High Country Horror Read Online Free PDF

the circumstances.”
    “It’s those circumstances I’m interested in.”
    “Well, then, please, come on in. Would you care for a cup of coffee? I can’t start my day without four or five.” Tibbit opened the door and went over to a potbellied stove in the corner.
    The office was Spartan: a desk, a chair behind the desk and another in front of it, the stove, a small cupboard where the coffee and cups and other things were kept, and a cell for prisoners. At the moment the cell was empty.
    Fargo sat in the chair in front of the desk and placed his left ankle on his right knee. On the desk were a tobacco pouch and a pipe. It explained the odor.
    “How was your stay at widow Chatterly’s?” Marshal Tibbit asked as he kindled a flame in the stove. “I trust it was pleasant.”
    “I liked it so much I might stay a few nights more.”
    “That’s fine. Just fine.” Tibbit took the lid off the coffeepot and got a pitcher down from the bottom shelf of the cupboard. The pitcher was filled with water. “I hope you don’t expect me to pay,” he said as he poured. “I agreed to one night and one night only. Any more and you must pay for them yourself.”
    “That’s fair.”
    “What’s your reason for wanting to stay there, if I might ask?”
    Fargo pictured the widow’s face and lips and bosom, and felt a twinge low down. “I’d like to see the landlady bareassed naked.”
    Tibbit’s mouth fell open and he started to straighten so fast, he nearly dropped the pitcher. “I trust you are joshing.”
    “Why?”
    “She’s not that kind of woman. Helsa is a respectable lady and must be treated as such.”
    “You don’t sleep with many females, do you?”
    “What a thing to ask,” Tibbit retorted. “I don’t see where that’s any of your business. But for your information I have slept with my share.”
    Fargo was willing to bet he could count them on one hand and have fingers left over but he changed the subject. “Last night you mentioned putting my tracking skills to use.”
    “That’s right. I did, didn’t I?” Tibbit got the coffee down. “How good a tracker are you?”
    There were plenty of veteran army officers and seasoned frontiersmen who would rate him as one of the best but all Fargo said was, “I can trail a buffalo good enough.”
    “A buffalo?” Marshal Tibbit said, sounding disappointed. “Why, anyone can do that. They leave tracks as big as pie plates. I need—” He stopped and stared. “Wait a second. You were pulling my leg, weren’t you?”
    “Might have been,” Fargo conceded.
    Tibbit chuckled. “It’s nice you have a sense of humor. Take that incident with the rope, for instance. Give yourself time and you’ll laugh about it.”
    Fargo thought of Harvey Stansfield and Dugan and McNee, and his neck and face grew warm. “Not in this life.”
    “What I’d like to do is take you to the Spencer place and let you have a look around. She was only taken last evening so there might still be sign.”
    “Didn’t you look?”
    “I did, yes, but it was dark. I used a lantern, which didn’t help much.” The lawman shrugged. “I freely admit I’m terrible at it. I couldn’t track a cow down the middle of Main Street. In my defense, I’ve never hunted a day in my life so I’ve never really had to do much tracking.”
    “What did you do before you pinned on that badge?”
    Tibbit came and sat behind the desk. He propped his boots up and laced his fingers behind his head. “Promise not to laugh?” He didn’t wait for Fargo to answer. “I was a traveling salesman. I sold ladies’ corsets, if you can believe it.”
    “I can believe it,” Fargo said.
    “I got tired of always being on the go and always scrabbling to make ends meet. About a year and a half ago I came to Haven. I only intended to stay a couple of days and sell as many corsets as I could and then catch the next stage out. But I liked it here so much that I asked a councilman’s wife if she knew of any jobs