“A man who goes looking for revenge usually finds a lot of things he wishes he hadn’t,” Fargo said.
“That may be so,” Abby said, “but don’t bother telling it to the Murrays. Do you think they’ll forget what happened tonight?”
“They did what they came to do.”
“But they didn’t get an even exchange. Jed’s dead, but so are four of the gang members. And one of them is Paul Murray.”
“The father?” Fargo asked.
“No, the son. The father’s name is Peter. It would have been better if he’d been killed because they say Paul wasn’t quite as crazy as his old man. And his sister. They’ll come after us again, and after everybody who was at that dance.”
“How will they find out?”
“They already know. You can count on that. They know everything that goes on around here.”
Fargo wasn’t surprised to hear it. There was already plenty of talk in and around small communities. You didn’t have to be too clever to pick up any information you wanted.
“The Murrays operate out of this area?” he asked.
“Nobody knows just where they stay. I don’t think they ever stay in one place for long. They’ve robbed and killed all over the state. You have to do something about them.”
Fargo started to tell her that it wasn’t his job. He had other places to go and other things to do. But for some reason he kept his mouth shut. Finally he said, “I’ll think it over. Right now, I have to go to the barn.”
“Jed was your friend,” Abby said, as if that settled everything, and in a way it did. But Fargo wasn’t ready to tell her that.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said.
3
Many of the people who had come to the dance had gone on back home, but there were still several men and a few women in the barn. They had pulled the bodies of the dead outlaws to the side and raked dirt over the blood on the floor. The outlaws’ weapons were stacked on the table with the food that would now serve for a funeral meal. Most of the men were standing around in a little knot, talking in low voices. The women were standing by the table, not saying much of anything to anybody.
“We caught most of the horses,” a tall, gangly man said to Fargo. “Got ’em over to the little corral, but that won’t hold ’em. It’s not meant for more than a couple of mules. Name’s Frank Conner, by the way.”
“Mine’s Fargo.”
“Yeah. Jed’s friend from out west. I heard about you. I figger you’re more or less in charge tonight, since Lem’s not here and Jed’s dead.”
Fargo didn’t want to be in charge, but he didn’t see any way out of it. He said, “We need to see about getting those bodies buried tonight. No sense leaving them to ripen till morning.”
He thought about Jed in the kitchen. Well, Jed would keep.
“Where we gonna bury ’em?” Conner asked. “I don’t know that they’re worth hauling to the cemetery, and it’s certain and sure nobody wants ’em in the churchyard.”
Fargo had looked the Watkins place over when he arrived the day before, and he knew it was located on a little creek. There was some marshy land down by the creek that wasn’t fit for farming, and the digging would be easy enough. He told Conner to take the bodies there, and asked if there were any other men who could stay and help with the work.
“I’ll help,” someone said at Fargo’s shoulder.
He turned to see a woman almost as tall as he was. She was wide through the shoulders and narrow at the waist, but she flared out at the hips. She wasn’t wearing a dress as the other women had been. She had on a pair of heavy work boots, a cotton shirt, and thick denim pants.
“I’m Molly,” she said in a voice almost as deep as a man’s. “Alice, really, but everybody calls me Molly. Molly Doyle. And I can dig as long and deep as any man here.”
As if to prove it, she stuck out her hand for Fargo to shake. It was as big as his own, and callused hard as bone by a lifetime of labor.
“Got my own place close by here,” Molly said. “It’s small, and I pretty much run it by myself, but I can outwork any man in this barn.”
“There’s some might question that,” Conner said, and Molly gave him a hard look. “Not that I’d be one of them. I know better than to say a thing like that. I’ll tell you, Fargo, Molly could probably whip half the men in here.”
“Half, hell,” Molly said. “All of ’em.”
“I won’t argue that with you either,” Conner told her. “I know it’s rough on you about Jed, and I’m sorry for that.”
“Jed never gave a rat’s ass for me, and you know it, Frank Conner. Now, let’s get busy and get those bodies out of here.”
“I’ll hitch Lem’s mules to his wagon, and we can pile ’em on there,” Conner said. “Be a lot easier than dragging them.”
“Good idea,” Fargo said, and Conner walked away.
“He’s one who won’t be all that sorry that Jed got killed,” Molly said when Conner was out of earshot.
“Why’s that?” Fargo asked.
“ ’Cause he was sweet on Abby before Jed moved in on him. He thought he was the one who’d be marrying her and getting himself set up with this farm.”
“I thought he already had a farm.”
“He does, but it’s nothing to speak of. He’s not much of a worker, and he doesn’t make good crops. Not much of a builder, either. You could put his house and barn inside this place here and still have room for a few cows and mules.”
“Maybe he just had an eye for a pretty woman.”
Molly considered that. “Could be. There were a couple of others who had the same idea he did, and one of ’em was even married.”
Fargo didn’t care to hear about Abby’s suitors right at the moment. He said, “Judging from what Conner said, I’d guess you were sweet on Jed.”
“You’d be right about that, for all the good it ever did me. I’m not a delicate little flower like Abby, and I guess Jed didn’t want a woman who could work just as hard and as long as he could. He wanted somebody he could sit in a parlor and look pretty.” Molly grinned. “Not a damned thing wrong with that. It’s just not my style, as you can see.”
She wasn’t exactly pretty, Fargo thought, but she wasn’t ugly, either. She had a good smile, and while she was big, covering up her body in men’s clothes, he could see the outlines of generous curves.
“Maybe Jed didn’t know what he was missing,” Fargo said.
Molly’s smile widened, and she said, “You got that right, Fargo, but then most men are afraid of a big woman. Maybe you’re not.”
“Maybe,” Fargo said.
At that point Conner came back into the barn, leading a couple of lop-eared mules hitched to a wagon. He led the mules over to where the bodies lay and looked around for help.
Fargo looked at Molly. “I guess we’d better help him load them.”
“Doesn’t look like anybody else is rushing to do it. Let’s go.”
“I’ll get us some help,” Molly said. “Johnson, Talley, get over here. You, too, Wesley.”
At the sound of her yell, three men detached themselves from the group and looked at her.
“We’re gonna take care of the bodies,” Molly said. “Come on and make yourselves useful.”
If the men were bothered that a woman was ordering them around, they didn’t show it. Fargo and Molly walked over to the bodies where Conner was already standing, and the three men joined them there. Nobody said anything, and Fargo bent over to grab a man’s body by the shoulders.
“Somebody get his legs,” Fargo said, and Molly grabbed his ankles. They swung the body once and pitched it in the wagon bed.
A short man with a red face and a thick neck bent over the next body, took a good look at the face, and said, “Shit.”
“That’s no way to talk in front of a lady, Alf Wesley,” Molly said.