She did, and when they sat down to the table, their plates brimmed with food. Fargo had three slices of toast piled on his. He washed the meal down with five cups of piping hot black coffee. When he was done he sat back and patted his belly.
“If I ate like this every day I’d look like Marshal Tibbit.”
“I doubt that,” Helsa said. “You’re one of those men who likes being hard.”
She realized what she had said, and laughed. “Listen to me. I’m becoming as naughty as you.”
“Not by a long shot,” Fargo said.
“What are your plans for the day?”
“The worm is going to rub this town’s nose in its dirt.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Later,” Fargo said. He got up and went down the street to the general store. The owner had just arrived to open up. Fargo bought a new whetstone and made small talk about the town and the weather and then casually asked, “Did you hear about last night? Someone took a shot at me at the boardinghouse.”
“My word,” the owner declared. “No, I didn’t hear. Have you any idea who it was?”
Fargo leaned toward him as if confiding a secret and said quietly, “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s the same man who took the missing women.”
“Who?” the owner asked excitedly.
Fargo shook his head. “Not yet. By tomorrow night I’ll have the proof I need to give the man’s name to the marshal. You’ll find out when everyone else does.” He started to go but stopped to put a finger to his lips. “Can I count on you to keep it quiet?”
“As God is my witness,” the owner said.
Fargo walked out into the bright sunlight, and chuckled. The saloon was his next stop. The bartender was sweeping the floor and looked half awake, and mildly surprised.
“I don’t open for a couple of hours yet.”
“That’s too bad,” Fargo said. “I could use a drink after the night I had.”
“How do you mean?”
Fargo told him about the attempt on his life. He ended by glancing at the batwings and lowering his voice. “Keep it to yourself but I know who it was. By tomorrow night he’ll be behind bars.”
“You don’t say.”
Fargo paid visits to the butcher shop, where he asked if the butcher sold jerky and happened to mention his big secret, and then to the livery, where he asked how much it would cost to put up the Ovaro and happened to mention his big secret, and then to the millinery, where he asked how much it would cost to buy a bonnet for a lady friend and happened to mention his big secret.
By midday Fargo had gone from one end of the main street to the other.
He’d confided in every store owner and was feeling immensely pleased with himself.
Given how fast gossip spread in a small town like Haven, he figured every last soul would hear the news by sundown. He passed the marshal’s office when suddenly the door opened and out barreled Marion Tibbit.
“Hold it right there. What do you think you’re doing?”
“They call it walking,” Fargo said.
“I just came from the general store. Becker is telling everyone that you know who took that shot at you.”
“Good,” Fargo said.
“Why haven’t you told me?”
“Because I don’t know yet.”
“Then why is Becker saying you do?”
“Because I told him I did.”
Marshal Tibbit scratched his head. “You’re confusing the hell out of me. What purpose does that serve?”
“I want the back-shooter to try again,” Fargo said.
Amazement rippled across Tibbit’s face. “The devil you say. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Not if I can help it.” Fargo walked on to Chatterly’s. He opened the gate and went to the steps and up them to the front door. He didn’t bother to knock but walked on in and made for the kitchen. He was almost to the parlor when Harvey Stansfield stepped out in front of him. Harvey was holding a new ax handle. In the parlor stood McNee and Dugan with ax handles of their own.
“Hell,” Fargo said.
“We have you now, you son of a bitch,” Harvey declared.
“Were you born stupid or do you work at it?”
Harvey roared like a shot bear and raised the handle like a club. A near-maniacal expression came over him and he swung at Fargo’s head. Fargo ducked, slammed a fist into Harvey’s gut, and spun to meet the charges of McNee and Dugan. They were so eager to get at him that they bumped shoulders and Dugan shoved McNee so he would be first. Fargo punched Dugan in the mouth and Dugan fell back against McNee. Harvey was straightening and hissing and he thrust the end of the handle at Fargo’s stomach. Pivoting, Fargo felt it brush his buckskins.
He brought both fists up, boxing Harvey’s ears, and Harvey howled and skipped away. Dugan had recovered and was coming at him again and Fargo got his hands up as the ax handle swept down. He grabbed it, wincing at the pain in his palms, and wrenched it from Dugan’s grasp. Before Dugan could recover his wits, Fargo drove the handle into Dugan’s gut, folding him like wet paper. Not slowing for an instant, Fargo arced the handle up and around and was rewarded with the
Yowling in agony, McNee retreated into the parlor and Fargo went after him, swinging. McNee raised his ax handle to protect his head and Fargo slashed down and in across McNee’s legs. McNee started to buckle but stayed on his feet. A parry, a sidestep, and Fargo smashed the handle against McNee’s ear.
That left Harvey.
Fargo whirled just as Stansfield came at him. Their ax handles became blurs. The whack of wood on wood was near continuous. The brute force of Harvey’s rage drove Fargo back, but only a few steps. Fargo absorbed a blow to the ribs, countered with one of his own, and when Harvey clutched at his side, smashed him across the fingers. Harvey swore and turned to run and Fargo hit him across the back of the head.
Helsa was on the stairs, staring in shock.
“I could use some coffee,” Fargo said.
“You beat all three of them.”
“They are good practice for swatting flies.”
“I never saw anyone move as fast as you.”
Fargo leaned the handle against the wall. “I’ll go fetch the marshal if you’ll put that coffee on.”
In a rush and a rustle of her dress Helsa had his hand in both of hers. “Are you hurt?”
“A few more bruises,” Fargo said.
“I saw most of it. I’ll gladly testify in a court of law if you press charges,” she offered.
“I just want them out of my hair for a while,” Fargo enlightened her.
Helsa stared at their still forms and then at him, and grinned. “There’s never a dull moment with you around, is there?”
11
The ponderosa pines were alive with movement and sounds. Robins warbled and jays screeched. Chipmunks scampered zanily about. From a high limb a tuft-eared squirrel chewed on a pinecone and watched Fargo ride underneath the tree it was in.
Fargo rode with the Henry across his saddle. He had learned his lesson the day before. He was ready to answer lead with lead, even if the shots fired at him came from some distance.
