“That a serious accusation or you just talking?”
Deep sigh. “I don’t know. I hate Cain and I’d like to see him run out of town. Or sent to prison. He made out real good taming this town. So I got to admit I may just be talking. But I’ve thought about it and I can’t see who else it would’ve been that tipped off those robbers. Maybe somebody at the other end, at the bank. But there’s no way for me to know that since I don’t know any of the people over there. And besides, if it was somebody over there I’d think the president of the bank would have his suspicions and he hasn’t said anything. And he’s been over here twice. So as far as I’m concerned that leaves Cain.”
“So you are accusing Cain of robbery and murder.”
Lenihan had an easy smile. “And you know what? I don’t have any trouble sleeping and I digest my food just fine.”
The door opened and a fetching young woman in a yellow blouse, a brown leather vest and Levi’s walked in. Her body was rich with curves. Breasts turned the yellow blouse into a fine tribute to femininity. Fargo didn’t recognize her at first. The first and only time he’d seen her it had been night and she was dressed in funeral black. Sarah Friese, the undertaker’s daughter.
“Howdy, Ned.”
“Howdy yourself, Sarah.”
“I’ve got this box I need to send to Fox Junction. No hurry but thought I’d drop it off here.” She came over and set it on the counter. Looked like a cigar box, wrapped in tan paper, string neatly enclosing it.
“I’ll get you a receipt,” Ned said.
While he went to work, she looked at Fargo. “You probably don’t recognize me.”
“I sure do.”
“My father says that I don’t have to worry about men chasing me as long as I keep wearing his funeral clothes.”
“Hard to mistake a good-looking woman even in funeral clothes.”
She touched Fargo’s arm with long, thin fingers. “Did you hear that, Ned? There should be more men like him in Cawthorne. Maybe my father could get me married off after all.” Then: “I hope to see you soon, Mr. Fargo.”
“I have a feeling you probably will.”
She favored each man with another smile and left.
As soon as she was gone, Lenihan jabbed a finger in the air. “I didn’t have one damn thing to do with that robbery. Nothing. And like I told you, as far as I’m concerned this is nothing more than Cain trying to steal Amy from me. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d get the hell out of here.”
Fargo was ten steps from the stage line office when he saw Deputy Pete Rule standing near an ore wagon talking to a couple of men. He headed over there, standing back until Rule was finished with his conversation. Rule didn’t look all that happy to see him.
“Heard you signed on, Fargo.”
“For twenty-four hours.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ve been doing some nosing around myself.”
“I got tricked into it. I wanted to be on my way to Denver now. I’m doing this as a favor to the three women who asked me. Cain put them up to it but I’m doing it anyway—for twenty-four hours. And then I’m gone whether I find out anything or not. Just because I’m asking around doesn’t mean you have to stop. The thing is to find the killer. Doesn’t matter much who finds him.”
“Well, I’ll keep asking around.”
“One thing I’m trying to figure out is Cain and this woman Amy Peters. I just talked with Ned Lenihan. He seems to think that Cain wants to blame the robbery and the killings on Lenihan so he can have Amy all to himself.”
Rule smiled, looking younger and healthier. “Well, she’s a beauty. No doubt about that. But Tom, he gave up on her a while back. It got embarrassing for everybody. He really tried everything he could to win her over and a lot of people hated him for it. Ned Lenihan doesn’t compare to a big good-looking man like Cain. And Ned’s a local man, so naturally most of the people took his part. And I think the sheriff took about all the humiliation he could. She made it real plain that she was in love with Ned and standing by him and that Cain didn’t have a chance. So he gave up.”
“So Lenihan’s wrong?”
“About Cain still chasing after Amy, yes. But Ned has financial troubles with his farm. That means he needs money. He doesn’t want to talk about that. That’s why Cain thinks he might have arranged the robbery with those three boys. He needs the money. But he can’t fool people into believing that Cain is just after him because of Amy.”
“What’s your opinion?”
Rule’s leathery face wrinkled into a frown. “That’s the thing. I like Ned. He’s a hard worker and a decent man. But the trouble is he loves that little farm of his almost as much as he loves Amy. So if it came down to setting up a robbery to save it”—he sighed—“well, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Thanks, Pete. I’m glad we got to have this talk.”
“Yeah,” Rule said. And damned if he didn’t smile again. That was two in the space of a few minutes. Maybe he wasn’t just a sour cuss after all. “Now I don’t have to go around sulking all day.”
A large red barn stood next to a rope corral where six horses stood while a Cheyenne man examined them. Inside the barn came the sounds of stagecoaches being repaired and made ready for the torture of traveling over roads that could seriously damage or even destroy any stagecoach ever made. Fargo had swung back here after talking to Rule. He’d talked to Lenihan. He decided it was time to talk to Kenny Raines and his brother Sam. As employees of the stage line, they’d known about the money in the strongbox, too.
He stood at the edge of the barn and peered into the cool shadows inside. A stout bald man with a red beard shaped like a dagger stepped away from a wheel he was inspecting, wiped his hands on a leather apron and said, “Help you?”
“Looking for the Raines brothers.”
The man came out into the sunlight. “Say, aren’t you that Fargo?”
“Yep.”
“You shot up Kenny’s hand last night.”
“Didn’t have much choice.”
“That’s what gunnies always say.”
“Didn’t know I was a gunny.”
“That’s what they always say, too. Those boys are friends of mine. Sam stood up for my boy at his Confirmation last year.”
“Are they here?”
“Hell, no, they’re not here. Kenny’s hand is all wrapped up. He was at the doc’s for three or four hours last night thanks to you.”
“Where can I find them?”
“You gonna shoot him again?”
“Thought I’d use a bow and arrow this time.”
“I don’t think you’re so funny.”
Fargo remembered something one of the Pinkertons had told him. About half the people you spoke to trying to get to the truth would dislike you. A few might hate you. Fargo had just met somebody in the latter category.
“Where can I find them? I won’t ask again.”
“You gonna shoot me, too?”
“Won’t need to. I can handle you with my fists.”
For a man who appeared slow and sluggish, he sprang at Fargo with speed and accuracy. He rammed into the Trailsman, big hands going for Fargo’s throat. A bad mistake. Just as the man’s fingers were about to close on Fargo’s throat, the Trailsman brought a fist up from his waist and slammed it under the man’s chin. For a few seconds the man continued to reach for Fargo but then without any warning his eyes rolled back into his head and he staggered backward. Fargo went after him, a crashing right hand to the man’s left cheek, a left to the man’s ribs.