He simply smiled. “See you around, fella,” he said.
Well, that was the damnedest thing I ever did see.
He waved his hand, and all them horsemen wheeled around. A pair of them dismounted and posted themselves in front of the jail, two more headed for the courthouse, while the rest hightailed for the livery barn and Rosie’s. I thought the ones ordered to guard my office and jailhouse drew straws and lost. The rest of that bunch was gonna get acquainted with Rosie’s ladies. That was going to be a hell-raising time, but it was legal and there wasn’t anything I should do about it except maybe try not to be envious.
Well, there they were, two ranch hands smiling at me like they was being friends. Only thing was, I sure didn’t know what direction that pair of bores would be pointing toward.
“You ain’t coming in,” I said, and knocked.
Burtell opened a crack, and I slid in and bolted up.
“What was all that?” he asked.
“Crayfish’s calling it a posse. I’m calling it trouble.”
I filled him in on all that. He just stood there and whistled.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” I said. “Crayfish says he’s putting two deputies, that’s what he called them, on me so I can’t go take a leak without a pair of T-Bar rannies tagging along. It sure’s a problem.”
Burtell laughed. “We’ve been had,” he said.
It was time to put my thinking cap on, which was a futile idea. Truth to tell, I didn’t have no idea what to do. The town got took over. That smart-talking bastard was two jumps ahead of me.
Ruble had taken over. I was a prisoner in my own town. If I stepped out the door, there’d be men shadowing me, seeing what I was up to. If I rode out on Critter, there’d be some of Ruble’s hands following me. If I tried to form a real posse from merchants in town, Ruble’s men would scare them off. There were tough men, strong men in Doubtful, men I’d deputize any time, but no match for the gunslicks on Ruble’s payroll. And it looked like this was going to keep right on for almost two weeks.
I decided I’d just keep on doin’ my duty, do my rounds, keep King Bragg secure inside his cell, see to the safety of them workmen when they put up the gallows, and all. And if anyone interfered, someone was gonna eat some lead.
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.”
