THIRTY-FOUR
I didn’t want that skunk Admiral Bragg stinking up my jail, so I let him out. I hardly got the cell door open, but he lunged at me in a rage.
“I’ll have you strung up in a week,” he said. “Abusing prisoners.”
I pushed him aside. He stomped into the office, where King and Queen were waiting for him.
“How come he’s out?” Bragg asked. “How come he’s not hanging?”
“Because one of the lying witnesses squealed. Crayfish did the shooting and tried to pin it on King.”
“What took you so long? How come you haven’t shot the whole lot?”
I was tired of this. “Get your ass out of here,” I said.
“You’re in trouble with me, Pickens. You’ll be out of the county in a week.”
“Father, shut up,” Queen said.
“Where are my weapons? I want my derringer,” Admiral said.
“Come back in a month and I’ll give it to you,” I said.
“You expect me to go out there unarmed?”
“Our men are waiting behind the hotel,” Queen said. “They’re ready to ride. There are horses for you and King and me. Come along, Father.”
“You telling me what to do, girl?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Come on,” King said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You telling me what to do, boy?”
“Don’t come then,” King said. “Stay here.”
“Get out right now or I’ll lock you up,” I said.
He paused, his face purpling with rage. “I strung you up once, Pickens, and next time it’ll be for real.”
I didn’t have nothing more to say to the turkey, so I just stood there.
The Bragg girl and boy finally hustled Admiral out the door. I wondered whether he’d soon be bossing those two children of his around again, but it didn’t look like it. They’d growed up overnight. They headed straight for the hotel, which was wise. I was glad to see King outside the jailhouse, alive and free. There sure would be some explaining to do when the mayor and all them people caught up with me, but I had Judge Nippers’ document in my pocket, and that’s all that mattered.
I slid out the door after locking up. I had missing deputies to hunt for and some people to invite to a hanging.
It sure was quiet. Over on the square, a rope hung from the gallows, with no noose on it. I could see Plug Parsons lying near there. A few puffball clouds were steering across a blue sky. I hardly knew where to go first, but the Last Chance Saloon seemed likely. It was funny how empty Doubtful was. The hardware was closed. So was the mercantile. So was the milliner. So was the blacksmith. The whole place looked like a ghost town. There were people peering from windows. I could see that. But there wasn’t even a dog sniffing along the street. I carried my shotgun cradled on my arm, but I didn’t see any sign of trouble. It looked like everyone in Doubtful was scared and hiding.
I got to Saloon Row, and came to the Sampling Room first, but Mrs. Gladstone had locked the door. There wasn’t any Anchor Ranch men in there. I wanted to tell them to get out, and go back to the ranch.
So I headed for the Last Chance. The double doors were shut tight. I wondered what might be on the other side. Maybe the whole T-Bar outfit, ready to blow away anyone come through there. But I didn’t see no horses at the hitch rails. When an outfit’s in town, you see the horses. I knew half of them and had ridden a few and I knew the brand, but there wasn’t no horses around Wyoming Street on this hangman’s morning. I rattled the doors, but nothing happened. I booted the door a couple of times, but no one opened. I trotted down a piss-soaked space between the two saloons and tried the alley door, but it was shut tight. So I reared back and cut loose, and smacked it open with my shoulder, and ducked to the right, expecting some flying lead. But none came at me, and I raced into that dark, stinking place where men had died and swung my muzzles around, but there wasn’t anyone to shoot.
I could have sworn someone was in there, but I didn’t see no one. I shoved the back room door open. There wasn’t any light back there, but enough come through the door so I could see bodies on the floor. One of them was twisting around some, so I dragged him by the feet into the light, and it was Rusty. I pulled the gag off his mouth and cut him loose of all that cord they’d wrapped around him.
“Knocked us cold,” he said.
“Knockout drops?”
He nodded. “You hang the boy yet?”
“I let him go. Judge Nippers—”
“Let him go? I’ll be damned.”
Rusty looked like he couldn’t make any sense of it.
I cut the rest loose, but them three were still mostly knocked out still, and Rusty didn’t look exactly useful.
“Rusty, the Bragg boy’s innocent and the judge turned him loose. Crayfish is the guilty party, just like we figured. So they hanged the judge.”
