Savage Guns

by William W. Johnstone

  “So long, Sammy,” I said. “You can pour me one in hell.”

  I was pretty sure Carter Bell would be in the same boat, but first I went back to the parlor and got aholt of Big Lulu.

  “He’s croaked. How’d he get put in there? You tell me fast and true.”

  She looked frightened out of her wits. “Oh, sir, Mr. Ruble brought them in, Mr. Upward and Mr. Bell, and said he wanted two private rooms for them to sleep off a drunk, and they shouldn’t be disturbed, and for me to say they were enjoying the company of my temporary wives.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Just a little while ago, sir.”

  “Were Upward and Bell on their feet?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. They were joking with Mr. Ruble. It was all very jolly. He told them it was time to celebrate, and he’d foot the bill.”

  “Where’s Ruble?”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir. He left here a little later, in a very good mood.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Yes. He said, ‘Let them sleep. They need rest.’ And he said if they wanted one of my wives after they woke up, I should provide one.”

  “Did he pay you?”

  “I always expect a gratuity, Sheriff. I’m in the temporary marriage business.”

  I headed down the hall to room five, found the knob, and pushed in real quick. There was Carter Bell, faceup, eyes closed, fully clad, and dead as a mackerel. I shook him a few times. I slapped his rat-face a few times. I found a hand mirror on the dresser and held it to his nostrils and found no moisture on it. I felt his hand, which was still warm but not like he was alive. There was a half-filled tumbler of booze on the dresser. I knew what was in that booze and I knew who poured it into Bell and Upward. Just to make sure, I checked him for bullet wounds. There were none, no blood, no cuts or bruises, nothing busted.

  He sure looked natty, clean shaven, dressed real nice. “Look what you bought when you got to telling the judge a few things, Carter,” I said. “A dose of that stuff. Chloral hydrate, that’s what Crayfish served up for you. Guess you’ll be visiting the devil.”

  I closed the door and got out of there. I’d collect the bodies later.

  I knew that Crayfish Ruble was scot-free. All them witnesses that testified that King Bragg shot them T-Bar men were dead. There wasn’t nobody left to take back the court testimony, and not only was Ruble free, but King Bragg was still in trouble, and once they got some new judge in here, the boy might still be hanged for a crime he didn’t do.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  It wasn’t any trouble finding Crayfish. He was in Rosie’s parlor, running his paws over all them smiley girls, and having himself a fine time. There wasn’t anything to run from, so he was back with the ladies once again, while Rosie was watching over the parlor so things didn’t get too rowdy.

  I simply wandered in there, ready to swing my shotgun into action, but no one seemed to care any. The girls were more interesting to Crayfish than any lawman. He patted one on the behind, and she winked at him, and Rosie smiled because she might get a cut of the business.

  “You came just in time for the party, Sheriff,” Crayfish said, running a feral hand over another behind.

  “I got to take you in for questioning, Mr. Ruble.”

  He looked annoyed. “For what?”

  “We’re gonna talk about a lot of stuff,” I said.

  “Oh, the hanging. I tried to stop it. Judge Nippers was a friend, you know. But my boys didn’t much like it when he stopped the hanging, and they got a little frisky.”

  “Well, we’re gonna talk about that some.”

  “I’m not inclined to go. You can see I’m busy with important things. Try me tomorrow morning—early. We’re heading back to the T-Bar around noon.” He smiled. “Any earlier and the boys would be fighting hangovers.”

  He slid an arm around a real pretty little thing, who chirped cheerfully.

  “I’ll send him over when he’s done here,” Rosie said. “Now don’t you go cheating me out of a sale.”

  “Your sale’s gonna wait, ma’am,” I said. I turned to Crayfish. “You coming or do I get serious?”

  I moved the shotgun muzzle a notch or two, and it didn’t escape him.

  He sighed, smiled, and surrendered. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said to Rosie.

  The pretty little thing pouted and rubbed his belly.

  “Evangelina, he’s gonna stay in his pants,” Rosie said.

  “I’ll take a rain check, honey,” he said.

  I followed him out the door and into a fine June day. Doubtful was stirring a little. Them merchants was finally opening up. People had figured out there wasn’t going to be no hanging this day, at least not of the Bragg boy.

  Ruble tried to walk beside me, but I motioned him to stay in front of me.

  “It’s a pity, losing that judge,” he said. “Now that kid’s loose and who knows who he’ll kill next.”

  “We’re gonna have some real serious talk about that,” I said. Truth was, I didn’t have much to go on. All three witnesses dead. And I had no real good proof he killed the other two. No real proof of anything. But we were gonna have us a long talk anyway, him on one side of the bars, me on the other.

  A few merchants were at their doors, shouting questions.

  “Is the judge dead?” George Waller asked.

  “Yes,” I said, but didn’t want to spill any more beans. “You’ll get the story soon as I’m ready.”

  We reached the courthouse square and something was sure different. Then I knew. There was a new noose on that gallows. I’d cut off the rope to get Judge Nippers down, and now there was a big noose dangling there.

  And a mess of Anchor Ranch men swarming toward me from all sides, including behind. I spotted Big Nose George, and Alvin Ream, and Spitting Sam. Sure enough, there was Admiral Bragg hovering back a way, but I didn’t see King or Queen around. And behind me was Smiley Thistlethwaite. I didn’t see any of my deputies, and doubted I would. They was all too far gone to do much.

  “Crayfish, you keep on walkin’ straight to my office. Don’t slow down, not even if they say stop. I’ll be right behind you. We’re walking to the jail, and that’s the safest thing I can do.”

  “I should have shot you,” he said.

  But he walked steadily now, even as all them Anchor Ranch men tightened their noose around us. I could shoot a few in front of me, but them behind would make quick work of me and my prisoner. My ma used to say I could talk my way out of a whippin’, and that’s what I’d have to do.

  Big Nose George was bossing this parade.

  “Stop right there, Sheriff.”

  “You’re not going to interfere with the law.”

  Then Admiral Bragg was moving in from the side. “Matter of fact, we are. You turn him loose and we’ll turn you loose.”

  That’s when Crayfish took matters into his own hands. “Admiral! Good to see you, my friend. Our slightly retarded sheriff seems to think he can hold me on general principles.” He laughed, and veered straight toward Bragg. I could hardly swing the shotgun around before there was a mess of barrels pointing my way.

  Bragg, he smiled and shook hands with Crayfish Ruble, like they was a couple of old buddies. I’d lost my prisoner.

  “Sheriff, you’ll want to set down that shotgun real slow,” Big Nose said.

  I sure hated to do it, and thought maybe to check out by spraying the neighborhood with buckshot, but I saw how it was. So I settled that shotgun on the clay and stood up.

  “You’ll be a witness, Sheriff,” Bragg said. “A little justice, long overdue.”

  I was sort of getting the drift of this, and so was Crayfish, who smiled cheerfully.

  A few citizens were collecting, braving the chance of some stray lead flying their way. I was sure feelin’ like a fool, disarmed and standing there. But I’d be even dumber trying to shoot my way out of that one.

  Bragg, he had an arm around the neck of his new friend Ruble, smil
ing away like it was some party. And Ruble, he was chuckling and snorting and enjoying the get-together. Bragg, he was steering Ruble into the courthouse square, and all the rest of them Anchor riders were making sort of an escort for them, like a pathway straight toward that gallows. I followed along, though there were men with drawn revolvers right behind me, keeping me goin’ toward that gallows. That noose looked real big there, a good clean knot with the coils just right. I wondered who had tied it. Maybe the same Anchor Ranch feller who’d tied the noose for me when they were tryin’ to scare me into springing the kid.

  I wondered where the boy and girl were. They sure weren’t a part of this bunch. I wondered whether their old man had gotten real tough on them.

  We kept right on walkin’ straight to the gallows, and then Bragg was manhandling Ruble around toward them steps up to the platform, and Ruble, he wasn’t smiling anymore. But Ruble was no match for Bragg. Ruble had spent years tomcatting, while Bragg was running his ranch, and now it showed. It was like Ruble was being dragged by some giant force to them steps and up them steps, walkin’ where he didn’t want to go, not at all.

  And then Big Nose George was up there with a cord, binding Crayfish Ruble’s hands behind him real tight, wrapping that cord around his wrists so tight it made Ruble wince, and then they sort of pushed him onto the trap, and Crayfish wasn’t smiling at all. He was just staring at the sky. Bragg, he lowered that noose over Ruble’s head and tightened it a little and turned the knot to the left, and made sure everyone saw he was doin’ it and no one else. This was Admiral Bragg’s show, from start to finish.

  It got real quiet, and some puffball clouds skidded across the sky, shadowing the gallows and Crayfish and Bragg, even though the rest of Doubtful was blotting up sunlight. It sure was quiet. I’d never heard it so quiet. There was a mess of people watching now. Every shopkeeper in town was out, and so were all the women and children.

  Admiral Bragg pulled the lever. The trap dropped, and so did Crayfish. There was a loud crack, like maybe a neck bone was busted, and then Crayfish swung and twitched and turned real slow. And he was smiling to beat the band.

  There was that feeling you get right after you see someone die like that. You’re mostly thinking it could be you. And for a moment, I wondered if Bragg had me on his list, just as he threatened a few times. But no one was paying me any attention. I could have walked to my office and no one would have known it.

  You know, it was a funny thing. The law said this was wrong. Ruble hadn’t been tried. He’d been lynched. And I sure would have trouble coming up with real good evidence. He had killed the Jonas boys and Rocco, but proving it was something else. There was a bunch of stuff needed looking into, including them graves out on his place.

  Still, I had something to do. I pushed through them people until I got to Admiral.

  “Got to take you in, Bragg.”

  “Of course you do. But I might not go.”

  “You come along now.”

  “I tell you what. You come along with me,” he said. “To the courthouse.”

  He plunged through the gathering crowd, like a horse with no bit, and I raced along making sure I didn’t lose him. He swung open the door, and headed up them wide stairs toward Judge Nippers’ chambers, and stopped at the big desk there.

  He handed me a paper lying on the desk. It was in Nippers’ hand, all right, but I sure couldn’t make out all them curly letters. Bragg stared at me, annoyed.

  “It’s Bell’s confession. Nippers wrote it all down. How my boy was framed. And that’s Bell’s X for a signature.”

  “That don’t make it right, what you did,” I said. “You got to come in and get yourself tried for that hangin’.”

  “Come get me,” he said, “whenever you’re ready.”

  I collected that confession, before someone else took it off.

  Bragg knew he’d never spend a day in my jail, at least not for that. Them good folks in Doubtful would cut him loose, especially when they saw the confession Nippers had gotten out of Bell. I knew it too. They’d figure everything was even and justice got done. At the moment he held the cards, and the biggest one was the revolver hangin’ from his hip.

  I followed him out, into the silent square, where Crayfish Ruble was twisting and turning in the June breeze.

  “One thing more, Bragg. Where’s King and Queen?”

  “Locked in the hotel liquor closet,” he said. “They’ve betrayed me. They’ll never set foot on Anchor Ranch again.”

  “Might be a good deal for them,” I said.

  He laughed. “Cotton, you’re a card,” he said.

  I’d get over there in a moment and spring them and make sure they was both all right. They weren’t the same two Braggs as they once were, and I was sort of sneakin’ proud of them defying that holy terror of a father of theirs.

  Next I knew, all them Anchor Ranch riders were collecting their horses and riding out. I saw some T-Bar men riding out too. They’d have no payday there. I wondered who’d get the place and all them cattle out there. Them T-bar men would likely alter a few brands and take some beef with them. I thought that the whole ranch would vanish in about a week, and there’d be a few riding the owlhoot trail. There was nothing permanent about that place. Crayfish hadn’t built anything for the future. And the future ended on that gallows a little while before.

  I had some business to do out there. Four graves to open up. Four women to identify. I thought Lulu and Rosie would shed a few tears.

  There was plenty of folks standing around the square, gawking.

  “Get on away from here,” I said. “Go home.”

  But no one did.

  My landlady, Belle, as wide as she was tall, come steamin’ up. “It’s a good thing,” she said. “That Crayfish. There’s not a virtuous woman left in town, except me.”

  She looked like she wished she weren’t.

  I spotted Rusty wobbling along with Burtell and DeGraff, so all the lawmen were present at last. They paused in front of Crayfish, who was sort of smiling down at them.

  “Serves him right,” Rusty said. “You do the honors?”

  “Nope, it was Bragg done it.”

  “You arrest him?”

  “I tried to.”

  “Glad you didn’t,” Rusty said. “That Bragg. He’s a son of a bitch, but my kind of son of a bitch.”

  “He’s not my kind,” I said.

  Turn the page for an exciting preview of

  SHOOTOUT OF THE MOUNTAIN MAN

  by William W. Johnstone

  with J. A. Johnstone

  Coming in December 2010

  Wherever Pinnacle Books Are Sold!

  ONE

  Smoke Jensen was in Longmont’s saloon playing cards with a few of his friends. Louis Longmont wasn’t playing, but he was nearby, leaning up against the wall, adding his own comments to the conversation that flowed around the card table.

  Smoke was only partially participating in the conversation, and was only partially participating in the card game, as was demonstrated when he failed to respond to the dealer’s request.

  “Smoke?” Garrett said. Garrett, a stagecoach driver, was one of the other players.

  “What?”

  “How many cards?”

  “I pass.”

  “What do you mean you pass? You’ve already matched the bet.”

  “Oh, uh, I’ll play these.”

  “Smoke what’s got into you?” Louis asked. “You seem to be somewhere else.”

  “I fold,” Smoke said.

  Laying his cards facedown on the table, Smoke got up. Not until he stood, could someone get a good enough look at him to be able to gauge the whole of the man. Six feet two inches tall, he had broad shoulders and upper arms so large that even the shirt he wore couldn’t hide the bulge of his biceps. His hair, the color of wheat, was kept trimmed and he was clean shaven. His hips were narrow, though accented by the gun belt and holster from which protruded a Colt .44, its wooden handle smooth
and unmarked.

  Smoke walked to the bar, moving to the opposite end from a young man who had come in a few minutes earlier. Smoke had noticed him the moment the young man came in. He was wearing his pistol low on his right side, with the handle kicked out. He was sweating profusely, though it wasn’t that hot. He had ordered one beer as soon as he came in, but hadn’t taken more than one sip the whole time he’d been there.

  Smoke had seen men like this before, young gunsels who thought the fastest way to fame was to be known as the man who had killed Smoke Jensen. He knew that as soon as the young man got up his nerve, he would make his move. It was that, the upcoming confrontation with this man, that had taken Smoke’s mind away from the conversation and the game.

  Louis came over to the bar.

  “Are you all right, Smoke? You’re acting rather peculiar.”

  “Better not stand too close to me, Louis,” Smoke said under his breath.

  “What?”

  Smoke nodded toward the young man at the opposite end of the bar. The young man was leaning over the bar, staring into his beer with his hands on either side of the glass.

  Louis looked toward the man, then saw what Smoke had seen. It appeared that the nervous young man was trying to gather his nerve.

  “Draw me a beer, will you?” Smoke asked.

  Louis nodded, walked over to draw a mug of beer, then set it before Smoke. Without glancing again at the young man at the far end of the bar, Louis stepped away from Smoke, giving him all the room he might need.