“I just don’t want more killing,” Tibbit said sullenly.
“Tell that to the son of a bitch who has been taking your women, chopping them into pieces, and throwing the pieces in a pit.”
“I forgot about him in all the excite—” Tibbit stopped. “Wait. What was that about a pit?”
Fargo told him all that had happened out at the black mesa, concluding with, “I was fixing to come to you in the morning and suggest you gather up a posse. If we head out early enough we can surround the mesa and sweep it from end to end before dark. We’re bound to find him.”
“I was under the impression you wanted him for yourself.”
“Ever been pheasant hunting?”
Tibbit shook his head. “Can’t say as I have, no. I’ve never hunted much. To be honest, I can’t stand the blood and the killing. It makes me want to cry.”
“Corsets,” Fargo said under his breath.
“Sorry?”
“Nothing. What they do is get a bunch of men and walk the fields and flush the birds into taking wing and the hunter who is nearest shoots it.”
Tibbit was quiet a bit. “I see. You’re hoping we’ll flush him and you can shoot him.”
Fargo shrugged. “It could be me. It could be any of you.”
“You’re forgetting something.” Tibbit drew himself up to his full height. “I am obligated to go by the letter of the law and the law says I must try to take him alive to stand trial for his crimes.”
“Come down out of the clouds, Marion,” Fargo said. It was the first time he had used the lawman’s first name.
“Excuse me?”
“The man on that mesa won’t let you take him alive. He’ll fight, he’ll fight hard, and it could be some of your posse won’t come back.”
“If there are enough of us he’ll realize it’s pointless and might surrender.” Tibbit brightened at the notion. “Why, I’ll round up every able-bodied man in town and send for the closest farmers. I can raise forty men or better.”
“You do what you want.”
Tibbit regarded him thoughtfully. “You don’t like me very much, do you, Mr. Fargo?”
“I like you fine. It’s your stupid I don’t care for.”
“My what?”
“When you do what you shouldn’t.”
“But who is to say I’m wrong and you’re right?”
“That’s what stupid people always say.”
A flush spread from Tibbit’s neck to his hairline. “I don’t like being insulted, sir. I don’t like it at all.” He tromped to the hall, and paused. “I’ll have a posse ready to ride out at dawn. One way or the other, this whole mess will end.”
“We hope,” Fargo said.
“It’s your plan yet you sound pessimistic. He’s one man. We’ll have forty or more. He’s as good as caught.”
“There you go again.” Fargo swallowed more coffee. “This man is smart. He’s picked a good hiding place. And he’s a good shot.”
“Forty to one,” Tibbit emphasized.
“That won’t make a difference to him. He’ll be like a cornered wolf up there. A cornered
“He’ll surrender or he will die. It’s that simple.” Tibbit touched his hat brim and turned to go.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Fargo asked.
“Not that I can think of.”
Fargo pointed at the two bodies.
“Oh. Mercy me. Yes, I suppose it wouldn’t do to leave them there. Helsa wouldn’t like that at all.”
It took half an hour for the lawman to organize a handful of men to carry the bodies out and wipe up the blood.
Fargo stayed in the kitchen drinking coffee. Helsa Chatterly came in, her arms wrapped around her bosom, and moved tiredly to the pitcher and poured a glass of water.
“I’m glad that’s over.”
“It’s not,” Fargo said.
“You mean Harvey Stansfield? Surely he won’t try again.”
“He’ll want me dead more than ever,” Fargo predicted.
“I hope you’re wrong.” Helsa drank and set the glass down and bowed her head. “I’m going to turn in. How about you?”
“I’ll be up in a minute.”
She came over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry you had to shoot them.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t mean that. You took two lives. Surely that will haunt you the rest of your days.”
Fargo had lost count of the number of lives he’d taken; he never gave another thought to any of them. Most were like the pair tonight, out to do him violence or to hurt someone else, and had to be stopped. In his book they deserved what they got, and good riddance. He didn’t tell her that. He said, “Get a good night’s rest and you’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Good night, handsome.” Helsa padded off.
Fargo finished his coffee. He bolted the front and back doors. He went from window to window, checking that they were latched. He blew out the lamp in the parlor and climbed the stairs to his room. Instead of stripping and climbing into bed, he took a pillow and placed it vertically under the blankets to give the illusion of someone sleeping. Then he blew out the bedroom lamp, stretched out on the floor with his back to a wall, and fell asleep with his arm for a pillow and his Colt in his hand.
A faint pink hue marked the eastern sky when Fargo awoke. Sitting up, he stretched and slid the Colt into his holster and put his hat on. He quietly went downstairs and out into the early-morning chill of the new day. Well before the sun was up he was in the saddle in front of the marshal’s office. He was the first one there.
A golden crown glowed bright when Tibbit showed. He had bags under his eyes and his clothes were a mess. He nodded at Fargo and went into his office. Fargo followed and claimed a chair while the lawman put a fresh pot of coffee on the stove.
“I got the word out,” Tibbit said. “I should have over forty men here by daybreak.”
“It already
“Give them time.”
The sun was all the way up when Felicity’s father and several of his friends arrived. Then it was Myrtle’s father, Joseph, and some of his friends. In all, over two dozen gathered and talked in hushed tones until Marshal Tibbit emerged.
“Men, I want to thank you for coming. I’m expecting more so we’ll wait for them to get here.”
Fargo leaned against the jamb. “We should leave now.”
“What’s your rush?” Tibbit asked.
“It’s a big mesa. We’ll need most of the day to search.”
“Forty can search faster than twenty,” Tibbit said. “I say we give them another hour.”
Reluctantly, Fargo gave in. They needed him to guide them and he needed them to scour every square yard of the mesa. It was eight before most of those Tibbit was counting on got there, and eight thirty before they were finally shed of Haven.
Fargo rode at the head with Tibbit and Tom Wilson, the townsman who had tried to stop the lynching that night on the trail. In a short while Sam Worthington joined them, the big farmer saying, “I thought you should know, Marshal. Some of the men are saying as how we should shoot the Ghoul on sight.”
“I made it clear he is to be taken into custody,” Tibbit said, with a pointed glance at Fargo.
“Myrtle’s pa doesn’t agree and he’s worked up the others,” the farmer revealed. “I can’t hardly blame them.
