Savage Guns

by William W. Johnstone

  I knew every man in that place was listening real hard.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The sun was getting low, and so was I, when Caboose, the little breed boy that Big Lulu hired, came trotting up.

  “Miss Lulu, she wants to see you. Someone in there worrying her,” he said.

  “Caboose, you tell Lulu I’ll get on over real quick.”

  Caboose trotted toward Red Light Row, and I started in behind, wondering what was troubling such a pleasant and religious old madam.

  When I did get there, Big Lulu was doing her afternoon concert at the piano in the parlor. This time it was “Faith of Our Fathers,” which got a little mangled because some of them keys were out of tune. Doubtful must have been five hundred miles from the nearest piano tuner, which didn’t help the town anytime it came to music.

  I peered around, and didn’t see much of any trouble brewing, except that over in a corner was Carter Bell. And none too sober either. I’d been looking for Carter Bell. He was one of them witnesses I wanted to rattle a little. He sure was different from the other riders. He liked to fancy himself up some, but he still looked like a rat. He scraped his cheeks most every day, and scrubbed his britches most every Sunday, and got himself clipped and combed so often he must’ve spent a lot of the wage that Crayfish Ruble laid on him once a month in the tonsorial parlor. He knew he had a little polish, and used it on women. The girls in the houses all liked him because he smelled good, or at least didn’t stink, like the rest of them cowboys. He was skinny and the girls didn’t mind that he looked like a rodent. He carried a revolver like the rest, but it was all for show. I don’t think he could hit an elephant at ten feet. That gun of his, it was a show gun, with pearly grips and some inlaid gold. It sure shone, but I wondered if he ever scrubbed the black powder out of the barrel.

  I was glad to see him; I’d been looking for him and for Plug Parsons, seeing as how they were the only witnesses to the killing of them three T-Bar men. But I didn’t approach him just then. Big Lulu wanted me, so I just hovered around the upright piano and waited for her to wind up. She was singing away, reading the sheet music. “Modern Hymns,” it said. Her girls were serving the town fathers, as usual. There was the mayor, George Waller, being uplifted as usual. After closing the store, he would go to Big Lulu’s for the happy hymn time, and a half-price girl sometimes.

  There was two, three girls in gauzy gowns serving whatever there was to serve around there, and I spent my time sort of peering through that gauze and being uplifted by them hymns. But all good things come to an end, or maybe all ends come to good things, but finally Big Lulu finished her matinee and turned to me real quiet.

  “Carter Bell’s scaring us. He’s over there pouring red-eye down, and getting angry, and even pulling his gun out and waving it around.”

  “Any reason?”

  She sighed. “He says he’s the next Rocco.”

  “Next Rocco?”

  “Crayfish told him he would replace Rocco. Get women for Crayfish. Take care of all that, for a five-a-month pay raise.”

  “And Carter didn’t refuse?”

  “You don’t refuse Crayfish. You know that. And Crayfish told him if there was trouble, he’d get what Rocco got.”

  Suddenly, I was real interested. “Which was?”

  Big Lulu smiled. “A bullet through the heart, dearie.”

  “It don’t make sense to me,” I said. “It being King Bragg’s bullet.”

  She played a gloomy chord on the piano, striking a few of them notes that was out of tune. “You’ve always been a little slow, Pickens.”

  She started in on “Amazing Grace,” and sang it in a wobbly warble. “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound…”

  Pretty soon Mayor Waller and half them businessmen in Doubtful was singing right along with her. It sure made the place seem holy, and put just the right mood on them when they took advantage of the half-price happy hour girls. I’d heard tell Mayor Waller sometimes performed temporary weddings, because sometimes a feller came in there that just wanted to be married for half an hour or so, so the mayor would do the ceremony and Big Lulu would play the wedding music, and off the feller would go with the gal, and everyone would be happy.

  I got a couple of tumblers of red-eye and headed over to Carter Bell, who was sitting in that dark corner looking real blue.

  “Maybe this’ll cheer you up, Carter,” I said. “I saw you sitting here looking like things ain’t so good, so I come along with a little liquid comfort.”

  He eyed me with a faint smile. “I could use it,” he said, and swiftly drank the whole tumbler. That must have been a red-hot volcano going down, because the red-eye hadn’t been aged for more than a few weeks. But he just belched and patted his mouth. He was real genteel that way, not like the usual cowboy. I heard tell once he even used talcum powder on his cheeks after he shaved. I sure don’t know what a feller like that was doing around Doubtful, but there’s all sorts of strange types floating around.

  “I’m pretty blue myself,” I said, “having to hang a feller in the morning.”

  “Well, he earned it,” Bell said.

  “Guess he did. Either that or he deserved a medal for bumping off some miserable specimens—like Rocco.”

  “Rocco…yeah, he deserved it all right, trying to double-cross Mr. Ruble.”

  “That’s what I heard,” I said. “Sure was fortunate for Crayfish that the Bragg boy come along and kilt off Rocco.”

  “Just between you and me…,” he said, and then quit. He wasn’t gonna spill any beans if he could help it.

  “Big Lulu says you’ve got Rocco’s job,” I said, fishing a little.

  “Five-dollar raise and bring him women whenever he wants one. Yeah, I got the job even if I didn’t want it. That’s how he is. You do what he says.”

  “You could always pack up and vamoose,” I said.

  He stared hard at me. “Maybe I should. Sooner or later Crayfish…”

  His voice trailed off again, and I felt like I was so near to something important that I could hardly stand it. But it just didn’t happen. Carter Bell, drunk or not, wasn’t going to spill his guts to the sheriff. He wasn’t going to say what happened that afternoon when they lured the Bragg boy in, knocked him flat, and someone, probably Crayfish himself, made use of the boy’s gun and then stuck it in the boy’s hand.

  “You know what, Carter? My friend the judge, Nippers himself, really enjoyed that trial, and keeps askin’ about all the witnesses and how they’re doing. You want to share some real good bourbon with him? It ain’t red-eye. It’s good Kentucky. He’s a real good drinker, and likes company.”

  “What are you talking about, Sheriff?”

  “Old Nippers, he sure enjoyed that trial. He’d sure enjoy a little palaver with you.”

  “I’m not inclined to drink with a judge, Sheriff. I’m not in that class of people.”

  “No, not drink. Swap a few stories, tell a few yarns. I bet you could tell him some dandies.”

  “Well, I could,” he said. He eyed me. “Lead the way. I don’t know if I’ll stay there. I’ve got a few stories to tell him, and I’ll just see what he thinks of some cowboy.”

  I steered him out of the parlor, and got me a grateful nod from Big Lulu, who was plenty happy to see Bell out of her place, with no damage done.

  She started in on “Onward, Christian Soldiers” as we slid outside. The shadows were growing long, and that kid was lighting her red lamp that hung on a bracket at the door.

  “Is there something here I’m not figuring out?” Bell asked.

  “If there is, I wish someone would tell it to me,” I said. “Nippers is the stubbornest mule in Doubtful, and when he believes something, there’s no way to shake him loose of it. He always said your testimony and Plug Parsons’ testimony was what put the noose on King Bragg.”

  Bell wasn’t talking anymore, but neither did he quit me, so we hiked up Wyoming Street, toward the courthouse square. Nippers would be in; in fact,
he’d be there all night, hoping as much as I was hoping that someone would give him a reason to call off the necktie party. Maybe Carter Bell would give him a reason. But it wouldn’t happen if the Sheriff of Puma County was hanging around listening to the pair of them drink and talk.

  I steered Bell up the stairs and down a dark hallway to a lamplit open door. Just as I figured, there was old Axel Nippers in his swivel chair, about half asleep. He wouldn’t sleep this night any more than I would, and he wouldn’t budge from his office through the endless night.

  “Ah!” He came awake. “You, is it? What you got for me, eh?”

  “This here’s Carter Bell, Judge.”

  “Of course it is. How could it be anyone else? Pickens, there are times when I wonder about you.”

  I sure didn’t know what to say to that. “I wonder about me too, Your Honor.”

  He motioned to Bell. “Pull up that stool and have a nip with me.”

  Bell, he sort of eyed me, but he did it.

  “The judge has the best Kentucky in the Territory,” I said.

  Nippers handed Bell his slender bottle, and Bell took a nip.

  “I thought you fellers might have a fine time,” I said. “Bell here’s replacing Rocco as Crayfish’s fetch-it man.”

  “You don’t say? What do you fetch, eh?”

  I kind of figured I’d best get out of there and let that there conversation go wherever it would go.

  “Bell got a five-dollar raise for it,” I said. “Five dollars or get out of Puma County.”

  Nippers’ eyebrows raised like a pair of caterpillars, and lowered again.

  “Have a nip and tell me,” he said.

  I left the judge and Carter Bell in there, and hurried away. I doubted that Bell would spill any beans, but that sure was what I hoped. Even pie-eyed, Bell wouldn’t say anything that would contradict his testimony in court. Unless he slipped up.

  It sure was lonely in that dark hallway, where my boots echoed on the floor. I slid down in the dark and out the front door, where it was twilight and the last light caught the noose dangling from the gallows, ready for use at eleven.

  I didn’t much care to stand there in the chill. Some cold air was lowering off the mountains, and it sent a shiver up my spine. I was about to get back to the sheriff office when I seen a ghost. That’s what she seemed at first, but it turned out to be Queen, dressed in white, with a white shawl around her neck. She come on over and stood near me, and we both were lost in our thoughts, or maybe we didn’t have a thing to say. I was going to be her brother’s hangman, and that kept us quiet.

  “How’s my father?” she asked finally.

  “Don’t know. I’ve been trying to come up with something, but I ain’t got anywhere.”

  “I’m glad you hauled him away.”

  “He’s just the same as anyone else. Assaulting a peace officer, and he gets himself in trouble.”

  “He’s never spent an hour in a jail.”

  “It’s been most of a day now,” I said. “I’ll let him go when the time comes.”

  I heard the catch in her breath. “I told the ranch people not to come armed. I think they’ll heed me.”

  “You’ve done a good thing.”

  “No, I haven’t done anything good. There’s no good in the world. There’s only grief and tears. And death.”

  I kept quiet. A breeze was twirling the noose. She saw it too.

  “I have to decide what to do with King after—after it’s over,” she said. “My father thought it never would be—over. He was ready to shoot his way out. But it’s going to be over, and we need a grave, and since he can’t think of it, I have to. I want it to be a good place for my brother. I want it to be a place where I can go, and sit on the grass, and think of him and look at my memories, one after another, and not let go of him.”

  “If I could change it, Miss Bragg, I surely would.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I’ll look after your father,” I said.

  “He needs looking after. No one ever looked after him before, because we were all too busy obeying.”

  I took her hand and held it a moment, and let go. She continued her vigil at the gallows, while I pushed through the darkness.

  THIRTY

  I found Rusty and Burtell holding the fort.

  “Any trouble out there?” Rusty asked.

  “It’s quiet. You fellers go on home. I’m staying here tonight, and can’t sleep anyway.”

  “But what if they rush you, try to spring the kid?”

  “You’ll hear it, and I’ll have help.”

  “Doesn’t seem right,” Rusty said.

  “Here’s what you do. Rusty, you patrol Saloon Row and then call it quits. Burtell, you check the rest of the town and call it quits. And I’ll see you both in the morning. You’ll need your sleep because tomorrow we got to be sharp.”

  Rusty stared at me. “It’s you that’s carrying a lot on your back.”

  “Yes, I am,” I said.

  They slid into the night, and I barred the door behind them. There was only one kerosene lamp lit, and the whole office was thick with shadow, which is how I wanted it. I unlocked the jail door, and sure enough, Admiral Bragg started bellowing at me.

  “You let me out or you’ll pay for it,” he said.

  “You’re staying put.”

  “Clean my pisspot.”

  “I’ll do that in a little bit.”

  He clasped the bars and rattled them. It seemed almost like he could bend them apart and step through and come at me. But the bars held.

  Then he picked up the bucket and threw the contents at me. The bucket clanged hard against the bars. There wasn’t much in it, and it missed me and puddled in the aisle.

  “Kind of a stink to live with, ain’t it?” I said.

  I stepped over the puddle and headed for King Bragg’s cell, down one and across.

  He lay on his iron bunk, staring upward. He seemed lost to the world already, as if he had somehow passed away, but he was alive still.

  “They treated you all right?” I asked.

  He didn’t reply.

  “You get the meal you wanted?”

  “I don’t want any food. What good is a last meal? A fancy last meal does nothing for a man about to die; it’s offered so the hangman can feel better.”

  I guessed that was true.

  “You want to come out and stretch in my office?”

  He stared, absorbing that, and nodded.

  I unlocked, and stepped aside, wary and ready for anything. But the kid just stepped through, and walked ahead of me down the aisle past his pa.

  “If you can let him out, you can let me out,” Admiral said.

  “I’d be a foolish sheriff if I did that,” I said.

  “You already are,” he said. “And you won’t be sheriff for long. You’ll be out of office—one way or other—in hours.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said. “Your daughter’s told your men to put their guns away tomorrow.”

  Bragg loosed an animal yowl that scraped my nerves, but I ignored him. I let the kid out in the office, ready for trouble, but he just stood there in that lamplight.

  “Have a seat,” I said.

  King Bragg sat, staring at the walls, at the gun rack, at the stuff on my desk, and then sort of sagged into the chair.

  “Anything you want to talk about?” I asked.

  “No. There’s nothing. There’s no tomorrow, so there’s nothing.”

  “Anything you want me to do? To tell people? Anything you want to write?”

  He stared into the lamp so long, I thought he wouldn’t say anything. “I have a question you won’t like,” he said. “How can you sit there talking to the man you’re going to hang in a few hours?”

  He was right. I sure enough didn’t like that one. I guessed that most hangmen don’t want to meet or know the ones they slip the noose over.

  “Just dumb, I guess,” I said. “You want to k
now how I feel? I feel like opening that door and telling you to fly into the night and don’t never come back to Puma County. But I can’t. I got a duty and I got to do it, and what I feel don’t count.”

  “I hoped for it,” he said. “Maybe it would be good. But mostly I’d be a fugitive, my life no good.”

  His pa was back there bellowing some. “Let me out, you son of a bitch,” he was saying.

  “My ma would take offense,” I said.

  “My mother wasn’t like my father. He controlled her, just like he controlled Queen and me and his men, and tried to control his neighbors, and the politicians, and you, and tried to control the rain and the snow and the land and the water and the stock and the game. She simply died, because that’s all she could think to do when she got tired of being his woman. He taught us to be like himself. He gave me a gun four years ago and told me to make the whole world afraid of me, and then I’d be a real king.” He stared at me. “Look what it got me.”

  “You and Queen, you’ve both busted loose of him.”

  “Too late,” he said. “She set herself free?”

  “She did.”

  “That’s why she’ll live a good life. I was too late.”

  We sank into one of them silences, and I watched a moth flit around the lamp. It’d likely get itself burnt pretty quick.

  “Do you think there’s an afterlife?” he asked.

  “I’m inclined against it, but I haven’t got it figured out yet,” I said.

  “I guess I’m slated for hell,” he said. “If I killed three men, that’s it. So God says, get down there and suffer, and get burned up, and know there’s no hope from now until the end of time. Maybe that’s it. Maybe this is just the beginning. Maybe this is the easy part, getting my neck snapped in one bad moment. It’s the slow stuff, the roasting in the flames. A thousand years from now, ten thousand years from now, I’ll still be roasting away down there, and there’s no getting loose.”