19
The rain continued as they rode back to Portland. There was no wind to drive it, but it was slow and steady, and it kept up until they arrived. By that time the streets were so muddy that Fargo heard the horses’ feet sucking out of the mud with every step.
Night had fallen and the town was virtually deserted. A cat chased a rat out from under the boardwalk and down the muddy street for a short distance before getting tired of muddy paws and ducking back beneath the boards. Windows glowed with light from coal oil lamps, and the smell of mud and dampness filled the heavy air.
The four men wore slickers. Stink was wearing one that had belonged to Corby, and it covered him like a tent. They all had their hats pulled down low, covering most of their faces. They might have been anybody at all. So the weather had worked in their favor. Nobody was going to recognize the remaining Bryan brothers at first glance.
Fargo asked Hob if he had a plan.
“Find Kane.”
“That might not be so easy.”
“Won’t be hard. Ain’t that right, Stink?”
Stink hadn’t spoken at all during the ride. He’d just sat miserably in the saddle, looking as if he’d rather be somewhere else, most likely in a nice warm bed with Kansas Kate, Fargo figured.
“You awake, Stink?” Hob said. “Or are you so comfortable that you’ve gone to sleep?”
“I’m awake. Just been thinking.”
“Thinking about where we can find Custis Kane?”
“Yeah,” Stink said. “That and a few other things.”
“Like what?”
“Like what you’re gonna do with him when you find him.”
“That’s none of your business. You can go on home, or wherever it is that you want to go.” Hob reined in his horse and turned in the saddle. “You, too, Fargo. You’ve come this far, but you don’t have to go any farther. Sam and I can take things from here.”
Fargo wasn’t having any of that. If he could, he’d keep Sam and Hob from killing and getting killed. If he couldn’t, he’d at least know he’d tried. He figured he still owed them that much for what they’d done after he’d been hurt by the bear, even if they didn’t think so. “I’ll stick with you,” he said.
“All right, but you keep out of the way. Don’t try to stop us from what we’re here to do.”
Fargo sat motionless on the Ovaro and said nothing.
“Now, Stink,” Hob said, “where do you think we’ll find Kane about now?”
“If he didn’t go straight to Orcutt, he’ll be at a saloon, having himself a drink.”
“That’s what I think. He probably had himself something to eat, and now he’s getting liquored up. When that’s done he’ll go collect his blood money from Orcutt, even if he didn’t earn it. Which saloon, Stink?”
“I couldn’t tell you that. Kane’s not particular. He goes to first one and then the other.”
“You know which ones he favors, though.”
“Well, yeah, but I hate to see you boys try him. You might not can take him.”
“That’s our lookout, not yours. Just tell me where you think we’ll find him.”
Stink looked off down the street. Fargo wondered what he was looking for, as there was nothing down that way to see. Maybe he was just thinking things over.
“I’d guess either the Red Mule or the Mountaintop,” he said after a second. “There’s a woman at the Mule that he favors. I’d look there first.”
“All right,” Hob said, “we’ll do that.”
He nudged his horse forward. Sam and Fargo followed along. Stink held back for a little while, then rode up beside the Trailsman.
“What you reckon I oughta do?” he said.
“Go on back to Sally’s,” Fargo told him. “I’ll meet you there after all this is over and let you know how it turned out.”
“I know I ain’t been much help, but I hate to run out on you.”
From Stink’s tone, Fargo judged that the little man wanted to stick with them, if only because he felt some kind of obligation to Fargo.
“You can ride along if you want to,” Fargo told him. “Just don’t get in the way if anybody starts shooting.”
“I’m good at staying out of the way of bullets,” Stink said. “I guess I’ll come along.”
Up ahead, Hob and Sam were talking in quiet tones. They stopped when Fargo and Stink joined them, and the two men rode down the muddy street behind the Bryans until they came to the Red Mule. Fargo couldn’t hear much noise on the inside, just an occasional laugh or yell and the faint sound of a piano playing a sad tune Fargo didn’t recognize. He thought it must be a slow night at the saloon because of the rain.
“Stink,” Hob said when they stopped the horses at the hitch rail, “as long as you’re here, why don’t you poke your head in there and see if you can spot Kane? If you do, you come back and tell us.”
“No, sir,” Stink said. “I don’t believe I can do that. I’m just here for the ride, not to be your Judas.”
“Damn, Stink,” Sam said, “it’s not like Kane’s Jesus Christ. He killed our brother—just shot him in the back from ambush like the murdering dog that he is.”
“You don’t know as it was Kane that did it. You never saw him.”
Hob gave a short laugh. “Fargo said Kane was coming for us, and Corby’s dead. You think there’s no connection?”
“Well,” Stink said, “even if there is, it ain’t my job to stick my head in that door. That’s for you to do on your own.”
“And if me or Sam takes a look,” Hob said, “somebody will recognize us and cause all kinds of trouble. Kane will get away, if he doesn’t kill us. Or maybe he’ll kill us and then get away.”
“That’d be hard luck, but it wouldn’t have been no different if I hadn’t come along. If I wasn’t along, wouldn’t be anybody here for you to even ask.”
Hob gave up on Stink and turned to the Trailsman. “How about you, Fargo? You want to help us out?”
A cool breeze came down the street from the mountains. The clouds started to break up, and Fargo could see a couple of stars hanging in the black sky. “I don’t even know what Kane looks like,” he said.
“Big man, like you. Red hair, red beard. You’ll know him if you see him.”
“Don’t matter if you do or not,” Stink said. “He’ll know you.”
Fargo shrugged under his slicker. He thought it was worth one more try to talk Hob out of his idea of killing Kane. “Look here, Hob, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go in the saloon and look. If Kane’s in there, I’ll try to capture him without any shooting. I still think we can get him to testify that the judge wanted him to kill you and that people will believe him. If you kill him, you’re just going to make things worse for yourself.”
“Can’t get much worse,” Sam said. “They already got us for killing that guard and robbing the bank. Killing Kane won’t change a thing, now will it?”
Fargo had been thinking about that all the way back to town. And he had an answer for it. “The reason you sent me to town in the first place was to get you some kind of justice, clear your names about the killing. If we can get hold of Kane, we might be able to convince Orcutt to do a little talking. Or the judge. Tomlin, maybe. I think one of them must’ve killed that guard. That might be why they’re so afraid of you. Nobody believed you about the robbery at the trial, so why would those three men be worried enough about you to kill you now? Is it because they’ve got more than just a robbery to cover up?”
Nobody said anything while Hob and Sam thought over what Fargo had said. It was Sam who broke the silence. “You might be right, Fargo. I thought that could be what happened, ’cause I know me and Hob didn’t kill him. But even if one of those others did it, there’s no evidence.”
“Wouldn’t need any if you got a confession,” Stink said. “Ain’t that right, Fargo?”
Fargo said that it was.
“Hell, Hob,” Sam said, “maybe we oughta try it Fargo’s way. If Orcutt won’t confess, we can still kill him and the others.”
Hob nodded. “All right, then, Fargo. You got Sam on your side, and Corby’s not here to vote. We’ll give your way a chance. Now are you going in there, or do you plan to sit out here all night telling us how to run our business?”
“I’m going in.”
Fargo threw his leg over the saddle and slid down to the street, his heels sinking into the mud. He flipped the reins over the hitch rail and then hung his hat on his saddle horn before slipping out of his slicker. After rolling the slicker up, he put his hat back on and stepped up on the boardwalk. He scraped the mud off his boots and pushed through the swinging doors.
The Red Mule was a much bigger and fancier saloon than the Far Call. It had a teak bar with a mirror behind it. Two men stood in front of it, each of them with one foot up on the brass rail. They weren’t talking, just drinking. A chandelier hung from the ceiling. It was ringed with lamps and could be lowered with a chain.
On one side of the big room a faro dealer faced four men who were bucking the tiger.
The piano player had a cigarette dangling from his lips, and he didn’t look up as Fargo entered. He just kept playing the same sad, slow song as the smoke from the tip of his cigarette spiraled up toward the ceiling.
A few men at the tables were playing cards. Others were drinking and watching the women who sat with the men who could afford them.
One of those who could was Custis Kane.
He sat at the rear of the room, not far from the piano, with his back to the wall and a woman on his lap. She was laughing at something he said, or more likely faking the laughter, and he was looking down the front of her dress to see what she had to offer, as if he didn’t already know from previous visits.
At any rate, Kane was distracted and didn’t see Fargo come in. The woman, still laughing, hugged Kane to her, letting him get his nose into her cleavage. He shook his shaggy head, tickling the tops of her breasts with his whiskers, and she laughed more loudly. But even from across the room Fargo could see that there was no laughter in her eyes.
The piano player ended his song and tossed his cigarette to the floor, not bothering to mash it with the toe of his shoe.
Kane lifted his head and turned to look toward the silent piano. “Play something happy,” he said. “I’m tired of that mournful shit.”
The piano player opened his mouth as if he might say something, seemed to think better of it, and started in with “Oh! Susanna.”
“That’s better,” Kane said, and then he looked toward the door and saw Fargo.
He shoved the woman off his lap and went for his gun.