dragging his six-shooter out at the same time. Before he even reached the ground he’d squeezed off two shots, both of them burning close to Fargo’s head. The blazing red-yellow flame of the explosions seemed to linger on the shadows.
Fargo took to the ground himself. He slammed his head down as two more bullets blazed past his flattened body. Kenny Raines was a resourceful gunfighter. No doubt about that.
But then he made his mistake. Fargo read it instinctively. Down to two bullets, Kenny Raines had to take a real chance now. He had to raise himself up very quickly to get a better angle at Fargo. He had to bet he could get his shots off before Fargo got his.
He lost the bet. Fargo pumped three bullets into the man’s chest. Kenny screamed as the bullets tore into him. His entire body danced before he settled onto the ground. Fargo was pretty sure he’d heard the word “Mama!” cried as the gunfighter was dying.
Sam Raines stood near his brother with his arms raised above his head. “I don’t want to die, Fargo. I’m sorry I killed that old woman.”
“Walk over here and keep your hands up. I’m going to tie you up and send somebody back here for you. And the way I’ll tie you up there won’t be any way you can escape. Believe me. Now move.”
Sam Raines began walking toward Fargo. He’d gone four steps exactly when Fargo saw what was taking place behind Sam. “You coward!” Kenny Raines called out. He had only the strength to raise the gun he’d somehow managed to hold on to and then pull the trigger twice, exploding his brother’s head into chunks. He tried to take aim at Fargo but the Trailsman was way ahead of him. He did the same thing to Kenny that Kenny had done to Sam. This time the exploding pieces of bone and brain weren’t quite as spectacular.
But you couldn’t have everything.
16
Fargo could hear the mob before he saw it.
Human roars ebbed and flowed as he approached the hill that overlooked Cawthorne. Shouts and screams, even a few gunshots punctuated what should have been bedtime silence. Disturbing as the sounds were, they signified that Lenihan probably hadn’t been dragged out of his prison cell as yet. They were likely still trying to get inside the sheriff’s office.
As soon as he reached the top of the hill, he saw that he was right. The area around the sheriff’s office was crowded with bodies, torches, rifles. He could almost smell the alcohol from here. A dangerous situation that liquor would keep making more dangerous.
The plank walk in front of Cain’s office was empty. Cain and Rule and the two night deputies would be inside, their shotguns ready. One question was how long they could hold out. The other question was did Cain really
Fargo knew better than to ride down the main street with Helen Hardesty’s blanket-wrapped body over the back of his horse. That would only incite more rage. She had died without telling him who she’d seen kill Clete Byrnes. He doubted it was the Raines brothers. They’d come to Helen’s to kill him, not Helen. And given what he’d learned about them it was unlikely that the three robbers would ever have gotten involved with them. The boys had been wild but not stupid.
And the Raines boys, for all their bravado, had not been blessed with brains.
He swung wide so that he would come in behind the main street. There were a few large barns that functioned as warehouses and a handful of shacklike homes strewn out across the dusty flatland. He could reach the back door of the sheriff’s office without being seen. If there were some mob members back there he’d have to deal with them any way he could.
The shouts and screams were hellish as he made his way past the warehouses and approached the sheriff’s office. The flames from the torches burnished the night sky with a lurid gold-red color.
He was happy to see that nobody lurked behind Cain’s office. The entertainment—and that was part of any lynching—was out front. If Cain was any kind of a lawman, and he was, he’d have somebody stationed at the back door with a sawed-off. There’d be hell to pay for anybody who tried to break in.
Fargo dropped from the saddle, ground-tied his Ovaro and hurried to the back door. He pounded on the door and shouted, “It’s Fargo! Let me in!” He didn’t have to worry about yelling too loud. The crowd voices easily covered his own.
It took three tries before he heard the heavy wooden bar being lifted from the door. A deputy with a white ten-gallon hat and a cigar butt jammed into the corner of his mouth kept his sawed-off trained on Fargo. The deputy stepped to the threshold, gaped around and then stood back to let Fargo inside.
“They’ll be making their move any time now,” the deputy said. “My name’s Hal Parsons by the way. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He nodded to the front of the place. “They’re all up front. I’m stationed here.”
“Don’t trust Parsons, Fargo,” Ned Lenihan said, his hands gripping the bars of his cell. “He’s one of Cain’s gunnies. I heard them talking earlier. They’re going to turn me over to the mob, Fargo. You’ve got to help me.”
“You’re lucky I don’t come in there and kill you myself, Lenihan,” Parsons snapped. He was tall, a powerful man starting to show middle age.
“You sure you’re a deputy?” Fargo said.
Parsons smirked. “Friend of his, are you, Fargo?”
“As a matter of fact I am.”
Amy Peters was slumped on the bench in front of Cain’s desk. Cain and Rule stood on either side of the door, rifles in their hands. Not until he was closer to Amy did he notice the fresh bruise on her cheek.
“What happened to Amy?” Fargo said as soon as he saw the injury.
Cain and Rule glanced at each other.
“I got angry out there trying to calm them down,” Cain said. “I backhanded her because she was just adding to the pressure.”
Fargo walked over to Amy. She sat up. He reached under her chin and tilted her face toward him so he could see the bruise better.
He stood less than three inches from Cain and said, “Why don’t you try and backhand me and see what happens?”
“It was a mistake, all right? This is a dangerous situation.”
The only warning that Fargo got was Amy’s scream. That was the last sound he heard after Parsons’ six- shooter slammed across the back of his skull and drove him to the floor.
“Here’s some water.”
Fargo opened his eyes to see Ned Lenihan standing over him with a tin cup in his hand. The stench told Fargo where he was. A cell.
“They must have knocked you out. They brought you back here. Parsons and Cain. I guess they figured you’d get in the way when they let the crowd come in and get me.”
“Thanks.” Fargo accepted the cup. He sat up on the edge of the cot and drank it down. Inside his skull a knife sawed through his brain.
The mob had broken into a chant. “Hand him over now!”
Lenihan had a pale, shaken look to him. He moved with great effort. He returned to his own cot and sat down and put his face in his hands. “It’s going to happen. They’re going to hang me. And I didn’t do it, Fargo. I really didn’t.”
“I believe you, Lenihan.”
“Cain’s waited all this time to pay me back for Amy. He acted like I’d stolen her from him. He’s crazy when it comes to this. Insane, I mean.”
The door separating the front office from the jail cells opened. Pete Rule said, “I’ll make sure they’re not up to anything.”
“What the hell are they going to be up to?” Cain said. “Neither of them has a gun.”
