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 headed 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.
“Got some pie for Queen,” I said. “Belle, she baked it special.”
That’s when Queen appeared in the stairwell, and smiled. “That’s very kind of her, Cotton. Give her our regards. You want a piece?”
“In a little bit, Queen. We got us a couple of wiggling tadpoles here got to get tied down.”
King, he collected the revolvers, unloaded them, and set them on the kitchen counter.
We heard shouting out there. They’d heard the shot Big Finn fired. But no one dared rush the Big House. Not yet.
Queen found a couple of lariats, and we hogtied them two little hooligans so tight they couldn’t even stand up without help.
I edged to the front door, wary of a wild shot. “Come on in and have some apple pie,” I yelled.
Ten guys were waving revolvers out there. They stared.
“Put away the guns, boys,” I said, still sticking to shadows. Those cowboys were a wild crowd, a little loose with the trigger finger.
“Rusty, you come on ahead,” I said.
“You got a couple of Ukrainian beauties for me?”
“Nope, just a pair of dimwits,” I said.
Sure enough, Rusty edged up the porch steps first, wary of a trap, but in one glance he took in the brats tied tight, King, who was guarding them, and Queen slicing apple pie into thin pieces since it would have to stretch to a dozen men.
“It was the pie that done it,” I said. “We got to thank Belle for it.”
Big Finn, he was wrestling with the rope, flopping like a just-hooked bass, but Mickey, he just stared at us, his dream over, and maybe any hope of a good life, too—if he ever dreamed of one. You never know. Sometimes the worst feller around wants nothing but a little cottage with rambling roses and a sweetheart and a job as a janitor somewhere.
About then, all the Admiral Ranch hands rolled in, including Spitting Sam and Big Nose George. It took them a single glance to see the two waterfront hooligans hogtied, and Queen dishing out skinny slivers of apple pie.
“Best pie I ever ate,” I said. It was gone in two bites.
“You tell that Belle, she’s gotta bake one for me,” said Spitting Sam.
We all had a slice, and a lot of smiling was occurring without permission.
“What are we gonna do with these little turds?” Spitting Sam asked.
“Use ’em for bait,” Big Nose said.
“Like minnow bait?”
“Yeah, over at Lake Booger, where the alligators live, we could troll these two, with a hook in their mouths, and wait for a bite.”
“What’s the biggest gator you ever caught that way?” King Glad asked.
“Well, that’s the ten-footer we skinned out.”
“And what were you trolling with?”
“A little pig with a hook in his snout. That gator, he swum up from under, and downed the pig in one gulp, and the hook got set in his jaw and we reeled him in.”
“I’d rather hang!” yelled Big Finn.
“I want to go to San Francisco,” Mickey said.
“That’ll be up to Hanging Judge Earwig,” I said.
“Hanging judge?”
“He’s even more famous than Hanging Judge Parker down in the Indian Territory. He packs ’em off to the gallows about as fast as the hangman can wind a new noose.”
“And we’re going to be taken to him?”
“That’s what I’m planning on. You any objections?”
“They can’t hang boys,” Big Finn yelled. “It ain’t allowed.”
“Well, Judge Earwig prefers to hang girls,” I said. “But he doesn’t exempt boys.”
“He’d hang a billy goat if he caught the goat stealing,” King Glad said.
“He favors schoolmarms,” Queen said. “He’s hanged more teachers than anyone I ever heard of.”
“He hanged a preacher a few times,” Big Nose said.
“Well, they deserve it,” Rusty said. “We pretty near hanged one a few weeks ago, but he skedaddled just ahead of the noose.”
The pair of hooligans, they looked a little pale around the gills.
“All right, Rusty, let’s pack up this pair and lock them up. We’ll fetch Hanging Judge Earwig, list a few dozen charges, and let them plead.”
“I didn’t do nothing,” Big Finn yelled.
“That’s what I used to tell my ma when I got caught red-handed,” I said.