Blood Wedding

He stepped into the opening, and when he did Fargo dived to the side. The sound of a pistol blast echoed from the barn as Fargo rolled over and came up shooting. His bullet knocked a chunk out of the side of the doorway, but Murray had already ducked back inside. Fargo turned his head to see Angel on her knees. She had dropped her pistol and was holding both hands to her stomach.

“He . . . shot me,” she said.

“He was shooting at me,” Fargo told her. “But I moved.”

“I think . . . he meant to do it.”

“No,” Fargo said, though he wasn’t entirely sure.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t think Angel heard him.

She folded in the middle and fell forward so that her forehead was touching the ground. She stayed like that without moving, and Fargo knew she was dead.

“You killed your daughter, Murray,” he called into the barn. “And now I’m coming for you.”

“Come ahead, Fargo,” Murray yelled back.

Fargo got to his feet and walked to the side so that Murray couldn’t see him from the barn door. When he reached the barn, he turned his back to the wall and walked to the door with his shoulders rubbing against the rough wood. The pistol he had borrowed from Molly was in his hand.

“Come inside, Fargo,” Murray said.

Fargo didn’t reply.

“You killed my son,” Murray said after a few seconds of silence, “and now you’ve killed my daughter. Why don’t you face me like a man?”

“I didn’t kill anybody, Murray,” Fargo told him, thinking that Murray would go to his death blaming someone else for all his troubles. “If you hadn’t raided the wedding party, your son would still be alive. And you’re the one who shot your daughter, not me.”

“You jumped out of the way. I was trying to kill you, not her.”

“Maybe you believe that, but I don’t. You already tried to kill her once. This time, you did it.”

“I never tried to kill her. She just needed to be taught a lesson. You don’t betray your family.”

“What do you call it when you kill them?” Fargo asked.

There was a long silence. Fargo waited it out.

“Are you still out there, Fargo?” Murray asked.

Again, Fargo didn’t answer.

“What are you waiting for? Do you think those farmers are going to come back and help you? I hope they do come back, Fargo. Because if they do, I’ll pick them off from the loft, one at a time. I’ll start with Abby Watkins. You watched my daughter die, and you can watch the Watkins bitch die, too.”

Murray’s voice sounded different. He’d moved farther back in the barn, or so it seemed, probably headed for the loft. Fargo thought he might be able to catch him before he got there, so he stepped around the wall and into the barn. There was the sharp smell of coal oil mingled with the smell of hay and manure.

Murray was already at the top of the ladder to the loft, and he jumped forward just as Fargo fired at him. The bullet knocked off the heel of Murray’s boot, but Murray rolled away, unhurt.

“That was close, Fargo,” he said. “If you’d been more of a man, you’d have come in and faced me. Maybe you could have killed me. As it stands now, you’ll never get me.”

It was dark in the barn, but it didn’t matter. Murray was out of sight in the loft anyhow.

But he wasn’t as safe as he thought he was. He couldn’t see Fargo any better than Fargo could see him, and the flooring of the loft was just planking that wouldn’t stop a bullet. Fargo crossed the barn until he was standing under the flooring.

“You still up there, Murray?” he shouted.

“Right here,” Murray answered, and Fargo fired at the sound.

The bullet when through the planking, and dust drifted down on Fargo.

“You missed, Fargo, but I thought you’d come over here and try that. I was hoping you would. Welcome to hell.”

Fargo saw something falling from the loft. A lit match. It fell lazily toward a stack of hay near the wall.

When the match hit the hay, it ignited the coal oil that Murray had splashed on it. The hay blazed up quickly, and smoke poured out of the stack.

Fargo heard footsteps pounding on the floor above him. He didn’t try a shot. It wouldn’t have been worth it. He moved out from under the floor. The heat from the fire was already scorching him.

Murray’s dark figure appeared at the edge of the loft floor at the side of the barn opposite the fire. Fargo took a shot just as Murray jumped.

The shot went past Murray’s head, and Murray landed on another stack of hay. He rolled down the side of it, flinging hay and dust all around him. When he hit the ground, he rolled under a wagon and took a shot at where Fargo had been standing, but Fargo was no longer there.

The fire was spreading rapidly, and the Trailsman knew that the barn was lost. He also knew that if he stayed inside, he would be burned alive. Or dead, if Murray shot him. He preferred to leave Murray there to burn instead, so he headed for the doorway.

By the time he got there, the fire had already gone up the side of the wall, engulfing most of it. The floor of the loft had caught, and it wouldn’t be long before the roof was afire as well. Fargo didn’t believe Murray had a chance.

Murray felt differently.