He’d said it loudly enough for everybody to hear.
A boisterous cheer went up. They’d have their hanging soon enough.
15
The Raines boys were having trouble finding Fargo now. He’d rolled out of the direct line of fire, forcing Sam to shift positions in order to find him in the darkness. Sam kept reloading and firing. Fargo didn’t return fire. They were out of range of his Colt. He swung wide. His intent was to surprise them. They were so intent on killing him that they’d kept searching the shadows for him, staying in the same location the whole time.
Their horses were ground-tied on the downslope of the hill the Raines boys were using. He decided to use the horses as a way of luring the two out of their sanctuary.
He crept up to the animals, his Colt at the ready, tied the reins and looped them over the saddle horns. “Git,” he ordered, swatting both horses on their rumps. The horses whinnied and trotted off.
In the vast mountain silence, in the moonlight-limned gloom of the trees where the duo was hiding, a shout went up, “What the hell spooked our horses?”
By this time Fargo had edged up the hill and tucked himself inside the line of jack pines. They wouldn’t know where he was until it was too late. He got within range of them and let them start down the hill. When their backs were to him, he said, “Drop your rifle right now, Sam, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
He had to give them some time to realize that they’d walked into a trap. They froze in place. Fargo imagined they were considering their chances. There were two of them.
They could pitch their bodies in different directions and Fargo might have a hard time finding them with his gun. And maybe they’d get lucky. Maybe one or both of them could kill Fargo before he killed either one of them.
“What’re you gonna do to us?” Sam Raines said.
“Put your rifle down real slow, Sam. Set it on the ground. And then both of you empty your holsters the same way.”
Obviously Kenny hadn’t been able to manipulate a rifle with his left hand but that wouldn’t stop him from using a six-shooter.
“I didn’t mean to shoot that old woman. I was aiming for you, Fargo.”
“Shut up, Sam. You make me sick when you whine.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Put the rifle down now. And the guns right after. Real slow.”
“You gonna kill us?” Sam Raines said.
“I’d like to but if you give yourselves up I’ll just take you in.”
“Now!” Kenny Raines shouted.
He was quicker and more agile than Fargo would have given him credit for. Kenny Raines dove to his left, dragging his six-shooter out at the same time. Before he even reached the ground he’d squeezed off two shots, both of them burning close to Fargo’s head. The blazing red-yellow flame of the explosions seemed to linger on the shadows.
Fargo took to the ground himself. He slammed his head down as two more bullets blazed past his flattened body. Kenny Raines was a resourceful gunfighter. No doubt about that.
But then he made his mistake. Fargo read it instinctively. Down to two bullets, Kenny Raines had to take a real chance now. He had to raise himself up very quickly to get a better angle at Fargo. He had to bet he could get his shots off before Fargo got his.
He lost the bet. Fargo pumped three bullets into the man’s chest. Kenny screamed as the bullets tore into him. His entire body danced before he settled onto the ground. Fargo was pretty sure he’d heard the word “Mama!” cried as the gunfighter was dying.
Sam Raines stood near his brother with his arms raised above his head. “I don’t want to die, Fargo. I’m sorry I killed that old woman.”
“Walk over here and keep your hands up. I’m going to tie you up and send somebody back here for you. And the way I’ll tie you up there won’t be any way you can escape. Believe me. Now move.”
Sam Raines began walking toward Fargo. He’d gone four steps exactly when Fargo saw what was taking place behind Sam. “You coward!” Kenny Raines called out. He had only the strength to raise the gun he’d somehow managed to hold on to and then pull the trigger twice, exploding his brother’s head into chunks. He tried to take aim at Fargo but the Trailsman was way ahead of him. He did the same thing to Kenny that Kenny had done to Sam. This time the exploding pieces of bone and brain weren’t quite as spectacular.
But you couldn’t have everything.
16
Fargo could hear the mob before he saw it.
Human roars ebbed and flowed as he approached the hill that overlooked Cawthorne. Shouts and screams, even a few gunshots punctuated what should have been bedtime silence. Disturbing as the sounds were, they signified that Lenihan probably hadn’t been dragged out of his prison cell as yet. They were likely still trying to get inside the sheriff’s office.
As soon as he reached the top of the hill, he saw that he was right. The area around the sheriff’s office was crowded with bodies, torches, rifles. He could almost smell the alcohol from here. A dangerous situation that liquor would keep making more dangerous.
The plank walk in front of Cain’s office was empty. Cain and Rule and the two night deputies would be inside, their shotguns ready. One question was how long they could hold out. The other question was did Cain really want to hold out? Even if he knew that Amy would never go with him, he probably wouldn’t mind seeing Lenihan hang. After all, Ned had done the unthinkable—at least in Cain’s mind—Lenihan had humiliated him.
Fargo knew better than to ride down the main street with Helen Hardesty’s blanket-wrapped body over the back of his horse. That would only incite more rage. She had died without telling him who she’d seen kill Clete Byrnes. He doubted it was the Raines brothers. They’d come to Helen’s to kill him, not Helen. And given what he’d learned about them it was unlikely that the three robbers would ever have gotten involved with them. The boys had been wild but not stupid.
And the Raines boys, for all their bravado, had not been blessed with brains.
He swung wide so that he would come in behind the main street. There were a few large barns that functioned as warehouses and a handful of shacklike homes strewn out across the dusty flatland. He could reach the back door of the sheriff’s office without being seen. If there were some mob members back there he’d have to deal with them any way he could.
The shouts and screams were hellish as he made his way past the warehouses and approached the sheriff’s office. The flames from the torches burnished the night sky with a lurid gold-red color.
He was happy to see that nobody lurked behind Cain’s office. The entertainment—and that was part of any lynching—was out front. If Cain was any kind of a lawman, and he was, he’d have somebody stationed at the back door with a sawed-off. There’d be hell to pay for anybody who tried to break in.
Fargo dropped from the saddle, ground-tied his Ovaro and hurried to the back door. He pounded on the door and shouted, “It’s Fargo! Let me in!” He didn’t have to worry about yelling too loud. The crowd voices easily covered his own.
It took three tries before he heard the heavy wooden bar being lifted from the door. A deputy with a white ten-gallon hat and a cigar butt jammed into the corner of his mouth kept his sawed-off trained on Fargo. The deputy stepped to the threshold, gaped around and then stood back to let Fargo inside.
“They’ll be making their move any time now,” the deputy said. “My name’s Hal Parsons by the way. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He nodded to the front of the place. “They’re all up front. I’m stationed here.”
“Don’t trust Parsons, Fargo,” Ned Lenihan said, his hands gripping the bars of his cell. “He’s one of Cain’s gunnies. I heard them talking earlier. They’re going to turn me over to the mob, Fargo. You’ve got to help me.”