“You’re lucky I don’t come in there and kill you myself, Lenihan,” Parsons snapped. He was tall, a powerful man starting to show middle age.
“You sure you’re a deputy?” Fargo said.
Parsons smirked. “Friend of his, are you, Fargo?”
“As a matter of fact I am.”
Amy Peters was slumped on the bench in front of Cain’s desk. Cain and Rule stood on either side of the door, rifles in their hands. Not until he was closer to Amy did he notice the fresh bruise on her cheek.
“What happened to Amy?” Fargo said as soon as he saw the injury.
Cain and Rule glanced at each other.
“I got angry out there trying to calm them down,” Cain said. “I backhanded her because she was just adding to the pressure.”
Fargo walked over to Amy. She sat up. He reached under her chin and tilted her face toward him so he could see the bruise better.
He stood less than three inches from Cain and said, “Why don’t you try and backhand me and see what happens?”
“It was a mistake, all right? This is a dangerous situation.”
The only warning that Fargo got was Amy’s scream. That was the last sound he heard after Parsons’ six-shooter slammed across the back of his skull and drove him to the floor.
“Here’s some water.”
Fargo opened his eyes to see Ned Lenihan standing over him with a tin cup in his hand. The stench told Fargo where he was. A cell.
“They must have knocked you out. They brought you back here. Parsons and Cain. I guess they figured you’d get in the way when they let the crowd come in and get me.”
“Thanks.” Fargo accepted the cup. He sat up on the edge of the cot and drank it down. Inside his skull a knife sawed through his brain.
The mob had broken into a chant. “Hand him over now!”
Lenihan had a pale, shaken look to him. He moved with great effort. He returned to his own cot and sat down and put his face in his hands. “It’s going to happen. They’re going to hang me. And I didn’t do it, Fargo. I really didn’t.”
“I believe you, Lenihan.”
“Cain’s waited all this time to pay me back for Amy. He acted like I’d stolen her from him. He’s crazy when it comes to this. Insane, I mean.”
The door separating the front office from the jail cells opened. Pete Rule said, “I’ll make sure they’re not up to anything.”
“What the hell are they going to be up to?” Cain said. “Neither of them has a gun.”
“You’re forgetting who Fargo is.”
Rule strode to the cell. He faced the two men and put a finger to his lips, signaling silence. Then he reached inside his shirt and pulled out a Colt. He waved for Fargo to come to the cell door. He whispered, “A lot of this is my fault. I should’ve told you the truth. Cain’s behind all this. He set up the robbery with the boys. He took all the money. I heard him talking to one of them right after the stickup.”
Fargo didn’t know who he wanted to kill first. Cain for the robbery and the killings or Rule for letting it get this far.
But it was Rule who slipped the six-shooter through the bars and let Fargo take it. Better late than never. At least he was making up for it now.
More whispering. “I’m going up front. I’ll leave the door open slightly. You can get the drop on them.”
“What the hell are you doing back there?” Cain shouted. “I need you up here.”
True enough, the roar of the mob was now almost deafening. Men were hurling things at the front of the office. Fargo heard glass shatter. He reasoned that they were minutes away from Cain throwing open the door and letting them take Lenihan. He’d make a show of it. He’d give a good law-and-order speech that nobody would hear for the din. But at least he could boast after the hanging that he’d made his plea.
Rule unlocked the cell door quietly then hurried up front. As promised, he left the door open slightly.
Gun in hand, Fargo said, “You stay here. I’ll take care of Cain and Parsons and then come back.”
“I could help.”
“No. Stay here. I’ll move faster alone.”
Fargo slipped out of the cell and started moving carefully toward the door. He had no specific plan. He had to see where everybody was positioned before he could make a move.
The angle the door afforded him wasn’t helpful at first. He heard them talking under the din of the mob but he couldn’t see anybody, not even Rule.
He had to battle his own impatience. All this grief caused by Cain.
Hurry up, you son of a bitch. Move across the floor so I can see you.
A long minute and a half dragged by before Fargo saw the back of Parsons’ head. Now he could move. He jerked the door open and said, “If you move, Parsons, I’ll shoot you in the back.”
Then he lunged into the office, checking on Cain as he did so. Cain was sitting in his chair. He was in no position to draw and fire before Fargo could kill him.
“Get their guns, Pete,” Fargo said.
“Pete!” Cain said. Shock strained his voice and gaze. “Pete—you threw in with Fargo?”
“Yeah. And I told him who was behind the robbery, too. You’re behind this whole thing.”
“What the hell’re you talking about?”
But Fargo could see and hear the truth. For all his acting skills, Cain’s face revealed that Rule’s words were factual.
As Rule collected Parsons’ gun and bowie knife, Fargo faced Cain. “Take the Colt out and slide it across the desk.”
“I just wanted some money before I left town, Fargo. My time’s passed. It was just going to be a simple robbery. I didn’t plan for the driver or that Englishman to get killed.
One of the boys got scared and shot them accidentally. That’s what they told me and I believed them. I—”
He was pushing his Colt across the desk as he spoke. The gun was just about at the far edge of the desk when the door crashed. Wood shattered. The walls shook. A torch was hurled into the office through the battered center of the door. Two railroad ties bound together with leather straps collided with the door again, splintering it completely in two. Axes hacked away the rest and three crazed men stumbled through the door frame.
One of them surged forward. Fargo grabbed him. Turned him around. Jammed the barrel of his Colt against the man’s head.
“One more step and I kill him.”
“You can’t kill us all.”
“No, but I can kill him.” He had his arm around the man’s neck. He tightened his grip. “Tell your friends you don’t want to die.”
The two men raised their own guns but paused when they heard their friend’s gibbering. Fargo’s captive said, “He’ll do it. Just stay where you are!”
The problem for the two men—and for the captive—was the men behind them, trying to push their way through the shattered door into the sheriff’s office.
Fargo said, “Ned Lenihan is innocent. The man you want is sitting right at that desk. Sheriff Cain confessed just a minute ago.”
“Fargo! It’s not what you’re thinking!” Cain started to say.
From Fargo’s vantage point he couldn’t tell what Cain was doing. Pete Rule was covering the man.
And it was Pete Rule’s gun that cracked two times in the tumult of the screaming mob, the standoff between Fargo and the two men facing him and Amy’s sudden cry.
“I thought he was going for a gun.”
Fargo angled his head so that he could see Tom Cain fall facedown on his desk. One of his eyes had been shot out, his cheek running with blood. His forehead leaked blood too.
His face colliding with the desktop would have made a grim sound under ordinary circumstances. But all the clamor covered it.