“Is he dead?” Casey asked.
“If he ain’t dead, he’s goin’ to be sleepin’ for about a thousand years,” Fargo replied.
Ponci laughed. “Sleepin’ for a thousand years. That’s funny.”
“Get me down from here,” Casey said.
There were three belts hidden behind the blanket that connected Casey’s neck to the overhead bars. Those three belts were buckled together, and attached to Casey’s own belt so that his waist, and not his neck, had borne the weight of his body.
Dagen and Ponci lifted Casey up to release the pressure on the belt; then they pulled the blanket down and let him down.
“Does he have the keys on him?” Monroe asked.
“Yes,” Fargo said. “They’re hanging from his belt. Help me get him twisted around here.”
The men moved Wilcox’s body around until Fargo could reach the keys. It took but a moment to get them, then open the cell door.
“Let’s get the hell out of here before Baker or the sheriff gets back,” Dagen said.
“No, not yet,” Fargo cautioned.
