Support Your Local Deputy: A Cotton Pickens Western

by W. , Johnstone, William

  “Sheriff?” Thimble asked, looking annoyed.

  “Need a private word, sir.”

  “There’s nothing needs saying that old Silas shouldn’t hear,” he said.

  “It’s about Mrs. Thimble, sir.”

  “Well, fire away, then.”

  I sure didn’t know how to tell him that his wife had led a group of white-clad women and they had pitched the family fortunes into the creek. I tried that one about three times before I just settled down and narrated the whole shebang, while Thimble glared at me, accusation in his face.

  “So you’ve driven the tent preacher out, is that it?”

  “He packed up and left, yes, after I let him know I was keeping an eye on him.”

  “You telling people in Doubtful what their religion’s gotta be, is that it?”

  “Nope, just warning a crook to behave.”

  Thimble, he glared at me. That was his wife leading the pack of white-gowned ladies, and now the family fortunes were at least somewhat depleted. I wondered what he was thinking.

  “I reckon we can recover some of the cash from all those sports in the district,” I said. “Rusty and me, we’ll have to turn ’em upside down and shake the bills and coin outta their pockets, and they’ll whine some.”

  Thimble shook his head. “Finders keepers,” he said. “If you hadn’t chased the tent preacher out of town, there’d be no trouble.”

  “If the world doesn’t come to an end on May 28.”

  “If it didn’t, he’d simply return the items the next day with his apologies,” Thimble said. “But now it’s lost. A small fortune changed hands because of your boneheaded behavior. Looks like we’ll have to fire you, Pickens. This time you’ve gone too far.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Spitting Sam, one of the Admiral Ranch foremen, raced up to my office on a lathered horse, and came roaring in.

  “Trouble, sheriff. Them two hooligans, they’ve got King and Queen captive and are holding out for ten grand.”

  “Captive? Ten grand?”

  “The orphans. Little bastards. They worked this out. There’s guns all over the ranch, and they collected a bunch, and caught King Glad and his sister at dawn, and are holding them in the big house, and say they want ten grand and a getaway buggy, and if they don’t get the dough, they’ll kill King and Queen.”

  “There ain’t ten thousand dollars in Puma County.”

  “You gonna come out there or what?” Spitting Sam said, an edge to him.

  “I should bring the money? Get Hubert Sanders to give it to me?”

  “It’s your baby, Pickens. We can’t even get near the big house. For city brats, they know how to shoot.”

  “And the Glads, you’re sure they’re in there, alive?”

  “No, we’re not sure of anything.”

  “Those boys, Mickey and Big Finn, they set any deadlines?”

  “It’s a mess, and if you’re going to help us, come on out. If not, the hell with you. We’ll play it our way.”

  “They gonna let me talk to them?”

  “Who knows? City boys don’t hear a damned thing.”

  “I’ll get Critter and we’ll go talk.”

  I buckled on my gun belt, and checked the loads, and collected a scattergun. If I had to use any of those, I’d lose. And the Glads would be history. Spitting Sam nodded, and I knew he’d meet me at Turk’s where I’d get Critter saddled if I was lucky, and get my leg broke by a flying hoof if I wasn’t.

  I sure didn’t know about this one. If it came to shooting, the owners of the Admiral ranch, brother and sister, would soon be buried, and maybe a bunch more of us, and likely those two little rug rats that came in with the orphan train.

  I wasn’t going to take any ransom money; not now. I wasn’t even sure Sanders would open his vault to pay the ransom without collateral. There was a mess of things to think about, and I’d have a little time riding out there to look at some possibilities. But I knew the first thing was not to underestimate those two orphan hooligans, who knew more angles than a hungry carpenter.

  Spitting Sam and Turk stood silently in the barn, waiting for me to back Critter into the aisle and get him ready for travel. I got a piece of two-by-four and went up to that bronc and told him I’d whack him between the ears, because I was in a hurry, and he’d better behave.

  “I’m a horse whisperer,” I said to Turk.

  Turk smirked.

  “More like a horse shouter,” Spitting Sam said.

  But Critter was listening. He tried one ritual kick when I opened the stall door, and then backed out like he was wanting to be sociable. In quick time, I got him bridled and saddled.

  “That’s a record,” said Turk. “It’s a bad omen.”

  “He’ll throw you into prickly pear,” Spitting Sam said.

  But we trotted out smartly, and when Critter was warmed, we slid into a rocking chair lope that would get us there in half an hour. Critter, he was enjoying it more than Sam’s Roman-nosed nag.

  “There’s been some shots fired?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah. They was trying out the hardware, and keeping us well away from the house. We tried circling around and breaking in the rear door, but they were wise to it.”

  “They got food and water and plenty of rounds?”

  “Who knows? But them punks is smart, and they got it all schemed out.”

  “What’s the deal?”

  “Bring money, put a buggy in front of the house, one with a top on it, and they’ll take a hostage and kill him if they’re followed.”

  “Can we put some slow plugs in harness?”

  “No, they want two saddle horses, too, tied behind the buggy.”

  “They know where they’re going?”

  “Hell, no. They’re off the waterfront. They don’t know which way is north.”

  “They talk about their destination?”

  “They don’t know Wyoming from Florida. They just want to beat it with ten grand in their satchel.”

  “You think they’d kill the Glads?”

  “At their age, it’s easier than if they were older. Yes, and Queen first, just to show off a little.”

  “You say they’re off the waterfront? In New York?”

  “Yeah, that’s a good place for little thugs like that to learn the racket, stealing, slipping past ship’s pursers, cleaning out freight warehouses, latching on to food. The longshoremen, they don’t care. Half of them were waterfront rats before they hired on.”

  “Is one of those boys a little softer than the other? Listen to reason?”

  “Mickey, he’s sometimes friendly. Big Finn, that one was born in hell and is going back soon.”

  We covered ground, loping for a while, then jogging, then loping. In time, we raised the Admiral Ranch, which rested solemnly in a green basin, with mountains rising to the west, and a good creek watering their beef.

  “Well, my ma used to say, treat a child like an adult, and he’ll toe the mark.”

  Spitting Sam, he just shook his head.

  The Big House, as the impressive building was called, rose in majesty, well apart from the barns, bunkhouse, corrals, and sheds that one usually saw on cattle outfits.

  There sure wasn’t any straw bosses or drovers standing around in the open. The windows of the house were dark, and revealed no sign of anyone peering out, but I didn’t doubt that we were being watched.

  “You figure out what we should do?” Sam asked.

  “Go talk,” I said. “I can’t make any sense of it until I talk to them.”

  “It’s hard for you to make sense of anything, Pickens,” said Big Nose George.

  I’ve heard that talk all my life, and don’t bother to get mad anymore.

  “Get me a white flag on a stick,” I said.

  George, he sort of smiled. “Chicken, ain’t ya? If I had my druthers, I’d surround that Big House and charge, and leave two bodies behind. We got a dozen tough drovers here, and a few more.”

  “You
got big balls, George. Me, I do things my way.”

  “Give him his chance, Big Nose,” said Spitting Sam. “Then when he gets shot up, or can’t budge those little turds, we’ll do it our way.”

  They wasn’t saying much about trying to keep their two employers alive. The fastest way to put the two Glads into their graves was to start a war.

  “Long as you’re all bulletproof, including the Glads, your plan might work fine,” I said.

  Spitting Sam headed for the bunkhouse, running across an open area where he might take a hit, and pretty quick came back with a sheet on a stick. The thing was all sheet and no stick, but it’d do. I took it, told them kibitzers to watch their topknots, and headed out, waving that monster sheet on the dinky stick, like I was flagging a horse race. I got maybe twenty paces toward the Big House and a shot hit the dirt ahead of me.

  “Stop there, sheriff.”

  “Who am I talking to?”

  “Pair of no-good orphans.”

  “All right, you gotta tell me what you want, and who’s in there.”

  “We got them Glads, and we’ll put enough bullets in them so they bleed out in thirty seconds if you don’t follow what we ask.”

  “Who are you, boy?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “I bet you’re Big Finn, right?”

  There was wild laughter in the window. Neither boy was visible. They were back in the shadows, like good smart gunmen. They’d been around the block, seems like.

  “Finn, you gotta show me the Glads, one by one. I got to see if they’re alive and well. If you don’t show them, then we figure you’ve got no hostages, and it’s all over for you when we come in.”

  That met with a mess of silence.

  “We ain’t gonna show them to you,” Big Finn finally yelled. “Keep you guessing.”

  “How about you cutting them loose and sending them here to me? That way, you get out of the house alive.”

  “Sucker bait,” the kiddo yelled.

  “How about you sending me Queen Glad, and keeping women out of it? Just let her out the front door.”

  “She’s worse than he is. We ain’t gonna spring her or him, sheriff.”

  “How come she’s worse?”

  “She’s hell on earth, sheriff.”

  “Then cut her loose.”

  “What do ya think I am, King Arthur?”

  That stumped me. I’d never heard of that dude. “Hey, kiddo, ask her what she’s queen of. I always wanted to know. Her old man named her. His name was Admiral. That was his real name.”

  “Cut the crap, sheriff. You get us a horse and buggy with a top on it, two saddled horses, and ten thousand clams. You got until sundown.”

  “Where you going, boy?”

  “San Francisco.”

  “When you gonna get out there, boy?”

  “We ain’t saying.”

  “What’ll you do when you get there?”

  All I heard was a bunch of cackling. For two boys about eleven or twelve, they sure could snicker away. This sure was shaping into something strange. Two half-grown boys threatening a ranch family, and wanting to clean out the till, and the pair of them ready to shoot. That’s what troubled me. Boys that age could be good shots, and know all about handling a weapon, but they didn’t have an ounce of judgment. My ma always used to say, men ain’t men until they’re thirty. That means I barely made the grade myself, and I was more than twice the age of those two brats threatening to bring tragedy down on a lot of good people.

  “Big Finn, how are you gonna stuff food into you when it runs out there?”

  “We’ll eat Queen Glad first, sheriff, then King, and then you.”

  “That don’t work, boy. You kill off the hostages, there’s nothing holding us back, and once we come in, boy, you can measure your life in minutes.”

  For a response, he fired another shot. It plowed the earth twenty feet away. Sure was making me itchy.

  “Hey, I want to talk with Mickey,” I said. “He’s dumber than you.”

  “Dumber? I heard you was the dumbest lawman in Wyoming.”

  “Well, my ma agrees with you, boy, but how are you gonna get out of there?”

  “Ten grand, in small bills, sheriff, by sundown. Plus that buggy and fast saddle horses, and you get to be our insurance.”

  “There isn’t that much cash in the bank, boy.”

  “That’s the deal, sheriff. Bring the dollars or Queen’s gonna croak.”

  “Show me she’s alive, boy, and King, too.”

  That met with a mess of cackling again, and I was getting real itchy. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the Glads, and no one else had, either, and it sure made a feller wonder what was going on inside that ranch house.

  I backed away, slowly, and they let me. I had some calculating to do, and fast.

  Chapter Sixteen

  About then, Rusty showed up on a livery barn plug.

  “Belle baked this apple pie,” he said. “She says it’s for King and Queen Glad, and don’t let those little skunks have it.”

  That was Belle for you. Full of kindness and not a bit practical.

  “Hubert Sanders, he says it can’t be done. There’s not that much cash in Wyoming, and it’d have to come up from Denver. And he’d want a transfer of deed from the Glads. He can’t just empty his bank without some collateral.”

  “That ain’t good news, Rusty. Those hooligans may be boys, but they’re grown up enough to kill, and fixing to do it if they don’t get what they want.”

  “Would fake money do it?”

  “They’re smart boys, Rusty.”

  It was a waiting game, but the brats controlled the clock. I grabbed that white flag and waved it, and made sure it was being seen in the late afternoon light, and then headed for the house with the pie.

  “Stop there, sheriff. You got money?”

  “Nope, I got a real good apple pie sent by folks in town for the Glads. You want to deliver it to them?”

  “No, they can starve,” yelled one of them. It sounded like Big Finn.

  “Hey, put it on the porch. I want it,” Mickey yelled.

  “You can’t have it. It was baked for the Glads, not you,” I said.

  “Then I’ll steal it,” Mickey said. “Put it on the porch or get shot.”

  “And we need water. Bring us a bucket,” Big Finn yelled.

  The pump was in the yard.

  “Toss out a pail and I’ll fill it,” I said. This was getting better and better, and I was getting closer and closer to that building.

  Pretty quick, a tin pail got pitched out the door and landed on the porch steps, so I eased forward, a little prickly because boys with guns get careless, but pretty soon I got the pail.

  “Where’s that pie?” Mickey yelled. The door was open and he was back in the shadows somewhere.

  “That apple pie, best pie I ever ate, it’s for King and Queen Glad, boy. You don’t get one thin slice.”

  “Where’s the money?”

  “We’re getting things together, Mickey.”

  “Get some water.”

  I took the pail, hung it over the pump spout, and began jacking the pump, and pretty soon water gushed out. They had good water on the Admiral Ranch. Some places, people had to drink gyp water or some such, but the Glads struck it rich, with real fine water. I carried the bucket back to the porch, while a mess of stinking cowboys were watching from around the bunkhouse and sheds. I was wondering where they’d have me put the water.

  “Stop there, sheriff,” Big Finn said. “Set down the pail, drop your gun belt, and carry the water to the door, and set it in shadow inside the door, and then back out. Then go get the pie and bring it.”

  I hefted the tin pail up the porch steps, across the porch, and into the doorway. The sun was blinding me so I couldn’t see in, but they were there, and they were armed. I backed off, started to pick up my gun belt, and a shot stopped me. I eased back to the sheds, got the fragrant apple pie from Rusty, and heade
d in again.

  It was the same routine. “Leave the pie in the door, sheriff,” Big Finn said.

  “Naw, I’m gonna deliver it to King and Queen. If they don’t want it, I’ll give it to you,” I said.

  “Are you crazy? Put that pie down.”

  “You heard me, boy. Belle baked this for the Glads, not for you.”

  My eyes were getting used to the gloom. I could see them in there. Both had drawn revolvers. And the Glads weren’t around.

  “You get Queen, and I’ll give the pie to her,” I said. “It’s for her. Otherwise, I’ll just take it back, and we’ll slice it up at the bunkhouse.”

  That was an odd thing. Those two, they didn’t know what to do. If it was gold or greenbacks I was carrying, they’d kill for it. But they didn’t know what to do with a nice, fresh, still-warm apple pie. So I just stood there, thinking they’d make a move one way or another. I could maybe throw it at one and rush the other, but that was probably harebrained, so I just waited to see how it’d play out.

  “Get the old lady,” Mickey said. “When she gets it, we’ve got it.”

  Queen, she was hardly thirty, but these were boys talking.

  Big Finn, he knew what the muzzle of a gun does to a man. He smirked. “Set it down on the floor, you big dope.” He waved a .45-caliber muzzle at me.

  I set that pie down, real gentle, on the plank floor.

  “Hey, you dope, pick up that bucket of water and carry it to the kitchen,” Big Finn said. He waved his revolver at me to make the point. So I eased slowly back to the front door, lifted the pail, lifted it by the bail with one hand and the bottom of the bucket with the other, but he didn’t notice.

  Mickey, he shoved his revolver into his belt, and grabbed the pie off the floor, which suited me fine. I headed for the kitchen at the back, under Big Finn’s gaze, but as I passed him, I twisted a little and tossed that water into his smirky face. He coughed, fired a wild shot, and I booted him in the gut, swerved, and caught Mickey in the middle with my fist, and caught the pie midair. That was for Queen, and she was going to get it. I set it down as Big Finn was coming up for air, and trying to aim. I whanged his hand, and the revolver went flying, caught Mickey as he pulled his out of his belt, and knocked him halfway to China, and then kicked him as he sailed backwards, and then I landed on Big Finn, and that was when King Glad landed on Mickey, and the party was over.