Blood Wedding

Fargo had been right about what the Murray gang was up to. They were gathered in the marshy bottomland, and some of them had been digging. There was only one body they’d be looking for, and it looked like they’d already found it. There were two dark bundles tied across the backs of a couple of horses. One of them was probably Jed, and the other, the recently unearthed Paul Murray.

Fargo had tied the Ovaro a good distance away and was hiding in some scrawny cottonwoods. He wasn’t worried about being seen. It was too dark, and the light from the gang’s torches didn’t reach his spot. There was no danger of anyone hearing him. A ghost was noisy compared to Fargo.

He could see Abby, her hands tied behind her, standing in front of Angel Murray. Angel’s long hair fell below her floppy hat, and she was holding a pistol in one hand, aiming it at Abby’s head.

A couple of men were leaning on shovels next to the hole where Paul Murray had been buried. There was a big man standing next to them. He said, “Now that’s done, and we have my son back. Let’s get this over with.”

Two men went to one of the bundles and pulled it off the horse. They held it upright between them, and Angel prodded Abby in the back with the pistol.

“Get on over there,” Angel said, her voice ragged.

Abby stumbled as she walked toward Jed’s body, and a man caught her arm to hold her up. She shook him off and walked on her own.

When she got to Jed, Murray came over, holding a piece of rope that he’d taken from a saddle.

“Put your arms around your husband,” he said.

Abby looked at him as if she couldn’t believe what he had said.

“He’s not my husband. And now he never will be, thanks to you.”

“He’s as close to a husband as you’ll ever have,” Angel told her. “Hug the son of a bitch. You and he are going to be real close for a long time, just like being married.”

Fargo knew then what Murray had in mind, but he didn’t know what he could do to prevent it. Murray had twelve men, thirteen if Angel counted. And Fargo had a feeling that in a fight she certainly would count. There wasn’t much a man with a pistol could do against thirteen others even with the advantage of surprise.

Abby stood still, so Angel holstered her pistol and shoved her from behind, pushing her right up against Jed. Abby recoiled, but Angel kept both hands to her back, holding her in place. Abby struggled, but Angel was strong, and she pressed her up against Jed while Murray wrapped the rope around her and the corpse.

When he’d made three or four turns, he pulled it tight. Then he tied it in a knot and said, “Throw them in the hole.”

“No!” Abby said. “You can’t do that.”

Murray chuckled. “I was beginning to think you were tough. But you aren’t so tough after all.” He paused and looked over at the open grave. “You killed my son. You buried him out here without even a marker. And now you’re telling me what I can’t do. Well, let me tell you something. I can do anything I damn well please.” He looked around at his men. “Now, do what I said. Throw them in the hole.”

The two men who had been holding Jed upright dragged his body, with Abby now tied to it, toward the grave. When they got to the edge, they paused, and Murray said, “Goddammit, throw them in.”

Abby squirmed, but she didn’t cry or scream. Fargo got the impression that Murray would have been happier if she had done one or the other. Or both. Her feet could get no purchase in the freshly turned earth as she tried to dig them in. She succeeded only in kicking a little dirt into the hole. The two men let go of Jed’s arms and gave his body a gentle push. Abby tumbled backward into the grave, Jed on top of her.

Still Abby did not cry out. Fargo thought she had plenty of gumption. He wasn’t sure he’d have been so quiet in her situation.

“Cover ’em up,” Murray said.

The two men with shovels began tossing dirt into the grave. Murray and Angel walked over to watch.

“Serves the bitch right,” Angel said. “Paul was worth more than the two of them put together.”

“They’re put together now,” Murray said. “And that’s the way they’re going to stay.”

He reached over and took a shovel from one of the men and handed it to Angel. Then he took the other one for himself. No one spoke as father and daughter shoveled dirt into the grave. The only sound was that of nightbirds in the trees and the earth as it hit the two bodies down in the hole.

When he and Angel finished, Murray gave the earth a couple of whacks. He tossed the shovel to the man who’d held it earlier and said, “That does it. Let’s light a shuck.”

Angel handed her shovel to another man and said, “How long do you think she’ll last?”

“What the hell do I care?” Murray said. “I expect she’s dead already.”

“I hope not,” Angel said. “I like to think she’s still alive and thinking about how much longer she has before she stops breathing.”

“Think whatever makes you happy,” Murray said.