Rusty was a typical redhead who’d get into a fight before he knew why, and then forget to quit before he got hurt. But he made a good deputy, mostly because people liked him, which is more than I can say about me. Red-haired people got no brakes.
He was sitting in my chair, reading Captain Billy’s Whizbangs, which had more death and dismemberment and arsenic in its pulp pages than ten cents could possibly buy. The thing was published in Chicago, or Natchez, or some cesspool like that.
“Hey, Cotton, I was reading about a jailbreak in here,” he said. “Forty people dead in Poughkeepsie, New York, including the warden and six guards. You think Admiral Bragg’s going to try to spring King before the hanging?”
“It passed through my head a few times,” I said.
“But it didn’t stick?”
“The day they convicted King Bragg, I told his old man that King would get the first bullet if they tried to bust him out.”
“They got the manpower, Cotton.”
“Admiral’s got maybe twenty cowboys handy with a six-gun.”
“And what do we have? You and me and DeGraff and Burtell.”
“It’s a worry,” I said, trying to dismiss him, but Rusty wouldn’t be dismissed.
“What if they try something slick? Like a hostage? Like they capture you, and want to trade you for King? Or me? Am I worth King Bragg to you?”
“Rusty, if they grabbed you off the streets, I’d just laugh.”
He wasn’t very happy with that. “Well, same goes for you,” he said. “They snatch you and want to trade you for King, I’ll just laugh.”
That riled me some. Why was I so riled this day? Maybe it was because I’d already got shot and hanged this morning. It was fixing to be a lousy day.
“Rusty, if they highjack me and want King for me, tell ’em to go to hell.”
Rusty, he stared at me. “You really mean that?”
“And tell them if they come for King, they’ll collect the body, but not the boy.”
“What if they grab me?” Rusty wanted to know.
“Same thing. I’ll tell them they’ll collect King’s body but not King.”
“You mean you’d not trade me for King Bragg?”
“Nope.”
Rusty, he sort of took a moment to swallow that. ’Cause I was saying if he got took hostage, he wasn’t gonna get any help from me.
“Maybe I’ll get me another job,” Rusty said.
“Maybe you should,” I said.
Rusty, he sort of stared at me respectful. It was the first time in living memory my deputy ever treated me respectful. It was like his red hair didn’t count.
“They might try a trick, like coming in here to talk, and then holding us at gunpoint, snatching the keys, and freeing King. So I worry some. I told the mayor, if Admiral Bragg shows up with a lot of gunmen, get under cover because there’s going to be a lot of lead pills flyin’ around. This jail is gonna get itself shot up.”
Half the time, there’s no one on duty at night, but since King Bragg was our guest, I’d kept a deputy on at all hours with instructions to keep the front door locked. This place ain’t no fortress, but it would take some work to bust in, and I figured anyone knocks down the door, they get a load of double-ought from the Greener aimed that way. So far, anyway, no one had showed up to spring King Bragg, and I doubted anyone would. But you never knew. I’d not put it past his old man to toss a stick of DuPont Hercules through the barred window up high just to put a little respect in us.
“Rusty, you hold the fort around here, and don’t let no one in, not even some drunk saddle tramp. You just keep the scattergun handy. I’m going for a ride.”
“Where you headed?”
“Time to have a little talk with Crayfish Ruble.”
“What for?”
“I don’t rightly know except this whole thing don’t sit good with me. Them three hands of his got kilt; I hardly know a thing about them. Maybe I’ll find out. One was Foxy Jonas, and his kid brother Weasel Jonas, neither of which was a sterling citizen of this republic. They’d steal their mother’s false teeth and let her starve. And the other, Rocco, that’s the only name he ever had, this Rocco, he kidnaped girls and sold them. So King Bragg done the world a favor, except it was murder and he’s going to swing for it. But I’m just curious why Crayfish Ruble had three jacks like that in his deck, so him and me are gonna talk.”
“King Bragg, he done us a favor,” Rusty said. “Them three buried out in the potter’s field.”
“Don’t start thinkin’ that way. Murder is murder.”
I stomped out, headed for Jasper Turk’s Livery Barn, where I was keeping Critter these days. Critter didn’t like it at all. He liked being out on a pasture, with the sun and wind and rain and snow on him, and a chance to bite anyone come close.
He wasn’t exactly the friendliest nag, and sometimes I thought to shoot him, bam, right between the eyes, and send him to the cat food canner. Critter and I, we were growing ornery side by side.
I didn’t much care for this place, but in a town the size of Doubtful, I didn’t have much choice. Turk, he treated horses worse than he treated people, and that always ticked me off. Only, he was careful no one ever saw him at it. But I could tell. I’d lead Critter toward Turk, and Critter would lay back his ears and start clacking his molars and I got the picture real good.
I found Critter gnawing pine off the planks of his pen.
“Wreck your teeth,” I told him.
He snorted. I stepped in and he bit me on the forearm. I always allow him one bite, but if he bites again, we get serious.
“You ain’t got teeth hard enough to draw blood, you old coot,” I told him.
He bit me again, this time gnawing on my shoulder.
“Cut it out!”
He snorted, so I raised a knee to his ribs, and he whoofed up some air, and tried to lay a hoof into me. I dodged just as he kicked with his right rear and whirled around to nip my ear.
“You sure are ornery this afternoon,” I said, but he paid me no heed and was calculatin’ how to kick me in the crotch. He’s a smart horse, all right.
“You been in here too long,” I said. “We’ll take some air.”
He lowered his ugly head and shoved it into my chest.
“Yeah, I like you too,” I said.
Critter could get sentimental at times. We’d been partnering
