Doubtful.â
âDonât you come near me with that mistletoe, Rusty, or Iâll throw your ass into the cage.â
But Rusty was just laughing away. âSay,â he said, âConsuelo Bowlerâs in town and wants to see you. Heâs at the hotel and says heâll be there all day.â
Bully Bowler, as he was called, was a big-time rancher south of Doubtful. âDid he say what he wanted?â
âYeah, Cotton, he did. He doesnât like your plans for New Yearâs Eve.â
âSo whatâs he gonna do about them?â
âYou better find out yourself, Cotton.â
Rusty sure was acting nervous. âHe was talking about hanging the county supervisors unless that dry law gets repealed real fast. And you know what, Cotton? He meant it.â
C HAPTER S IX
Bully Bowler was actually the manager of an outlying ranch owned by Britons. His name was honestly earned. He was a massive man, fifty pounds heavier than me, and quick to make full use of his strength. He had massive fists, a thick neck, and a thicker skull. He ruled supreme out at his spread by simply pounding any cowboy who didnât toe the line.
Now he was in Doubtful, making noises I didnât want to hear. I donned my overcoat and hat, and plunged into the icy wind, headed for the Wyoming Hotel. Some said the hotel was the only good place between Laramie and Douglas, with two sheets on every bed and a tablecloth on every table. I wouldnât have known the difference, and didnât care. But I cared about Bully Bowlerâs threats, and thatâs what took me over there.
Bully never traveled alone, and I found him with four of his skinny cowboys, sitting at a table in the dining room, smoking cigars.
âYou were looking for me?â
Bully tapped some ashes over the remains of a pancake, smiled, and nodded. He said nothing, making me wait.
But I didnât press the man and stood quietly.
One of Bullyâs boys sipped coffee, looking a little smirky.
âWell, I guess I was mistaken,â I said. âSomeone told me you wanted to see me.â I turned to leave.
âPickens, stay put,â Bully said, and still offered no explanation.
I yawned, waited a moment, and started to leave. The hell with it.
But a massive paw, lightning fast, caught my belt and yanked me back to the table.
âNow, Sheriff, youâll listen even if youâre wetting your pants.â
Thatâs how it went with Bully Bowler. I had heard enough stories to fill a book or two, and none of them flattering.
Bowler let go of my belt just before I was about to do something about it.
âThe boys are coming into town New Yearâs Eve. Theyâre going to have a fine time. Every ranch hand in the area, three hundred, four hundred, in for a whoop-de-doo.â
I nodded.
âYou ainât gonna shut down the place.â
âIâm glad you think so,â I said.
âBecause you wonât want anything bad to happen to your supervisors.â
I just kept quiet.
âBecause thatâs whatâs gonna happen.â
âThanks for letting me know, Bowler.â
âI ainât done with you yet, you little fart.â
âI didnât think so,â I said.
âThat dry law, itâs going to be repealed. And if it ainât, you ainât going to enforce it. That lawâs dead as poisoned wolf.â
âYou going to repeal it?â
âI already did.â
âI havenât seen it published yet. Supervisors do it?â
âPickens, I always heard youâre thick between the ears.â
âIf itâs not repealed, why do you say it is?â
âThat lawâs gone away, sonny boy, gone. Thatâs what Iâm telling you. Now beat it.â
âJust your say-so, is it, Bowler?â
âIâm tired of you.â
âGuess Iâd better protect you from them Temperance women. You better stop in at my jail and
Learning to Kill: Stories