“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.
