“I can’t wait to hear it,” Harve said.
“What
“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
“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.”
16
“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?”
