Chapter Eleven
No sooner had the orphan train pulled out, with a lot of tears flowing, than a mess of cowboys landed in my office. They were all waving bottles of Dr. Zimmer’s Miracle Healing Tonic, and they weren’t happy.
“This stuff, it don’t work,” one said. “I get more mule kick out of a one-bit shot of red-eye. I tried a little dose, and a big dose, and it ain’t worth the glass it came in.”
“Yeah, that’s right! This stuff, it’s creek water, and maybe a little flavoring. And to think I paid good money for it. I got suckered,” yelled another.
Rusty chimed in. “I tried a swallow or two, and I sure didn’t get any trip to heaven out of it. Looks to me like I got stuck with nothing.”
That was the verdict of eight cowboys and Rusty. Me, I had that sip when the show rolled in and it flattened me, and started the world spinning round and round and round. They carried me home.
“It sure kicked me in the butt,” I said. “But I was up there, on that little stage, before he really got to peddling the stuff. Looks like there’s more than one version of the tonic.”
“Looks to me like we got took,” Rusty said. “Anyone who bought the stuff late in the game, we all got suckered.”
I sampled one of the bottles, and sure enough, it was creek water, pure as the mountain snow, with maybe a dash of wintergreen flavor in it. It sure didn’t start any tincture of opium buzzing in my innards.
“You want to do something about it?” I asked Rusty.
“You bet I do,” he said. “I’m sorely put out. He seemed like a nice fellow, polite and cheerful, all the while he was cheating us.”
“We can catch up and squeeze some cash out of him,” I said. “I want a hundred, and I’ll refund it to anyone that’s got a complaint.”
“You gonna bring him in and charge him?”
“Hell, no. The sooner he’s out of here, the better off we are. Puma County’s gonna see the last of him. But we’ll collect enough to make good on everything.”
“So what do we do with our new deputy here?” Rusty asked.
Sure enough, there was Riley, about one hour into being Rusty’s boy, staring real sad at us.
“Saddle up, Rusty. And bring a spare rifle as well as your side arms. I’ll meet you at Turk’s in a bit.”
I knew exactly what I was going to do with Riley. “Come along, boy. We’re going to meet my landlady, Belle.”
I was soon hammering on her apartment door. She had about half of the first floor of her boardinghouse, and rented out the rest. She opened, eyed Riley, and started to shut the door.
“Sheriff, I’m not in the orphan racket.”
“I ain’t selling orphans, Belle. You get to be a mama for a few hours if you lay down a straight flush.”
“This is Rusty’s kid. I’ve heard about it about six times now.”
“This is Riley. Hey, kid, meet your ma. At least, she’ll be working at it. She’s never been a ma in her life and she’s itching to try.”
Belle eyed him. “Hey, kid, you got cauliflower ears and slope shoulders.”
Riley, he started to cloud up some.
“That’s how I like ’em,” Belle bawled. “Handsome man shows up at my door, I kick ass. Come on in, kid, and face the music.”
Riley edged into the warm apartment.
“Hey, Riley, see that white jug with the orange butterflies on it? Go over there and lift the cover and take two. That’s the cookie jar.”
Fearfully, Riley did as he was told, extracted two sugary cookies, and waited.
“Eat, dammit,” Belle said.
Riley ate. Then he started crying.
“Hey, kid, come here,” Belle bawled.
She took Riley into her ample arms, and held him quietly until the storm had passed.
“We got to go, Belle. I’ll pick him up in a few hours,” I said.
I headed for Turk’s Livery Barn, where I kept the most recent version of Critter in a box stall. Rusty was waiting, saddled up and ready to go. Turk watched malevolently.
“You always show up when I’m getting Critter saddled up to get on board,” I said.
Turk grinned. “I’m one of them types likes to watch a good hanging, especially after the drop, when the neck’s busted and life’s leaking out.”
That was Turk for you.
I began by talking to Critter, but not opening the stall door.
“Critter, we’re going for a nice little trip. You get bored in here, dontcha? Well, we’re going to see some country, and you’ll see some nice spring grass coming up.”
Critter cut loose with a rear hoof. It hit the door so squarely the whole barn shuddered.
“I see you’re feeling just fine, Critter,” I said, opening the door a crack.
Both rear hooves smacked the door, driving it all the way open.
I used the moment to slide in beside him, and slip a bridle over his snout. He let me do it before the Big Squeeze. That was always his second maneuver. He began to push me into the side of the stall, harder and harder, intending to reduce me to bag of broken bones.
I kneed him in his gut, which didn’t do much; he just increased the pressure, until my ribs hurt and my pelvis, it was ready to crack in two. So I grabbed both his ears and twisted until he quit. He bucked, but the door was open and he had nothing to kick, so he settled for a big old fart, and I knew I’d caught him once again.
“That’s my day’s entertainment,” Turk said. “It’s downhill from here.”
Critter, he let me brush him, throw on a blanket, tighten a saddle over his quivering back, and lead him out into the aisle. We were ready to roll.
“He’s getting tame,” Rusty said.
“You could sell him to the French,” Turk said.
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
“French like horse meat.”
That’s how it went at Turk’s barn.
It was already well along so we trotted north on the trail to Douglas, hoping to catch up with the medicine show at its first camp, nine or ten miles out of Doubtful. It sure was a fine spring day, with all the dandelions blooming and all.
Critter got into the spirit of things, and I had to hold him down to a jog. Critter is notional. He wanted to get into a race with Rusty’s old plug, but I resisted. He got so fractious I finally reined him into a tight circle until he got the message, and then we made good time. The soil was soft and there were ruts where the medicine wagons had passed through.
We raised the medicine camp late in the day. The outfit was parked at a spring with a few cottonwoods around it, a place that had been much used as a stop. They watched us ride in, and I saw a couple of teamsters slip toward their wagon, where a couple of scatterguns lay.
They were cooking dinner in a tin stove.
“They know how to live, Rusty. My ma always used to say, you want to eat soon, don’t cook over an open fire. That takes forever to cook up something.”
“You ma had the smarts in the family,” Rusty said.
I didn’t take that kindly, but I was too busy keeping an eye on that bunch to make any objections. My ma, she always said I was slow but made up for it. I’m real quick with my hands, especially when it comes to hefting a revolver.
Zimmer, he had good vision, and he saw who was coming, and raised one of his white hands. We rode in, saw the meal cooking, and saw the bunch eyeing us warily. This wasn’t gonna be easy.
“Why, sheriff, I imagine you have good news for us. You’ve recovered the stolen funds.”
“Well, no, professor, that ain’t it. Truth to tell, we got lots of complaints. This stuff you’re peddling, it don’t do nothing.”
“Why, every bottle is bonded and certified, sir.”
“Rusty, gimme that bottle. Professor, you uncork this and sip for a little. In fact, you drink her down, entire.”
“Why, I couldn’t do that, sir. I’ve taken the Temperance Oath. Lips that touch whiskey will never touch mine. Now, as it happens, the tonic is ten percent spirits, so I mustn’t touch the bottle you generously offer me.”
“Drink her up.”
“That would offend my person, sir. We must never violate another’s person.”
“Drink her up.”
Zimmer stared upward at me. Critter was getting restless. He prefers to kill anything in his way rather than stand still.
“We got about fifty people, they say there’s nothing but creek water and wintergreen flavoring in these here bottles, so I said I’d fetch a refund. You willing to pay up, or do I have to haul you back to Doubtful?”
“Now, don’t be hasty. There might have been a few bottles that were accidentally filled without the usual certified quality check, sheriff. What I’ll do is send you back with ten bottles of simon-pure, double-checked, certified tonic, guaranteed to produce instant joy and sublime peace in the partaker.”
“Nope, Zimmer, it’s cash on the barrelhead, or I take you back and charge the whole outfit, and let the judge decide what to do with you.”
I was keeping an eye on them two teamsters, who doubled as musicians in the show. They were hovering around one wagon, ready to reach for their persuaders.
“You fellers, you come over here,” I said.
They dallied a moment, and then did, and I felt like Rusty and me, we were in a little more control. Rusty, he hung back, his hands not far from his artillery.
“I’m taking a hundred dollars back, to cover any claim against you. Someone brings me a bottle of worthless creek water, he gets two dollars. If there’s cash left over, it’ll be kept for you when you come back.”
“This is certainly arbitrary and hasty,”
“That’s what my ma always said,” I told him. “Call me Hasty Pickens.”
“I will give you fifty. We sold most of those at a discount, one dollar for two bottles.”
That was true. “All right, you give me fifty,” I said.
I got down off Critter, who eyed the bunch with laid-back ears and clacked his teeth. Critter was worth about two deputies in a deal like this.
Zimmer looked forlorn. Like surrendering greenbacks was the same as an attack of gout, or getting a cold enema.
We entered the dark confines of the bunk-wagon and he headed for the strongbox, which had a fresh padlock on it.
“You got you a new padlock,” I said.
“Oh, it’s one I remembered I had.”
He unlocked the padlock, and lifted the hinged top. There were greenbacks galore in there, and something else, the sawed-off padlock.
“Whatcha keeping that, for?” I asked.
“Oh, it might be repaired.”
He swiftly counted out fifty dollars in gummy greenbacks, and I stuffed them into my britches.
“I want a receipt,” he said.
That stumped me. I could manage it, but it would take some doing to print it out and put my X on it.
“Hey, Rusty, come on in,” I yelled.
Rusty, he didn’t like it, leaving that outfit to do whatever it wanted. But I thought it’d be all right. I had the cash to repay the gypped cowboys.
Rusty, he looks around in there, and sees things I didn’t.
“Cotton that’s the stuff that vanished from George Waller’s Mercantile,” he said.
But by then it was too late. Just outside, there were them teamsters, each with a scattergun aiming our way. Zimmer had somehow slid away, so it was bird hunters against two partridges.