“You can tell me, but it won’t budge me one iota.” He took a hearty sip of whiskey, just to make his point.
“Them three that got kilt, the Jonas brothers and the one called Rocco, they was bad apples, with some dodgers on them for rustling and stuff.”
“Good riddance then.”
“Yeah, well, there’s some calves out on the T-Bar with altered brands, like they’d been mavericked. And I was sort of wondering how Crayfish Ruble is dealing with that. Maybe the Jonas brothers were nipping calves from their boss. And Rocco was in there somehow.”
Nippers smiled. “Why, obviously Crayfish arranged for the Bragg boy to come into the Last Chance and blow them off.”
He was chortling, but damned if that wasn’t what was gonging in my head these times.
“Judge, they sort of goaded him to go over there to the Last Chance. He was drinkin’ an ale nice and peaceful over to the Sampling Room, when Ruble’s foreman, he come in and began working on the boy, getting him to come next door because they was saying stuff about Admiral Bragg.”
“Well, Admiral Bragg deserves everything they say about him.”
“So the kid went over there, ordered a drink, and someone hit him and next he knew he was on the floor holding his hot revolver, and there’s bodies around.”
“Yes, yes, that’s all in the trial record.”
“What if the boy didn’t do it?”
Nippers stared. “You got even the tiniest shred of evidence?”
“King Bragg don’t remember it.”
Nippers guffawed and wiped more flaky flesh off his jowls. “You got to do better than that, boy.”
I could see how it was going, and I was getting mad myself. I’ve got a temper, and that judge was working it. “I’ll keep looking, and if I find out something, I’m coming back here and I’m going to ask you to stop this hanging.”
“Fat chance,” he said, and nipped another.
I got out of there. Nippers had already hanged the boy in his mind, and wouldn’t be changing anything before the necktie party. Maybe the boy was guilty as hell; that’s what the jury said. But Nippers wasn’t going to help much even if I found some new evidence.
I knew who I wanted to talk to. That dirtbag foreman Plug Parsons, him who lured King Bragg over to the other bar, and testified that the boy killed three men there. Plug was always sort of smirky, and I never much cared for him, but now I cared even less. He’d either be at Rosie’s or at the Last Chance Saloon, so I hightailed it over to the saloon and looked around in there, but I didn’t see him. There was a mess of T-Bar men in there, whistling at me when I walked in, and makin’ jokes, but no Parsons. Upward, he just stared at me and then watched me leave. I wasn’t welcome around there, but where is a sheriff ever welcome?
So maybe it would be Rosie’s. I walked right in, past the unlit red lamp, it being afternoon. The place stank. The T-Bar men smelled worse than hogs. Parsons, he wasn’t in the parlor or kitchen or nowhere downstairs, so I tried all the doors upstairs, and checked out a couple of snoring males, but Parsons wasn’t in there either. I guess I just would have to wait. Truth to tell, I was itching to grab a fistful of shirt and hammer on Parsons until he talked. But first I had to find him.
Doubtful ain’t a big place, but a man could still hide himself in town for a while if he wanted to. I didn’t see anyone resembling Parsons, who was pretty solid beef from head to toe, so I decided to check on Critter. I hiked over to Turk’s livery barn and found Critter gnawing on the gate, which was bad. You don’t want a gate-chewin’ horse around.
“Cut it out,” I yelled.
Critter just yawned.
“You’ll wear down your teeth and die young,” I said.
“You talking about me?” someone asked.
It was Plug Parsons, standing in the aisle behind me.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I got some questions to ask about that night that the T-Bar men got shot.”
“I’ve already testified, Sheriff.”
“I got a few more ends to tie up. Did you go into the Sampling Room and dog the boy some?”
Parsons yawned. “I thought maybe you wanted to talk about something else. That was weeks ago. Forget it.”
“We’re gonna talk about that, and I want some answers. What did you tell the boy? Why did you lure him over to the Last Chance?”
Parsons hoisted his gun belt around a little, and I didn’t miss it.
“You trying to spring that little killer, Sheriff?”
“Maybe he should be sprung,” I said.
He grabbed a handful of my shirt and yanked me tight. It didn’t surprise me. Some foremen are like that.
“You’re a two-bit punk with a shiny badge,” he said. “Grow up.”
