Chapter Thirty-two
There she was, cute as a button, famous across the whole country, a woman like no other. I peered around the sheriff office, with all its deadly force, and made up my mind.
“Ma’am, I’m not a big-game hunter. I’m a meat hunter. I go out hunting, I want to put elk steaks or antelope on the table, for myself and family and my friends. I never was one to shoot an elk because of its big rack, or shoot an elephant just to say I did, or kill a Bengal tiger so I could have a taxidermist mount the head, with all those feline teeth bared.”
She studied me for a moment, and I was expecting some smart reply, but instead she turned real soft, there in the dim lamplight.
“I like you, Cotton Pickens,” she said. “You know what the trouble is with road shows, and show people? We’re all lonely. We’re not making friends. We’re all as alone as people get. The show’s going to change every week, people come and go, and nothing’s the same. No homes, no neighborhoods, just ourselves, all bottled up. I’ve a favor to ask you.”
I couldn’t imagine what she wanted, but I nodded.
“Could you sit beside me somewhere and just hold me? That’s all. Just hold me gently. You’re the only person I’ve seen in years who cares about me.”
“I could do that, ma’am, but all I’ve got is the bench in the cell there.”
“Then we’ll make the cell our alpine meadow, full of sunshine and breezes,” she said.
We walked back there, in the dark, and sat down, and she surrendered herself to my arm, and we sat like that almost forever. She didn’t kiss me; she didn’t mess around. She just cozied up, and I felt her relax. She held my hand. Peace overtook her, and it was the thing she needed more than anything in the world. So I sat with her, even while my arm ached, and along about dawn, she straightened up, smiled, and whispered two words that meant something to me.
“Thank you,” she said.
She straightened her doeskin skirt, touched my stubbled cheek once, and walked away.
I hadn’t slept much, but I’d be fine. She would return to her world, and I to mine, and we would remember a few hours when we were each in another world. Maybe some other time and place, or on some other planet, we might have found each other, and lived a life of companionship. But not in this world.
I slept some, and was awakened when Rusty wandered in, looking like hell.
“Bad night? Riley trouble?”
“No, twin trouble,” he said, pouring some ancient java from a pot on the woodstove.
“Woman trouble,” I said. “No man escapes it.”
“I suppose your ma told you that.”
“No, I got that idea myself.”
“The twins are fighting,” he said. “There they are, locked to each other for life, sharing bodies, and they’re fighting. It tears me to pieces. They’re miserable.”
“Still about marriage?”
“Anna’s insisting they go back to the carnival and earn money. No one’s taking care of them here; I keep them in food, and that’s about it. There’s nothing for them. But Natasha’s just as determined to marry me, since I proposed to her, and she won’t go back, and the whole thing’s at a stalemate.”
“And the territory won’t let you marry both. It’s a problem,” I said.
“There’s no solution. It’ll just get worse. It’s tragedy.”
“There’s common-law marriage,” I said. “Just marry Natasha and live with Anna and call her your wife.”
“Cotton, you’re a card. You don’t know women.”
“Where have I heard that before?” I asked. “Blame it on my ma and pa. I don’t have any sisters. Let’s go talk to Hanging Judge Ear wig. He owes us a favor.”
Rusty looked morose. “He’ll find some way to make it worse. I’ll end up shipping them back to the Ukraine.”
But he came along with me. We angled across the courthouse square on a fine August morning, and found Earwig snoring on a couch in his chambers.
“Oh, eh, not much business this morning. Have you something to put in my Charity Jar?”
“Well, if you would do two weddings, you’d get double the donation,” I said.
He eyed me, and Rusty. “More Ukrainian crises?”
“I think you already know the trouble,” Rusty said. “We were wondering if you have any ideas.”
Earwig stared owlishly at Rusty. “You sure got a doozer, my boy. Two poor women, locked together for all their days, each with a different dream, a different will. And one wants to be your bride, and the other wants to put herself and sister on display again. As miserable as that sounds, it’s a life and an income. Am I right?”
“You’re right, sir.”
“Have you tried proposing to both?”
“This isn’t Utah, sir. No, no one will let me marry them both.”
Ear wig pursed his lips and stared into space. “Irons, you go propose to Anna and tell her you’ll find a way to marry both twins at once. And come back and report to me whether she accepts.”
“How you gonna do that, sir, if I may ask?”
“Desperate problems require desperate remedies,” Ear wig said. “I have one in mind that should satisfy the law, satisfy moralists, satisfy religionists, and make your lives happy.”
“All that?”
“I thought to hang one and you could marry the other,” Ear wig said, a tiny smile erecting on his bushy face.
Rusty, he just looked peeved, but I winked at the judge, and then Rusty and me, we went to Belle’s Boarding House to have a go with the Ukrainians.
“How’s he gonna do that?” Rusty asked.
“Beats me,” I said. “Do you want me to sit in on the proposal, or should I go visit the outhouse?”
“You sit in on her. Maybe you should propose to Anna, and we’ll make everyone happy.”
“That’s a little too intimate for comfort, Rusty. No, the twins are yours alone.”
At Belle’s, we clumped up the stairs, knocked, and found Natasha and Anna glaring at each other, as usual. Natasha didn’t even seem happy to see Rusty. The dilemma had exhausted any goodwill anyone possessed.
Rusty, he got right down on one knee, and took Anna’s hand. “My dear Anna, will you marry me, now and forever?” he asked.
“What’s this? You are a madman.”
“No, my dear, I am a man overflowing with the love of both of you in my bosom.”
I thought Rusty was laying it on thick. Natasha, she was studying him like he was a toad. Her biggest joy in life had been Rusty’s proposal, which hadn’t extended to Anna, but now Rusty was robbing her of all her prestige, and turning this into a three-way deal.
“I don’t know if I want you. Natasha can have you. No, I don’t think so.”
“My dear Anna, Judge Earwig says he’ll find a way to marry us,” Rusty said. “Please change your mind.”
Anna turned grouchy. “My only pleasure in life has been to frustrate you and Natasha in your cruel plans to wed without me. Now you are robbing me of my sole pleasure in this miserable existence.”
“I’ll take that for a yes,” Rusty said. “Congratulations, Anna. You’ve accepted. Now wash up, and we’ll see what Hanging Judge Earwig can do for us.”
The twins stared at him, and at each other, and rose. Anna poured water from the pitcher into the washbasin, and took a washcloth and washed Natasha’s face. And then Natasha washed Anna’s face. And then they combed each other’s hair, and straightened their dress.
First Natasha smiled, and then Anna.
“Take us,” Anna said.
I took Natasha’s arm, and Rusty took Anna’s, and we helped the twins down the creaking stairs, and made our slow majestic way to the courthouse as the midday sun smiled warmly on us. People stared and smiled, and a brat boy tried to look under the twins’ skirt, but I snarled at him. He thumbed his nose at me and skittered away.
Somehow, Riley got wind of it, and caught up with us, walking next to Rusty.
We made our slow and stately way up the courthouse stairs to Judge Earwig’s courtroom, and found no one in it. That was either because I kept law and order so well that there were no cases before him, or I kept law and order so poorly that I brought no cases to him. I never could figure out which. But Earwig had a good job, in which he only rarely had to work.
He emerged at once from his chambers, eyed us, and retreated. When he returned, he was wearing his black robe, and carrying some marigolds, which he divided and gave to each bride.
Natasha looked at them, and at him, and began oozing tears. Rusty, he was kicking himself for not stopping to get some flowers beforehand.
“I take it this is a bridal party?” Earwig asked.
“It is, sir.”
“And you wish me to wed both of these lovelies to you, Mr. Irons?”
“I do, Your Honor.”
Earwig, he seemed ready to burst. “I’ve been meditating on this, and I have found a solution.”
I sure was itching to learn it, but I kept my yap shut.
He seemed uncommonly pleased with himself. The courtroom was starting to fill up; word buzzed around Doubtful, and not a few citizens wanted to see the show.
Natasha, she was smiling to beat the band. Anna, she was eyeing the crowds, a little uncertain.
Earwig eyed the crowd, which gave him a captive audience, which pleased him all the more, because he was about to put his natural brilliance on display. I could see it in his face. He was fairly bursting with whatever was percolating inside of his cranium.
“Now, I welcome you all to this joyous occasion,” he said. “I shall be marrying Natasha and Anna to Mr. Rusty Irons, and I will be doing it with all legality, morality, and propriety.”
I saw Delphinium Sanders, the town’s certified prude, whispering heatedly at the rear of the room. Judge Earwig saw her, too.
“We shall have silence here, among those who have come to share this joyous moment,” he said.
Delphinium whispered for a few moments more, long enough to let him know she wasn’t taking orders.
“Now, then, unusual circumstances require unusual remedies,” he said. “These lovely ladies are bonded by nature for life, and each desires in her most secret bosom to share her life with her husband. Which poses difficulties with the law of the land, but not difficulties that are insurmountable. Given the nature of this matter, I concluded that each couple will have to divide its time with the other couple. That is to say, each couple can be married only half the time, instead of all the time. It is unavoidable, given that each bride is attached all her life to the other bride. Therefore, if it suits my petitioners, now standing before me, I shall marry Rusty Irons to Natasha on odd months of the year, and to Anna on even months of the year. Since your vows and marriage contract will embrace only half of each year, there is no need for divorce. Since Natasha will marry Rusty during January and March and May, there is no need for her to divorce Rusty during the intervening months of February and April. Each marriage is for half a year only, alternating months.”
The audience listened, mesmerized.
“What about February? Short month!” Anna asked.
“Ah, my dear, we live in an imperfect world, and the fact is, you will have slightly less time with your husband, but bear in mind that you alone will enjoy leap years. You will have leap year Februaries with your beloved, and Natasha won’t. Is that fair enough?”
She nodded.
It went fast. Within ten minutes, Rusty was married to Natasha on January, March, May, July, September, and November. And to Anna February, April, June, August, October, and December.
And the crowd watched, some with pursed lips. Riley was the first to kiss his moms.
Chapter Thirty-three
Billy Bones told me his Wild West would pull out the next morning. That was a good sign. It wouldn’t be sneaking out at night, leaving unpaid debts around Doubtful. That meant I wouldn’t have to yank Rusty from his honeymoon and put him to work.
The Wild West had drawn good crowds off the ranches. The drovers liked the rodeo stuff and the town liked the shooting exhibits and western stuff.
“There’ll be a farewell party at the Last Chance Saloon after the show, sheriff. Come join us,” Bones said.
That sounded fine to me. The Last Chance, and its barkeep, Sammy Upward, was my favorite saloon. It was big and generous with its drinks, and Sammy kept good order with a billy club and sawed-off shotgun. He’d never had to use the scattergun, but it had a way of subduing trouble fast.
It sure was a pleasant August evening. The crickets were chirping, and bugs committing suicide in the kerosene lamps, and the town dogs were peeing on every post. Bones had told me he did fairly well, for a small town like Doubtful, and he was leaving a few bucks ahead. Some places, he said, he was lucky to get out with the show intact. The outfit was heading for Casper next, and he was worried because Casper had the reputation of being the roughest town in Wyoming, full of rural hooligans. Not that the show couldn’t defend itself. Bones had some roustabouts who were really soldiers, ready to spring into action any time. Rinkydink was one of those.
Well, it was a dandy show. Word got out that this would be the last performance, so all the town came out to the grounds to enjoy the sights. There was no grandstand seating. People just came and stood, or threw a blanket on the ground and sat. Belle was there with Riley. She was caring for Riley while Rusty was making whoopee with his Siamese twins.
Miss Quick, she did just fine, knocking clay birds out of the sky. She went on first, while the light was good. By the end of the show, light was fading, and they did their grand march just in time, finishing up at dusk. People had a fine old time, and then they drifted into Doubtful, full of inspiration. That final drum and bugle parade was just right.
I watched Bones’s crew dismantle things, and they did it so fast I could hardly believe that for a few days, they had conducted a big Wild West show there. In the morning, they’d hitch up their teams and ride away.
It sure gave me a good feeling. I drifted over to Sammy Upward’s saloon, and it was already filling up. There were a mess of cowboys from the Admiral Ranch, and I spotted Big Nose George and Spitting Sam, belly to the bar, sipping the first red-eye of the evening. There were boys from all the ranches in there, sucking beer, laying out coin for a shot of rye, or a glass of sarsaparilla if they weren’t the drinking sort. Plug Parsons and Carter Bell were in from the T Bar, along with Rudy Beaver. That outfit was far out, and they’d come a piece to see the show and rub shoulders with the crowd. Those cowboys were slicked up, in high-heeled boots and bandannas, and some had even washed up for the occasion. But there wasn’t a sidearm among them, and I liked that, because sometimes one of them got a little frisky and began perforating the ceiling. But this here was a social occasion, wall-to-wall smiles, and that would make for a fine evening.
The Wild West boys began drifting in, looked around, and settled on a corner table. They were mostly drinking rye whiskey. Maybe that was the preferred booze for the outfit. They were a muscular bunch. Cowboys were mostly thin and wiry and short; these show people were muscled up. Cowboys mostly sat on a horse; these show people were wrestling teams and tents and furniture and livestock all the time, and were all bruisers. The cowboys were more colorful, all spangled up in bright colors and gold and silver, while the roustabouts were wearing brown britches, old boots, and tight, knit shirts. I saw Rinkydink among them, and wondered what Miss Quick saw in him. Maybe it was none of my business, I thought. He was no bigger than the other roustabouts, but his shoulders were axe-handle wide, and he had hands the size of hams.
Everyone was sure having a fine time, and Sammy Upward was dishing out the booze faster than I’d ever seen him, coining money as he went along. It got crowded in there, and Sammy lit a couple more kerosene lamps in the wagon wheel chandelier, so there was good light even in the far corners. The T Bar boys and Admiral Ranch boys were old enemies, so they stayed at opposite sides of the place, and mostly sat there in the heat, looking dreamy. It sure was a fine August evening, even if the place needed a little more air.
Amanda Quick and Billy Bones showed up, still in their show outfits, she in her fringed buckskins, he in a giant sombrero topping a black suit of clothes. They sure looked fine. I waved, and they both saluted me from across the room, and next I knew, someone had lifted her to the bar, and she stood up on it, and was lifting a glass with something green in it.
“Here’s to Doubtful, Wyoming,” she said, and all the good folks in there cheered.
“And here’s to Sheriff Cotton Pickens,” she said.
That evoked a hoot and a holler, and Smiley Thistlethwaite emptied a beer mug over me, and then Rinkydink beaned Smiley with a whiskey bottle, and then Plug Parsons kicked Big Nose George in the crotch, and then Sammy Upward yanked out his shotgun and fired at the ceiling, which was an awful racket, and then no one paid the slightest attention to Sammy. A mighty howl rose up and swamped the Last Chance Saloon, and drinking was forgotten for the moment because everyone had some new entertainments to keep him busy.
I felt a crack on my shoulder, and I saw Carter Bell’s fist whiz by my nose. I thought that this could be an enjoyable evening, but I had a duty to maintain the peace, and also preserve the Last Chance Saloon before it was torn to pieces. So I leapt over the bar, looking for Sammy’s billy club, grabbed it, and climbed up on the bar, planning to rap hard for attention.
Well, my ma used to say that good intentions aren’t enough. Miss Amanda Quick kneed me where it hurt, and as I folded over, Spitting Sam shoved me off the bar and into Sammy Upward’s prone carcass. Big Nose George had knocked him cockeyed, and he was nursing himself under the beer spouts.
I heard wild laughter, whoops, howls, and a rumble of anger in there, too, as all them rowdies began to get serious about the whole business. A bottle of booze landed on my head, but my hat softened the blow.
“You all right?” I asked Sammy.
“You’re an idiot,” he replied.
“You got any bright ideas?” I asked.
“Arrest them all,” he said.
“I’ll give her a try.” I clambered up, dodged a tumbler that shattered on the back bar, and yelled, “Stop! You’re all under arrest!”
A beer bottle conked me on the forehead. A fist caromed off my shoulder. That hurt.
“I’m ruined,” Sammy said.
“This place is about to burn. One spilled lamp, and it’s all over,” I said.
Some roustabout leaned over the bar and puked on my boot.
By then things were beyond human restraint. I heard the roar and squeal, the shatter of glass, the cackles, the thump of fist on flesh, the snap of glass underfoot, the whoosh of air exploding from a gut, and shadows danced on the walls as the chandeliers careened this way and that. There was less laughter now and more rage. I heard glass shatter. Something busted the mirror of the back bar, and shards of glass landed on Sammy and me.
“You want the revolver?” Sammy asked. “Shoot out the lights?”
“And burn down the town,” I said. “I’m gonna haul the bodies out.”
I edged around the bar, worked my way outside, saw that Amanda Quick and Billy Bones had escaped, and saw a crowd collecting there.
“We’ll haul out the bodies,” I said.
A reveler came flying through the door, dripping red. He had been rolling around in shattered glass. He sat on some horse manure, laughing.
I edged in and dodged a flying chair, spotted a bloody cowboy who was being stepped on, got him by the ankles, and dragged him out. He howled as he scraped over glass, but in a moment he was lying on the street, leaking blood.
“Fix him,” I yelled, and plunged back in. A beer mug hit me on the head, and I started after the roustabout, but thought better of it. I found another cowboy slumped against a wall, out cold, his mouth pulverized and leaking blood. I lifted him up, dragged him by his belt, and dropped him next to the rest in the manure outside.
“Hey, sheriff, why don’t you just let them kill each other?” George Waller asked.
“Help me. We got people getting killed in there,” I said.
Waller laughed.
I ducked a flying fist—this time it was Rinkydink’s ham hand—and got ahold of Spitting Sam, who had been no match for the roustabouts, and lolled stupidly against the bar.
“Come on, Sam,” I said.
I got an arm around him, and was about to get him out, when someone shoved me from behind, and I tumbled into the glass, taking Sam with me. All that glass cut me up, but I got up and hauled Sam outside. A bandaging crew was at work out there.
The brawl was winding down, and it quit as suddenly as it started. Some were laughing, and some were sobbing. Sammy Upward was surveying his saloon, or what was left of it, moaning and groaning.
The townspeople outside suddenly got brave, and helped me drag the casualties out to the clay road, stanch the blood, and line them all up like corpses.
One roustabout sat there laughing. He was unharmed. The cowboys got the worst of it. Show people did hard work every day; cowboys only occasionally, and now it showed. There were twice as many cowboys on the injured list.
“All right, I’m taking you all in,” I said.
“But we’re leaving at dawn,” Billy Bones said.
“After Hanging Judge Earwig has his say,” I replied.
“What are you charging them with?”
“Well, let’s see. Disturbing the peace, assault and battery, destroying the saloon—I’ll need to look that up—you name it, I’ll include it.”
“Hey, suppose I just donate a hundred dollars and you let them go.”
“I don’t take gifts,” I said.
Waller stepped in. “Just get them outta town, Pickens. Tell them to vamoose.”
“Nope, I’ve got twelve roustabouts and twenty cowboys moaning and groaning around here, and they’re going to stand before the judge.”
“I don’t know how you ever got appointed,” Waller said.
“You shouldn’t have appointed me,” I replied. “Now help me move these galoots.”
But the jail was a long way off, and we’d have to drag about twenty of these wrecks.
“I’ll help you,” Sammy said. “I want my saloon paid for.”
But it was Bones himself who came to the rescue with a two-horse freight wagon. We piled in the bodies, moaning and groaning, and I took the first load over, and locked them in Cell One. Then we loaded up the wagon again, and herded those who could walk, and we filled up Cell Two. By the middle of the night, I had over thirty revelers crammed into two cells, thanked Billy for the wagon, and told him I’d get the judge up early so the show could be on the road.
“They ain’t fit to travel, sheriff. So there’s no rush,” Bones said. “You can treat me to breakfast.”
Miss Quick eyed the sorry humanity in the cells. “I’m glad I’m not a man,” she said.