High Country Horror

Instead of letting go, James tucked at the knees and set the Spencer on the floor. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“Mister, I never set eyes on—” Harve stopped. “Wait a second. But you can’t be him. He’s dead.”

“I feel very alive at the moment,” James said. “Where is the rest of the posse? Have they surrounded the house?”

“Posse?” Harve responded. “What the hell are you talking about? They’ve got a posse out after me?”

It was Helsa who answered. “No. Marshal Tibbit has one out after him.” She pointed at James.

“What on earth for?”

“He’s the Ghoul.”

“He’s the what?”

“You heard me. You must hold him here until the marshal arrives.”

Harvey stared at James Chatterly, and laughed. “Lady, what do you take me for? A simpleton? It was the Ghoul who everyone thought killed your husband pretty near a year ago, wasn’t it? Now you’re saying he killed himself?” He laughed some more.

“You don’t understand,” Helsa said.

“Sure I do,” Harvey said. “You’re trying to trick me, to confuse me so I won’t up and shoot your lover, here.” He nodded at Fargo.

“Her what?” James said.

Helsa groaned.

“Her lover,” Harvey told James. “I saw them with my own eyes. They were going at it right on your kitchen table.”

James looked at her and Helsa looked away. “My, oh my. You’re not so innocent, after all.”

“My friends saw them too,” Harvey said. “But they’re dead now, thanks to this son of a bitch.” He pointed his rifle at Fargo. “I’ve come to settle accounts once and for all.”

“Then you truly aren’t here for me?” James asked.

“Mister, it didn’t work with her and it won’t work with you. Nothing either of you say or do is going to stop me from making maggot bait of this bastard.” Harvey gave Fargo a hard push into the parlor and Fargo stumbled several steps. “I have hardly slept or eaten for dreaming of this.”

James grinned at Helsa. “We all have our little secrets, don’t we, my sweet?”

“He was the first and only,” Helsa said. “It had been so long.”

“No need to explain. I hardly have the right to judge you, now do I?”

Harvey was growing mad. “What are you two talking about?” He shook his head. “Forget it. I don’t want to know. What I want is for both of you to shut the hell up while I work out what to do with you.”

“You’re not going to shoot us?” James asked.

“I have nothing against you or her. It’s him I’m after.” Again Harvey indicated Fargo.

James Chatterly laughed. “Life is too peculiar for words.”

“Please, Harvey,” Helsa said. “I’m being truthful. My husband is the Ghoul. He has killed four women and others. The marshal and most of the men went out after him and will be back any moment. Turn him over to them and the whole town will be grateful.”

“You don’t know when to shut up,” Harvey said.

“You’ll be a hero,” Helsa persisted. “Please. For all our sakes. Take him to the jail and wait for the marshal.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to make a fool of myself. Tibbit will arrest me on sight. Then you can brag to everyone how you pulled the wool over my eyes.”

“No, no, no,” Helsa said.

“Enough,” Harvey exploded. “Not another peep out of you. I’ve never hurt a woman but you’re testing my patience.”

James said to Fargo, “Isn’t this glorious?”

“Enough out of you, too,” Harvey said to him. He took a step and centered the muzzle on Fargo’s chest. “You can talk, though. You can beg me to spare you. Not that I will but I want to hear it.”

“Go to hell,” Fargo said.

James Chatterly laughed.

“Please, Mr. Stansfield,” Helsa pleaded. “You must believe me. Yes, I admit what you said about Mr. Fargo and me. But I’m not making it up about my husband. With God as my witness, he really is the Ghoul. I’m begging you. Please, please, please, turn him over to the marshal.”

Harvey Stansfield was slow to respond, and for a few moments Fargo thought she had convinced him. He should have known better.

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind. It wouldn’t be too smart of me to kill Fargo and leave witnesses.” Harvey chuckled. “I’m going to kill all three of you.” He sighted down the barrel at Fargo and then swung the barrel toward James and then at Helsa in the rocking chair. “The question is, which one of you lunkheads do I shoot first?” He centered the barrel on Fargo again. “Can you guess who it will be?”

20

James Chatterly put his hands on his hips and threw back his head and roared with mirth.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Harvey Stansfield asked. “I just told you I’m going to blow out your wick and you think it’s funny?”

“You have no notion,” James said.

“I’m beginning to think you’re loco.”

“He is,” Helsa said. “He’s insane and vicious and as evil as any man who ever drew breath. For God’s sake please listen to me. Please do as I ask and turn him over to the marshal. Or if you won’t do that, shoot him.”

“What?” Harvey and James said at the same moment.

Before she could reply they all heard the drum of hooves out in the street. They heard a horse whinny—it sounded like the Ovaro to Fargo—and then voices and footsteps on the front porch and a knock on the door. The door opened, and only Fargo, standing in the parlor entryway, saw who entered: Marshal Tibbit, Sam Worthington, and Tom Wilson. The lawman saw him, and smiled.

“Fargo! There you are. The rest of the posse is bringing in the bodies but we came on ahead. I wanted to talk to you about the Ghoul.”

As Tibbit talked he came down the hall with the farmer and the townsman trailing behind. At the sight of Stansfield and the Chatterlys he drew up short in consternation. “What’s this?” he demanded, staring at the rifle Harvey was holding. “What’s going on here?”

“Thank God,” Helsa said.

For an instant the tableau froze. Fargo was poised to spring. The lawman and Worthington and Wilson were rooted in confusion. Helsa looked relieved that they had arrived. James Chatterly was grinning. Then Harvey Stansfield said, “Damn it. I’m not letting you stop me, Marshal. Not this time you won’t.”

And Harvey jerked his rifle to his shoulder.

Fargo dived to his left and drew as he dived. He fired at the same moment Harvey did; Harvey’s slug tore into the floor while Fargo’s slug smashed Harvey back against the wall. Helsa screamed. James Chatterly was also in motion, his hand sweeping under his black jacket and reappearing with a pocket pistol. He squeezed off a shot at Tibbit. Blood burst from Tibbit’s left shoulder and the lawman staggered back, bleating like a kicked sheep. Worthington and Wilson came to life, each clawing for his revolver. Neither were gun hands. The big farmer barely had his out and the townsman was fumbling with his firearm when James Chatterly banged off two swift shots while backpedaling toward the far side of the room. Fargo fired from the floor at Chatterly and hit him, too. The impact twisted him partway around and he snapped a shot in return that buzzed past Fargo’s ear. Without breaking stride, Chatterly threw his arms in front of his face and hurtled at the window. The glass shattered and showered down, and Chatterly was gone.

Tibbit had unlimbered his pistol and was taking aim at Stansfield.

Harvey fired, and the lawman, hit in the belly, doubled over but managed to get off a shot of his own that dug