William W. Johnstone (7 page)

Authors: Massacre Mountain

Tags: #Murder, #Western Stories, #Wyoming, #Westerns, #Fiction, #Sheriffs - Wyoming, #General, #Mountain Life

BOOK: William W. Johnstone

8.43Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

C
HAPTER
T
EN

By the next morning my south half was healing up but my north half was worse. I had a mean cough and some sniffles. Given a choice, I thought that north-half disease was better than southhalf. My ma, she always told me to dose myself with cod liver oil, but I’m against livers in general, especially fish livers, so I dodged her advice. But I’m real good at blowing out snot.

I got myself outfitted in britches, boots, and a shirt, and wobbled down the stairway. Belle eyed me suspiciously, worrying that her boardinghouse would be quarantined and she would lose rent money, so she let me pass without the usual howdy-do. I made my way down Main to the sheriff’s palace, wondering how many crimes had been committed in the night and how many would be blamed on my negligence.

When I got in there, Rusty looked at me and nodded toward the jail. Sure enough, a local drunk named Arty was snoozing on a bunk in a cell.

“Drunk and disorderly?” I asked.

“No, Ike Berg dragged him in late last night and we booked him for burglary.”

“Ike Berg? He’s got no legal right. This ain’t his county.”

“Well, he did it. He booked Arty.”

I was feeling a little put out. “He’s playing lawman around here?”

“He wants your job, and he’s getting in thick with the supervisors, so he decided to show off a little.”

“Read me Ike’s log,” I said. I could never get much out of that curvy handwriting with all them letters tied together like they were bent out of shape, so I’d just let Rusty figure it out.

“Suspect was found rifling a cashbox in Rosie’s House of Heaven at about midnight, June 11, and had put seventy-one purloined dollars in his pants pockets while Rosie was entertaining a customer in another room. Rosie reported she had been robbed of her life savings and retirement funds while entertaining a client, and identified Arty as the thief. Suspect said he had gotten the money from swamping saloons and picking up change dropped in the sawdust. But most of the greenbacks were two-dollar and one-dollar greenbacks, along with a twenty. Suspect arrested and booked. Ike Berg, Sheriff.”

“Ike should have got a deputy,” I said.

Rusty was grinning. “De Graff was Rosie’s customer just then, so he was busy.”

Well, that was a turn. I’d always wondered how Deputy De Graff screwed around all night, and now I knew. Wasn’t a bad way to spend some duty time, I thought. But he was spending faster than he was earning, if I knew Rosie.

“Guess I better find Iceberg,” I said.

“Oh, Cotton, the supervisors are looking for you.”

“Tell ’em I’m here.”

“I think they’re worried about this crime wave.”

“I think they want to fire me,” I said.

“Well, I didn’t want to say it,” Rusty said.

I clamped my ancient Stetson on my unruly locks, picked up the county’s sawed-off scatter-gun, and headed into the June sunlight. It was the wrong time of year to have a mean cough. I could see that Doubtful was having a peaceable morning. Ralston had changed his marquee to read F
INAL
N
IGHT
T
HE
G
ILDERSLEEVE
C
OMPANY
.

I headed for the Beanery, which is where I likely would find Sheriff Berg. I meant to have a word or two with him, and maybe discuss a few rules in my county. Sure enough, the skinny man in black occupied a corner seat and was nursing a java.

“You owe me lunch, Pickens,” he said.

He had a wry grin pasted on his skinny lips. I could paste one on mine, too, so I nodded and sat down uninvited.

“Somebody had to stop the crime wave around here, as long as the local peace officers couldn’t manage it, so I was elected,” Iceberg said. “I’ll have steak and beans.”

“I see you nabbed our local saloon swamper Arty,” I said.

“Sure did, with a pile of stolen greenbacks in his britches.”

“I hear you hauled him off and put him in my jail and booked him.”

“I did. Your deputy De Graff was nowhere in sight. In fact he wasn’t even dressed for business.”

“I hear that Arty thought you were a lawman,” I said.

“It sort of surprised him, Pickens. He was used to getting away with murder.”

“And your star persuaded him? Even if it came from the wrong county?”

“A peace officer’s a peace officer, Pickens. I’ll nip anyone, anytime, especially when the locals don’t manage it.”

“You after my job, are you, Iceberg?”

“I already have it. They just haven’t told you yet. They want this crime wave stopped, and you’re not doing it.”

“What are they going to pay you?”

“Seventy-five. I came down a little when they threw in a few perks.”

“And what are you earning now?”

“Fifty.”

“And why aren’t you in your own county?”

“Pickens, you just don’t get it. I’ve got no crime in my county. I stamped it out. And I’ve got two deputies watching the store while I’m here. No one’s even seen a burglary since I took over down there. Medicine Bow County’s the cleanest place in the country. I’ve got the best enforcement in Wyoming. The last arrest was six months ago, when I caught a little girl playing hopscotch in the middle of the street. She spent three days behind bars before I cut her loose. So, naturally, your supervisors are eager to have me, and send you packing.”

“Well, my ma always used to say, when someone’s busting the law, arrest him. So put your paws up, Iceberg.” I moved the barrel of my scatter-gun straight into his midsection.

He looked plumb flummoxed.

“You heard me.” I waggled the scatter-gun.

“For what?”

“Impersonating a peace officer. You ain’t sworn in this county, and you’re pretending you are. Now git up slow and easy, and we’re going to walk real careful toward the jail.”

He smiled. “Forget it, Pickens. This is a joke.”

“You see these twelve-gauge barrels aiming at your ribs? Back in there are two loads of doubleought buckshot, and if I pull these here triggers I’ll separate the Ike from the Berg real permanent.”

It dawned on him that I meant it. He was staring real hard at my trigger finger, so I wiggled it a few times for show.

There sure was a bunch of Doubtful folks watching this in the Beanery, and enjoying every minute. Two men with stars, and one holding a scatter-gun on the other. The customers would be gossiping about this one for weeks.

Iceberg got real smirky. “My fifteen minutes in the sun,” he said.

But he got up slow and easy, and kept his hand away from that piece he had strapped to his hip because he knew I’d do what I said. We eased out the door, and he was too smart to try any tricks, so I let him walk ahead of me toward my office, while more of Doubtful’s finest citizens watched.

Iceberg started to enjoy himself. He waved at the gawkers, and nodded and bowed and saluted. I didn’t care what he did, long as his hands didn’t get anywhere near that Peacemaker he was carrying. He knew he’d be a big red blood spot after about thirty lead balls tore him into dog food. I was sort of enjoying it myself, and waved a time or two at the spectators. My ma always said when they shout for an encore, go ahead and give them one.

But finally we climbed them steps and stepped in, and I was ready for some trick. Rusty got to one side real quick, and eased around and opened the jail door, and then a cell door, and then stood real wide, at the ready.

“All right, Berg, real slow, unbuckle that gun belt and let it down real slow, and remember I don’t even have to aim to turn you into fish food.”

He obeyed, still real smirky, and even stepped away from the weapon on the floor, and into his cell, which Rusty clanged shut.

I headed for the log and wrote the information, getting it down in nice clean block letters:
ARRESTED SHERIFF IKE BERG FOR IMPERSONATING A PEACE OFFICER AND USING ARMED FORCE TO ARREST A CITIZEN OF PUMA COUNTY
.

“Can you spell my name, Pickens?” Berg asked.

“Good enough. The judge and the county attorney can read it.”

“When do I post bail?”

“Oh, in a few weeks,” I said. “I tell you what. You can leave here anytime you want—so long as you get your kit at the hotel and get out of my county just as fast as you can manage it. You’ll get out and stay out. You ain’t coming back. You ain’t gonna work here, even if I get fired. If the supervisors want you, you’ll say no. You think about that.”

Berg stood at the door, his hands clamped around the iron bars. He was so skinny he looked like he could almost squeeze through the sixinch gaps between the bars.

“Nothing to think about,” he said. “I’m your guest—for a little bit. After that, maybe you’ll be my guest here. I expect a supervisor will swear me in anytime now.”

He prowled in there, plain unhappy. He was still wearing his star, which was fine with me; a little more evidence for District Judge Alvin Rampart. Berg finally settled down on the metal bench and stared at Rusty and me.

“I never forget anything,” he said. “I will not forget that I came here to help you, that I put a dent in your crime wave, and that you treat me as if I’m the criminal instead of that reprobate there.”

Over in the next cell, Arty stared at all of us. “He’s not a copper?” Arty asked.

“Not here,” I said. “He’s the sheriff over in Medicine Bow.”

“I shoulda shot him,” Arty said. “It would have only been a misdemeanor.”

“You would have done Puma County a favor,” Rusty said.

“If I wasn’t nabbed by a legal peace officer, then you got to let me go,” Arty said.

It wasn’t a bad argument. “When you see the judge, tell him,” I said. “Maybe you’re right. The judge listens to jailhouse lawyers.”

I headed back to the office and found Rusty with his feet up, reading a Captain Billy Whizbang comic.

“I’m going out. You tell De Graff when he comes in, on county time his pants stay on. Dinner hour he can wear nothing at all, that’s fine with me. But I expect him to be on the job instead of on Rosie during work time.”

“I’ll tell him,” Rusty said.

“Tell him we’ve got a crime wave.”

Rusty yawned.

I stepped into the afternoon and headed across the village square to the Puma County courthouse. I coughed my way in, and started hunting supervisors, and finally found Reggie Thimble in the county assessor’s office jacking up the taxes.

“Ah, are you feeling better?” Thimble asked.

“South half is,” I said. “My ma used to say that’s the important half. North of the waist I’ve got leprosy, a cough, pneumonia, catarrh, and yellow spit. In other words, nothing.”

Thimble cringed. “We’ve been looking for you, Pickens.”

“I don’t fire easily,” I said. “And I just tossed Ike Berg in my jail.”

“Berg? Jail?”

“He’s not a peace officer here. He ain’t sworn here. His office runs to the boundary of Medicine Bow County. But he’s wearing a star and arresting people, and so I’m charging him.”

“But we’re going to swear him in as soon as we get rid of you. In fact, we’ve unanimously voted to hire another sheriff. We’ve a crime wave in Doubtful and so far you haven’t even slowed it down. Sorry, Pickens. You can take that star off your chest right now, and that will end it.”

“My ma always said, never argue with a man with a gun,” I said, waving my scatter-gun a little. “You’re going to give me thirty days’ notice. If I don’t bust this here crime wave one month from now, I’ll hand you this star.”

“But we’ve fired you.”

“Thirty days’ notice, Thimble. And Iceberg is going to enjoy my hospitality the whole time. If I don’t restore public safety by then, I’ll cut him loose and you can pin this here star on him and ship his star back to his county. And if you mess with me before the thirty days are up, I’ll toss you and Ziggy Camp and George Waller in there, too, and you can play poker with jailhouse cards all day, every day, with Iceberg, and he’ll clean you out of everything you own.”

“Pickens, you imbecile,” Thimble yelled, but I didn’t hear any more because I was out of there.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

Soon as I got my weary carcass back to my office, I discovered Delphinium Sanders intimidating Rusty. She was the banker’s wife, and she could cow anyone or anything. She was built along the lines of a perfect cylinder, and if there was anything female in there, she took pains to hide it. Her brown skirts touched the ground, and the rest of her from neck to wrists was swathed in brown also. She had a brown parasol, folded up now, she used to jab at anything that slowed her progress through towns. She’d been known to wound dogs with it, and kill cats.

Rusty sat sort of low in the swivel chair, and seemed to get lower and lower as she berated him. But when I walked in there she turned on me.

“You’ve been fired. What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’ve given myself a thirty-day notice,” I said.

“How can you do that? We told the supervisors to fire you.”

“Well, I did it,” I said.

“Where’s Sheriff Berg?”

“He’s my guest back there,” I said, pointing toward the lockup.

“How dare you put him in there? He’s the new sheriff!”

“Well, he’s there.”

“Let him out immediately.”

“He can leave any time he wants, ma’am.”

That puzzled her, but only for a moment. “Give me the keys.”

“My ma used to say, never lock a woman out,” I said.

“Why are you keeping him back there?”

“For impersonating a peace officer. He got busy arresting a feller and flashing his badge, even though he ain’t sworn here.”

“What difference does that make?”

“Well, ma’am, if you was to start arresting people, they might object.”

“Well, I just might. It’s come to that. There’s no enforcement of the law and the constitution in Puma County, and I intend to take matters into my own hands.”

“Then I’ll toss you in there, too, ma’am.”

“If he can leave when he wants, why is he there?”

“The deal is, if I let him out, he goes back to Medicine Bow County and gets his skinny butt out of here.”

“You’re talking to a lady, young man.”

“Who would have thought it?” I said.

If a glacier had eyes, she’d be a glacier. “Why haven’t you shut down that immoral opera house?”

“You want to show me a law says I should?”

“There’s a higher law, Pickens, that tells us all how to behave, and that is why theaters and playing cards and whiskey and dancing are illegal in the larger scheme of things. That is why I’ve organized the Doubtful Watch and Ward society, and why we’ll be picketing the opera house tonight. To drive this shameful public display of licentiousness out of the city.”

“License what? I don’t cotton to them fat words, ma’am, but I’ll license whatever needs licensing.”

“Oh, forget it. I’ll get the supervisors over here and my husband and we’ll have this distasteful business done with in five minutes. We’re going to clean up this town for good. It’s going to be so clean that it squeaks. We’re going to shut down every saloon and every disorderly house and every theater. We’re going to drive out aliens and noncitizens. And you’re at the top of our list, Cotton Pickens.”

“I wish I never had that name hung on me by my ma and pa, ma’am. It sure is embarrassing. I’m inclined toward Thaddeus myself. Do you figure that’d be a better handle than what I got stuck with?”

“You’re an imbecile,” she said, and huffed out the door.

Rusty sure was grinning like hell, but I didn’t get mad at him. “Go lime the privy,” I said. “And while you’re at it, empty Ike Berg’s pisspot. And after that, lime the courthouse privy.”

Rusty, he sure was smirky, and I thought maybe I’d fire him if he didn’t shape up.

I still didn’t feel well. Doubtful was on the warpath, and my nose was running snot, and I had a crime wave. I missed Critter. When a man can’t stand humans, he can always go talk to his horse, and Critter had heard an earful from me over the years. Critter always listened, and if he thought I was feeding him a line of baloney, he just sunk his big horse teeth into me to remind me to talk true to him. I’d trade in all my deputies as a down payment on Critter. If I ever found out who stole Critter, there’s likely to be a necktie party right on the spot, with me operating the necktie.

That woman was on the warpath; or maybe her banker husband talked her into it. I sort of wondered what it would be like to be married to that battle-axe. Old Hubert, no wonder he was so cranky. They seemed to have the whole town in their pocket. Didn’t she say something about telling the supervisors what to do?

I pinched a nostril and blew some snot out the other, picked up a billy club, and headed for the opera house. The marquee said this was the “final night” for the Gildersleeve Company. “Next: The Grand Luxemburg Follies,” with a cast of “twenty beauties.” I sure was ready for some beauties, and planned to watch every show.

I liked carrying the billy club. I had quit wearing my six-gun long ago, because it wasn’t needed, and was heavy. Anyone who thinks it’s fun to haul around all that weight is nuts. I found the opera house door was open, so I went in there looking for Ralston. It sure was dark in that cavern without them footlights lit, but there was some light coming from that cubbyhole of an office, and I found him in there.

“Last night, eh?”

“For the Gildersleeve Company. They’ll wagon over to the rails tonight after the show.”

“You’re going to have some company, tonight.”

Ralston settled back and waited for the bad news.

“Banker’s wife, Delphinium, she’s got some ladies together in a Watch and Ward society, and they’re going to make a fuss at your doors.”

“Good,” said Ralston, “get the word out.”

“Good?”

“You bet. That should fill the house. I was thinking the gate was all played out for this show, and we’d be lucky to have a few dozen. But this’ll crank it up.”

“But they’re a mean bunch, Ralston. I sure wouldn’t want Delphinium Sanders for my ma. My ma always said, choose your ma carefully.”

Ralston cocked an eyebrow. “The longer I know you, the more I like your ma.”

“There’ll be a few ornery ma’s out there tonight,” I said.

“I hope they beat up a customer or two. That’d be even better,” Ralston said. “Put the opera house on the map.”

“You sure you don’t mind?” I asked. “I’d pinch all them ladies if they start disturbing the peace.”

“You don’t understand show business, Sheriff.”

“I don’t understand sheriffing either.”

“Do me a favor and tell all the barkeeps that these ladies will picket tonight.”

“Hey, Ralston, I’m a peace officer, not a war officer.”

“That’s my boy,” Ralston said.

Well, sure enough, at about six-thirty them Watch and Ward people showed up with signs they’d painted on pasteboard. There was a bunch, all right. Delphinium Sanders was the top dog, organizing them people in a sort of line around the box office and the front doors of the opera house, so it’d be real uncomfortable to slide between them and into the theater.

There was the wives of some of the businessmen in town. Like Mrs. Sawbridge, whose husband ran a dry goods store, and Mrs. Vermont, whose husband sold men’s clothing, like longjohns and flannel shirts. And there was Mrs. Bullock, whose man was a cobbler and sold boots and shoes and fixed old ones. And there was that old Mrs. Perkins, whose husband ran the feed store and sold horse tack. And there were a few men, too. The blacksmith, Mickey Mann, was right in there with a sign he was waving. And the feller who ran the hardware and sold lime for privies and garden fertilizer.

I watched them collect there, and studied on their signs some, but it wasn’t easy for me to read all them words. One said T
HE
W
AGES
O
F
S
IN
I
S
D
EATH
, or something like that. And another said D
RIVE
S
IN
F
ROM
D
OUBTFUL
, and another said, S
WEEP
E
VIL
F
ROM
P
UMA
C
OUNTY
, and another said W
ALK
I
N
A
ND
E
NTER
H
ADES
. Mickey Mann’s seventeen-year-old daughter Melodia had her own sign: P
URE
M
AIDEN
D
EMANDS
A P
URE
T
OWN
. Someone had painted up them signs pretty fine, big black letters so everyone could read ’em easy, and none of that script where all the letters bleed into the others and no one can make sense of it all.

I got to thinking that nearly everyone there was connected one way or other to a local business, and all them people wanted the cowboys coming in to see the show to buy union suits and boots and haircuts and not spend their money in Ralston’s place. And it made all them people feel real bad to think that the Gildersleeve show would soon leave town with a mess of money gotten in Doubtful in its cashbox. That sure was interesting. Maybe all these folks were less interested in morality than in keeping their cash in town and keeping shows from latching on to the ranch and mine payrolls.

And that was plenty interesting, too. So I stood there, with my billy club, keeping the peace. Those sign carriers could stand there, but if they tried to block people from going in or coming out, I’d step in. I figured Ralston’s patrons would have a bad enough time just sliding through them merchants and their wives, and I’d not let it go further than that. The Gildersleeve show people wandered by, real pretty gals, and gawked at the crowd, but then they went down the alley and entered the stage door. No one molested them, so I just kept an eye on things. The comic and the magician showed up, eyed the crowd, whistled at Melodia and tipped their top hats to the picketers, and meandered down the alley. This here was real entertaining.

“Arrest them for lewd behavior,” Mrs. Sanders said.

“Arrest who?”

“Those men who whistled.”

“They were just appreciating a local girl, ma’am.”

“Appreciating! That’s a sinister insinuation, Sheriff. They were virtually disrobing the girl with their gaze. Demeaning her. Reducing her to their own animal lust.”

“Well, that’s kind of nice, ma’am.”

Man, the look she gave me had a hangman’s noose in it. I thought maybe she’d whack me and I’d have a good reason to haul her off to my friendly jail. She whirled away, leaving me staring at her rigid back. I saw Hubert Sanders standing back away, watching all this. He looked like he was the field marshal for this whole Watch and Ward business.

Pretty quick, customers began arriving, and mostly just grinned, bought their tickets from Ralston himself in the box office, and entered the theater. They didn’t have any trouble slipping between all them sign-wavers. They were mostly cowboys off the neighboring ranches, and had probably seen the show two, three times. Cowboys don’t see women very much, and here were a mess of pretty ones, with a little leg showing, too.

They drifted in, and the women waggled their signs, and the customers just ignored them, and headed for their seats. The only real interesting thing was Lawyer and the second Mrs. Stokes, who studied the picketers, decided to go in, bought tickets, and entered, even as Delphinium began a chant: “Shame, Shame, Shame,” she said and the chorus started up.

Then came Lemuel Clegg, a logger out of town. He studied them signs, and approached Delphinium Sanders. “How come you ain’t picketing the cathouses?” is all he said.

She whacked him, and I stepped in between them and pushed her back with my billy club.

“Arrest him!” she cried.

“You’re the one hit him,” I said. “He didn’t hit you.”

“He insulted me!”

“How’d he do that, ma’am?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said.

“Guess not, ma’am. You hit anyone again, and I’ll lock you up for the night.”

Clegg bought himself a cheap balcony seat and winked at me.

“He winked at you!” Delphinium cried.

“Pretty awful, ain’t it?”

“You’re in league with the devil.”

Then she whacked me with her sign.