Blood Wedding

9

“Goddammit,” Molly said as she tumbled off the bed. “Get dressed Fargo.”

Fargo was already pulling on his shirt. He said, “How far away do you think those shots were?”

“Sound carries a long way out here, but I’d say at Rip’s. They’re after him instead of after Tom’s stuff. We should’ve guessed.”

“Why?” Fargo asked, pulling on his boots.

“Because everybody there at Rip’s will be half drunk by now. All the men drink too much when they’re sitting up with somebody, maybe because they’re celebrating that it isn’t them on the table. Murray knows all about that. I knew he wouldn’t let us kill two of his men and do nothing about it. We have to get over there before it’s too late.”

They got their horses out of the barn and started off for Johnson’s farm at a gallop. When they got there, Fargo didn’t see any sign of Murray.

It was quiet for a few seconds, and Molly said, “What’s going on? Is it over?”

“Just a lull,” Fargo told her, and almost as soon as he said it, more shots were fired.

Fargo saw flashes from Johnson’s cornfield as the Murray gang fired on the house. Now and then there would be an answering shot from the house, but it didn’t seem to Fargo that there was a lot of resistance being put up.

The lamps were still on inside, and Fargo said, “They should have doused those lights. Every time somebody gets close to one, he’s going to get shot.”

“At least Murray hasn’t burned the place down yet.”

That surprised Fargo a little, considering that there’d been plenty of time, and Johnson wasn’t doing much fighting back.

“What are we going to do, Fargo?” Molly asked.

That question seemed to be asked a lot lately. Fargo said, “We can get behind Murray, but we’ll have to be careful not to hit anybody in the house when the shooting starts.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Molly said, pulling a shotgun from a leather case tied to her saddle. “This thing won’t shoot that far, but it’ll tear apart anybody who gets close enough.”

“You don’t want to get too close to that Murray bunch.”

“I’m not worried about them. Once they see this gun, they’ll keep their distance.”

“We’ll leave the horses here,” Fargo said, sliding off the Ovaro.

He went quietly along the edge of the cornfield, with Molly right behind him. When he judged that they were far enough behind Murray and his men, he entered the tall green stalks and started down a row, trying not to make any noise. The breeze was already rustling the corn, and Fargo didn’t think there was too much danger that he’d be heard. He was accustomed to moving silently in cover, but he didn’t know about Molly.

He looked back to see her only a few steps behind him. She had been so quiet that he hadn’t heard her himself, which was quite a compliment to her stalking skill. He turned back and followed the row until he figured they were right behind Murray’s gang. He motioned Molly to him and whispered in her ear.

“When I give the signal, you cut loose with that shotgun. Let’s hope they run the other way.”

Fargo drew his Colt. He couldn’t see anyone, but he heard movement ten or twelve rows in front of him. And then someone started shooting toward the house again.

Fargo nodded to Molly and started firing his Colt. He didn’t like firing blind, but he was shooting low to avoid the house. It didn’t matter whether he hit any of Murray’s men or not, as long as they got to moving.

And they did. When the gang realized that they were caught in a crossfire, the men all started running for their horses, bolting through and over the corn, crushing some of the stalks to the ground and trampling them. Molly pulled her pistol and shot at the retreating figures, but Fargo headed for the house. It was pretty much a waste of bullets to shoot at someone running away from you, especially when something, even something flimsy like stalks of corn, was in the way.

Arriving at the house, Fargo saw a body on the porch. It wasn’t Johnson. It was a woman. Johnson’s wife, probably. Fargo didn’t remember having met her at the dance or the funeral, but he couldn’t think of anyone else it was likely to be.

“This is Skye Fargo,” he called out. “And Molly Doyle is with me. I’m coming inside.”

Molly walked up beside him and said, “I’m coming in, too. We’ve chased those damn Murrays for you, Rip.”

It was only then that she saw the body on the porch.

“Damn. It’s Sarah Johnson. And look there.” Molly pointed to the rifle that Sarah had dropped when she fell. “She always did have more guts than Rip, by a long sight. But you’d think the son of a bitch would have kept her in the house.”

“I know I’m to blame,” Rip Johnson said, coming to stand in the doorway. “God knows, I do. I told her not to run out and shoot at them, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

His words were slurred, and he slouched against the door frame as if he couldn’t stand up without a little help. Another man’s head was visible just over his shoulder. The man looked to Fargo to be in even worse shape than Rip.

“You’re drunk,” Molly told Rip. “You’re too drunk to fight, and you had to let your wife do it for you. I ought to shoot you down like the sorry dog you are, Rip Johnson.”

“Go ahead,” Rip said, tears springing to his eyes. “I know I deserve it. I’m no good without Sarah. You might as well shoot me and bury me with her.”

“Shooting’s too good for you,” Molly told him. “And don’t feel so damn sorry for yourself. It’s not manly. Who else is in there with you?”

Tears ran down Johnson’s cheeks. “I . . . I’m not sure.”

“It’s me,” said the man behind him. “I’m here.”

“Is that you, Rufe Tolliver?”

“That’s right, Molly. I don’t feel so good. I think my head’s gonna fall off.”

“You drink enough of that skull-bustin’ whiskey, and it will,” Molly said. “You’ll look mighty damn funny without it, too. Anybody else in there?”

“Frank and Alf are in the kitchen. I think they’re dead.”

“We’d better see about them, Fargo. You go ahead and do it. I’ll see what I can do for Sarah.”

There wasn’t anything she could do, and Fargo knew it, but he went on inside, pushing past the still weeping Johnson and the confused Tolliver, who shied away from him as if he thought Fargo might be going to hit him. Fargo would have if he’d thought it would do the man any good, but it wouldn’t.

In the kitchen Tom Talley lay covered on the table, just as Jed had been. There were going to be a hell of a lot of funerals before all the fighting was over, Fargo thought, at least if what had happened so far was any indication.

Alf Wesley and Frank Conner also lay in the kitchen, but they were on the floor rather than the table. Fargo looked them over. There wasn’t a mark on either of them. They were dead, true, but only dead drunk. He toed Conner with his boot. Conner stirred, turned over, and started to snore. Fargo went back outside.

Johnson and Tolliver sat on the porch. Johnson had his head in his hands. Tolliver stared vacantly out across the cornfield. Molly and Sarah were gone.

“Where’s Molly?” Fargo asked.

“She took Sarah in,” Johnson said without removing his head from his hands. “She wouldn’t let me touch her.”

Fargo didn’t blame her. He said, “You got too drunk, Johnson. You let everybody else get even drunker. You should have thought about what might happen. And you shouldn’t have let a woman do your fighting for you.”

“We fought,” Tolliver said. “We did as best we could.”

Fargo went over, pulled Tolliver’s pistol from the holster, and gave it a look.

“You fired two cartridges. That’s not much of a fight. What about you, Johnson?”

Johnson raised his head and rubbed the back of his hand across his face, leaving a light streak of dirt.

It’s none of your damn business what I did, Fargo. You just keep your hands away from my pistol.”

“I don’t have to look at it to know there weren’t many shots fired from this house. It’s a wonder Murray didn’t kill all of you and burn it to the ground. He would have, too, if Molly and I hadn’t come when we did. You’re a lucky man, Johnson.”

“How can you say that when my wife’s dead? You don’t know a thing about it.”

“Go have another drink,” Fargo said. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better.” He left the two men sitting there and went to look for Molly.

She was in the bedroom. She had laid Sarah’s body on the bed and pulled the spread up over it.

“Now they have someone else to sit up with,” she said. “I feel sorry for Sarah, but I don’t feel a damn thing for that woman-chasing Rip. Except that it should be him lying under that spread instead of Sarah.”

Fargo didn’t disagree with her.

“She must have run out there thinking she could scare them off,” Molly said. “Didn’t show much sense, did she?”

Fargo didn’t disagree with that, either.

“She was a brave woman,” Molly continued, “and I guess she thought she was defending her home, but sometimes you have to think it’s better to stay alive than to be brave.”

Fargo nodded.

“What in the hell is the matter with you?” Molly asked. “You forgotten how to talk?”

“I’m thinking,” Fargo said, which was the truth.

“What is there to think about?”

“What if Murray decides to come back? We seemed to have scared him away mighty easy, don’t you think?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. We’d better get some of those sorry excuses for men sobered up so they can use their guns if Murray doubles back.”

“We can try to get them sober,” Fargo said. “Or you could go round up some decent help.”

“That might be a better idea. You think you can handle things around here?”

Fargo grinned. “If Murray doesn’t come back, all I have to deal with is two dead people and four drunks. I ought to be able to handle them.”

“I guess you could at that. I’ll go get Lem and some of the others.” Molly started out of the bedroom, then turned back. “What am I going to tell Lem when he asks what you and I were doing over here?”

“Tell him the truth. That we went to Talley’s to check on things, heard gunshots, and came over here.”

“That’s not the whole truth,” Molly said.

Fargo thought about Abby. He didn’t have any designs on her the way the rest of the male population did, but he didn’t much want her to know about his little escapade with Molly. There were some things better not talked about to anybody.

“It’s enough of the truth to tell him,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to drag your good name in the dirt.”

“Maybe that’s what I need,” Molly said. “Might make my life a lot more exciting.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll just tell Lem the truth. Most of it, anyhow.”

“I think that would be best,” Fargo said.

In an hour or so, Molly was back. Lem was with her, along with some men that Fargo didn’t know. It was almost daylight by then, and Fargo didn’t think Murray would be back, but there was no use in taking any chances.

Behind the men on horseback there was a wagon. Two women were in it. They’d come to help Molly with Sarah.

“I wouldn’t be having any big funeral for her,” Fargo said. “Somebody needs to stay here in case Murray comes back, and somebody should be at Talley’s place.”

“I’ve sent a couple of men over there,” Lem said. “They aren’t much for fighting, but they can at least use a gun if they have to. I’ll talk to Rip about having a small funeral. He’ll see the sense of it.”

“What about your place?” Fargo asked. “Who’s taking care of things there?”

“Abby’s there. She has a gun, and she knows how to use it. You don’t have to worry about my place.”

Fargo wasn’t so sure. “Do you think we can trust Murray?”

“Doesn’t matter if we can or can’t. I said Abby had a gun. She’s sitting in a chair in the room with Angel, and she’s holding the gun pointed right at her. Even Murray’s not crazy enough to mess in a situation like that.”

“I hope you’re right,” Fargo said, wondering if Abby would pull the trigger.

“Abby’s not afraid to shoot, if that’s what’s worrying you,” Lem said. “You don’t have to worry about that. Abby blames Angel for Jed being dead. If anybody comes close to the house, Angel’s going to heaven.”

“I don’t think that’s very likely,” Fargo said.

Lem gave him a grin. “I just thought it sounded better than the truth. If there was ever a woman bound for hell, Angel’s the one.”

“Maybe I’d better ride over that way, just to be sure everything’s all right. You can deal with Rip and his friends. I think Conner’s still asleep, but Wesley’s awake now.”

“We’ll have ’em in fighting shape in no time,” Lem said.

“How much would you like to bet on that?”

“Not a damn thing.”

Fargo nodded in agreement.

“Wouldn’t be smart,” he said.

Fargo found Abby sitting in the bedroom, just as Lem had said. But there were three big differences between what Lem had told him and what Fargo saw.

The first difference was that Abby wasn’t pointing the pistol at Angel. Instead, Abby was asleep in the chair.

The second thing was that Abby didn’t have a pistol in her hand at all. There was no pistol anywhere in the room, as far as Fargo could tell.

And the third difference, probably the biggest one of all, was that Angel Murray was gone.