The men moved Wilcox’s body around until Fargo could reach the keys. It took but a moment to get them, then open the cell door.
“Let’s get the hell out of here before Baker or the sheriff gets back,” Dagen said.
“No, not yet,” Fargo cautioned.
“What do you mean not yet? What are we hanging around here for?”
“We’re goin’ to wait until Baker gets back.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“No,” Fargo said. “Think about it. If we leave now, the sheriff and Baker will form a posse and come after us.”
“So? We need to put as much distance between us and this place as we can.”
Fargo shook his head. “No, not yet.”
Baker opened the door to the sheriff’s office, then hung his hat on the peg. When he saw Wilcox sitting in the chair, leaning back against the wall with his hat pulled down over his eyes, he chuckled.
“Damn, Wilcox, you better be glad it was me caught you sleepin’ and not Ferrell,” Baker said. “Get your lazy ass up and make a few rounds.”
When Wilcox made no move, Baker started toward the desk. “Didn’t you hear me? Come on, get your ass out of that chair.”
When Baker reached the desk, Fargo Ford suddenly jumped up from the other side of the desk.
“What the hell are you doin’ up here?” Baker shouted in alarm. That was as far as he got before Fargo brought a hammer down on his head. So severe was the hammer blow that the head of the hammer sunk into Baker’s head, allowing blood and brain matter to ooze out around the point of the blow. Baker fell, instantly dead, across his desk.
“Now we’ve got only one more person to take care of,” Fargo said. “Sheriff Ferrell.”
“Well you better get ready ’cause here he comes now,” Ponci called from the window.
“Quick, get out of sight,” Fargo said. He pointed to Baker. “Get him behind the desk.”
The others moved Baker’s body down behind the desk; then they hurried quickly into the back. Fargo went to the door, then stepped to the side so that as the door opened, he would be hidden. He raised his hammer and waited.
“I got the telegram off,” Ferrell said. “We’ll prob’ly get an answer sometime this after ...” Something about Wilcox’s still form alerted him, and he stopped in mid-sentence and started for his pistol.
He never reached his gun. Once again, Fargo made use of the hammer, hitting Ferrell so hard that the hammer made a popping sound as the sheriff went down.
“Now,” Fargo said. “We can go down the alley to the livery, get ourselves some horses, and get on with our business without worryin’ about the sheriff or anyone else.”
“And just what business would that be, other than gettin’ the hell out of here?” Casey asked.
“The same business we come into town for in the first place,” Fargo replied. “Since we didn’t get the money before they put it on the stage, we’ll get it now.”
“How the hell are we goin’ to do that? The stage left three hours ago.”
“Yeah, well, you can go faster on a horse than you can on a stage. Besides, come noon they’ll be stoppin’ at Pajarito for an hour or so to change teams and eat. We’ll be caught up with ’em by then, and we can hit’em just as they reach the top of Cerro Pass.”
“Yeah,” Dagen said. “Yeah, they won’t be suspectin’ anything. That’s a damn good idea.”
“So, Dagen, does that mean Fargo’s our leader again?” Monroe asked jokingly. “Or do you still want to lead us onto the gallows?” He laughed.
“That ain’t funny,” Dagen said. “I told you, that ain’t funny.”
“Get your guns and let’s get out of here,” Fargo said, using the ring of keys to open the weapons locker. There, the men found their holsters and pistols, and quickly they put them back on.
“Damn, this feels good,” Ponci said. “I don’t mind tellin’ you, I was feelin’ plumb naked without my gun.”
Casey laughed. “Ponci, don’t be talkin’ about you bein’ naked. You want to give the rest of us nightmares?”
The others laughed.
“Hey, back when Ponci was a butcher, you think he got naked with them cows?” Dagen asked.
“Only with them pretty young calves,” Monroe replied.
More laughter.
“You know too much about pretty young calves, if you ask me,” Casey said.
More laughter.
“What are we hangin’ around here for? Let’s go!” Dagen said as he started toward the front door.
“Not that way,” Fargo called out.
“Why the hell not?”
“You want the whole town to see us? Out the back door, then down the alley to the liver y.”
“Yeah,” Dagen said. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
The five men left the back of the jail, then darted up the alley. Not one person saw them leave the jail.
Behind them lay the town’s entire law-enforcement contingent ... all dead.
Fargo was the first one to reach the vicinity of the livery. He stopped just behind the feed store, which was right next to the livery. Holding out his hand in a signal for the others to be quiet, he leaned around the edge of the building to check out the livery.
“Well, I’ll be damn,” he said.
“What is it?” Ponci asked.
“It looks like they got our horses in there,” Fargo said. “That’s good. If I’m goin’ to be doin’ a lot of ridin’, I don’t want to be breakin’ in no new horse.”
“What’s our horses doin’ here? I thought they run away.”
“I thought they did too, but they must’a drifted back. Horses’ll do that sometimes, you know,” Fargo said. “Anyway, they got ’em all in there. The even got Pete’s horse.”
“How many folks they got watchin’ ’em?”
“Looks like they’s just one in there now, an’ he’s nothin’ but a kid,” Fargo said. “Ponci, go in there and take care of him.”
Ponci nodded, but said nothing. The others watched as Ponci started toward the kid. The kid, seeing Ponci, started toward him.
“Yes, sir, mister,” the kid said. “Something I can do for you?”
“Hey, kid, you see that sorrel over there?” Ponci asked, pointing toward the paddock.
“Sorrel? Where?” the kid asked.
“Come here, I’ll point him out.”
The kid came closer, then tried to look where Ponci was pointing.
Ponci was pointing with his left hand. As the kid tried to pick out the nonexistent sorrel, Ponci pulled his knife with his right hand. It took but one quick slice to cut the boy’s jugular. The boy slapped his hands over his neck in surprise, then went down as the blood streamed through his fingers.
Ponci signaled the others.
“What about Pete’s horse?” Dagen asked.
“Leave him.”
“An extra horse might come in handy.”
“Leave him,” Fargo said. “One extra mount ain’t goin’ to do the five of us any good. And it’ll just be a pain in the ass to keep up with him. Leave it.”
“Whatever you say,” Dagen said.
Fargo glared at Dagen. “Yes,” he said more forcefully. “It is whatever I say. And if you don’t like it, you can ride out of here on your own right now.”
“No, no,” Dagen said quickly. “I don’t have no trouble with you bein’ the leader of us, ’n I don’t think there’s no one else what has any trouble with it either.”
“No one else has questioned it,” Fargo said, gruffly. “You have.”
“Yeah, well, you done good, gettin’ us out of jail and all. I won’t be questionin’ it no more,” Dagen said. “I promise.”
All the time they were talking, the men were also putting saddles on their mounts.
“Everyone saddled?” Fargo asked, swinging onto his own horse.
“All done here,” Dagen said. Ordinarily Dagen was the last to do anything, but right now he was straining to stay on Fargo’s good side.
“Here too,” Ponci said, and his response was echoed by all the others.
“Then get mounted. We’ve got a stage to catch.”