The Fargo Man

"I'm takin' you in Sutton."

Brian Gaines cold Texas drawl cut across the saloon's activities, bringing a hushed silence. Cardgames ceased, drinking was suspended, as drinkers and gamblers with the inborn intuition of Westerners moved away from the possible line of fire. All eyes swung to the man who had uttered the cryptic sentence. Minutes earlier he had stepped through the batwings of Mora's Paradise saloon unnoticed, but all eyes were on him as he walked towards the bar on catlike feet, his hand brushing the butt of his holstered .45. He was a tall man, slim but with wide powerful shoulders, and as he moved he sent a chill through every man watching. He looked like a cougar set to pounce. But it was his eyes which caught everyone's attention. Narrow, intent, watchful, they missed nothing. Lawman's eyes.

The man to whom he had addressed his words was a shifty individual, with a jagged bullet scar over his left eye. He fancied himself as a gunman, but as the scar proved, he sometimes tangled with the wrong type of man. Sutton was wary of the stranger, not recognising the man from anywhere. "You some kind of lawman, stranger?"

Gaines shook his head. "Special Investigator. Well's Fargo."

Sutton heaved a sigh of relief. A Fargo agent didn't have the same powers as a lawman, and could be made to disappear with less fuss. His brothers would make sure of that. "You're barking up the wrong tree, stranger. I didn't do nothing to you?"

"Wrong, Sutton. When you took that Fargo wagonload last month up in the Nations you killed two friends of mine, and a handful of innocent folk. I promised myself I'd nail your hide to the wall. Judge Parker passed the job to us to bring you in, as his marshals couldn't cross the state line. Don't go for that gun, Sutton."

"Do you know who you're tangling with?" Sutton warned. "Harm a hair on my head and my brothers will eat you and this town for breakfast."

"That will be the day, Sutton."

Bobby Sutton's hand darted towards his holstered gun. It was a slick, fast move and he died with the contempt written on his face, sure of his ability to outdraw and outgun the uppity stranger.

Gaines was alert for treachery and he saw the decision form in the gunman's eyes. He had hoped to bring Sutton in alive to face Parker's justice at the end of a rope, but the man was too fast to take chances with. Sutton could never have outdrawn Gaines.

The Fargo man was too seasoned a professional, and his .45 blasted as Sutton's weapon was coming up level. The two shots blasted Bobby Sutton backwards. Both were later found to be within an inch of each other, and both would have proved fatal. Both tore through Sutton's heart, killing the man instantly. He went down as if he'd been poleaxed. A pool of blood formed around the body.

Gaines moved forward, acting like a trained lawman. He kicked Sutton's gun across the room. Men stayed silent, too shocked to move. He shook his head, his eyes not without pity. "He should have known better," he muttered. Start writing "I'm takin' you in Sutton."

Brian Gaines cold Texas drawl cut across the saloon's activities, bringing a hushed silence. Cardgames ceased, drinking was suspended, as drinkers and gamblers with the inborn intuition of Westerners moved away from the possible line of fire. All eyes swung to the man who had uttered the cryptic sentence. Minutes earlier he had stepped through the batwings of Mora's Paradise saloon unnoticed, but all eyes were on him as he walked towards the bar on catlike feet, his hand brushing the butt of his holstered .45. He was a tall man, slim but with wide powerful shoulders, and as he moved he sent a chill through every man watching. He looked like a cougar set to pounce. But it was his eyes which caught everyone's attention. Narrow, intent, watchful, they missed nothing. Lawman's eyes.

The man to whom he had addressed his words was a shifty individual, with a jagged bullet scar over his left eye. He fancied himself as a gunman, but as the scar proved, he sometimes tangled with the wrong type of man. Sutton was wary of the stranger, not recognising the man from anywhere. "You some kind of lawman, stranger?"

Gaines shook his head. "Special Investigator. Well's Fargo."

Sutton heaved a sigh of relief. A Fargo agent didn't have the same powers as a lawman, and could be made to disappear with less fuss. His brothers would make sure of that. "You're barking up the wrong tree, stranger. I didn't do nothing to you?"

"Wrong, Sutton. When you took that Fargo wagonload last month up in the Nations you killed two friends of mine, and a handful of innocent folk. I promised myself I'd nail your hide to the wall. Judge Parker passed the job to us to bring you in, as his marshals couldn't cross the state line. Don't go for that gun, Sutton."

"Do you know who you're tangling with?" Sutton warned. "Harm a hair on my head and my brothers will eat you and this town for breakfast."

"That will be the day, Sutton."

Bobby Sutton's hand darted towards his holstered gun. It was a slick, fast move and he died with the contempt written on his face, sure of his ability to outdraw and outgun the uppity stranger.

Gaines was alert for treachery and he saw the decision form in the gunman's eyes. He had hoped to bring Sutton in alive to face Parker's justice at the end of a rope, but the man was too fast to take chances with. Sutton could never have outdrawn Gaines.

The Fargo man was too seasoned a professional, and his .45 blasted as Sutton's weapon was coming up level. The two shots blasted Bobby Sutton backwards. Both were later found to be within an inch of each other, and both would have proved fatal. Both tore through Sutton's heart, killing the man instantly. He went down as if he'd been poleaxed. A pool of blood formed around the body.

Gaines moved forward, acting like a trained lawman. He kicked Sutton's gun across the room. Men stayed silent, too shocked to move. He shook his head, his eyes not without pity. "He should have known better," he muttered.