After the confrontation with Fargo earlier, Sam had guided his brother back to the cabin where he had promptly sprayed chunky vomit all over the floor. Sam had stashed Kenny against a tree and then proceeded to swamp up the disgusting awful puke. He’d dragged Kenny inside and pitched him on his cot. And then he’d taken some sleep himself.
When he woke up he saw Kenny sitting on the edge of his cot holding his Winchester. Couple of things wrong here. Kenny wasn’t exactly a master with a rifle. Even when they’d been little boys hunting, Sam had been the one with the eye and the trigger finger. The second thing wrong was that Kenny’s shooting hand was wrapped in a bandage. And Sam could tell that it still hurt him because just in the past minute or two Kenny had winced three times. So what the hell was he doing with the Winchester?
“I’m gonna take care of Fargo.”
“You mean Fargo’s gonna take care of you.”
“You hate him, too.”
“I hate him, too, but that don’t mean I want to tangle with him. And anyway, he’ll be gone soon enough. I heard he’s leavin’ tomorrow.”
“Look at this, you son of a bitch.” Kenny held up his wrapped hand dramatically. “I won’t never be able to shoot right again.”
“Well, truth be told, Kenny, you know what the old man said. He said neither of us was worth a whit as fast draws.”
“I killed two men, didn’t I?”
“I just want to relax. I drank a lot myself and I’m sick as hell.”
“I said I killed two men, didn’t I?”
“You killed them from behind. That ain’t the same thing.”
“But I killed them. There’re a lot of men who wouldn’t kill another man no matter what.”
“So you’re going to kill Fargo from the back?”
“No, brother, you’re gonna shoot Fargo from the back.”
Sam spat on the floor. “The hell I am.”
“The hell you ain’t. Unless you want me to tell people what that whore said about you that night in Denver.”
“She was just pissed because I cheated her out of her money.”
“She said you didn’t measure up.”
“Yeah, well you can’t find any other whore I ever been with who said that. I do all right for myself and you can bet on it.”
“So you don’t mind if I talk that around?”
A long, hurt silence. Sometimes it seemed to Sam that Kenny wasn’t his real brother at all. He could get as snake-mean with his own blood as he could a stranger. Many was the time Sam thought of leaving Cawthorne and Kenny behind. But when he started to think it through he always decided against it because where would he go? He wasn’t the sort who made friends fast. He didn’t have any money, he didn’t have Kenny’s way of intimidating people and he had to face it—he got lonesome pretty easy.
“I never shot nobody in the back.”
“You never shot nobody period.”
“Well, that’s a hell of a way to start, isn’t it? Shootin’ somebody in the back?”
“Look at this, Sam. Look at what he done to my hand.” Kenny waved his hand around as if it was on display. “Don’t you have no family pride? You know what our pa would say if he was alive?”
Sam sighed. “Yeah, I know what he’d say. He’d say to kill him any way you had to.”
“That’s right. And you know it.”
“You started it though, Kenny—you rushed him and—”
“You’re just makin’ excuses and you know it.”
Sam sighed again. It was hard to deny his brother when the old man was brought into the argument. Sam had always felt that he’d let the old man down most of the time. And Kenny was sure right about this one. The old man would have raised holy hell if he’d known that Sam wouldn’t avenge the family honor and kill Fargo.
“All right, Kenny,” Sam said, “I don’t want to do it but I guess I will.”
10
Karen Byrnes had been right about Rex Connor’s wolfhound. It was an older version of Helen Hardesty’s animal. And not one iota friendlier. It greeted them with snarls and growls as they reached the property where a tumbledown cabin sat in a grove of jack pines. An ancient mule was tethered to a clothesline pole. Red long johns flapped in the wind.
The door to the cabin opened an inch or two. A disembodied voice said, “You’re welcome here, Karen, but not the man.”
“He’s helping me, Rex. We’re trying to find out who killed my brother.”
“I can’t help you there. Now you both git.”
The door slammed.
“He’s afraid.”
“Of what?”
“I’m not sure. Ever since the killings started.”
“Afraid somebody’ll come after him?”
“That’s what I thought. But I wonder.”
A chill wind smelling of pine brought a foretaste of winter as they stood staring at the cabin door.
“I talked to Ingrid this morning, Rex. She said you saw somebody talking to my brother and the other two one night. It would help us a lot if you’d tell us who you saw.”
“You need to leave, Karen.”
“You must be out of bread, Rex.”
“I don’t care about bread. Now you go along and take that big man with you.”
The wolfhound growled, as if to second its master’s command.
“Well, I don’t know what to do with this bread. I have two loaves here and one of them is cinnamon.”
A long pause. “Cinnamon?”
“Yes. I know that’s your favorite.”
“Who’s the man?”
“His name’s Skye Fargo. He’s helping me like I said. We really need to talk to you, Rex.”
“I don’t want to get nobody in trouble.”
“You read the Bible, Rex. And you know what the Bible says about telling the truth.”
Another long pause. “Are they both cinnamon, did you say?”
“One of them’s cinnamon. But if you’ll talk I’ll make you another loaf of it next time, too.”
The door creaked open. A short man with a long white beard dressed in a green flannel shirt, grimy jeans and boots that laced up to his knees emerged. The first thing he did was spit out a stream of chaw and the second thing he did was hitch up his britches. He had only one suspender.
“You sit right there, King. If that feller makes a move, you get ready.”
The wolfhound must have understood the tone if not the exact meaning of the words. Its magnificent head swept around to Rex Connor, as if it had understood everything.
“I told Ingrid not to say nothing.”
“Her son’s dead, Rex. My brother’s dead. We need help.”
“What’s this Fargo got to do with it?”
“He’s helping Tom Cain.”
“Tom Cain.” He spat more tobacco. “I wouldn’t trust Tom Cain if my life depended on it.”
“Maybe your life doesn’t, but since we haven’t caught the killer yet maybe somebody’s does.”
Fargo realized that this could go on a long time. He said, “If you know something you need to tell us. If somebody else gets killed you might be partly responsible. We don’t have much time. So I’d appreciate it if you’d let us know who you saw with the three boys that night.”
“What if I said I didn’t recognize him?”
“Then I’d say you’re a liar.”
“Skye!” Karen said. “Don’t insult him!”
But the Trailsman was tired of the conversation. He took two steps forward, knowing he would set the dog off.