“Move. If you want to live, move.”
“What’s all this?”
“Judge Nippers is dead. He stayed the execution and got hanged for it. Now move.”
“Dead? Well, he deserved it, sentencing my boy to be hanged.”
That did it. I pushed him back into the cell. He tumbled onto his bunk while I slammed the door shut and locked it. That lock snapped like a rifle bolt.
“You’re leaving me to that mob?” he howled.
“Not if I can help it,” I said.
I locked the jail door, thinking maybe that would slow down the T-Bar mob, and I picked up a few buckshot cartridges. Enough to fire until my trigger finger went dead.
“You ready, boy?”
“What about my father?”
“He wants his breakfast.”
“But—”
I ignored him. “Do what I say. I’m going to slow that mob. You go the other way. Find your sister, and get out of town.”
King stared at me, and nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
“Thank Judge Nippers.”
“If there’s any way we can help you—” he said.
We were out of time. I raced to the front door, opened it a bit, and saw the T-Bar men staring at that limp, twirling body up on the gallows. I nodded to the kid and stepped out, leaving the door wide. It would shield the boy if he was smart enough to jump off the steps and skirt the building.
I moved slowly down them steps, and turned left just as I said I would, and started straight toward that mob on the courthouse square, my shotgun cradled under my arm. I thought I heard the boy slide out, a soft drop to the grass, and then he was crawling back along the wall. Good. He figured it out. Now that bunch out there on the square saw me, walking slow, in no hurry because I wanted the kid to move his butt far away.
I was going to do what I had to do, which don’t mean I wasn’t scared. I’d end up a piece of Swiss cheese, or maybe they’d pull the noose free of Judge Nippers and fit it to my scrawny neck. But I didn’t have time to worry about that. The square was empty except for all them T-Bar men, who were mostly watching Nippers dangle and twirl. Everyone had fled. It felt sort of funny, walking right into that bunch, but I kept on, one foot at a time, that side-by-side shotgun ready.
They saw me coming. Crayfish was staring, and so was Plug Parsons, and so was Carter Bell. They stayed bunched up, not spreading out in a skirmish line, just staying tight around those gallows, with that body dangling there real quiet. I just kept on walking, one boot at a time, and they just kept on staring, first at me, then at Crayfish, and then at Judge Nippers, slowly swaying there, looking testy.
It was odd. I was all alone in the world, but there were people everywhere, watching from every window and doorway, ready to duck when lead started to fly. I wished my deputies would show up, but they’d been taken hostage or they’d be here at my side. I glanced at the hotel, and thought I saw Queen in a shadow there. Then she moved swiftly, and there was some commotion over there. But I was still walking, and getting close to revolver range now, but still too far for a short-barreled shotgun.
Me, I just kept walkin’. There wasn’t anything else to do but to walk. Now they was all staring at me, and a few had their paws sort of hovering over their six-guns. I was real interested in Crayfish, who simply stared, not moving a muscle. He didn’t give me a clue. He stood like a statue on the outer edge of that bunch, his hands at his sides. I thought maybe the T-Bar would wait for him to make the call. So I slid my barrels a little his way. You don’t have to aim a shotgun full of buckshot. All you got to do is point.
I just kept on walkin’ and nothing much happened. I was getting into range. Any one of them riders could pop one at me if he was real careful about where he aimed. But it wasn’t happening. They’d just hanged the judge, and now the law was coming at them one step at a time, and the law wasn’t slowing down.
The other feller who was real important to me was Plug Parsons, standing there like a snorty bull, his hand still on that lever he used to spring the trap and send Judge Nippers to eternity. But Parsons wasn’t edgy like the rest. He was the calmest in the lot, just watching peaceful, like this was a Sunday morning and the church bells had rung. He was armed, like all the rest, but he didn’t bother to lower his paws so he could grab iron if he needed to. He just watched, and waited, and was ready to back up Crayfish’s play.
It got real quiet. But I just kept on walkin’.
It all happened so fast I couldn’t sort it out. A bunch quit the pack and began trotting down Wyoming Street, not quite running like some yellow dogs, but just pulling out of the contest. Then a few more followed, looking back over their shoulders at me.
I just kept on walkin’. Then the rest quit the gallows, this time in a trot because I could spray a lot of buckshot into them now. And then Crayfish himself, after a frozen moment, took off hard, almost loping out of range, and wanting some distance between my buckshot and his flesh.
It was odd. I can’t explain it. The bunch was fleeing. Like they all knew what they had just done, hanging the judge. Fleeing because the law was coming and the law wouldn’t quit, and the law was still walkin’ straight toward the gallows. I watched the whole bunch flee. Except for Plug Parsons, him who slid the noose around Judge Nippers and then pulled the lever. He just stood there, sort of smiling, half protected by the gallows, but some of him showing.
I just kept on walkin’.
“You want to come with me to the jail, Plug?” I asked.
It was funny how he smiled, and said nothing, and just stood there.
