“And leaving me here.”
“Watch the place, and keep them scatterguns handy.”
Rusty sighed, poured some week-old java from the speckled blue pot on the stove, and settled into my chair.
I was glad to get outa there, and into some fresh morning air. The sun was out, but it wasn’t a nice day. The whole town of Doubtful was brooding, waiting for the next day, or maybe waiting to get past the next day. I saw Mayor Waller putting up some broadsides on his store, advertising “Courthouse Specials” at twenty percent off. I guess Courthouse Specials were really hanging specials, which he would offer to the mob that would assemble on that patch of grass the next morning. But just now, there wasn’t a soul on the streets.
I made my way to Saloon Row, hoping to find Mrs. Gladstone open for business. I pushed through the batwing doors into the Sampling Room, which was empty except for one drunk asleep on the billiard table. Mrs. Gladstone saw me and froze into an iceberg. I didn’t blame her any; she’d tried and lost, and I was halfway embarrassed myself. She stood behind her bar, rigid and frosty, waiting.
“You sure are a beautiful woman,” I said.
That didn’t melt one particle of ice, but maybe a little more heat would.
“I guess you’re just about the finest gal in the territory,” I said.
She stood unmoving.
“You had something about King Bragg that you was thinkin’ of sharing with me the other evening.”
She studied me, a sudden gentleness in her face. Then she nodded slowly.
“Something you thought might help the boy.”
“It wasn’t anything,” she said. “Not something that would stop this—this legalized murder.”
“But you thought it was something.”
She was plain embarrassed. But then she started in a little. “You know, they were waiting for King. They waited a long time for King to come here. That foreman, Plug Parsons, came over here from the Last Chance every few minutes, looked around here, and left.
“He’d come in with several T-Bar men. Their horses were tied out front.”
“Crayfish with them?”
“Why, yes. He was there.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw them ride up to the hitch rail.”
“Who else?”
“I don’t know all those T-Bar people. But the ones that got killed, they came too.”
“The Jonas brothers and Rocco?”
“Rocco I know. Every woman in Doubtful knows Rocco.”
“And Parsons came looking for King Bragg?”
“Like clockwork. Every few minutes, he just poked his head in here, looked around, and left.”
“What did he say?”
“His boss wanted to talk to King.”
“After the shooting, what happened?”
“I saw Crayfish in the alley. He had come out to, you know, relieve himself.”
“And did he go back in to the Last Chance?”
“I don’t know, Sheriff. I was wondering about the shots next door.”
“Is that it? What you wanted to tell me about?”
“It isn’t very much, Mr. Pickens.”
“Would you come tell this to Judge Nippers?”
“But I would have to close up.”
“Maybe it’s worth closing up.”
Well, she did. She pulled off her apron, fluffed up her hair some, and closed her saloon.
“Do you think it will help that boy?” she asked.
I couldn’t say. “The judge wants a witness, someone who saw Crayfish pull the trigger on those three.”
We walked up empty streets, but I saw some of them riders lurking in the shadows, seeing what kind of trouble they could stir up. There was T-Bar men on the left, and Anchor Ranch men on the right, staring at each other across the wide clay street. Every last one of them was armed.
Me, I walked Mrs. Gladstone straight up the middle.
Judge Nippers wasn’t in yet, but I set Mrs. Gladstone down and went hunting for him. He was over in the beanery polishing off some pig knuckle stew, and I told him Mrs. Gladstone had a thing or two to say.
