A shadowy shape filled the kitchen doorway.
Fargo caught the glint of metal in the lamplight and flung himself at the floor. Simultaneously, the house rocked to the boom of a large-caliber rifle. A leaden hornet buzzed over his head and struck the front door with a
Other than several townsmen standing in front of the saloon and a rider just leaving town at the far end, the street was deserted.
One of the men in front of the saloon cupped a hand to his mouth. “What’s going on over there, mister?”
Another yelled, “What was that shot we just heard?”
Fargo wished to hell he knew.
10
Marshal Tibbit wasn’t any too pleased. “Since you hit my town all hell has broken loose. You were nearly lynched. You keeping having fights with Harve and his friends. Now someone sneaks into Helsa’s house and takes a shot at you. What is it about you that people want to kill you or hurt you?”
They were in Helsa’s parlor. Fargo was in a chair, the lawman on the settee. “You’re blaming me?”
“You are a trouble magnet, sir,” Tibbit huffed. “And to be frank, I don’t like having my sleep disturbed.” He had on a coat over a nightshirt and his badge was pinned to the coat. He was hatless and his hair was disheveled.
“Next time I’ll ask the shooter to try during the day,” Fargo said, and was jolted by a thought. “Then again, maybe he already did.”
“How’s that?” Tibbit asked.
Fargo told him about the shot in the forest when he was looking for tracks near the canyon.
“Why didn’t you inform me of it right away? This is becoming quite serious.”
“You’re telling me.”
Tibbit rubbed his double chins. “Do you know what I think? I think whoever took the girls heard that you are helping me and is trying to eliminate you.”
Fargo was thinking the same thing.
“And whoever it is won’t stop trying until you’re six feet under.” Tibbit regarded Fargo with concern. “Perhaps you should move on while you’re still breathing.”
“You want me to give up?”
“Better that than you end up dead. After all, it’s not as if any of this involves you personally. You didn’t know any of the missing girls.”
Fargo touched his neck where the rope had scraped his skin. “I take it real personal when someone tries to kill me.”
“So you’re staying?”
“You couldn’t make me go.”
“Very well.” Tibbit stood just as Helsa came into the room carrying a tray with cups of coffee. He smiled and shook his head. “Thank you, my dear, but no, thanks. I have any of that, I won’t be able to sleep a lick. And I dearly need my rest.” He patted her arm. “I’ll see myself out. No need to bother yourself.”
Helsa set the tray on a table in front of the settee. “He has no idea about who it was, does he?”
“He doesn’t get many ideas, period,” Fargo said. She handed him a cup and saucer. The coffee was hot and black, as he liked it. “How many married men are there in Haven?”
“No one has ever counted them. Were I to guess, I’d say well over half. Close to fifty. Probably more.”
Fargo frowned. He couldn’t very well go around to each and every one.
Word might get to whomever they were after and the killer would light a shuck.
A better way was to have the killer come to him. “Now I know how a worm on a hook feels.”
Helsa caught on right away. “You plan to set yourself up as bait.”
“Unless you know a better way.”
“I wish I did.” She came around the table and sat on the settee. “This has been an eventful night in more ways than one,” she commented with a warm smile.
“How did he get in?” Fargo wondered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You told me you made a point of throwing the bolts on the doors so we wouldn’t be disturbed. How did the shooter get in?” Fargo rose and went to each of the ground floor windows. All of them were latched.
Helsa had followed, and now she said, “What did he do? Walk in through the walls?”
“That’s plain silly,” Fargo said. But the hell of it was, how
“Not unless he came in through the root cellar.”
“Show me.”
In a corner of the kitchen on the floor was a small trapdoor. Below were steps and a cellar for keeping vegetables and salted meat and preserves.
Another small door opened onto the backyard. It was partially screened by a lilac bush, which was why Fargo hadn’t noticed it before.
“Here’s our answer.”
“Very few people know about it,” Helsa said. “Close friends only.”
“Give me a list of names.”
“I’ll have to think on it some,” Helsa said. “Most are women, I’m afraid.”
“Women with husbands?”
“Oh. I see what you are getting at.”
They went back in. It had been an eventful day and Fargo wearily bent his steps to his room. As he was closing the door Helsa came up and pecked him on the cheek.
“Thank you for earlier.”
“Next time bar the root cellar doors, too.”
“I’m free tomorrow night.” Grinning mischievously, Helsa kissed him on the lips, turned, and sashayed to her bedroom.
“Women,” Fargo muttered. He took the precaution of propping a chair against the door and made sure the window was latched. Blowing out the lamp, he lay in bed on his back, the Colt in his right hand.
From now on he had to have eyes in the back of his head. The man he was hunting had turned the tables and was hunting him. And the man had an edge. The man knew who he was; he had no idea who he was after. That edge could prove fatal unless he was God-almighty careful. With that thought Fargo drifted off.
As was his habit he woke at the break of dawn. He washed in the basin and combed his hair and went down to the kitchen. Helsa wasn’t up yet so he fired the stove and put a fresh batch of coffee on.
He found eggs and bacon and both were sizzling in pans when Helsa shuffled in wearing a bulky robe, and yawning.
“Goodness, you’re an early riser.”
Fargo pulled her to him and cupped her bottom and kissed her on the mouth. “In more ways than one.”
Helsa pushed him back. “I’m not up two minutes and you want to ravish me again. You are a randy goat, sir.” She giggled as she said it. “I much prefer the nighttime, anyway.”
Fargo turned to the stove and flipped the bacon over and poked at the scrambled eggs. “Make yourself useful. Have any toast and jam?”
