Rio Loco (16 page)

After a while I'd had enough, so I just stood up outta my chair. I poured another tumbler full a' whiskey and dranked it down in two or three big gulps. Damn but it was good. Then I walked over to the jail cell, and I was startled to see the door standing wide open. Owl Shit were gone. I looked around and none a' my people was in the office. I was all by my own self. “Damn it,” I cussed, and stamped the floor. I tried to figger out what might coulda happened. I couldn't come up with no way Chugwater and his boys could get into the office and take over from my gang while I was asleep and not wake me up. The only other thing was if one a' my bunch had made a deal with Chugwater, and they had broke up and let Owl Shit out real quietlike while I was snoozing. But who woulda done me thattaway? Who? Not Sly. I couldn't imagine him a-doing me like that. Happy? Happy were too stupid to make any decision on his own.

I decided that I weren't going to let this happen without a fight. I checked my Merwin Hulbert, and then I went outside and mounted up on my ole horse. I turned him and rid outta town, going
toward Chugwater's ranch. It didn't seem like it tuck me no time to get there, and whenever I rid up to the house, I noticed that the barn were rebuilt. Damn, I thunk, he done a real fast job a' that, all right. Then as I got closter to the house, the front door opened and Chugwater come out on the porch. Owl Shit follered him out. They was both armed with six-guns and rifles.

They both commenced to shooting at me, but they never hit me even once. Their bullets tore my jacket and ripped holes in my hat, but they never hit me. Final they stopped shooting. “I mean to kill you both,” I yelled out, and I pulled out my trusty Merwin Hulbert and went to shooting. They run back in the house. In another minute I seen them both come a-riding around from behint the house on their horses, and they rid fast right by me before I had a chance to react. They was a-whooping and hollering and shooting their six-guns in the air, and they headed right for a low mesa what was back behint me.

One side a' the mesa was low and they could ride right up on top if they went thattaway. They did, but whenever they got up on top, I was already there, and I was a-laughing at them. “I said I mean to kill you,” I told them again. Owl Shit throwed up his hands over his head. “No, Barjack,” he screamed. “Don't shoot me.” But I just cold-blooded aimed at his face, and I shot a bullet right betwixt his eyes. His damn head exploded. Just like as if I'd shot him with a stick a' dynamite instead of a bullet. It exploded, sending brains
and blood out in a shower all over the place. Then I got down off a' my horse and started walking toward ole Chugwater. “You're next,” I said.

“You killed my baby brother,” he said, and he pulled out his Colt what he carried at his side. He fired at me six times, and ever' one a' the bullets hit me in the chest, but they just went right straight through me and never hurt me one bit. I glanced down, and there wasn't no blood on me neither. I kept on a-walking.

“Damn you, Barjack,” he said.

I laughed. “Who's got the last laugh now?” I ast him. The last I seen of him was just his face, real close up, and real terrified. He had turned white, and his mouth was open wide like he was a-wanting to scream, like he was about to, and then the wheels a' my office chair rolled forward, and I went over backward and landed on the floor with a hard thump what woke me up.

“Barjack,” shouted Bonnie. “Are you hurt?”

I was, but I never let on. “No, hell,” I said, “I'm all right.”

I admit to being a little embarrassed at falling over in my own office chair like that, but I never admitted it neither, and I never said nothing about my weird dream a' being a ghost and going after Chugwater and his escaped brother. I did look over at the cell to make sure Owl Shit was still locked up, and he was. Ever'one else who was supposed to be there was there. Happy was up on the roof.

Well, I poured myself another glass a' whiskey to try to shake that damn dream outta my head,
and I dranked it down pretty damn fast too. I guess it worked on account a' I quit having them goddamn images come up in front a' my eyes. I got to admit, though, that it were great fun getting shot through like I done and not even being hurt. I kinda liked being a ghost. I got to wondering if that was the way it was really going to be whenever I did get my ass croaked. I sure as hell did hope so. In fact, I still do. I got to recalling something ole Dingle had said a while back whenever we thought we was dealing with a ghost before.

What he said was that a ghost could come down and make love to a woman right in her own bed, and he called a ghost what done that a incubus. I remembered that there word too, and I determined that if I was to become a ghost I would be that kind. I would be a damned incubus, and I'd visit my sweet-ass Bonnie regular-like. I wondered if I should ought to tell Bonnie about that so that she could be looking forward to it, the same as I was.

I was pouring myself another glass a' booze whenever ole Sly come over and perched his ass on the edge a' my desk. He looked right down at me like as if he had something on his mind.

“What is it, Sly?” I ast him.

“Oh, nothing much,” he said. “I was just wondering what Chugwater might be thinking right about now. He's got to be scheming up something.”

“I reckon we've pissed him off right royal,” I said.

“I expect you're right about that. I'm trying to
think what I would be thinking if I were in his position.”

“Were it me,” I said, “I'd be a-thinking about letting my little brother hang. That's where my head would be at.”

“I don't believe he's thinking that way,” said Sly. “He's too loyal to his family. Made a promise to his mother, and he's always kept it. Even without that, I think he's gone way too far to back down now. It's a matter of pride with him now. He's got to win, or die trying.”

“I vote for that there last option,” I said. I was kinda proud a' that word. I was getting me quite a vocabalary from ole Dingle. I liked to use them words any chance I got to just kinda show off how smart I was.

“I agree with you,” Sly said, “but I haven't figured out just how to accomplish it. I suppose one of us could call him out and suggest settling the issue one on one.”

“We could try it,” I said.

“You don't think he'd go for it?”

“No, sir, I don't. Why should he risk his own worthless hide when he's got nineteen cowhands to throw out in front to get kilt first?”

“You got a point there. I'd still like to know what he's thinking.”

Polly hollered out just then, “Come another step and you're a dead man!”

“Who is it?” I said.

“I don't know the son of a bitch,” she said, “but he tied his horse out front and he's walking right up to the door.”

I walked over to stand beside her at the winder and look out, and by God, I seed ole Custer, the county sheriff.

“Don't shoot, Polly,” I said, “that there's the sheriff.” Then I yelled out the winder, “Dick, you ole son of a bitch, what the hell brings you around?” I went and opened the front door to let him in. He come in and he looked around real curious at all the folks in my office and all the guns. “Come on over here and set,” I said, and I pulled a chair over to my desk for him. Then I went back around to my own chair and set my ass down in it. I poured whiskey in my glass and pulled out another glass and offered ole Custer a drink, what he accepted.

“I ain't heard nothing from you for a while,” he said. “Thought I'd come over and see how things're going.”

“Well, hell,” I said, “you can see how it is. We got us a armed camp here on account a' ole Chugwater. He's got a army a' cowhands out in the streets a-laying siege to the jailhouse a-trying to make me turn his little brother a-loose.”

“Have you had anyone hurt?”

“No, I ain't, but we've kilt maybe ten cowboys. Maybe more. I don't know for sure.”

Ole Custer kinda looked around again, and his eyes lit on Owl Shit in the jail cell. He jerked a thumb toward him. “That the brother?” he ast me.

“That's him all right. They call him Owl Shit.”

“Owl Shit?”

“That's right. I think his right name is Merwin, but he don't like getting called Merwin.” Whenever I said that there name, I raised my voice way
up to make sure that Owl Shit could hear me real plain. I seen him kinda grimace too. But he knowed better than to say anything. He knowed he'd get splashed with another bucket a' water or something. Just then Polly said that she seen Chugwater ride up to the Hooch House and go inside.

“Barjack,” said Custer, “is there any chance that, uh, Owl Shit, ain't really guilty a' this killing that you say he done?”

“He done it right in front a' my eyes,” I said. “I'm the mainest witness to the damned deed. There was others too. It was done right in my Hooch House, and there was a passel a' folks in there drinking whiskey and beer and such. Most of them seen it happen. But mainly I seen it.”

“Could you post bail and let Chugwater take him home till the trial?”

“I reckon I could do that, but I don't believe Owl Shit would ever come in for the trial if I did. That'd be just the same thing as turning him a-loose, don't you see? If he was really worried about getting hanged up, he might even skip the country.”

“Hmm.” Custer rubbed his chin, what needed a shaving. I went and rubbed mine too and found out that it needed one too. “Has he been outta town since he done the shooting?” he went on.

“No, he ain't, and that means that I ain't over-stepped my jurisprudence none. He done the killing in my Hooch House right down the street, and I arrested him and brung him right down here to the jailhouse.”

“I'm trying to come up with a way out of this bad situation you're in, Barjack, but if you won't set bail, I can't think of a damn thing.”

“It all happened in your county, Sheriff,” I said. “You could take over. You could bring a big posse in here and just take over. Hell, you could even take Owl Shit with you back over to the county seat. Now, what'd be wrong in that?”

“I can't do it, Barjack. I got to leave him right here where you arrested him. I got no men I can depend on anyhow. I'm sorry. It looks like it's your problem. It's local, and that's all there is to it.”

“Well, Dick, goddamn it, just what is your job? What the hell was you elected to do? Look at me over here in little Asininity where I'm just the town marshal. Look at how many depitties I got here. I got Happy and Butcher, my two regular depitties, and then I got ole Sly, and I got Miller the Churkee. I've even got two women in here with guns. Bonnie and Polly. And I got that scribbling feller Dingle. How many is that? Huh? That's about eight, ain't it?”

“That's seven, Barjack.”

“Well, hell, all right, seven. I said about eight. Seven is about eight. If I can get seven over here, you'd ought to be able to do better over yonder in the county seat. Your job is keeping the peace and enforcing the law in the county. We're in the county here too. So why the hell don't you do something about it?”

“I'm busy enough keeping order in the county seat and in towns around the county that don't
have their own local peace officers. Asininity has got you, so I don't have any business poking my nose in over here.”

“Then what the hell did you come over here for?”

Well, ole Dirty Dick left outta the office after Bonnie and Happy lit into him a little. Sly never spoke to him, just give him a nod as he walked by. I went to the winder to watch him, and I seen that he rid on over to the Hooch House and tied up in front and went on inside. I wondered did he just want another drink or was he going in there to talk some with that goddamned Chugwater? I wouldn't put it past him, but I never did find out. I went back to my desk and poured me another drink. By and by Polly, still peeking out the winder, said, “There he goes.”

“Ole Custer?” I said.

“Yeah. He's mounted up, and he's riding back outta town.”

“The son of a bitch,” I said.

I was thinking that I wisht I had gone on to the next stage a' flying. I had learnt to fly that time Bonnie had tossed me off a' the landing over the barroom a' the Hooch House. I had sailed out over ever'one and just hovered there for a minute or two before I fell down and crashed on a table, breaking its all four legs and my nose. It was
worth it, though, on account a' I had learnt to fly. The next time I were up on a kinda ledge and there was a owl hoot down below on horseback. I launched my ass out into the air and come down right smack on top a' the bastard, knocking him off a' his horse and breaking his fool neck.

The only thing was, I hadn't never gone the next step and learnt how to launch my ass without being on something up high thattaway. I really did wish I had done that. If I had I would justa raised myself up from out on the boardwalk and flew over to Chugwater's ranch to spy on his ass and figger out what the hell he was up to.

I tried to think up some way to launch myself. I thunk about riding a horse real damn fast till I just kinda riz up outta the saddle, but I didn't really think that would work. Maybe I could get in a wagon bed and start it rolling down a real steep hill and see if I could get going from there. But I was afraid it would crash into a tree or something. Final I had to give up on the whole idee. Maybe my ass was just too damn heavy to fly thattaway.

“Barjack,” said Bonnie, dragging me outta my reverie. (That there was another word I had learnt from ole Dingle.) “Barjack, I need to have me a bath. Do you want me to have one set up over here again like last time? Or should I just have it drawed over at our room?”

It come to me that I could use one too, and so could a number of our companions. “You going over to the Hooch House?” I ast her.