Blood Wedding

But the sea captain hadn’t had any better luck in his new house than he’d had on his final voyage. His wife got sick and died within the first year of their move. The captain himself had died of a fever not long afterward. His only child, a son about fifteen years old, had disappeared after the funeral and never been seen again. The only things that remained of the captain and his family were the house and some vague memories.

“Nobody ever wanted to live there after the captain died,” Lem had told Fargo. “The house was like something you’d find in Maine, maybe, or someplace like that. Not here. Nobody who farms has time to take care of a house like that. And anyway the land wasn’t fertile around there. Nobody knows why, but things just wouldn’t grow. The house is just about falling down now, and nobody ever goes by there. Murray could stay there for a year, and nobody would ever know.”

The people who were gathered at Lem’s all knew where the Bigelow House was, though they never went near it. All of them also had ideas about what to do about Murray. And they all wanted to talk about them at once.

Lem quieted them down. “We’re going to leave that up to Fargo. He’s had more experience with men like Murray than we have.”

There was a little mumbling, but it died down quickly as people realized the truth of what Lem was telling them.

“We’ll leave here at about midnight,” Fargo told them. “We’ll stop on the way and get Rip. We’ll have to take him with us to be sure he doesn’t warn Murray.”

“Why don’t we just kill him?” Bob Tabor asked. “He’s got enough of us killed, the son of a bitch.”

“Why not give him a trial?” Fargo asked. “The sheriff might not want any part of this fight, but he’d have to keep Rip in his jail if you told him what’s been going on. Then you could see to it that Rip gets a legal hanging.”

There was some more mumbling and grumbling about that, but Lem calmed everybody down.

“Listen here,” he said, “Fargo’s got a plan about how to do this, and we don’t have to kill Rip to do it. If we want to stay on the side of the law, such law as there is here, we ought to try not to hang people just for the hell of it. Rip’s done us wrong, but he’s still our neighbor. We ought to give him a chance to defend himself.”

“I guess you’re right about it,” Cass Ellis said. “A man’s got a right to have his side of the story heard before he gets hung.”

“All right, then,” Lem said. “Now let Fargo tell you what we’re gong to do.”

19

Rip didn’t seem to know exactly what was going on. Which was just fine. Fargo didn’t want him to know.

“I didn’t think you’d show up here at this time of night,” Rip said.

He was standing on his front porch again, holding the lantern he’d lit while he was still in the house. His hair was tousled, and he didn’t look quite awake.

“I said morning,” Lem told him. “It’s past midnight, so it’s morning. You better get ready to go. We’ll help you.”

Cass and Bob were already off their horses and walking toward Rip, who was going to be trussed up and tossed across a saddle for his trip. As the two men reached him, Rip’s face changed. He seemed to know that something was wrong, and he turned back into his house.

Cass and Bob hesitated. They turned back and looked at Fargo as if to ask what to do next. In doing so, they gave Rip time to get to a gun.

The first shot came through the door and missed Cass by an inch or two. The second shot dropped Bob where he stood.

“Scatter,” Fargo said. “I’ll go around back.”

By the time Fargo got to the back of the house, the door was already opening. Fargo let Rip get outside. Then he said, “Put the pistol down, Rip. You’re not going anywhere.”

Rip held up the lantern so that the light spread out some more. Fargo was still outside the circle of radiance.

“We know all about you and Murray,” Fargo said.

“Then you’re going to kill me anyway,” Rip said.

“Nobody’s going to kill you. We’re just going to be sure you don’t warn anybody.”

“Bullshit,” Rip said.

He fired a shot at Fargo, missed, and started to run around the house. Fargo didn’t know where he was headed, but he knew he wasn’t going to let him get there. He shot him twice.

The first shot knocked Rip off his stride and sent him stumbling toward his house. The second shot jerked him sideways, and he stumbled into the wall. When he hit it, his arm swung around and the lantern shattered on the wood. Coal oil spread out and started burning. Rip slid down to the ground.

“Who told you, Fargo?” he said. “How’d you know? Angel?”

“Nobody told. I just figured it out.”

“Damn. Maybe you really are as smart as you think you are.”

Rip slumped over to the side until his head was touching the ground. The pistol he’d been holding limply in his hand slipped from his fingers.

The wall of the house above him was dry, and the fire was spreading fast. Fargo rode back around to the front of the house. Bob Tabor was standing up, and Abby was tying something around his midsection.

“How’s Bob?” Fargo asked of no one in particular.