“My ma says I’m big for my age,” I said.
He kneed me but missed. His ham fist swung around behind me, but I shoved him down fast and hard. He landed in manure, and sprang up quick, reaching for his Peacemaker. But he was slower than me; mine was out and pointed. He saw that muzzle aimed between his eyeballs and sort of settled down some. His hat rested on a pile of fresh green apples.
“Now answer my questions, and do it right,” I said.
He just stared at me.
“What happened when King walked in?”
Plug was beet red, hotter than a boiler.
“Who was in there? You and Upward and who else?”
Plug, he just glared.
“What knocked that boy into the sawdust?”
Plug was steaming now, and a little blood oozed from a cut lip.
“Who shot those three T-Bar men?”
Plug’s eyes gave him away. He wasn’t very good at hiding things. But neither was he talking.
“Whose gun kilt them men?”
This time he answered quietly. “It’s all in my sworn testimony.”
“Your testimony’s a lot of bull.”
He was standing there, wondering which way to jump.
“Lean against that wall,” I said. “Hands high.”
He was slow about it, but he obeyed, and I grabbed his revolver.
“All right, I’m locking you up. Walk in front of me.”
“For what?”
“I’ll think of something,” I said.
I could see he was about to try something, so I buffaloed him. That barrel made a dent in his skull, but it taught him a little respect.
“Walk,” I said.
He wobbled out of the livery barn, me behind him, and headed along the street, making a spectacle. But no one stopped us.
There was a couple of them T-Bar men lounging around the sheriff office.
“I’ve got an itchy finger,” I told them.
Plug shook his head and they got the message.
Rusty must have seen me coming, because the door swung open and I jabbed Plug into the office. The door swung shut behind us.
“What’d he do?” Rusty asked.
“I’ll figure it out,” I said.
Rusty opened the iron door to the cells, and we patted down Parsons and then shoved him into one and slammed the door. Across the aisle, King Bragg was staring at us.
Parsons had a lump on his head, and rubbed it. “What to know something?” he said. “I’m going to kill you. Maybe not now, but soon. You can count on it. And if I don’t, my men will. There’s not a one wouldn’t plug you on sight. You and everyone you hire. You know what, Sheriff? You just bought the ranch.”
EIGHTEEN
I let Plug cool down a couple of hours, and then headed into the cell block. He was standing with those ham hands on the bars, glaring away.
“You can go,” I said.
It sure startled him some.
“You ain’t done nothing much except grab my shirt and cuss me out. I guess I can forget that fast enough.”
He simply dead-eye glared at me so much, I thought to go real easy. I was ready—just in case.
I unlocked the cell door, and he bulled through hard, maybe to knock me off balance, but he saw I was ready, with a billy club that I knew how to use hard and fast.
Instead, he simply stopped and fixed me with that glare. “I’ll kill you soon as I can, Pickens. I’ll kill you and kick in your face and hang you from the nearest tree. It don’t matter whether I kill you face-to-face with a short gun or shoot you in the back with a long one, because either way, you’ll be cold meat.”
“You go cool down at Rosie’s, and stay quiet. I don’t want to see you runnin’ around Doubtful for a while.”
He clenched those ham hands, and I stepped slightly back. I was waiting for him, and he saw it. He knew what
