“One more step and he’ll jump you, Fargo,” Connor said.
“Then he’ll have to jump me.”
Fargo felt Karen’s hand clutching his shirt. “Skye, it’s not worth it.”
“Yes, it is.”
Fargo raised his right leg and started to take a step. His eyes were fixed on Connor’s face. He hoped the old buzzard would relent. He was betting on it.
The wolfhound stood up. Arched its body.
Fargo began to put his foot to the ground, to take the final step.
“Cinnamon, you say?” Connor said. “That’s the only reason I’ll do it. Not because I’m afraid of this here gunfighter.”
Fargo swallowed his smile. Every man wanted to save face. No man wanted to be seen backing down. Not even this old coot. He did it himself. “Good thing you agreed to it. The dog would’ve made a mess of me but I would’ve pumped you full of lead before he killed me.”
“Oh, God,” Karen Byrnes said, “is it any wonder I hate men?”
When Amy heard about the fight between Ned and Tom Cain, she rushed from the general store and began running to the stagecoach office. The two men who had taken great delight in telling her about it came out on the stoop in front of the store and clucked their disapproval of both Amy and Ned Lenihan. They were of the mind that Lenihan had killed the three boys to keep them from revealing his part in the robbery.
Amy stumbled twice, once nearly falling to the ground, saved only by a man who reached down and brought her to her feet. But not even that slowed her. She wanted to hold Ned. Keep him safe. Tom Cain had been an enemy before. Now he could afford to openly pursue Ned.
She was startled to see Ned at the counter filling out a form. As if nothing had happened. When he raised his head she saw a small bruise on his right cheek. Otherwise he looked fine.
There were no customers so she didn’t worry about pushing through the wooden gate and going to him. She lifted the pencil from his hand and took him in her arms.
She said nothing, just held him. She could feel his heart beat. The way it raced, she knew that he was afraid too. What he’d done had been reckless. She didn’t blame him. Cain had pushed him far too long. His rage must have been overwhelming. By rights he would not stand a chance against Cain. But he’d likely snapped and pounced on Cain before the lawman knew what was happening. In other circumstances she would have been happy for Ned. But not now. Not when so many people in town thought he was guilty. Not now when Cain had been waiting for some excuse to move on Ned.
She found herself kissing him passionately. She found herself weeping, her tears dampening the faces of both of them.
As he tore off pieces of cinnamon bread and stuffed them into his mouth, Rex Connor managed to salt his white beard with bits of bread and sprays of his own spittle. It wasn’t a pretty sight, especially since he was more concentrated on his eating than answering Fargo’s question.
Standing in the thinning sunlight outside Rex’s cabin, Fargo said, “So you saw a man talking to the three boys that night?”
Rex nodded. His mouth was too full to speak.
“And you recognized him?”
Another nod.
“But you’re afraid you’ll get him in trouble if you tell us who you saw?”
Rex gulped down some bread and said, “That’s right.”
“What if he was the killer?” Fargo said. He was tired of taking his time with this old fart. If Karen hadn’t been here he would have grabbed him and shaken the truth out of him. “You want to protect a killer?”
“He ain’t no killer.”
“You’re sure of that?”
Instead of answering, Rex tore off another piece of bread with his grimy hands. “I’ve known this feller a long, long time. I guess I’d know if he was a killer or not, wouldn’t I?”
“People surprise you sometimes.”
“Not this feller. He don’t surprise me.”
“Rex, please, please tell us who you saw,” Karen said. “We won’t hurt him. We’ll just talk to him.”
“And she baked you that bread,” Fargo said, feeling ridiculous. What the hell was he doing, talking about bread when he should have been grabbing this bastard and choking the answer out of him? He steadied himself. “And from the looks of your beard, you seem to be enjoying it.”
“I’ll just get him in trouble and he’s got trouble enough with his farm.”
As soon as he said it, Rex looked shocked, as if somebody else might have said it. But it had popped out and now, even without naming the man, both Fargo and Karen knew who he was talking about.
“You’re saying it was Lenihan.”
“That ain’t what I said, Fargo.”
“Maybe not. But it’s what you meant.”
“Ned,” Karen said, as if she couldn’t believe it. “Ned Lenihan.”
“See, just what I told ya,” Rex said, chawing around a piece of bread. “Now you’ve got him tried and convicted and you don’t even know what he was doin’ with them boys.”
“You saw him only that one time?”
“Yep. Only that one time, Fargo. And you’re makin’ way too much of it.”
“But you don’t have any doubt who you saw.”
“Nope. None at all.”
Fargo watched Karen’s face grow tight with concern. On the one hand, Lenihan was the name most often heard when people talked about the chief suspect. On the other hand, Lenihan’s few defenders were positive that he was innocent.
There was only one way to find out.
“Thanks, Rex.”
“You’re gonna go after him, ain’t you, Fargo?”
“I’m going to find out why he was talking to those boys. That’s all.”
Rex looked genuinely sorry. “He’s a good man. I shouldn’t a said nothing.”
“It’s all right, Rex,” Karen said. “You did the right thing.”
“Make trouble for an innocent man?” Rex scoffed. “You call that doing the right thing?”
But he went right on eating.
The son’s name was George Lenihan. He was an inch or two taller than his father but was stamped with the same small, fine Irish facial features and slight if wiry body. He wore a black seaman’s sweater, in deference to the increasingly chilly day, and a pair of jeans. He stood in front of a white barn and watched Fargo approach. He’d been working and had a pitchfork in his hand.
Fargo dismounted, walked toward him. He’d gotten the name and some background on the son from Karen. The son had lived here since his wife left him two years ago. They’d been childless, the wife suffering three miscarriages in as many years. It was Karen’s impression that this had contributed to the wife’s leaving.
Fargo noted wryly that no angry dogs had yet put in an appearance.
“Afternoon,” Fargo said amiably.
“Who the hell’re you?”
“Name’s Fargo.”
“Oh. My pa told me about you. You’re the one who works for Tom Cain.”
“Not ‘for.’ ‘With.’ I’m just lending him a hand. But I don’t take orders from him if that’s what you’ve got in mind.”
“Right now I’m wondering what you’ve got in mind.”
“I was wondering if you’d let me look around the farm.”
Narrow eyes grew narrower. Knuckles whitened on the pitchfork. “For what reason?”
“You want a nice little lie or the truth?”
“The truth.”
“A good share of Cawthorne thinks your father had something to do with the robbery and the killings of those three men.”
“They were boys. Not men. Hell-raisers. And anybody who thinks my pa had anything to do with any of it is wrong.”
“Then you won’t mind if I look around?”
“On whose orders?”