I just kept on walkin’ and nothing much happened. I was getting into range. Any one of them riders could pop one at me if he was real careful about where he aimed. But it wasn’t happening. They’d just hanged the judge, and now the law was coming at them one step at a time, and the law wasn’t slowing down.
The other feller who was real important to me was Plug Parsons, standing there like a snorty bull, his hand still on that lever he used to spring the trap and send Judge Nippers to eternity. But Parsons wasn’t edgy like the rest. He was the calmest in the lot, just watching peaceful, like this was a Sunday morning and the church bells had rung. He was armed, like all the rest, but he didn’t bother to lower his paws so he could grab iron if he needed to. He just watched, and waited, and was ready to back up Crayfish’s play.
It got real quiet. But I just kept on walkin’.
It all happened so fast I couldn’t sort it out. A bunch quit the pack and began trotting down Wyoming Street, not quite running like some yellow dogs, but just pulling out of the contest. Then a few more followed, looking back over their shoulders at me.
I just kept on walkin’. Then the rest quit the gallows, this time in a trot because I could spray a lot of buckshot into them now. And then Crayfish himself, after a frozen moment, took off hard, almost loping out of range, and wanting some distance between my buckshot and his flesh.
It was odd. I can’t explain it. The bunch was fleeing. Like they all knew what they had just done, hanging the judge. Fleeing because the law was coming and the law wouldn’t quit, and the law was still walkin’ straight toward the gallows. I watched the whole bunch flee. Except for Plug Parsons, him who slid the noose around Judge Nippers and then pulled the lever. He just stood there, sort of smiling, half protected by the gallows, but some of him showing.
I just kept on walkin’.
“You want to come with me to the jail, Plug?” I asked.
It was funny how he smiled, and said nothing, and just stood there.
“I guess I gotta collar you, Plug. Hanging a judge.”
Parsons had shaded a little behind the gallows to give himself some protection, so I just worked sideways myself, and when Plug saw how it would go, he simply pulled at his revolver, and I shot him. He took about half of them buckshot in the chest and head and toppled like a big old tree. There was a little powder smoke drifting in the breeze, and it was real quiet. Plug shivered a bit and then quit living. He was all red.
I reloaded, and watched them T-Bar men head for the Last Chance. I feared for my deputies. I didn’t know where they’d been hid or who was guarding them, but I was having a bad moment.
There wasn’t nothing to do but climb that stair to the gallows platform. I tried to pull the noose loose, but them things are designed to go one way, tighter, and I couldn’t. I dug around in my britches and found my jackknife and pretty soon sawed through the rope, and stretched the judge out on the platform, and then I cut the noose loose. He stared up at me, like he was expecting something.
“I got one and I’ll get the rest,” I told him. “That’s a promise.”
I saw Maxwell, hovering at his door, looking for business, so I waved at him. He leapt into action, and began hauling an ebony two-wheel cart out to the gallows to fetch the judge. He had a small sign screwed onto the side, that said SEE MAXWELL’S FOR A DIVINE PASSAGE. I waited, and pretty quick Maxwell pulled up. I lifted the judge, who weighed a lot, and carried him down the steps and laid him in the cart.
“You treat him good. You treat him better than you ever treated anyone in your life,” I said.
“Certainly, certainly, that’s my business,” he said. “I always treat everyone best.”
I got to thinking about that, but it still didn’t make any sense.
He took off with the judge, and I recovered my shotgun and watched him wheel that cart across the courthouse square and into his alley door. I peered around, wondering why I’d let myself stand around, but if there was someone on the square, I sure didn’t see him. It was like I was the only one on earth left alive.
I stared at Plug Parsons, or what was left of him. One of the buckshot had hit him in the mouth, shattering what was left of his teeth. Another had passed through his bull neck. Two more had hit his chest, another his arm, and one had almost severed his left hand. I didn’t much care whether Maxwell hauled him off or not.
There wasn’t nobody in that square. My ma used to tell me if there was no one that came close to me, it was time for a Saturday night bath. It wasn’t Saturday night yet, so people would have to put up with me for a while. Them T-Bar men had vanished. My pa used to quote the Good Book: The guilty flee when no man pursueth, or something like that. I could never figure out why they didn’t use plain English, like pursues, instead of that pursueth. They was fleeing, all right, and I was pursuing, and I was going to keep on pursuing.
I didn’t see a soul, but I thought a few hundred eyes was watching. I headed back to the office, thinking I owed Old Man Bragg a breakfast, even if I didn’t care whether he ate for the next week or two. I got to worrying about all them deputies of mine, and wondered whether I’d see them again, or how I could find and free them. They might not even be alive. They might also be hostages. Well, I’d find out soon enough.
When I got back to the office, there was King and Queen in there, both armed to the teeth.
Queen rushed up to me, and danged if she didn’t wrap her arms around me. I don’t mind being hugged, but not by a woman with a six-gun at her hip.
She started crying again, and pretty quick her tears were dampening my shirt, and she clung to me like I had done something real fine.
“I got things to do,” I said.
She let go, and brushed back her tears.
“I guess you two need to hear the story,” I said. “But first I got to feed you pa. He’s in there hollering for his breakfast.”
“Let him holler,” she said. “Just tell us what happened.”
There hadn’t been time to tell King Bragg when I let him out. Just that the judge had signed a stay of execution. So I told them the whole shebang, about the judge and his drinking buddy Carter Bell, who got himself swizzled enough to spill a few beans. How Crayfish had set it up. He wanted to execute them T-Bar men that was on his hit list, and thought it would be entertaining to pin the whole thing on King, and watch the kid hang for something he didn’t do.
They listened quietly.
“I got a few things to do,” I said. “I got to find my deputies. I got to arrest Crayfish for murder. I got to arrest Sammy Upward for putting them knockout drops into your red-eye and being part of it, and lying about it. I got to nab Carter Bell for lying on the witness stand and being a part of it. I’ve got to open up them graves you showed me, Queen, and maybe charge Crayfish with some more murders. I got to shut down Crayfish for good, before he starts worse trouble.”
“Carter Bell went to see Judge Nippers?” King asked.
“I took him over there,” I said. “I told him the judge was a good man to drink with.”
“You took him there?”
“Yep. He was acting sort of squirrelly, like he wanted to brag some, only he didn’t want to brag to the sheriff.”
“And that’s why the judge stopped the hanging?”
“Temporarily. He said he needed a sober confession before he’d call it off for good.”
“Am I still in trouble?”
“I got to let them lawyers figure it out,” I said.
They absorbed that bleakly.
THIRTY-FOUR
I didn’t want that skunk Admiral Bragg stinking up my jail, so I let him out. I hardly got the cell door open, but he lunged at me in a rage.
“I’ll have you strung up in a week,” he said. “Abusing prisoners.”
I pushed him aside. He stomped into the office, where King and Queen were waiting for him.
“How come he’s out?” Bragg asked. “How come he’s not hanging?”
“Because one of
the lying witnesses squealed. Crayfish did the shooting and tried to pin it on King.”
“What took you so long? How come you haven’t shot the whole lot?”
I was tired of this. “Get your ass out of here,” I said.
“You’re in trouble with me, Pickens. You’ll be out of the county in a week.”
“Father, shut up,” Queen said.
“Where are my weapons? I want my derringer,” Admiral said.
“Come back in a month and I’ll give it to you,” I said.
“You expect me to go out there unarmed?”
“Our men are waiting behind the hotel,” Queen said. “They’re ready to ride. There are horses for you and King and me. Come along, Father.”
“You telling me what to do, girl?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Come on,” King said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You telling me what to do, boy?”
“Don’t come then,” King said. “Stay here.”
“Get out right now or I’ll lock you up,” I said.
He paused, his face purpling with rage. “I strung you up once, Pickens, and next time it’ll be for real.”
I didn’t have nothing more to say to the turkey, so I just stood there.
The Bragg girl and boy finally hustled Admiral out the door. I wondered whether he’d soon be bossing those two children of his around again, but it didn’t look like it. They’d growed up overnight. They headed straight for the hotel, which was wise. I was glad to see King outside the jailhouse, alive and free. There sure would be some explaining to do when the mayor and all them people caught up with me, but I had Judge Nippers’ document in my pocket, and that’s all that mattered.
I slid out the door after locking up. I had missing deputies to hunt for and some people to invite to a hanging.
It sure was quiet. Over on the square, a rope hung from the gallows, with no noose on it. I could see Plug Parsons lying near there. A few puffball clouds were steering across a blue sky. I hardly knew where to go first, but the Last Chance Saloon seemed likely. It was funny how empty Doubtful was. The hardware was closed. So was the mercantile. So was the milliner. So was the blacksmith. The whole place looked like a ghost town. There were people peering from windows. I could see that. But there wasn’t even a dog sniffing along the street. I carried my shotgun cradled on my arm, but I didn’t see any sign of trouble. It looked like everyone in Doubtful was scared and hiding.
I got to Saloon Row, and came to the Sampling Room first, but Mrs. Gladstone had locked the door. There wasn’t any Anchor Ranch men in there. I wanted to tell them to get out, and go back to the ranch.
So I headed for the Last Chance. The double doors were shut tight. I wondered what might be on the other side. Maybe the whole T-Bar outfit, ready to blow away anyone come through there. But I didn’t see no horses at the hitch rails. When an outfit’s in town, you see the horses. I knew half of them and had ridden a few and I knew the brand, but there wasn’t no horses around Wyoming Street on this hangman’s morning. I rattled the doors, but nothing happened. I booted the door a couple of times, but no one opened. I trotted down a piss-soaked space between the two saloons and tried the alley door, but it was shut tight. So I reared back and cut loose, and smacked it open with my shoulder, and ducked to the right, expecting some flying lead. But none came at me, and I raced into that dark, stinking place where men had died and swung my muzzles around, but there wasn’t anyone to shoot.
I could have sworn someone was in there, but I didn’t see no one. I shoved the back room door open. There wasn’t any light back there, but enough come through the door so I could see bodies on the floor. One of them was twisting around some, so I dragged him by the feet into the light, and it was Rusty. I pulled the gag off his mouth and cut him loose of all that cord they’d wrapped around him.
“Knocked us cold,” he said.
“Knockout drops?”
He nodded. “You hang the boy yet?”
“I let him go. Judge Nippers—”
“Let him go? I’ll be damned.”
Rusty looked like he couldn’t make any sense of it.
I cut the rest loose, but them three were still mostly knocked out still, and Rusty didn’t look exactly useful.
“Rusty, the Bragg boy’s innocent and the judge turned him loose. Crayfish is the guilty party, just like we figured. So they hanged the judge.”
“Say that again,” he said.
That stuff was still wearing off, and he was slower than I am. I thought I wouldn’t have me any working deputies for a few more hours, and maybe not until the next day. But I sure was glad to find them alive, even if they couldn’t add two and two.
“Look, you help these fellers get themselves awake and then get out of here. Go on down to the jail and fort up. I’ve got a job to do.”
“I don’t get it,” said Rusty.
“You’ll get the whole story soon enough. I’ve got some business to do. But first tell me how you got here.”
“T-Bar men pulled us out of bed, hauled us over here, every gun pointing our way. Upward pushed some tumblers of whiskey in front of us and told us to drink up. That’s the last I knew.”
“It’s that stuff Upward’s been using,” I said. “You get back to the jail and be real careful.”
Rusty was still pretty dazed-looking, but he nodded. I hated to leave them in there unarmed, so I poked around and found Sammy’s shotgun under his bar. I didn’t see any blue bottles this time, but Sammy had a stash of that stuff somewhere. I took the shotgun back to Rusty and gave it to him. He was pretty groggy, and maybe it wasn’t the smartest move.
“This here’s some protection. It’s Sammy’s.”
Rusty nodded. “It’ll serve,” he said. “I couldn’t hit a barn with a revolver.”
“I’ve got work to do,” I said, and left them there.
Out in the alley, there wasn’t no one stirring. I wanted three men: Sammy Upward, Carter Bell, and Crayfish Ruble. Him most of all. They might still be in Doubtful. There wasn’t any reason for them to git out, what with all the deputies knocked flat and me alone. I tried to figure what Crayfish knew. He knew that Judge Nippers had stopped the execution, but he didn’t know why. Or maybe he did. If he knew someone had sung a song or two, it would have to be one of three people: Sammy, Plug Parsons, or Carter Bell, them that testified in the trial that King Bragg had shot and killed them T-Bar men. Plug was lying in the dirt at the gallows, and wouldn’t be singing any songs.
I was pretty slow to come to it, but when I did it hit me hard. If them other two witnesses got kilt, Crayfish would be home free. There’d be no one around to point the finger at him. There’d be no reason to worry about anything. I had to find them two, Sammy or Carter, and get them out of harm’s way.
I started toward Red Light Row, and sure enough, there was all them T-Bar horses tied to the hitch rails, slapping flies with their tails, yawning, and dropping green piles on the clay. At first I thought to storm into Rosie’s place, but that might not be so bright. Especially if they was all in there waiting for me to walk through the door. I thought maybe to see what I could find at Big Lulu’s house first. I eyed the windows at Rosie’s, and saw a few faces duck away, so I knew I was being watched real hard. There wasn’t going to be any surprises, and I wasn’t going to collar Crayfish unannounced. I sure wished I had some deputies handy, but that bunch was so hung over it’d be a week before they’d be back on their feet.
Lulu’s then. I eyed the windows. It was midday, not a time for much business in that trade, and most of the ladies were snoring away in there. But I pushed the door open and slid to one side. No shots met me. I got in there and took a hard look at the parlor, and all the horsehair furniture with the doilies pinned on it. It sure was quiet.
I was about to ring that bell they keep when a customer wants service, when Lulu herself showed up in her gray wrapper with the purple petunias on it.
“You got any T-Bar men in
here?”
“Why, Sheriff, I wouldn’t think of violating the privacy of my patrons.”
“You got T-Bar men? You tell me right now or I’ll shut you down real quick.”
She eyed me like I had just broken all the china. “We might have one or two,” she said.
“Where are they?”
“They are pleasuring their temporary wives, Sheriff.”
“Who are they?”
“I couldn’t possibly—well, you must be discreet.”
“If you don’t tell me real quick, I’m gonna start opening doors here and having a look-see.”
“Oh, sir, don’t do that. We don’t want to violate the sacrament.”
“Sacrament?”
“Why, their sacramental union. It’s sacred. It is a private matter between a man and a woman.”
“Well, if you don’t tell me who, and where, I’m gonna start looking in on a lot of them sacraments.”
“Surely, Mr. Pickens, you wouldn’t do anything so, so, so…distasteful?”
“I sure would. You can distaste me all you want, but I’m about to go hunting if you don’t steer me fast.”
She sighed, and I thought she would tell me she had a headache or something. She wiped her eyes with her soft hand and sighed again.
“Mr. Upward is in room seven with Mrs. Cardwell. And Mr. Bell is in room five with Mrs. Boyd.”
“Mrs. who? How come they’re married?”
“We offer experience, Sheriff. What can an inexperienced temporary wife offer? A perfect sacrament requires deep experience, and then the result is sacred. So all my ladies have been married, or may say they have.”
“All right, I’m gonna bust in on them. I want both of them fellers, and if I can catch them with their pants off, all the better.”
I headed down the hallway while she stared at me and plucked at her purple petunias.
Room seven was silent. I pressed my ear to the door and heard nothing at all. I tried the door knob, and it opened the door, and no lead blew past me. So I looked in there. There was no girl in sight. Sammy Upward lay on his back, staring open-eyed at the ceiling. He was wearin’ all his clothes, including his boots. I slapped him once or twice, but he wasn’t moving, and his lungs weren’t working, and I figured out that Sammy was history, and he’d been dosed to death with that knockout juice. Just to make sure, I looked for any bullet holes and blood, but there were none. There wasn’t a mark on him. Poor old Sammy had bought the farm this time.
Savage Guns Page 23
