High Country Horror Read Free Page B

Marion,” Danvers said.
    “Don’t ‘Ah, Marion’ me,” Tibbit replied. “I won’t stand for shenanigans like this—you hear me?”
    Fargo twisted his neck, scraping his skin on the rope as he did. “Cut me down, damn it.”
    “Whoever you are, I apologize for this,” Marshal Tibbit said. “We are normally law abiding. But we have been plagued this past year with god-awful happenings and some of our good citizens have—”
    “Cut me down now .”
    “Oh. Certainly.” Tibbit gigged his mount next to the Ovaro and reached up and pried at the rope but couldn’t loosen it. His nails dug into Fargo worse than the rope.
    “Don’t you have a knife?”
    “A knife?” Tibbit said, acting befuddled. “Why, I think I do.” He patted his pockets and produced a folding knife, which he had difficulty opening. He pressed the edge to the rope and cut but the knife was so dull that it took forever for him to slice through a few strands.
    “Oh, hell,” said a man with the new group. He brought his sorrel up on the other side of the Ovaro and drew a large bone-handled knife from a hip sheath. He was big and brawny and wore a homespun shirt, overalls with suspenders, and a floppy hat. He smelled of cow manure. “Let me, Marshal. You’ll be at it a month of Sundays.”
    “Sure, Sam, go ahead,” the lawman said sheepishly.
    A single slash of Sam’s knife and the rope parted above Fargo’s head. Another slash and Fargo’s wrists were free. Fargo rubbed them, then tore the noose from his neck and threw it to the ground. He brought his knees up on top of the Ovaro and launched himself past Tibbit at Harvey Stansfield. It caught everyone by surprise, Harvey most of all. Fargo slammed into him and smashed him to the ground. He slugged Harvey’s jaw, his cheek, his head. Harvey got an arm up but Fargo swatted it aside and punched him twice more. He cocked his arm to do it again and someone gripped his wrist to stop him.
    “Enough of that, mister!” Marshal Tibbit said. “I don’t blame you for being mad but I can’t let you beat him to death.”
    Some of Fargo’s rage faded. Some, but not all. He jerked loose and stood and stepped to Danvers, who recoiled in fear. Fargo held out his hand. “Hand over my Colt.”
    Danvers fumbled getting it from under his belt and almost dropped it. “Here,” he bleated.
    Fargo shoved it into his holster. He took several steps back and glared at Dugan and McNee and Danvers and the rest of them. “The next son of a bitch who lays a hand on me, I will shoot dead.”
    “No need for talk like that,” Marshal Tibbit said. “You can’t let a little mistake sour you.”
    “ Little mistake ?” Fargo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He took a stride and jabbed the lawman on his badge. “Some of your good citizens almost hung me. Where I was raised they call that murder. Not a goddamned mistake.”
    “Of course, of course,” Tibbit said, bobbing his double chins. “All I meant was, we can’t blow it out of proportion.”
    Fargo looked at him—really looked at him—and realized that here was a man who had no business wearing that tin star. Overweight and out of shape and with little backbone to boast of, Tibbit was one of those good-natured souls who thought everyone else should be the same and always tried to reason with troublemakers.
    “You should listen to yourself sometime,” he said.
    “How’s that again? I hear perfectly fine, thank you. And I should think you’d be more grateful for me saving your life.” Tibbit held out his hand. “But what do you say we start over? Where are your things? How about we collect them and take you to town and put you up for the night? To sort of make up for how you were treated.”
    Fargo stared at the lawman’s hand.
    “What’s the matter? I’m trying to be friendly and mend fences. Can’t you meet me halfway?”
    “How long have you worn that badge?”
    “Why do you ask a thing like that? I’ve been the town marshal