Chapter Three
Doubtful, it had growed some, and was fixed in the middle of some of the best Wyoming ranch country around. So there were plenty of people in the Puma County seat, and also plenty more out herding cows and growing hogs and collecting eggs from chickens. There were even some horse breeders around town, most of them raising remounts for the cavalry.
And the town was half civilized. I knew the rough times were over when some gal named Matilda opened up a hattery. I don’t know the proper name of a hat shop, but it don’t matter. Hattery is what she operated, and she did nothing but sell bonnets and straw hats full of fake fruit to the town’s ladies. And gossip, too. All the local gals went in there to gossip about the rest of us. Sometimes I got a little itchy about sheriffing in a halfway civilized town and thought I should pack up and head for the tropics.
But my ma, she always said don’t shoot a gift horse between the eyes, and that’s how I looked at my job. That eve, Rusty quit early on me, and headed off to his cabin to nurse his disappointment. He had his heart set on marrying the Ukrainian beauties, and never having to have a conversation with his women because he didn’t understand a word they said. I thought it was a fool’s dream, myself. What if they was saying mean things about him, in their own tongue, maybe even at night with the pair of them lying beside him?
The town was drawing everything from whiskey drummers to medicine shows these days, and I intended to get out to the east side to have a close look. Half the shows rolling through the country roads of the West were nothing but gyppo outfits, looking to con cash out of the local folks, while swiping everything that wasn’t nailed down tight. And if they could get a few girls in trouble while robbing citizens and peddling worthless stuff, they did that, too, and smiled all the way to the next burg.
I’d wander over there. But first I’d patrol Doubtful, as I did every evening, wearing my badge, walking from place to place, rattling doors to see if they were locked, and studying saloons closely to see if there was trouble. Sometimes there was, and the barkeeps would be glad I wandered in at a moment when some drunken cowboy, armed to the teeth, was picking a fight.
So I did my rounds, seeing that all was quiet at Maxwell’s Funeral Parlor, and no one was busting the doors at Hubert Sanders’s Merchant Bank. I peered into Barney’s Beanery, and saw that it was winding down for the eve, and peered into the dark confines of Leonard Silver’s Emporium. I checked the office of Lawyer Stokes, and saw no one rifling his file cabinets. McGivers’ Saloon was quiet, and so was the Last Chance, where I saw Sammy Upward yawning, his elbows on the bar, looking ready to close early.
There were a few posters promoting Dr. Zoroaster Zimmer’s show. The man had a string of initials behind his name, but I never could figure out what all they meant, but the Ph.D. meant he was a doctor of philandery or something like that. The “KGB” puzzled me, but someone told me it was British and had to do with garters and bathtubs. You never know what gets into foreigners. At any rate, this Professor Zimmer had them all, and they followed his name like a string of railroad cars. I thought I’d like to meet the gent.
Denver Sally’s place, back behind saloon row, looked quiet, the evening breezes rocking the red lantern beside her door. Most of her business came on weekends. The Gates of Heaven, next door, looked as mean as ever. Who knows all the ways a feller wants to get rid of his cash?
Doubtful was peaceful enough, that spring evening. So it was time to drift out beyond saloon row, east of town, and take a gander at this here medicine man show. There were a mess of these shows wandering through the whole country, setting up in dark corners of a little town, running an act or two across a stage set up on a wagon. Then the medicine man would step out and peddle his stuff, and when he gauged that he’d done all the selling he could, he’d pull up stakes and head for the next little town and do it all over again.
Sure enough, east of town, on an alkali flat, there were a couple of torches going, two fancy red-and-gilt wagons, a makeshift rope corral with some moth-eaten drays in it, and a lamp-lit stage on a wagon. There were maybe twelve, fifteen suckers watching some jet-haired woman in a grass skirt wiggle her butt and make her bosom heave. I’d never seen that, and it seemed entertaining, but I had sheriff business to do. Namely, look for a red-and-gilt chariot, and two blonde Ukrainian women joined at the hip. I took a quick prowl around the rear of the place, and into the other wagon, to satisfy myself that no one was hiding a chariot or Siamese twins, blonde or any other color. Whoever kidnapped the ladies, it wasn’t this miserable outfit.
I spotted a gent smoking a cigar back there, and thought he might have some answers. He saw the glint of my badge even before we spoke. He sucked on his gummy cheroot, and knocked off the ash.
“You looking for something, sheriff?”
“Just keeping an eye on things. How many people you got in this outfit?”
“Six and the professor.”
“Any women?”
He stared at me as if I were an idiot. “That’s Elvira Smoothpepper out there. And we got Elsie Sanchez, the Argentine firecracker.”
“No Ukrainian blondes?”
“You got eyes, dontcha?”
“Who else’s in the show?”
“Sheriff, there ain’t anyone with a wanted poster on him. There’s me and another teamster. He’s the accordionist, and there’s a tap dancer named Fogarty, and the professor.”
“What does the professor sell? What’s his medicine?”
The gent smiled. “Try it sometime and come back and tell me.”
“Any chariots around here?”
“Any what?”
“Oh, never mind.”
“You all right, sheriff? Want to lie down? That second wagon, it’s got bunks. Had a little too much?”
“Who’s the professor?”
“He’s whatever he is at any moment. Right now, he’s a medicine man, and he’s working the rubes for a few bucks.”
“Yeah, well I’ll go watch the show,” I said.
“It beats pissing on a fence post.”
Half of the crowd was cowboys, out from the saloons. I recognized a few, most of them the ones that hung out at Mrs. Gladstone’s Sampling Room. They were tied up with the Admiral Ranch, other side of the county. But there were some locals, too, including the mayor, George Waller, who looked embarrassed when he saw me.
“I just came to view the competition,” he said. Waller was a merchant, and any outfit that sold anything was competition, as far as he was concerned. “Maybe you should arrest the whole lot,” he said.
“What for?”
“They’re all crooks.”
“Well, that’s progress. You show me one act of crookery, and I’ll pinch the person straight off.”
Elvira Smoothpepper was making her belly roll and the grass skirts sway, and that was pretty entertaining. The accordionist got to wheezing away, and pretty soon the act creaked to a stop, and out came Professor Zoroaster Zimmer, in black silk top hat, tux and tails, and a grimy white vest that looked a little worse for wear.
I’d never seen the like.
He spotted me at once, and welcomed me. “Ladies and gents, here’s the sheriff of, ah, what? Puma County, Wyoming. Come to see our little show, and maybe endorse my product, namely, the Zimmer Miracle Tonic, guaranteed to cure piles, insomnia, gout, St. Vitus Dance, and all bowel troubles. Welcome, Mr. Sheriff.
“Now, esteemed friends, I want to tell you about a product that should need no introducing, since it sells itself. You need only ask your neighbor, who has the remedy on his shelf, ready to use, and you’ll see how effective it is. Mr. Sheriff, please come up.”
“Me?”
“Of course, you. Step right up, my friend.”
“I haven’t got anything ailing me, doc.”
“Oh, my friend, do you have restless nights? Toss and turn nights?”
“Naw, I sleep like a log.”
“Do you ache after a long day on your horse?”
“Now, you’re talking about Critter, the orneriest critter on four legs. Yes, I’ll allow that I ache some after a long ride on that beast.”
“Were you out on him today, sheriff?”
“Pretty near the whole blasted day, professor.”
“Then you must feel weary, right down to the bone.”
“Well, we were out looking for some blonde Ukrainian women that got attached at the hip and plain disappeared.”
That got mostly dead silence and a couple of snickers from some of them cowboys.
“I think you are very weary, sir, after a day of searching for blonde Ukrainian women. Are you a bit worn?”
“I am done in.”
“Well, perfect. I would truly like to have you sample Doctor Zimmer’s Tonic, and report the results to all these fine folks.”
“My ma, she used to say, one drink is enough.”
“Oh, this is not drink, sir. This is an elixir to balm the soul, elevate mood, celebrate life, and rejoice in your own splendid body. Now how old are you?”
“I forget; past thirty, anyway.”
“Ah, the shady side of thirty. Let me tell you, my friend, that is when Doctor Zoroaster Zimmer’s Tonic works wonders the fastest. It works wonders at any age, sir, but especially after thirty.”
The maestro of this here event reached for a bottle of the stuff, which was sitting on a little shelf, with a gold halo around it, so the bottle looked like a saint.
He sure was smiling. He grabbed that stuff, and pulled the cork, and poured a little into a tumbler, and handed it to me, while all them cowboys and Mayor George Waller watched.
I remembered what my ma used to say, no guts, no glory, and I downed the stuff in one gulp.
Well, it took a moment and worked through me, like a glow of a lot of fireflies, and then I plumb keeled over. The accordionist caught me going down.