6
Fargo was tired of waiting. Over an hour had gone by and the marshal hadn’t returned. With every wasted minute the outlaws and their captive got farther away. Were he the marshal, Fargo would have headed out after them just as soon as he could assemble a posse.
Coltraine finally appeared, strolling down the street as if he had all the time in the world. He stopped to talk to two women and then stopped to talk to several men. When he reached the jail he stopped yet again to take off his hat and run his fingers through his hair.
“Took you long enough,” Fargo said as the door opened.
“I had a lot to do.”
“The Cottons and their friends could be in Nebraska Territory by now.”
Coltraine had stepped to a rifle rack. “I don’t need your guff. I’ve worn a tin star for pretty near fifteen years now. I know my job better than you.”
Fargo decided to drop it. “How many did you line up for the posse besides me?”
“Wilkins,” Coltraine said, bringing a Spencer over to the desk, “and nine others. They’re to meet here at the bottom of the hour.”
“That’s another twenty minutes.”
“So?” Coltraine proceeded to methodically load the Spencer.
“I’ll fetch my horse and be back,” Fargo said, and turned to leave.
“Not so fast. You’re forgettin’ somethin’.” Coltraine held out a palm. “The forty dollars.”
“That’s all you can think of at a time like this?”
“A fine is a fine and collectin’ them is my job.”
Simmering, Fargo produced his poke and counted out the forty. “Happy now?”
“Pleased as punch.” Coltraine hefted the coins and smiled. “The town of Horse Creek thanks you.”
“I want a receipt.”
“See me after we get back.” Coltraine resumed loading, and when Fargo didn’t move, looked up. “Anything else?”
“No.” Fargo got out of there before he said something Coltraine would resent.
Deputy Wilkins was just coming out of the stable, leading a sorrel. He saw Fargo and waved.
Fargo was tempted to go into the saloon. Instead he unwrapped the Ovaro’s reins from the hitch rail and led the stallion to the marshal’s.
More waiting added to his annoyance. It was a full half an hour before the marshal emerged. By then three townsmen had shown up leading their mounts. All wore store-bought duds and looked about as fearsome as kittens.
“Are you with the posse too?” asked a pudgy man in a bowler who was sweating buckets.
Fargo nodded.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. I’m Norman. I work as a clerk over to the Emporium.”
Fargo noticed that the holster strapped around Norman’s thick waist had a lot of dust on it. “Use that much?”
Norman touched his six-gun as if surprised it was there. “Mercy, no. Didn’t you hear me say I’m a clerk? I got this years ago but haven’t used it once.”
“Yet you offered to join the posse.”
“Offered, nothing,” Norman said. “The marshal came into the Emporium and told me I’m coming along.”
“Why you? Are you good on horseback?”
Norman stared at his horse as if it were from another planet. “Not really, no. I rode some when I was a boy but to tell the truth, horses have always scared me.”
“Scared you how?”
Norman swallowed. “It’s those big teeth. I can’t help imagining what would happen if one took a bite out of me. And then there’s those hooves. Why, a horse’s hoof can crush a man’s skull.”
Fargo turned to the second townsman. “How about you? Can you ride and shoot?”
This one was older and had stubble on his chin and a perpetual scowl. “Sure I can ride. I work at the stable. Not that that gave the marshal any call to come marching in and say I was going with the posse and be ready, or else.”
“How are you with that six-gun you’re wearing?” Fargo asked.
“I can hit a barn pretty good.”
Fargo looked at the third townsman, who brought to mind a mouse in a cheap suit. “Let me guess. You’re hell on wheels with a six-shooter and a horse.”
The mouse grinned. “Would that I were. I wouldn’t be an accountant. I’d be a lawman like the marshal.”
“This will be some posse,” Fargo said.
“Don’t worry,” Norman said. “We might not be much but they are.” And he gestured.
The cowboys Fargo had tangled with appeared a little the worse for tangling. Nearly all had bruises and one puncher’s nose was swollen.
“Why, look at them,” the townsman who was afraid of horses said. “They look as if they’ve been in a fight.”
“That’s cowpokes for you,” Norman said. “Always drinking and fighting and trifling with women.”
The cowhand called Floyd came to a stop and the rest followed suit. Hooking his thumbs in his gun belt, he regarded Fargo as if Fargo were a bug he’d like to squash. “Look who it is, boys.”
The tall cowboy in the high-crowned hat surprised Fargo by smiling. “You’re one tough hombre, mister. I haven’t been hit so hard since I was knee high to a calf and my grandpa walloped me for lyin’.”
“A person should never lie, Mr. Rollins,” Norman said. “It’s not nice.”
“It’s just Rollins,” the tall cowboy said. “And why are you here? You couldn’t lick a puppy if the pup was blindfolded.”
Fargo chuckled.
Norman drew himself up. “I might not be much account as a fighter but I remember prices really good.”
“How much for outlaws these days?” Rollins asked.
Several cowboys—and Fargo—laughed.
“Quit picking on Norman,” the stableman said. “Everybody knows he’s as nice as can be.”
“A posse is no place for nice,” Rollins said.
“I must be of some use or the marshal wouldn’t have picked me,” Norman declared. “Although I confess that for the life of me I can’t imagine what use that could be.”
Floyd continued to glare at Fargo. “This ain’t over between us, mister. Not by a long shot.”
“Don’t mind him,” Rollins said. “You cracked a tooth when you slugged him and now he has to go to the dentist and he hates dentists.”
“I like my dentist,” Norman said. “He always gives me a piece of hard candy when he’s done.”
“Shut up, you infant,” Floyd snapped.
Just then the door opened and out strolled Marshal Coltraine, the Spencer in the crook of his elbow. “I see all of you have met. You know why you’re here so let’s get to it.” He paused. “Anyone have anything to say before we head out?”
“This is some posse,” Fargo said.