The front room of Templeton’s house in Isleta was spacious, comfortably furnished. “I kept my promise,” Fargo said. “Harrod didn’t kill you, and Harrod’s dead. More than that. Thanks to Rose, here, and her beggin’ you off, I didn’t turn you into the Rangers. But you still owe Rose your half of the ranch.”
There were four of them around the table: Fargo, Lola, Rose and Templeton. It was five days after Gaston had landed on the bench and taken Lola out, with orders from Fargo to keep her under guard until he arrived in El Paso. Fargo himself had ridden out of the mountains, relieved not to have to fly. Behind him, on the other horses, were the bodies of Harrod, Murphy and Jimmy-the-Blade.
The Ranger captain’s name was Penny, Mart Penny, and he and Fargo had known one another for a long time, had played hide-and-seek along the border for years. Penny had pulled at his mustache after reading Fargo’s statement. “So he was mad at Miss Dane for throwin’ him over for another man. And he come for her when he broke out. And she’d hired you as her bodyguard and you killed ’em all.” Penny sighed. “It stinks, but that don’t matter, Neal. What matters is that they’re dead.”
He’d stood up, crossed his office, spurs clanking. “He bragged he’d never hang. We figured to make damned sure he would. What we never counted on was somebody blowing up one corner of the wall with nitroglycerin. He got out slick, made such a fool of the warden and the guards that they wouldn’t even release the news to the public for four days. Otherwise, you’d have had more warnin’. I don’t reckon you could give us the nitro man, too?”
“Not without usin’ a pair of tweezers and a piece of blottin’ paper for longer than I’d care to.”
Penny laughed mirthlessly. Then he said, “Well, the assorted rewards on these three come to about seven, eight thousand dollars. I reckon you’ll want to claim ’em.”
“Sure,” Fargo said.
“Come around in a week. I’ll have the papers ready.”
“Right.” Fargo had stood up. “Thanks, Mart.”
“My pleasure. The son of a bitch killed a Ranger. We owe you more than any reward. We’re in your debt.” He stroked his chin. “By the way, I understand the army’s reshufflin’ its troops and I’m re-disposin’ my Ranger company. Funny thing, but week after next, the Boquillas crossin’ of the Rio’s gonna be wide open for about three days. Anybody runnin’ guns into Mexico could get across and never have no trouble. Of course, I’d hate to think you were mixed up in anything like that.”
“Who, me? Hell, Mart, you know I’m just a poor boy tryin’ to get along.”
“Yeah.” Penny spat into a cuspidor. “Well, if you see Pancho, tell him I said howdy. Adios, Fargo.”
“Adios, Mart.” And Fargo had gone out, his next stop Bill Gaston’s shack. Gaston had been relieved to get Lola off his hands.
She had been sullen, quiet, all the way to Isleta. It was Fargo who’d had to tell the story to Rose and Templeton, and it was Fargo now who reminded Lola of her bargain.
“The deed,” he said. “That was part of the deal.”
Lola raised her head. And she had changed. The arrogance was gone now from her face, and her eyes were full of tears, and her mouth was suddenly soft and trembling. “But that,” she said quietly, almost like a child, “was when I thought I had a half million dollars waiting. I don’t have a half million dollars any more. If I give Rose my half of the ranch, I won’t have anything ...”
Fargo said, “That’s your problem.”
“Neal, no.” Rose’s voice was soft. “No, that’s not necessary. I don’t want her half of the ranch. She can keep it. She can keep it all.”
“What?” Fargo stared at Rose. “You gone crazy?”
Rose smiled. “Maybe.” She looked at Templeton. “You tell him, Lon.”
Lon Templeton was a tall man in his late thirties, and a key one in Fargo’s operations across the border. Like Fargo, he had made a lot of money out of the Revolution: unlike Fargo, without fighting. But he had taken his risks, too, and Fargo respected him for that.
“Rose and I,” said Templeton, “have got to know each other mighty well these past few days. And ... we’ve got mutual interests. Mexico, Villa, the Revolution. And ... fact is, Fargo, we’ve come to love each other and I’ve proposed to Rose and she’s accepted. We aim to be married next week.”
Fargo and Lola both stared.
“And,” Rose said, “Lon’s well-fixed. We don’t need the ranch. In a way, I don’t deserve it. I ran off, left Lola stuck with it. Maybe I don’t blame her for what she did. So—” She gestured. “I want her to have it, all of it. If she wants to, she can sell it and ... go off somewhere where she’ll be happier.”
Lola stood up, staring at her sister. “You ... would do that for me?”
“You’re my sister, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I guess so. But ...” Lola faltered. “But I never felt like it until now. Rose—” Breaking off, she moved across the room to her sister.
Fargo watched as the two women embraced. Then he jerked his head. “Lon.”
“Yeah,” Templeton said and he followed Fargo into the kitchen.
“Where do you keep the booze?” Fargo asked.
“In the cabinet,” Templeton said.
Fargo got it down, poured two glasses half full, handed one to Templeton.
“Congratulations,” he said and raised his glass and drank. Then: “A little bird told me that the Boquillas crossin’s gonna be wide open for three days week after next. Pancho will take all the guns in Torreon that I can bring. How long would it take you to get together forty thousand dollars worth of Springfields?”
“Can you get the mules to haul ’em?”
“Ferrebee’s got the mules.”
Templeton grinned. “I can have the guns at the station in Marathon a week from tomorrow, easy. Farm implements as usual.”
“Do that,” said Fargo. “I’ve loafed long enough.” He drained his glass and set it down. “It’s time to go to work again.”