Savage Guns

THIRTEEN

Burtell was shuffling through dodgers, them flyers that come in the mail with pictures of wanted men on them. It was one way of beating the boredom.

“Sheriff,” he said, “you seen these?”

He handed me a couple of old dodgers, printed three years ago. They’d been sent up from Colorado. A sheriff down there was looking for a pair of rustlers and holdup men, Foxy and Weasel Ramshorn. I stared real hard at those drawings, and even if the ink was bad, them two fellers did look a lot like Foxy and Weasel Jonas, the pair that were lying out in the cemetery after King Bragg emptied his revolver into them. But it was pretty tough to say these were the same fellers. That was the trouble with dodgers. A few had photographs, but most had bad drawings and bad descriptions, and it wasn’t easy to make any sense of them.

This pair of bad-asses was wanted for rustling, for robbing a Denver and Rio Grande train, and for holding up a Pueblo state bank. They was also wanted for questioning in the death of a rancher down there named Jarred Bobwhite, who was found in four pieces on his front porch after he’d filed charges against them brothers. That happened in Sterling, out on the plains.

“You think that pair of saints is the same pair as got shot here?” Burtell asked.

“Danged if I know,” I said.

They was described as medium height, dark, thin, and Foxy was missing an earlobe. They were considered armed and dangerous, and there was a thousand-dollar reward dead or alive for each one. That interested me some. I was wondering what King Bragg was going to do with two grand.

I took them dodgers back into the jail and found King Bragg pacing.

“These the pair you shot?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Sheriff, I’ve told you twenty times—”

“Yeah, I know. But do these dodgers remind you of anyone?”

He stared. I held them dodgers on my side of the bars, not wanting him to tear them up.

“Yes. Those are Ruble’s men. I’m sure of it.”

“There’s a reward. You applying for it?”

He glared at me, and whirled back to his metal bunk.

“I guess that wasn’t a good question,” I said.

But he wasn’t talking no more, so I let him stew back there. Maybe his old man would get the reward money if it could be proven. Maybe King Bragg did the world a favor, getting rid of them two Ramshorn brothers.

“I guess I better write that sheriff down there, Carl Cable is his name,” I said. I dreaded writing a letter. I’d written only one or two in my life, and now I was stuck with writing another one. But maybe I could get Judge Nippers to do it. Nippers would know how to string all them words together.

But I thought maybe there was something else for me to do first. I stuffed them dodgers into my pocket.

“I’m gonna show these to Crayfish,” I said. “You hold the fort now.”

Burtell nodded. He was piling through more dodgers. Now that he’d discovered something real interesting in that stack, he was hell-bent to find some more. I knew he was looking for a dodger on that other feller King Bragg dispatched, the one called Rocco whose last name no one knew. He was just Rocco and he was cold in the ground.

I let myself out, and Burtell locked up after me. It sure was a fine spring day. Them two hardcases guarding the place for Crayfish nodded, but didn’t follow me. He’d put them there to keep Anchor Ranch men from busting in, and there they stood.

I was pretty sure I knew where to find Crayfish. He’d be upstairs in Rosie’s Parlor House, along with most of his crew. I guess that was as good a place as any if you’re going to take over a town for two weeks. Rosie’s was actually behind Saloon Row, across the alley, and discreetly out of sight for anyone ridin’ into town. You have to give Rosie credit for that. The less visible she was, the better for her business. Her place was another of them board-and-batten buildings that was so common in Doubtful, the kind of structure that can be gotten up fast, and could be ditched without no pain if Doubtful disappeared, the way most Western towns did. So it was just another weathered brown two-story building hidden away. But Rosie was always a little different. She had a big veranda on the front, and a mess of flowers growing in pots there, makin’ the place look nice. Her front door was enameled bright blue, and had a little eye-hole in it. There was only a couple of windows downstairs, mostly frosted glass to discourage peepers, but there wasn’t much to be peepin’ at downstairs. A bar-room with a piano and red velvet drapes, a nice little parlor with a few stuffed chairs, and a small kitchen. A feller could go in there and have a drink and sort of meet the help, which drifted through there in little gauzy outfits.

There was a big old stairway going upstairs, and maybe eight or ten little cribs there, and Rosie’s suite, which was two rooms nicely furnished. Like most places in Doubtful, you had to slip outside to the crappers behind there on the alley if you had the need. The ladies had one of their own sort of off to the side, in a private fenced yard. Rosie usually had half a dozen ladies engaged in the trade, plus herself and a barkeep and a clean-up boy or girl.

It was sure a fine day, bright warm sun, and I enjoyed my hike over there. There was a mess of geraniums in pots on that porch. I knocked on the blue door, and pretty soon it got opened up by a maid in black, wearin’ a little white apron. She saw my badge, and hesitated.

“I’m just gonna palaver with Crayfish,” I said.

“He doesn’t want to be bothered, Sheriff.”

“Well, I guess I’ll bother him anyway. Where’s he at?”

“Ah, I’m not supposed—well, you could find him in Miss Rosie’s rooms.”

She looked mighty worried.

I smiled. “I’ll just go knock, and I won’t say who steered me there.”

She nodded, looking real worried.

I could see there was a few of the T-Bar Ranch hands lollygaggin’ around in the parlor and the bar, sipping red-eye and looking bored. The girls was leavin’ them alone. They’d likely had their fill, and was just passing time now. There was a few more of them hardcases upstairs. The doors to half them rooms was open, and about every other room had a T-Bar man lying buck naked in there.

I just waved as I passed, and headed toward Rosie’s rooms, which fronted on the street above the veranda. Sure enough, Rosie’s door was shut tight, so I just rapped.

“Whoever you are, beat it,” Rosie yelled.

“It’s your old pal Cotton,” I replied.

“Come back some other time. I got a customer.”

“I got to talk with Crayfish, and right now, Rosie.”

Crayfish answered. “All right, all right, let me get out of the saddle.”

I waited real polite, and finally Crayfish, he just says to come in.

The pair of them was lying side by side on that fourposter bed. They both had their south half covered with a sheet. She sure was pretty, even if she was twice my age. I’d heard she was on the shady side of forty, but except for some little crow’s-feet around her brown eyes, you couldn’t tell. Crayfish, he was just a mess of curly chest hair and arm hair and neck hair not worth a second glance. They was just lounging there, sort of smirky, waiting for me to present my business to them, and enjoying the whole shebang. Me, I was getting annoyed, not knowing how to do my sheriff business with a half-naked gent and lady staring up at me.

“Well?” said Crayfish.

I could hardly keep my eyes off Rosie, but she was just smiling there, enjoying it, waiting for whatever would happen. I had the itch to escape and do my sheriffing some other day, but now that I was there in Rosie’s Parlor House, I thought maybe I’d just get myself together and get her done.

“I come to show you some dodgers,” I said, trying to be dignified, which wasn’t easy.

“Well, you’re interrupting a business conference I’m having with Rosie,” he said.

“I got some sheriff business,” I replied.

“I’m thinking of buying out Rosie. I always wanted my own cathouse,” Crayfish said. “And you’ve got to know the merchandise. It’s called due diligence. I’ve got to know the merchandise backward and forward, from top to bottom.”

I didn’t have no answer to that, so I just swallered hard and sort of got things pulled together in my head.

“I need for you to look at these dodgers,” I said. “We found them in my office. It looks like these two fellers, the Ramshorn brothers, are the same as got kilt by King Bragg. Only here they was using a different name, Jonas. There’s Colorado warrants on them for rustling and a few items like that. I thought maybe you could tell me for sure whether these fellers in the pictures are the same as got kilt in the Last Chance.”

I handed him the dodgers, and Crayfish, he gets out of the bed and fetches his spectacles and has a look.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Jonas brothers weren’t so dark and skinny, and younger.”

“They got the same first names, Foxy and Weasel.”

“Well, half the drovers I hire have got strange monikers like that. I’ve got a Tiger and a Blue and a Rabbit and a Bullwhip. No, Sheriff, these are not my boys.”

“Let me see,” Rosie said.

Crayfish handed the dodgers to her, and she studied them real good. “They all come in here sooner or later, you know. I see just about every drover and ranch hand in the valley. And I’ve never seen this pair of Ramshorns. But all I can see on these dodgers are the faces, and I hardly ever look at faces.”

She handed the dodgers back.

“I got wind somewhere that the Jonas brothers, they were picking off a steer now and then from you,” I said to Crayfish.

“From me? They were good men. Reliable men. I’ve felt the loss ever since the Bragg boy killed them.”

“You weren’t losing beeves to them?”

“Go talk to my foreman, Plug Parsons. Tell him I sent you. He’s in one of these rooms in here.”

“You’re pretty sure these Ramshorn boys in the dodgers got nothing to do with the Jonas boys?”

He sighed. “You’re interrupting my business conference, Sheriff. I hoped to find out whether to purchase this place.”

I guess there wasn’t much more to ask Crayfish Ruble. Them two was mighty eager for me to get out. The funny thing is, I didn’t believe Crayfish. It was two Colorado rustlers and train robbers we got in the Doubtful cemetery, even if Crayfish wasn’t admitting it. But there wasn’t much I could do about that. If Crayfish wanted some outlaws on his payroll, that was his business. I thought maybe he was using them two outlaws to lift a few beeves off of Admiral Bragg’s pastures. It sure made sense.

They was waiting there for me to get out, but just to be ornery I stuck around a little.

“Sure a sunny day,” I said.

Rosie, she caught me staring at her, and smiled. “I’d enjoy your business, Sheriff,” she said.

Well, I’d enjoy hers, no doubt about it. But right now there was this thing in my head. I wanted to find out whether Crayfish knew about them Jonas boys. In fact there was a heap of stuff I wanted to find out, and maybe I could worm a little out of Sammy Upward, even if he was some put out with me.

“I reckon I’ll let you get back to business,” I said.

Rosie, she winked at me, but Crayfish, he looked like he was just getting mad.

I sort of strolled slow to the door, not wanting them to think I was in any rush to get out of there, and at the door I turned for a last glance, and they was just staring at me. So I got out, and started looking for Plug Parsons to see what he knew about them brothers. He was still around Doubtful after all in spite of what Upward told me. But Plug wasn’t in the parlor house. I tried most every door, interrupting business here and there, but I never did find Plug. I thought he’d give me some straight answers on the Jonas brothers, and maybe he’d have a word or two for me about that other one King Bragg shot, the one called Rocco.

I got out of the parlor house and sucked in some fresh air. Too much perfume in that place. I headed for the Last Chance, hopin’ to find out a little more, and when I walked in, I knew I was real lucky, because standing at the bar and talking with Upward was Plug Parsons himself.