was shooting at Sammy. Maybe no one shot at Sammy because of his scattergun down there. He sure had a way of keeping order in the Last Chance Saloon. Anyway, I nipped that blue bottle, figuring I could get it back in there about as easily as I took it out, if I came early enough. So I slid into the alley. It was quiet and smelly back there, after the usual night’s piss had been cut loose, and now there wasn’t a soul anywhere.
That suited me fine. I eased out to Wyoming Street, and headed straight toward the square, with that big gallows sitting there waiting to be put to good use. The Cleggs sure done it right. Them uprights was straight and true, and the crossbar, it just laid flat up there and supported that rope. But I turned off to get to the sheriff office and jail, and passed by a couple of T-Bar riders lounging there, making sure Crayfish knew everyone that went in or came out. It wasn’t illegal for them to sit there, but I didn’t like it.
DeGraff opened up and let me in, and I was glad because he was the one I wanted to talk to. He sure knew a lot of stuff. He’d been a crook once, but went straight, and there was nothing better for a deputy than someone who knew how all that stuff worked. That was a lot more than I knew.
“I got a riddle for you,” I said. I pulled the blue bottle out of my shirt pocket and handed it to him. He looked it over, noting there wasn’t no label on it. “What’s that stuff?”
“Beats me,” he said.
“I got to tell you I lifted it out of the Last Chance, and if it’s nothing, I got to return it.”
“You stole it?”
“Well, I sorta borrowed her. It was down under Sammy Upward’s bar, hidden in a corner, near his scattergun, way out of sight.”
“That makes it real interesting,” he said. “A little blue bottle hidden under a bar.”
He unscrewed the top and sniffed, and sniffed again. “I’m not sure. We’ll have to try it out.”
“Try what?”
“Knockout drops. Chloral hydrate. About two drops of this stuff in someone’s drink, and he’s flat on his ass.”
“Like being hit over the head?”
“Sort of. It’ll drop you like you was poleaxed. Sip it, and bam, you’re down for a while, and you don’t know what end is up until it wears off. This is Sammy’s?”
“He’s the only one tending bar there.”
“I could be wrong,” DeGraff said. “It could be laudanum or something like that. Pain killer. Women buy laudanum in blue bottles and put a couple drops in water or tea to sleep good.”
“Maybe that’s all it is,” I said. “I wouldn’t know a drug from a dog turd.”
“We’ll find out,” DeGraff said.
“Don’t you go killing any dogs,” I said.
He grinned. “I like cats myself. Cats clean the rats out of my cabin. But I won’t try this on dogs. I got a better idea.”
“You’re making me itchy, DeGraff.”
He had a quart bottle of sarsaparilla sitting on the desk. He went to the door and found them two T-Bar riders sitting on the steps, taking the sun.
“You boys want some sarsaparilla?” he asked. “You’re looking hot. And it’s a long time until King Bragg swings from that rope.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said one.
“Sounds fine to me,” said the other. “Crayfish posted us here and we gotta stay, and sometimes I think I’ll resign and take some other job.”
“I’ll bring some out,” DeGraff said. “Can’t let you in.”
He found a couple of cloudy tumblers that hadn’t been washed since Noah built his ark, and poured a little sarsaparilla in each, and then unscrewed the eyedropper and put two drops of that stuff in each tumbler and swirled it a little. Then he added a little more sarsaparilla until he had himself the cocktail he wanted.
“You sure that’s the right amount?” I asked.
“I’ve done this a few times,” DeGraff said.
You sure have to wonder about a deputy like that.
He took them two tumblers out the door and handed one to each of them riders, and they each took a good swaller, and another. Nothing happened. They just sat there for a little bit, sipping the sarsaparilla until they both tumbled over like ten pins getting hit with a ball.
“You sure they’re alive?” I asked.
DeGraff laughed. He wasn’t a laugher, but this time he laughed until all I saw was a row of yeller teeth. “It’s chloral hydrate,” he said.
I couldn’t even pronounce it, but it sure worked real good.
TWENTY-FOUR
Judge Nippers was parked at his desk, soaking up spirits, which he sucked from a little flask he held tenderly in one beefy hand.
He eyed me from under bushy brows. “You’ve come to beg off. Forget it. Hang the bastard,” he said.
