Then, damned if he didn’t jerk one whole lip’s worth of Boston Teal’s whiskers right out of the man’s face. Toeless outlaw grabbed his mouth and went to bellering like a red-eyed cow. Hooted and hopped around the tiny enclosure on his only usable foot. Squirrelly bastard cussed everyone ever born from Adam to the most recent president. Ranted, raved, and acted like a mistreated lunatic.
’Course Boz thought that was the funniest thing he’d seen in about ten years. Man laughed like something crazed as he strolled back toward the marshal’s rickety desk. Still in mid-chuckle when he flicked a wad of Teal’s lip hair onto the floor. Stuff hadn’t come to rest when several loud thumps and breaking glass against the jail’s front façade jerked our attention to the shuttered windows and barred door.
I already had a pistol in each hand when I heard someone out in the street yell, “You mother-humpin’ lawmen get your sorry selves on out here, and right by-God now. Come on out, Deppidy Cosner. Bring your idiot friends with you. Gonna cut you boys down pocket high.”
4
“MEANER’N A BUCKET OF TEASED RATTLERS.”
WITH ONE BULGED eye pressed against the hoosegow’s partially opened peep slot, Boz crooked a finger my direction. “Take a gander at this, Lucius,” he said, then stepped out of the way as I strode up to the viewing port.
I took my friend’s place and peeked outside. Four men swayed in Rio Seco’s central thoroughfare like a stand of drunken cottonwood saplings in a light, blistering hot breeze. The quartet couldn’t have been more than twenty feet from the boardwalk that ran along the calaboose’s front entrance.
Unshaven, red-faced, and grubby as hell, all those boys bristled with pistols and knives. One feller carried an amputated shotgun that appeared to have been sawed down from both the barrel and stock ends. A tall, disheveled joker, who bore a striking resemblance to Deputy Cosner’s prisoner, occupied a spot about a step ahead of the other three. While I watched, he threw his scruffy head back and tried to suck the bottom out of a whiskey bottle.
“Feller pullin’ at the jug’s Irby Teal. Young Master Boston’s eldest brother,” Boz hissed into my ear.
Idiot locked in Rio Seco’s juzgado just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Yeah, by God. And ole Irby’s meaner’n ten acres of south Texas tarantullers. He’s gonna jerk a knot in you boys’ asses and that’s fer damned sure. The three of you’d best get yourselves ready to shake hands with Jesus.” Loony son of a bitch went to slapping his good leg and laughing like a thing insane.
Didn’t see him when he did it, but Boz must’ve turned toward the racket. Still up close to my ear, though, when he snarled, “You ain’t outta here yet, Teal. Best keep your stupid mouth shut, or I’ll come in there and rip out the rest of that scraggly mess hangin’ off your butt-ugly face. Swear ’fore Jesus I will. Get finished, you’ll have a mug what looks like the badly shaved ass of a broke-legged dog.”
I backed away from the door about the time another whiskey bottle slammed against the wall and exploded in a shower of splintered glass and misted spray of cheap hooch. Marshal Jacob Cobb’s jail house began to reek of backwater panther piss like a Dodge City saloon’s outhouse after a trail herd’s arrival.
“You recognize any of those others out there, Boz?” I said. “Might be helpful if I had some idea of what we’ve got confronting us.”
“Repulsive bugger on Teal’s right, one with the gigantic bone-handled bowie shoved behind his pistol belt, is Pogue Keller. Man’s always been partial to a cutter the size of a meat cleaver. Hear tell he’s right skillful in the use of ’em, too. Don’t let that fool you, though. He’s a fair hand with a pistol from all I’ve ever heard as well.”
“How ’bout the other two?”
My friend snuck another quick peek outside, stepped back, and shook his head. “Think that ’un on Teal’s left is Hector Manion. Hard to tell given the layer of trail dirt on ’im. Dangerous son of a bitch if it is ole Hector. Man’ll kill you faster’n spit can sizzle to nothin’ on a Montana train depot’s stove lid.”
“And the weaselly-lookin’ squirt toting the sawed-off shotgun? One weighed down with the brace of Schofield pistols.”
Boz toed the dirt floor, squinted at me, as though deep in thought. “Not absolutely certain, Lucius, but that ’un just might be China Bob Tyler. Been strong rumors flyin’ around of late as how he’d taken up with Teal. Heard tell more’n once that man’s deadlier than chained lightning. Meaner’n a bucket of teased rattlers.”
Shoved my cross-draw gun into its holster and set to checking the loads in my hip pistol. Flipped the loading gate open. Rolled the cylinder across my arm. Inspected the primer of each cartridge as it passed. Snapped the gate shut, then gazed over at my friend. “Well, what we gonna do, Boz?”
He flashed a toothy grin my way. “Sure as hell ain’t gonna stand around in here and wait for them knee-walkin’ drunks to set this place on fire, that’s for damned certain. One thing I ain’t got no use for is goin’ to my Maker like a piece of flamebroiled beefsteak. Rather go down shooting. How ’bout you, Dodge?”
Swapped pistols as I said, “They’re not gonna torch this place, Boz. Hell, they’d burn ole Boston up with us.”
Boz shook his head. “Do you think those whiskey-weary sons of bitches are sober enough to have any idea what the hell they’re doin’, ole friend? When they’re stone-cold sober the four of ’em together ain’t got any more brains than a gunnysack full of tumblebugs.”
“Well, you’re probably right about that, amigo. Looks like they sure as hell ain’t seen sober in a month of Sundays.”
“Nope. They’re all drunker’n Cooter Brown, cotton-mouth mean, and barnyard stupid. Even sober, ain’t a single one of them idiots got sense enough to pour piss out of a boot. Surprises me some that they haven’t set fire to this place ’fore now.”
From behind Marshal Cobb’s desk, Rufus Cosner said, “Whatever you come up with by way of a plan, if it involves going outside and facing off with Irby Teal and his bunch of cutthroats in a stand-up gunfight, have to count me out. From the time this dance started, figured I’d just hold on long as I could, then give Boston over to his brother when I got the best deal he was willin’ to offer.”
Boz stared at his feet and shook his head like an aged, tired dog. “You really think for a Kansas City second Irby Teal’s gonna let you live, Rufus? Hell, you were dead the minute after him and his friends rode into town and he found out you, for damned sure, had his little brother locked up in here.”
A look swept over Cosner’s face like he’d been slapped across his open mouth with a colicky baby’s loaded diaper. He tried to speak, then went to stammering. “You boys c-can’t believe that,” he mumbled.
“Ranger Tatum’s telling you the God’s truth,” I offered. “Teal’s kind of man has a real problem with anyone with grit ’nuff to trespass against family. You and Marshal Cobb were as good as worm meat the day you dragged this wounded piece of trash in here and slammed a cell door on him—far as that loudmouthed madcap out in the street was concerned anyhow.”
Boz moved to the marshal’s desk, leaned over, and snatched up Cosner’s shotgun. “Locking yourself in here has already kept you breathing several days longer than you should’ve lived, Rufus. Hell, you’re one lucky man. You could step outside with us, and I’d be willing to bet them boys couldn’t kill you if we tied you to the door and gave them each a free shot.”