“That’s more than the court was told about. Do you know who?”
“I had my back to them, remember? I was buying some booze.”
“King, if you was to tell me what to look into, who to talk to, what would you tell me?”
“Crayfish Ruble was having some rustling trouble. Some mavericking too. He was itchy and wanting to stop it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Drovers talk, Sheriff.”
“What should I ask Crayfish?”
“Ask him about the rustling.”
King glared at me, wheeled away from the bars, and settled on his iron bunk. It was plain I wasn’t going to get another word from him. I wanted to.
I didn’t much care for him, but somehow, I was coming to respect the boy. I knew I shouldn’t, but my pa was always telling me I’ve got no common sense.
ELEVEN
I hurried over to the courthouse, and found Judge Nippers in his office.
He turned toward me, scowling. “It’s about time you showed up.”
“What was that all about?” I asked.
“Admiral Bragg had some plans for my future,” the judge said. He frowned until his weathered face looked like a creased prune. “But you changed his plans.” He glared at me. “Sit! Why are you standing there like an idiot? What are you, my butler?”
I eased down into one of them oaken swivel chairs, and pushed my holster around some so it wouldn’t jab at my leg. I never much fancied carrying six-guns all over. Them things are so heavy I’ll probably end up with one hip lower than the other.
“A social visit, he said. Lunch at the hotel. When I saw that extra nag tied next to theirs, I knew what’s what, and made sure I had my old pepperbox handy. You ever see one?” He pulled a pepperbox pistol out of his bosom. The thing had five barrels. By yanking on the trigger, one could move a loaded barrel under the hammer and discharge it. “Sprays a lot of lead, sometimes in my face,” he said. “Damn thing. But it’s a croaker, all right.”
He put it away, for which I was grateful because them pepperboxes are famous for going off unexpected.
Nippers adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles and eyed me like I was some sort of dead fish.
“Admiral Bragg had nefarious designs, Sheriff. He wanted me to vacate the sentence, call off the necktie party, and when I told him the hell with that, he suggested maybe he’d carry me off and then trade me for the boy. Hold me hostage, in case that doesn’t quite sink into your noggin.”
I never heard that word nefarious before, but I sort of figured it out. “How was he gonna do that, Your Honor?”
“The virgin Queen had some artillery aimed at my crotch beneath the white linen tablecloth, he told me, and we’d casually finish our delicious repast, and then the Braggs would cheerfully escort me to the third nag out there, and we would cheerfully ride away.” He studied me to see if I was getting all this, and decided I was. “Only, you came in, which shifted the game a little. It no longer seemed like a good idea to shoot my balls off.”
“What were all his men doing in town?”
“Oh, who knows? Maybe just keeping Ruble’s crowd at bay. Ruble’s gang wants to bust into your lockup and hang the boy just as badly as Bragg’s gang want to bust him out. But I think that what happened today wasn’t what Admiral Bragg had in mind. His first purpose was to spring the boy—arm him and help him get out. But you kept messing him up, Pickens, putting yourself between him and his plans. Now isn’t that a thigh-slapper?”
I never could quite figure Nippers out, but I sort of wished Bragg had taken him hostage, just as an educational experience. Nippers had a lot more smarts than I ever would, but sometimes smarts ain’t the equal of a six- gun.
“I ain’t got much thigh-slappin’ in me, Your Honor.”
He cackled. I’d enjoyed that cackle. Nippers had cackled clear through the trial, mostly at King Bragg’s claim that he didn’t remember anything.
“What you gonna do now?” he asked.
“Arrest the pair of them. They were obstructing justice.”
“Good luck. And who do you want to replace you?”
“King Bragg,” I said, and wondered why I said it.
“Make sure he’s hanged first. And if you value your privates, don’t let Queen point a gun your way.”
“She already has, Your Honor. And she didn’t pull the trigger.”
By the time I got outside and was walking the courthouse square, I could see all them Bragg cowboys were gone. There was hardly a horse hitched on Wyoming Street. I debated whether to ride out to Anchor Ranch right off and drag the pair of them into town. That didn’t seem too bright an idea, but you never know. Hitting ’em when they least expect it is a good idea itself. But I let it pass. I’d toss them behind bars soon enough. I’d put the whole Bragg outfit behind bars if I had to.
I didn’t know what to do. This sheriff business was mostly annoying me, and I wondered how come I wore the star. My ma, she always said, put your thinking cap on. I’ve seen a dunce cap, but never a thinking cap, and I
