Tears filled the man’s eyes as they focused on the sight of his daughter stretched across the mussed bed.
“She was all I had. And one way or the other, you’re responsible for her being dead.”
Any other human being, Fargo would have felt pity for the ashen, sorrowful man in front of him. But not this one. He’d killed Cain for no other reason than greed.
Fargo stared at the ugly twin eyes of the sawed-off. He was facing execution.
“You keep saying she’s dead, Brant. You don’t know that for sure and neither do I.”
Brant’s glistening eyes lifted to meet Fargo’s. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“People don’t always die when they get shot. Maybe she’s still breathing. Maybe you can get her to a doctor.”
“You’re just saying that.” But his voice and eyes changed subtly. They reflected a reluctant hope. Maybe she wasn’t dead after all. Maybe the most precious thing of all to him could be saved.
“Look at her. I thought I saw her breathing but I didn’t have time to check after you walked in with that sawed-off.”
“You’re tricking me, Fargo. And I won’t put up with it. I’m not some fool.”
“Well, look for yourself.”
And how could the man resist? He not only let his gaze stray, he let it settle on his daughter for two seconds too long.
Fargo dove to the side of a chair while Brant, enraged, cursing, spent his only two shells on trying to track Fargo.
Fargo got him clean, twice. Once in the forehead, once in the heart. Brant shouted, teetered forward, then fell backward, dead.
Fargo came from behind the chair and looked at the dead man. There was no pleasure in the killing now. He’d rather have Cain alive. Not even avenging his death made up for the loss of him.
Soon enough, Fargo left.
16
Fargo walked slowly back down the trail to where Hank and Walt and Jim waited for him.
“It’s over,” he said. “Keep guards on the road, but otherwise, get some men to start cleaning up the new addition to Sharon’s Dream.”
The smiles on the three men could have lit up a night.
“What happened?” Walt asked.
Hank handed Fargo a canteen and he drank long and hard before he answered the young miner’s question. He felt numb, the anger gone. All he really wanted to do was get on his horse and ride. But he knew Cain would want him to stay around for a short time and make sure Sharon’s Dream wasn’t threatened, that it and its new addition were headed in the right direction.
When he finished drinking, he said, “I’ll show you. And bring a couple of extra men along and some shovels. There’s a mess to clean up. And we need to figure out why there’s another mine hidden up there.”
“Another mine?” Jim said, his smile threatening to break out of the sides of his face.
Fargo shrugged and turned back up into the box canyon. “Let’s go take a look.”
He walked slowly and alone so the others could round up some other men and follow along. It felt better anyway, walking alone for the moment. It gave him time to gather himself a little. The three caught up with him about halfway up the mile-long canyon.
When they reached the big, white house tucked in the back of the box canyon under the rock walls, all three men were stunned.
“Why build this here?” Hank said.
“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Fargo said.
Fargo pointed to the upstairs. “The mess is up there. Bury them together in the same grave and don’t mark it. And I’d take that bed out of that one room and burn it, along with their clothes.”
Hank turned to the men coming up behind them with shovels and gave the orders as Fargo headed for the stable. Inside, a lantern filled the place with light, and the smell of fresh hay greeted him like an old friend.
Two beautiful chestnut mares were in stalls. They looked well groomed and well fed. Brant had taken care of his animals, if nothing else.
To the right of the big stable, a mine opening ran back into the rocks, well supported and dark.
Henry Brant’s coat was hung on a hook and Fargo picked it off and checked the pockets before giving it to Hank to toss with the rest on the fire.
“My guess is that somewhere in that house,” Fargo said, “or in here, is his land deed and claim for this mine. Better we find it and other personal papers to make the transfer easier.”
“Good idea,” Jim said.
Walt had moved over to the opening of the mine and had taken a lamp off the hook. “This is well built and all the trailing was taken down the hill. Let’s find out why.” With that, Walt lit the lamp and started into the mine.
“Stop!” Fargo shouted to Walt. “Don’t move a muscle.”
Walt froze about ten steps inside the mine entrance like a statue in a city park. “You want to tell me why?”
“If Brant’s gold is back there, if this mine was dug to hold his gold, which I’m guessing it was, he’s going to have it rigged to kill anyone who shouldn’t go in there.”
“Shit,” Walt said softly.
Fargo and Jim and Hank all grabbed and lit lamps.
With four lamps, the inside of the mine looked like it was outside on a bright, sunny day. And Fargo had been right. Two steps in front of Walt was a trip string about ankle-high off the ground.
Fargo moved up to it and pointed to the string, following it back into the wall to two shotguns dug into and hidden in the rock wall.
“Now, that is just nasty,” Jim said.
“Everyone move back,” Fargo said, putting his lantern on the ground just short of the string. “Hank, Walt, get bridles on those horses and get them out of here. This is going to be loud.”
When they were ready, Fargo grabbed Henry Brant’s coat from where Jim had tossed it over a stable railing. He wadded it up into a ball and, standing in the mine entrance, he tossed the coat at the string, then ducked back to cover his head and face from any sprayed rocks or buckshot.
The sound of the two shotgun explosions filling the mine made his ears ring.
Walt’s face was white as he stared into the swirling dust of the mine. “Fargo, let me say one more time, thank you.”
Fargo patted the big kid on the shoulder. A moment later a half dozen men came running into the stable to make sure they were all right.
They had to wait for the dust to settle before they dared try going into the mine again, so Fargo went out and sat on the front porch of the white house, staring at the rock cliffs around him while the men worked to dig the grave a hundred paces away and pile up the personal belongings of the Brants and Kip. The sun still hadn’t reached the canyon floor and more than likely when it did, it would stick around for only a short time.
After the grave was finished, four men brought the body of Henry Brant down the stairs and tossed him in the deep, narrow hole.
The thud of his body hitting the bottom of the six-foot drop drained some more of the anger from Fargo. Maybe there was something to be said for attending a funeral after all.
Next they brought the body of Kip, wrapped in the rug that had been beside the bed in his room. They tossed him in facedown.
Last they brought Sarah Brant down wrapped in the bloody sheet and blankets that had been on the bed. They tossed her faceup on top of Kip. Then a couple of men dumped some lye on the bodies and started filling in the hole.
Fargo sat there, saying nothing, as the hole filled and then five or six men moved a few large, boulder-sized rocks on top of it, leaving nothing showing but some disturbed ground.
“Good enough,” Fargo said, feeling satisfied that Cain was now avenged. He was going to miss his friend, but at least his killers had been given their just reward. He stood and said to the other men: “Let’s go see if the mine is cleared out.”