Blood Wedding

While she climbed the ladder, Fargo dragged a couple of wooden boxes over to the door of the barn and stacked them so that he could use them for cover. It wasn’t much cover, and he didn’t have much of a plan, but it was the best he could come up with. Now there was nothing to do but wait for Murray to show up.

Time dragged along with no sign of the gang. It was well past sunup, and there was no sign of anyone.

“What do you think, Fargo?” Molly called from the loft. “Did Angel lie to you?”

“I don’t know why she would. And it sure sounded like she was telling me the truth.”

“Maybe they’ll show up, then,” Molly said, but there was no conviction in her voice.

Another few minutes passed, and then Fargo heard shooting. It wasn’t coming from anywhere nearby, but Fargo thought he could guess the location.

“Connor’s farm,” he said.

“That’s right,” Molly said. “Angel lied to you. What do we do now.”

“We go help Conner,” Fargo said.

By the time Fargo arrived at the farm, there wasn’t much he could do for Conner, who was already beyond help. He’d been shot, and then someone had dragged him outside his house and tied him upright to the scarecrow in his vegetable garden. His head drooped down on his chest, and his body slumped against the ropes that held him.

There was nothing Fargo could do for Angel, either. She was tied up hand and foot and propped against the side of Connor’s house. Unlike Conner, however, she was still alive.

Murray and his men were waiting when Fargo rode up. Murray sat up straight on his horse like a general in command of an army. His beard stirred in the breeze, and he looked at Fargo with his mad eyes. His men were lined up on either side of him. They had their pistols and rifles pointed straight at Fargo.

“My daughter betrayed me,” Murray said. His voice was deep and strong. “There are traitors in every army, but I never thought there would be one in my own family.”

“He caught me,” Angel said, her voice shaky. “He made me tell him. He’s going to kill me.”

Fargo didn’t have any reason to doubt her. Murray was crazy enough to kill anybody, even his daughter.

“He’s not going to kill you,” Fargo said.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Murray told him. “I’m in command here, not you, Mr. Fargo, and she will die by my orders. And you will follow her to hell.”

“Not if you get there first,” Fargo said, drawing his pistol.

Murray stared in blank surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected Fargo to do anything so foolhardy, not with twelve or fifteen guns on him.

But then Murray didn’t know that Fargo wasn’t alone. Lem, Abby, and Molly had circled around behind the gang, and now they came riding through the cornfield, firing as they came.

Two of Murray’s men pitched off their rearing horses as the others turned to meet the unforeseen threat.

Fargo fired at Murray, but the big man reacted quickly, spurring his horse and making a run for Connor’s house. As he rode, he fired two shots at Angel. At least one of them struck her, and she fell sideways to the ground. Then Murray was around the house and gone.

Fargo would have pursued him, but he had to deal with the remaining gang members, some of whom had turned their attention back to him. For a few minutes the shooting was loud and fast, and then it was over, smoke drifting in the air and the smell of gunpowder filling Fargo’s nostrils.

Four of the gang members were dead, and the rest were hightailing it. Nobody went after them, as Fargo was sure it wouldn’t do any good. And he wanted to see if there was anything that could be done about Angel.

Abby got to her first and lifted her to a sitting position. There was blood on the front of Angel’s shirt, but she was alive and her eyes were open.

Abby tore the shirt off and Fargo got a look at the wound as he came up. He didn’t think it was serious. The only bad thing about it was its location.

“He shot her in the same shoulder you did,” Abby said. “The son of a bitch.”

Lem shook his head in disapproval of his daughter’s language.

“You ought not to talk any such way,” he said, “but a man that would shoot his own child is a son of a bitch in my book, too.”

“We’ll take you back to our place,” Abby said. “We’ll take care of you again. You won’t have to deal with that son of a . . .”

“Hold it,” Lem said. “We can take care of her without saying what her daddy is. Fargo, you go cut down Frank. Him hanging there like that’s just not right.”

Fargo and Molly went to the scarecrow. Fargo took his knife out of his boot and cut the ropes that held Conner up. Molly caught him as he sagged forward and lowered him to the ground.

“Those bastards,” she said. “But we got four of them. I say let the buzzards have them.”

“We need to do a little better than that for them,” Fargo said. “But not much. Can you round up some help?”

“There’s not that many of us left. And if this keeps on, there won’t be any.”

“It won’t keep on,” Fargo said.

“What are you going to do to stop it.”

Fargo shook his head and told her he didn’t know.

17