Savage Guns

NINE

Critter was nipping at me, and I didn’t blame him. I’d been neglecting him. He hated being in Turk’s livery barn, and usually took it out on me with his big buck teeth. If I had big teeth like his, I’d nip him back.

I tried to get over to see him every day, but sometimes I got waylaid. He kept track, and let me know when I was lettin’ him down. If I really messed up, he kicked the hell out of me.

I found some oats and poured some into the manger, but he wasn’t done with me. He backed around until he was shoving me into the side of the stall, just to let me know who came first.

“All right, we’ll get out this afternoon,” I said. “So cut it out.”

He decided his oats were more interesting than me, and got to licking them out of the manger.

“That horse’ll likely kill you some day,” Admiral Bragg said.

He had ridden into the livery barn on his handsome blood bay, and Queen was beside him on a palomino. She was riding sidesaddle this time, though she was sitting astride the other night when she stopped me. I guess maybe she did what her daddy wanted when he was around, and what she wanted when he wasn’t. But in town, she was always riding sidesaddle, very ladylike. I never quite knew why no woman was supposed to ride astride, but it had to do with their anatomy, and I never did figure it out. I thought maybe it was something preachers invented, but mostly it was a way of riding for rich women. It sure was nothing I was gonna worry about.

I thought she might favor me with a little smile, but all I got from her was a haughty stare. I should’ve known. Queen was just being Queen, and Cotton Pickens was nothing but a worm. Oh, well. My ma used to tell me, look twice at a woman because she’ll change in a flash. I hardly have had a chance to test that one out, but I sure been meanin’ to.

I greeted the pair and helped her down, as he dropped off the bay. Her hand was colder than a glacier. Lazarus, the hostler, took them horses off, and began brushing them down.

“I’m glad I found you here, Sheriff. We’re going to visit my boy.”

Admiral Bragg wasn’t asking, but I don’t suppose he had to.

“All right. I don’t keep family from him.”

We stepped onto Wyoming Street, and first thing I noticed was a mess of horses, most of them with the Anchor brand on their left hip, tied to the hitch rail in front of Mrs. Gladstone’s. That was the name of the saloon, a few doors up from the Last Chance. Mrs. Gladstone’s Sampling Room was where the Anchor cowboys collected. I knew a few of them nags. Jesse Tilton was in town, and so was Wiley Wool. Both of them were handy all-around cowboys, tough as they come. Wool was quick with fists, and knew some Oriental moves that meant he could usually flatten someone he was brawling with. And there were other Anchor rannies over there, most of them plenty familiar with sidearms. Sure as could be, there was Big Nose George’s dun horse, and Spitting Sam’s and Smiley Thistlethwaite’s plugs right next door. Most of the Anchor Ranch outfit had pulled into Doubtful, and I knew they was all wetting their parched throats in there.

This was starting to get interesting.

“All right,” I said to Admiral and Queen, “come along.”

We hiked to the courthouse square and the county sheriff office and jailhouse, and I knocked.

“Who?” yelled Rusty.

“Me, with Mr. Bragg and Miss Bragg, come to visit.”

“Is that all right?” he asked.

That meant, was everything okay?

“Yeah, open up.”

The door swung, and Rusty was in there with a drawn six-gun. He let us in and then locked the door behind him.

“Rusty, put on the log that the Braggs are here,” I said.

Then I remembered he couldn’t write none. “Never mind, I’ll do it,” I said. I can spell pretty good, and didn’t have no trouble with Queen. It was Q-W-E-E-N.

Rusty, he’s lookin’ at me and then at Admiral, who was all swelled up in a gray swallowtail coat that seemed to bulge here and there. I nodded to Rusty.

“Looks like we got to do a little checking here,” I said. “I mean, we got to frisk you, sir.”

He was annoyed. “No, you don’t.”

“Well, I can’t let you in there to palaver with King unless we do. And come to think of it, I can’t let Miss Bragg in there. She ain’t friskable.”

That got me two icy stares.

“Take me to the boy, and be quick about it,” Bragg said.

I sighed. There was no way I could back down. Not against a man like that, who probably had a few derringers, toad-stabbers, stilettos, and loose cannons under that lumpy coat. Plus a couple of jail keys, a hacksaw, a file, and lock-pickin’ stuff. And there was no tellin’ what Queen Bragg had under there, and I got red in the cheeks just thinkin’ about all them hiding places. But there wasn’t any way outa this except a frisking.

“You can take off that gray coat, and slide out of the boots, and Rusty here will give them pants a quick pat.”

I could feel the fires blazing in that rancher, and I thought he was about ready to explode like one of them steam boilers. Either that or he’d pull out one of them hidden cannons and start givin’ us what-for. But I guess he remembered he had a daughter beside him, so he curbed the volcano building up in him.

“Bring the boy here,” he said.

“No, he stays locked safe and tight.”

“Tell the boy he will live a lot longer than you.”

“I might tell him you said it.”

“Tell the boy if they harm a hair on his head, there’s going to be not one stone standing of this jail and the courthouse; that Doubtful will disappear; that Puma County, Wyoming, will vanish from memory. And every official with it.”

“I guess that’s a threat. Sure sounds like a dilly. We’ll write it up.”

“If you can write,” he said.

That made me mad. I did five grades and part of the next.

I turned to Queen. “You want to add anything, miss?”

She closed her eyes, and for a moment I could see pain radiating from her face. Then she stared at me.

“That goes double for me.”

Rusty, his hand was never far from his six-gun. He saw them lumps under the gray swallowtail. I got to thinkin’ something else. Who might be collecting outside?

“All right, since you ain’t cooperating, you’ll have to get out now.”

“I think we’ll stay,” Admiral said.

This wasn’t playing out the way I’d hoped it would. Twenty of them gunslicks over at Mrs. Gladstone’s, and the boss and his daughter in with me. I saw Rusty chewing on this too, and nodded to him to open them doors. If they wouldn’t get out clean, they’d get tossed out on their ass.

I didn’t waste time. The sawed off ten-gauge was right there, so I simply stepped over and jacked a cartridge in and swung it toward the gent, who was too busy glarin’ at me to draw his own artillery.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

“Obstructing justice,” I said.

Rusty peered out, and then swung the door open.

“You got two choices. Leave now, or let yourself get frisked before you get taken to the boy. If you’re carrying guns or tools or keys, I’ll toss you in there with him.”

I thought that feller was going to explode, but he didn’t. He steered Queen out, and Rusty and me stood at the door a moment, watching the Braggs vamoose. They crossed the square and vanished somewhere.

“It ain’t over,” Rusty said.

“You mind watching the place? I’m going out there.”

“You’re crazy. They’re fixing to bust King out.”

“I think they were. But not now. Admiral thought he’d slip something to his boy. I’m going to wander into the Sampling Room.”

Rusty stared. “You’re crazy, Cotton. We’re in the middle of a jailbreak. What if they grab you and hold you hostage? Trade you for King Bragg?”

“Don’t do it. No trades. That’s an order. No matter what they threaten, just don’t.”

Dusty sighed. “Good way to get yourself kilt.”

“Where’s DeGraff?”

“He’s coming in at six.”

“All right, you’ve got the afternoon to kill. Talk to King. Maybe you’ll find out some things.”

“He’ll just tell me he’s pure as the driven snow,” Rusty said.

“He might be at that, Rusty.”

The deputy started wheezing. He thought that was pretty rich.

“Truth to tell, Rusty, I’m kinda itchy about this. I wish the trial had got into things a little better. Maybe the Bragg boy’s being hustled to a grave he don’t belong in.”

“He belonged in one by the time he was eleven,” Rusty said.

Rusty let me out. Doubtful was pretty quiet. It sure was a nice May day. There was a knot of horses down at the end of Wyoming Street, and most would be Anchor branded. I started with a sweep around the courthouse square, thinking it would make sense to look for surprises. I poked down alleys, looked into mercantile windows, and checked brands of horses. But I sure didn’t spot nothing amiss. I stopped in the courthouse, waved at yawning clerks, and peered into empty rooms, and then hiked out the main drag, Wyoming, toward Saloon Row. But I didn’t go into the Sampling Room. Not yet. I wanted to see what else was going on there. Like maybe a bunch of horses at the hitch rail in front of the Last Chance. There was only two or three nags there; not much happening in Upward’s watering hole. He was probably sitting on a stool there polishing the bar, which is what he did when there wasn’t anything else to occupy him. I liked Upward. One of these days he’d pour me a free drink. It hadn’t happened in three years, but it would. If Upward liked you, you could drink cheap.

Mrs. Gladstone’s Sampling Room was long and narrow, with double doors in front and a skinny bar down the right side. There was a row of tables along the other wall, and a sort of poker parlor at the rear, with a door going out to the two-hole piss palace. Only her customers never got that far. They mostly leaked into the alley, which didn’t improve the way things smelled around Doubtful.

I pulled open the door and stepped in. It sure was dark. Mrs. Gladstone, she hadn’t lit any lamps yet because the sun was still shining, and enough light got through the window in front to let her pour. She was behind the bar, not doing much of anything, wearing her usual white smock and one of them white thingamabobs on her hair to keep it from flying in all directions. But pretty near the whole payroll of Anchor Ranch was in there, all right. I didn’t see Admiral Bragg, or Queen, but the rest was lined up in a long solemn row down the bar, one foot to the rail, and a few was sitting at the tables. Her dealer, Cronk, sat at the rear, presiding over an empty green table with a single lamp burning to supply light to players. But he sure didn’t have no customers.

The place was uncommon quiet. Most of them slicks didn’t even have a bottle of Valley Tan in front of them. They was just standing there: Alvin Ream, Big Nose George, Spitting Sam. They was carrying sidearms, all right. There was a lot of metal hanging off of one or both thighs. Well, there was no law against it in Doubtful.

They looked me over, and I looked them over, and one thing was clear. The whole bunch of them was waiting for something.