“Not everyone,” Fargo said.
“Excuse me?”
“Whoever is taking the women doesn’t want to be found.”
Helsa moved to the hall. “Look at me, talking my head off when it’s so late and you probably want to turn in.”
“How many folks live here?”
“In the town itself or all together? Counting the farmers and ranchers and their families, I believe the total is one hundred and twelve but I could be mistaken. The assessor would know. Why?”
Fargo did the numbers in his head. She had said there were about three men for every woman. “That makes about seventy to eighty of them men?”
“Over eighty, I believe. So yes, the marshal has a lot of suspects, if that is what you’re getting at.” Helsa sadly sighed. “It’s so frustrating. Two families have left because of the disappearances. Now with Myrtle gone and her dog killed, it wouldn’t surprise me if more go.”
“Aren’t you worried it could happen to you?”
Helsa shook her head. “No. None of the women taken were married. As a widow, I should imagine I’m safe. Whoever is to blame hankers after young unwed girls.”
“Or he likes green pastures,” Fargo said.
“In what way?”
“Girls are more likely to be virgins.”
“What a sick thing to say,” Helsa said.
“For some men that’s important. Me, I like females with experience.” Fargo stared at her bosom.
“Show more respect, if you don’t mind. I’m beginning to have second thoughts about letting you stay.”
Fargo went over to her. He didn’t touch her; he stood so close that he could feel the warmth of her body through the robe and she could feel the warmth of his. “I have plenty of respect. As you said, it’s not easy being a woman alone. But a woman alone has the same needs as a woman who isn’t. All I’m doing is letting you know I’m interested.”
“Well,” Helsa said, and blushed. “You come right out with it, don’t you? What makes you think I would care?”
Fargo looked at a spot on her robe below the belt.
“I should slap you.”
“You won’t.”
Helsa started down the hall, saying over her shoulder, “There will be no more talk about that, not while you’re under my roof. I’m glad I only have to put you up for one night.”
Fargo liked how her backside swayed as she walked. “I just might stay longer,” he said to himself, and grinned.
4
At quarter past eight Marshal Marion Tibbit came up the street, yawning and scratching himself. His clothes looked as if he had slept in them. His hat was pushed back on his head and he squinted in the glare of the morning sun. A rolled-up newspaper was under one arm. He came under the overhang and groped in his pocket. Producing a key, he inserted it into the lock and was about to turn the latch when he glanced over and gave a start. “Mr. Fargo! My word. I didn’t see you leaning there.”
Fargo straightened and came out of the shadows. “You said something about wanting my help. And we have things to talk about.”
“If you mean the lynching, I consider the matter closed. You may press charges if you so wish but no jury will convict those men, not given the circumstances.”
“It’s those circumstances I’m interested in.”
“Well, then, please, come on in. Would you care for a cup of coffee? I can’t start my day without four or five.” Tibbit opened the door and went over to a potbellied stove in the corner.
The office was Spartan: a desk, a chair behind the desk and another in front of it, the stove, a small cupboard where the coffee and cups and other things were kept, and a cell for prisoners. At the moment the cell was empty.
Fargo sat in the chair in front of the desk and placed his left ankle on his right knee. On the desk were a tobacco pouch and a pipe. It explained the odor.
“How was your stay at widow Chatterly’s?” Marshal Tibbit asked as he kindled a flame in the stove. “I trust it was pleasant.”
“I liked it so much I might stay a few nights more.”
“That’s fine. Just fine.” Tibbit took the lid off the coffeepot and got a pitcher down from the bottom shelf of the cupboard. The pitcher was filled with water. “I hope you don’t expect me to pay,” he said as he poured. “I agreed to one night and one night only. Any more and you must pay for them yourself.”
“That’s fair.”
“What’s your reason for wanting to stay there, if I might ask?”
Fargo pictured the widow’s face and lips and bosom, and felt a twinge low down. “I’d like to see the landlady bareassed naked.”
Tibbit’s mouth fell open and he started to straighten so fast, he nearly dropped the pitcher. “I trust you are joshing.”
“Why?”
“She’s not that kind of woman. Helsa is a respectable lady and must be treated as such.”
“You don’t sleep with many females, do you?”
“What a thing to ask,” Tibbit retorted. “I don’t see where that’s any of your business. But for your information I have slept with my share.”
Fargo was willing to bet he could count them on one hand and have fingers left over but he changed the subject. “Last night you mentioned putting my tracking skills to use.”
“That’s right. I did, didn’t I?” Tibbit got the coffee down. “How good a tracker are you?”
There were plenty of veteran army officers and seasoned frontiersmen who would rate him as one of the best but all Fargo said was, “I can trail a buffalo good enough.”
“A buffalo?” Marshal Tibbit said, sounding disappointed. “Why, anyone can do that. They leave tracks as big as pie plates. I need—” He stopped and stared. “Wait a second. You were pulling my leg, weren’t you?”
“Might have been,” Fargo conceded.
Tibbit chuckled. “It’s nice you have a sense of humor. Take that incident with the rope, for instance. Give yourself time and you’ll laugh about it.”
Fargo thought of Harvey Stansfield and Dugan and McNee, and his neck and face grew warm. “Not in this life.”
“What I’d like to do is take you to the Spencer place and let you have a look around. She was only taken last evening so there might still be sign.”
“Didn’t you look?”
“I did, yes, but it was dark. I used a lantern, which didn’t help much.” The lawman shrugged. “I freely admit I’m terrible at it. I couldn’t track a cow down the middle of Main Street. In my defense, I’ve never hunted a day in my life so I’ve never really had to do much tracking.”
“What did you do before you pinned on that badge?”
Tibbit came and sat behind the desk. He propped his boots up and laced his fingers behind his head. “Promise not to laugh?” He didn’t wait for Fargo to answer. “I was a traveling salesman. I sold ladies’ corsets, if you can believe it.”
“I can believe it,” Fargo said.
“I got tired of always being on the go and always scrabbling to make ends meet. About a year and a half ago I came to Haven. I only intended to stay a couple of days and sell as many corsets as I could and then catch the next stage out. But I liked it here so much that I asked a councilman’s wife if she knew of any jobs that were to be had, and as it happened, there was one.”
“You went from corset salesman to lawman?”
Tibbit laughed. “I know what you’re thinking. What did a seller of ladies’ corsets know about the law? I admit I knew little. But my enthusiasm impressed the town council. And as it so happens, I’m a fast reader. I’ve gone through every law book and statute there is.”