Savage Guns

TWENTY-THREE

Things was real quiet. No one was trying to bust into the jail to hang the boy, or to bust him out. I told DeGraff to keep a sharp eye out anyway.

“We got two more days to guard him, and then it’ll be over,” I said.

“Over for the kid, that’s for sure,” he said.

My deputies had done a good job. They’d worked long hours, night and day. They were forted up and ready for trouble. And I made sure the prisoner got fed and cared for, which was something I plain insisted on after I found them fellers were ignoring the boy’s needs. Still, I sure wished it was over. I didn’t like the tension in town, like a ticking bomb, with all them T-Bar men of Ruble’s running around, drinking too much, and scaring the people half to death. They was all armed, some of them with two guns, as if they were just itching for trouble. But it wasn’t illegal for them to carry, so they did.

I unlocked the jail door and went in there to King Bragg’s cell, and found him staring at the ceiling. He barely acknowledged that I was standing there. I guess when a feller knows he’s gonna get hanged in forty-eight hours or so, he’s got a lot on his mind.

“You all right?” I asked.

He stared at me as if that was the dumbest question ever asked. Lot of people stare at me like that. My ma used to say you could learn more from the way people looked at you than from what they were saying.

“Tell me again how it happened you went into the Last Chance that day,” I said.

He just stared at me and said nothing.

“Tell me, boy. I want to know.”

“I went in because I was stupid,” the kid said. “All it cost me was my life.”

He’d about given up; I could see that. There weren’t any tears, any anger, any hope left in him.

“Well, just so I know, what did happen?”

“There’s a record in the courthouse. I was tried, remember?”

“I want you to tell it, King.”

“Why?”

“Just tell it.”

He stared silently at the ceiling, but then he did talk. “I went in there—the Sampling Room, because that’s where all the Anchor men go, and that’s where we were welcome. I got a drink from Mrs. Gladstone. She always said I was too young for hard liquor, so she’d give me a draft beer, like I wasn’t grown up yet.”

“You were wearing your sidearm?”

“Of course. My father gave it to me. I’d practiced until I was good. I burnt more powder than anyone in the valley. It was for the Anchor Ranch. For my father. We had the oldest and best place, and we’re not going to let someone like Crayfish Ruble drive us out.”

“There was more to it, wasn’t there?”

He glanced at me and then away. “I wanted to be the top dog.”

“That was a dream, wasn’t it? Being the fastest gun, the one no one could ever beat?”

“Stupid dream,” he said.

“So she poured some suds for you, and you were sipping real quiet, and then Plug Parsons come in.”

“Yeah, he walked in. He spotted me right off. Said he’d been looking for me all afternoon. Mrs. Gladstone told me Plug had been checking every few minutes to see if I was around town. The T-Bar outfit wanted to talk to me, or something.”

“What did Plug do?”

“He’s a big man, sort of all chest and shoulders, with a neck as thick as a gatepost. He came over, looked me up and down, and said, “Kid, if you think you’re man enough, come next door. Talk to Crayfish.”

“That all?”

King Bragg shut his eyes. “That’s all.”

“You followed him out?”

“No. He left. I finished my beer. I checked my loads and made sure my holster was loose. Then I went over to the Last Chance.”

I wanted to tell him that was the dumbest stunt a kid could do, but I guess he’d figured that out. So I just let him lie there. Maybe he’d say some more.

“There were a bunch in there,” he said, “and they were waiting for the son of Admiral Bragg to walk through the door.”

“Who?”

“Who cares now?” he replied.

“I care.”

“I looked around pretty close. If they were going to rag me, I wanted to know who I was up against. They were looking for trouble, and I’d give it to them.” He eyed me. “That’s why I’ve lived so long.”

“And there was Upward behind the bar, and Plug Parsons, right?”

“And Crayfish, and Carter Bell, and those three I guess I killed, Rocco and Foxy Jonas and Weasel Jonas.”

“I count seven, unless I got more fingers than I thought,” I said. “But in the trial, Upward said he didn’t see nothing because he was in the storeroom; Plug Parsons and Carter Bell, they were the witnesses against you. What happened to Crayfish himself? He was there?”

“Yes. Sort of licking his chops.”

“You ordered a drink?”

“Red-eye. That’s a man’s drink. Mrs. Gladstone had gotten to me, serving beer. So I ordered some firewater.”

“Then what?”

“Someone hit me. That’s all I know. I woke up in the sawdust with an empty gun.”

“You have a bump on your head when someone hit you?”

“No. I don’t remember. I had a headache.”

“Where’d you get hit?”

The boy just shrugged and turned away.

“Kid, I’m going to look into some things. You get some rest now.”

“I’ll get more rest than I want in a few hours.”

I left him staring into the low ceiling, locked the jailhouse door, and headed out. Crayfish had been there. That didn’t come up at the trial. Crayfish Ruble was there, with Plug Parsons, and them two brothers that was mavericking calves, and Rocco, who was sort of pimping for Ruble and maybe stirring his own pot a little. And they goaded the poor kid into going in there.

Doubtful was a different town now that the gallows was up and a noose was twirling in the breeze. People no longer stopped to stare at it, but hurried past, not wanting to see it. All the brats that hung around there had vanished, and the only person I saw was a poor old grandma in black, sitting on a bench and staring at that noose. Some crows settled on the crosspiece and crapped on the platform, and I thought I’d clean it up real good. I didn’t want any bird stuff on there when the day came. I wanted the gallows to be real clean, spotless, like a gallows should be.

I headed for the Last Chance Saloon, but Sammy Upward hadn’t opened up yet. It was still morning, and none of the joints on Saloon Row had opened up. I rattled the door, but no one came along. I walked around to the back door, on the alley, where it stank all to hell, and that was open. I walked right into that place and yelled, but Upward wasn’t around.

Maybe I was trespassing, but I didn’t let it worry me none. There was a whole book of laws I was supposed to know, but I never could get ’em figured out, so I just ignored ’em and did what needed doing. What needed doing this time was a real careful search. I wanted to know if there were bullet holes in the walls, and where the bullets came from. If the Bragg boy had pulled his revolver while standing at the bar, he’d have shot away from the bar, or at least along it. So I kept looking around for holes in the wood, and I found a few. That T-Bar bunch cut loose now and then, so there was holes every which way. It didn’t do me no good to try to pick out the ones that the Bragg boy put there. The other thing I wanted to see was what Upward saw when he was hiding from all the lead flying around after King Bragg started pulling the trigger. So I got over to the storeroom, and looked out at where Bragg was standing, and at the rest of the place, and then I stepped back, just as Sammy Upward would have ducked when them six-guns started spitting lead pills.

I also wanted to see what Upward kept under the bar. He had a sawed-off double-barrel shotgun resting there, a billy club, and way back in a dark corner, a little blue glass bottle with an eyedropper top on it. I reached for that, since I’d never seen the like. It didn’t have any label on it, but it was a blue bottle just like pharmacists use, and there wasn’t a thing that was telling me what it was. I got real curious about that bottle, and slid her into my pocket. I thought I’d see what was in there, and maybe try it out. Maybe Upward had the measles or something, and needed a dose of laudanum, or whatever they give for measles or mumps or the pox.

It fit into my pocket. If Sammy Upward was missing his medicine, he’d probably start asking his customers who done it, and meanwhile I’d find out what I could about the stuff.

I sure didn’t learn much of anything in there. I didn’t see any bullet holes in the bar itself, like maybe someone was shooting at Sammy. Maybe no one shot at Sammy because of his scattergun down there. He sure had a way of keeping order in the Last Chance Saloon. Anyway, I nipped that blue bottle, figuring I could get it back in there about as easily as I took it out, if I came early enough. So I slid into the alley. It was quiet and smelly back there, after the usual night’s piss had been cut loose, and now there wasn’t a soul anywhere.

That suited me fine. I eased out to Wyoming Street, and headed straight toward the square, with that big gallows sitting there waiting to be put to good use. The Cleggs sure done it right. Them uprights was straight and true, and the crossbar, it just laid flat up there and supported that rope. But I turned off to get to the sheriff office and jail, and passed by a couple of T-Bar riders lounging there, making sure Crayfish knew everyone that went in or came out. It wasn’t illegal for them to sit there, but I didn’t like it.

DeGraff opened up and let me in, and I was glad because he was the one I wanted to talk to. He sure knew a lot of stuff. He’d been a crook once, but went straight, and there was nothing better for a deputy than someone who knew how all that stuff worked. That was a lot more than I knew.

“I got a riddle for you,” I said. I pulled the blue bottle out of my shirt pocket and handed it to him. He looked it over, noting there wasn’t no label on it. “What’s that stuff?”

“Beats me,” he said.

“I got to tell you I lifted it out of the Last Chance, and if it’s nothing, I got to return it.”

“You stole it?”

“Well, I sorta borrowed her. It was down under Sammy Upward’s bar, hidden in a corner, near his scattergun, way out of sight.”

“That makes it real interesting,” he said. “A little blue bottle hidden under a bar.”

He unscrewed the top and sniffed, and sniffed again. “I’m not sure. We’ll have to try it out.”

“Try what?”

“Knockout drops. Chloral hydrate. About two drops of this stuff in someone’s drink, and he’s flat on his ass.”

“Like being hit over the head?”

“Sort of. It’ll drop you like you was poleaxed. Sip it, and bam, you’re down for a while, and you don’t know what end is up until it wears off. This is Sammy’s?”

“He’s the only one tending bar there.”

“I could be wrong,” DeGraff said. “It could be laudanum or something like that. Pain killer. Women buy laudanum in blue bottles and put a couple drops in water or tea to sleep good.”

“Maybe that’s all it is,” I said. “I wouldn’t know a drug from a dog turd.”

“We’ll find out,” DeGraff said.

“Don’t you go killing any dogs,” I said.

He grinned. “I like cats myself. Cats clean the rats out of my cabin. But I won’t try this on dogs. I got a better idea.”

“You’re making me itchy, DeGraff.”

He had a quart bottle of sarsaparilla sitting on the desk. He went to the door and found them two T-Bar riders sitting on the steps, taking the sun.

“You boys want some sarsaparilla?” he asked. “You’re looking hot. And it’s a long time until King Bragg swings from that rope.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” said one.

“Sounds fine to me,” said the other. “Crayfish posted us here and we gotta stay, and sometimes I think I’ll resign and take some other job.”

“I’ll bring some out,” DeGraff said. “Can’t let you in.”

He found a couple of cloudy tumblers that hadn’t been washed since Noah built his ark, and poured a little sarsaparilla in each, and then unscrewed the eyedropper and put two drops of that stuff in each tumbler and swirled it a little. Then he added a little more sarsaparilla until he had himself the cocktail he wanted.

“You sure that’s the right amount?” I asked.

“I’ve done this a few times,” DeGraff said.

You sure have to wonder about a deputy like that.

He took them two tumblers out the door and handed one to each of them riders, and they each took a good swaller, and another. Nothing happened. They just sat there for a little bit, sipping the sarsaparilla until they both tumbled over like ten pins getting hit with a ball.

“You sure they’re alive?” I asked.

DeGraff laughed. He wasn’t a laugher, but this time he laughed until all I saw was a row of yeller teeth. “It’s chloral hydrate,” he said.

I couldn’t even pronounce it, but it sure worked real good.