by Sharpe, Jon
Clyde had a hand to his temple where Fargo had kicked him.
“I thought him and that doc would have the sense to leave and never come back.”
“The doc will. Him we’ll have to do the hard way,” Orville said.
“I told him he’s loco,” Clyde said. “Told him he can’t lick our whole clan.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He asked me where Dogood got to.” Clyde looked toward the barn. “Say, where did he get to, anyhow? I don’t see his wagon anywhere.”
“Charlie had a call he said he had to make,” Orville said. “He left last night for town.”
The door opened and out came two boys, one about sixteen, the other a few years younger. The oldest was pulling on a shirt, the youngest was barefoot.
“Ma said you wanted us.”
Orville placed a hand on the shoulder of each. “Fetch your horses. You’re to spread the word that the clan is to gather here by noon. No exceptions. Make sure they understand that. Anyone doesn’t show, they’ll answer to me.”
Both boys quick-footed to the barn. They were inside only a couple of minutes before they reappeared on horseback and galloped past the house, waving to their pa as they went by.
Up in the tree Fargo leaned back and flexed one leg and then the other. He would be there a while. Movement in the bedroom window drew his attention. Mabel had shed her robe and nightdress and was getting dressed. She had tits the size of watermelons.
“Let’s get you inside so you can rest,” Orville said to Clyde. “You look plumb tuckered out.”
“I do feel poorly,” Clyde said.
Fargo settled into the fork. He was well screened by branches. Unless someone walked under the tree, it was unlikely he’d be seen. He figured it would be an hour or more before the first of the clan showed up but barely twenty minutes went by and three men trotted up. He recognized all three from town; they’d taken part in the tying and the tarring.
Singly and in groups, on horseback and in wagons, over the course of the morning the rest of the clan gathered. The house became filled to overflowing, the drone of voices was constant. Shortly before noon they filed out and assembled on the front lawn.
Orville didn’t keep them waiting. Attended by his wife and Clyde, he stepped to the edge of the porch and raised his arms for quiet.
“By now all of you have heard. Abner is dead. We thought that tarrin’ the doc and her friend would send them packin’ but we were wrong.”
“Let’s find the bastard and do him in,” a man hollered.
“That’s why I sent for you,” Orville said. “We’ll split up into groups and hunt until we find him or we hear he’s skedaddled, which I doubt.”
“What do we do when we have him?”
“Need you ask? He’s killed Abner. It’s an eye for an eye, a life for a life.”
“It’s a good thing the marshal is dead so he can’t try to stop us,” someone said.
Orville didn’t waste any more time. He divided the men into groups and gave each group a section of Coogan County to cover. He divided the women, as well, and sent them out in wagons and buckboards, along with their kids, to scour the roads and byways.
“If you spot him get word to the rest of us,” Orville instructed them.
“How?” an older woman asked.
“Mabel and me will stay here with our boys,” Orville said. “Come straightaway and we’ll send Sam and Tyrell out to round up everyone else.”
With a lot of enthusiastic whoops and yips, the McWhertle clan departed. Within five minutes the only ones left were Orville and his family. Orville stood watching the last of the wagons wind out of sight, then turned and ushered his wife and sons indoors.
Fargo waited another five minutes before he descended. He hadn’t seen a dog anywhere so he felt safe in moving along the side of the house to the rear and peering in a window. It was the kitchen, and Mabel was at the counter, chopping carrots.
He could see the back door; it wasn’t bolted.
Drawing his Colt, he gripped the latch and barreled in. Mabel turned and froze with a carrot in one hand and the knife in the other.
Fargo pointed the Colt at her face. “Put the knife down,” he said quietly.
She didn’t want to. Her posture warned him she was thinking of trying to stick him.
“You can put it down or I can put you down,” Fargo said. He wouldn’t shoot her. But after what she had done to Belinda, he wouldn’t hesitate to rap her over the head with the barrel.
“Bastard,” she said.
Fargo thumbed back the hammer. “Do it quiet. If your boys come running in here, who knows what will happen.”
That got to her. Mabel set the knife down and smiled. “Happy now?”
“The carrot too.” Fargo wouldn’t it past her to try and poke his eye out.
She set it next to the knife.
“Where’s Orville and your sons?”
“Last I saw they were in the parlor.”
“Walk in front of me,” Fargo directed. “Try to warn them and lead will fly.”
“We should have killed you when we had the chance.”
“Yes,” Fargo said. “You should have.” He touched the muzzle to the back of her head to forestall her acting up.
She behaved until they were almost there and then she suddenly ran ahead and shrieked at the top of her lungs, “Orville! He’s here! Kill him!”
23
Fargo was expecting her to try something. He was right behind her as she burst into the parlor and took a bound to the left so he had a clear shot at everyone in it.
Orville McWhertle was in a chair by a fireplace. His two sons, Sam and Tyrell, were on the settee. All three rose as Mabel burst in and froze when they saw Fargo train the Colt.
Mabel stopped and glared at her husband and gestured at Fargo. “What are you waitin’ for?”
Orville had eyes only for the Colt. “Be sensible, woman. He’s armed and I’m not.”
Fargo noticed both boys glance at the mantle; a rifle was propped against it. “You try and you’ll die,” he said. He also spied a box of lucifers.
“No one is goin’ to try anythin’,” Orville said pointedly.
“What is it you want, mister?”
“A keg of black powder,” Fargo said, “but I’ll settle for the four of you walking ahead of me out to the barn.”
“What do we want to go there for?” Mabel demanded.
“Because I said so.”
“Pa?” Tyrell said. He was fidgeting and the one who would make a play if he could.
“Do as he tells us for now, boy,” Orville directed. “He won’t shoot us so long as we do as he wants.”
“He shot Abner,” Mabel said.
“Didn’t you hear Abner’s wife?” Orville returned. “Abner was tryin’ to kill him.”
“I hate how you make him out to be worth a damn,” Mabel said. “He’s killed one of our own and deserves to have his wick snuffed out. Nothin’ else matters.”
“Breathin’ does,” Orville said. “We can’t avenge Abner if we’re dead.”
Fargo cut their bickering short with, “Out to the barn. Orville, you go first. Then your wife. Then the boys.”
“Why us last?” Sam demanded.
“So he can see you,” Orville said. “If you were in front of me, I’d block his view.”
“I hate this,” Mabel said as she fell into step behind him. “I hate an outsider bossin’ us around. And I hate your lack of gumption.”
“Watch your mouth,” Orville warned.
Fargo grabbed the lucifers from the mantle as he went out and shoved them in a pocket. As they crossed the yard he scanned the road. No one was in sight.
Ten milk cows were in the barn. So were a few chickens, pecking around.
“This is far enough,” Fargo said. He told the boys to shoo all the cows and the chickens out.
“What on earth for?” Mabel asked. “We’ll just have to round them up again
later.”
Ignoring her, Fargo said to the boys, “Hurry it up. I don’t have all day.”
They looked at their father and Orville nodded and they moved to the cows.
Orville stared at Fargo. “If you’re up to what I think you are, it’s petty.”
“I could do a lot worse,” Fargo said.
“It’s for the tarrin’, ain’t it? The tarrin’ and the beatin’?”
“I don’t forgive and I don’t forget.”
“In the long run what does it get you? You can’t fight all of us.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.” Fargo was watching the boys. They were behaving. One by one they hustled the cows out and when the last was gone he had them do the same with the chickens. Then he made them stand by their parents and stepped to a lantern hanging on a peg.
“What are you fixin’ to do?” Mabel broke her silence. “It better not be what I think it is.”
“In your next life,” Fargo said, “get in the line for brains.” He took down the lantern and moved to a pile of straw.
“Don’t you dare,” Mabel said.
Fargo dashed the lantern against the wall and sent a shower of broken glass and kerosene raining down on the straw.
“What’s he doin’, Pa?” Tyrell asked.
Orville was glowering, his big fists clenched. “What do you think he’s doin?” he growled.
“Oh God,” Mabel said.
Fargo took the lucifers from his pocket. Squatting, he opened the box and plucked one of the sticks.
“Why, he’s fixin’ to set our barn on fire!” young Sam blurted.
“We have to stop him, Pa,” Tyrell said.
“Barns can be rebuilt,” Orville said.
Fargo struck the lucifer. Flame spurted, and he nearly sneezed at the odor. Tossing it into the straw, he kicked the box in after it and stepped well back. Right away the kerosene caught. Flames crackled and rapidly grew. Soon they were licking at the wall.
“Not our barn!” Mabel wailed, and turned to her husband. “Do somethin’, you damn lump!”
Orville backhanded her. He knocked her flat and she lay in a daze with her mouth bleeding. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again, woman. I won’t have it, you hear?”
“But, Pa,” Sam said.
“I won’t take it from you, neither,” Orville said, and nodded at Fargo. “Why do you think he’s doin’ this? To provoke us. To give him an excuse to shoot us. We go at him with our bare hands he’ll shoot us in the arm or the leg. We go at him with a weapon and we’re dead.”
“You’re not as dumb as she thinks you are,” Fargo said.
“There’s more to come, ain’t there?” Orville said. “You aim to make all of us pay. Not just me but the whole clan.”
“Like you said,” Fargo replied, “an eye for an eye.”
The flames climbed the wall toward the hayloft. Smoke was spreading in thick coils that writhed toward the rafters.
“Pick her up and move outside,” Fargo commanded.
Orville bent and scooped his wife into his big arms. His sons moved to help but he motioned them away.
Within a few minutes one side of the barn was a sheet of flame and gray clouds rose from the roof.
Mabel angrily pushed away from Orville and said, “I’ll never forgive you for this. Hittin’ me and all.”
“You don’t behave, I’ll hit you again,” Orville said. “A female has to know her place.”
“He’s right, Ma,” Sam said.
“What do you know? You’re just a boy.”
“Woman,” Orville said ominously, “you are testin’ my patience.”
“And you test mine every day, treatin’ me like I’m less than you.”
“You are,” Orville said. “You’re female.”
Mabel recoiled as if he had slapped her. “Is that the real reason you hate that lady doc so much? I thought it was to help out Charlie Dogood.”
“It was both,” Orville said. “I told you before. Doctorin’ ain’t for women. It’s man’s work.”
“Why, you . . .” Mabel said, and seemed unable to find the right words.
Orville wheeled on her. “Enough. When I took you for my wife you pledged to honor and obey. Remember that obey part and shut the hell up before I get good and mad and wallop you again.”
“You’ve never talked to me like this before,” Mabel said, sounding hurt.
“You’ve never given me cause.”
The fire was devouring the roof, with the sheets of flame rising higher than ever.
Fargo backed toward the woods.
“Hey, where’s he goin’, Pa?” Sam yelled.
“You can run but we’ll find you,” Orville called after him. “We won’t rest until we do.”
“Good,” Fargo said. Turning, he jogged off.
At a growl from Orville, Sam and Tyrell bolted for the house.
By the time they came back out with rifles, Fargo was in the trees. Once on the Ovaro, he rode due east for half a mile and then reined to the north. In a while he came to a flat-crowned hill. From the top he could see the smoke. So could most everyone in the county. Grinning, he thrust two fingers into a pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. On the crude map Belinda had drawn for him were eleven X’s, each a McWhertle farm. It was as many as she could remember.
The next was two miles to the northeast as the crow flew. It belonged to one of those who beat him at Belinda’s. Clarence was the man’s name, and Fargo vividly recollected how Clarence had grinned while kicking him.
The farm was deserted. Clarence and his family were taking part in the search.
Fargo shooed half a dozen cows from the barn and set it on fire.
Now two thick columns blackened the Arkansas air.
Fargo grinned to himself as he rode away. This was akin to poking a hornet’s nest with a stick to rile the hornets, and he wanted the McWhertles good and riled. He wanted them so mad that they’d come gunning for him.
Some people, Fargo reflected, might say he was going to a lot of bother. If he wanted them dead, why not kill them outright? Why burn their barns and toy with them like a cat toying with mice?
Fargo had two reasons. First, he didn’t go around killing in cold blood. But if he had to defend himself, that was different. The second reason was more personal; he liked toying with the sons of bitches. And the bitches. After what they’d done to Belinda and him, they had it coming.
In less than an hour two more columns were rising aloft.
The next farm was due west.
Fargo wasn’t in any hurry. The Ozarks in the summer were gorgeous. The day was pleasant, the sun warm, the birds singing and butterflies flitting about.
He came to a creek and followed it to a grassy bank. There he drew rein. His body was so sore from the beating he took that climbing down hurt like hell. He let the Ovaro drink while he walked back and forth to stretch his legs.
The woods around him had gone quiet. He didn’t think much of it until the stallion raised its head and stared intently into the forest.
Fargo turned. It could be anything. Deer, a bear, a bobcat. He wasn’t concerned. Then, from the vicinity of a thicket, there came a hiss.
Fargo’s skin prickled. Whipping out the Colt, he sidled toward the Ovaro. He’d become so caught up in his vendetta against the McWhertles that he’d forgotten about the rabies scare.
The vegetation shook and crackled and a figure lurched into the sunlight.
It was Old Man Sawyer. He was gaunt and pale, his clothes in tatters. Foam rimmed his mouth and his red eyes were swollen to twice their normal size. He sniffed the air like a wild beast, his face and neck muscles twitching.
Fargo stood stock still. The Ovaro wasn’t moving, either, and the old man hadn’t spotted them yet.
Sawyer shambled along in stiff, jerky movements. His arms were like boards and he seemed to move them with difficulty. He passed under the overspreading boughs of an oak and in another minute he would be out of sig
ht.
The Ovaro nickered.
Instantly, Old Man Sawyer spun. His red eyes swung right and left and focused on the stallion—and on Fargo.
“Hell,” Fargo said.
24
Old Man Sawyer screeched and rushed at Fargo with his arms spread. He uttered guttural grunts and growls and his fingers opened and closed.
Fargo skipped aside. Pivoting, he slammed the barrel against the old man’s head and Sawyer buckled to his knees.
The old man hissed and twisted and clawed at Fargo’s leg.
Eluding his grasp, Fargo hit him again. For most that would have been enough but the lunatic heaved to his feet and attacked.
Fargo ducked under hooked fingers and backpedaled. Sawyer kept coming and he thumbed back the hammer, about to shoot the old man in the head.
Unexpectedly, he got help from an unforeseen source: the Ovaro. Sawyer had fallen near the stallion. Now, as he ran past it, the Ovaro lashed out with its rear hooves. One caught the madman in the back and sent him crashing into a tree.
Sawyer hit it with a loud crack, managed a couple of tottering steps, and collapsed.
For a few moments Fargo thought the old man was dead.
Then Sawyer got his hands under him and sought to rise. He couldn’t. Sinking flat, Sawyer closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with apparent effort.
Fargo stood over him. It would be an act of kindness, he reckoned, to put the old man out of his misery. He aimed between Sawyer’s eyes. “It has to be done,” he said out loud.
He was curling his finger around the trigger when the last thing he imagined would happen, happened—Sawyer talked.
“Who are you?” he said weakly.
“Sawyer?”
The man opened his eyes. His mindless fury had faded and in its place was shock and confusion. “Who are you?” he gasped again. “Where am I?”
“You don’t know?”
Sawyer had to try several times before he said, “If I knew, would I ask?”
Fargo lowered the Colt. The whitish froth was no longer oozing from the old man’s mouth. “You’ve been running around the countryside for a couple of days trying to bite people.”
“Are you loco?” Sawyer said. “I’d never do a thing like that.”