There was no telling if it would come to more than talk, but lying on that
prison cot in the darkness I wasn’t willing to bet on it.
Suddenly, from out of the darkness outside my window, a voice spoke. “We’re
going to get you, Sackett. We’re going to see you hang!” My feet swung to the
floor, and I was mad clear through. “Come an’ get me, Yellow Belly,” I said.
“I’ll know your voice when I hear it. You just come asking, and you’ll get it!”
There was a grate of boots on gravel, and a sound of retreating footsteps.
Suddenly I realized that I was no longer tired. I’d come to this place
physically exhausted, but now I’d had three good days of rest, and I was ready.
I got up and went to the bars.
“Jim!” I hailed the jailer. “Come running! I got to see you!”
There was no answer, and I yelled again.
There was still no reply. But I heard a mutter of voices.
The jailer was gone, and they had come for me.
Chapter 19
Tucson was for the most part a town of law-abiding citizens. I knew that, and so
did that crowd out there. The trouble was, would those citizens get here in time
to help me? I knew what those men outside wanted most was quiet, but I aimed to
see they didn’t get it.
Getting up from my cot, I gave a look around. There was nothing there that would
make a weapon except the frame of the cot, which was of half-inch pipe. So I
just wrenched the cot clear of the wall, breaking it enough to unscrew two
sections of it, one about seven feet long, the other an end piece that was about
three feet in length, with an elbow on it.
Standing both pieces close by, I waited. Outside I could hear somebody by the
window, then the door from the outer office opened into the prison section. Men
came crowding through, and I could see others in the office.
I stood up then. “You boys huntin’ something?” I spoke careless-like. “If you
are, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“We’re a-goin’ to hang you for killin’ Billy Higgins.”
“I killed him — he asked me to. In his place or mine, you’d have done the same.”
I could smell the whiskey on them. This bunch had been drinking to get up the
nerve to come after me, but they were tough men nonetheless. I heard somebody
fumbling with keys, and knew there was no time to lose.
“I’m going to tell you once, and that’s all,” I said. “You boys get out of here,
an’ get fast.”
They’d come without a light, and it was dark as a pit in there. They hadn’t
figured they’d need a light to take me out of the cell, and they didn’t want to
draw any more attention than need be. I was only one man and they were twenty.
“Look who’s givin’ orders!” somebody said. “Get that lock open and let’s get him
out of here!”
Now, there’s a time for talk and a time for action, and I never was much gifted
with oratory. I picked up the long pipe, and when I heard them trying to get the
key into the lock I gripped that pipe with both hands shoulder high and, holding
it tight, I jammed it between the bars. At close quarters and in the dark it was
a terrible weapon. The passage outside the cells was narrow and they were packed
in tight.
With all the power that was in me, I jammed that pipe into the crowd beyond the
bars. I heard the crunch, then a horrible, choking scream.
“What was it? What happened?” somebody yelled, and there was panic in the voice.
Drawing back on the pipe, I held it waist high and jammed it through again,
further into them.
Another scream, then a cry, “Back! For God’s sake, let us out of here!”
Somebody else yelled, “What’s the matter? You gone crazy? Let’s get him!”
Jerking the pipe back, I smashed hard at the voice and heard a scream. Then came
a shout, “Get out! Get out!”
Men were fighting and struggling to get out of the narrow passageway. Thrusting
my pipe through the bars this tune at ankle height, I heard several of them go
sprawling. Somebody jerked a gun and fired blindly through the bars, the shot
missing me by several feet. I drove my bar at the flash and heard a grunt, then
anguished cries of pain, and stampeding feet. Suddenly the passage was empty
except for somebody who lay groaning on the floor.
“Serves you right,” I said calmly. “Whoever you are, you got what you had
coming.”
“Help! For God’s sake, help me!”
“How am I going to do that?” I said. “I’m behind bars. You just crawl outside
and get some of those murdering friends of yours to help.”
There was another shuddering groan and I heard the sound of dragging. I stood my
pipe against the cell wall, and waited. If they came again it would be to shoot,
but I had a hunch they wouldn’t come.
Now I heard angry questions outside in the street, and then the outer door
opened. A match scratched and somebody lit the lamp. Men appeared in the
passageway. One of them was Oury, whom I knew to be a reputable man.
“What’s happened? What’s going on here?” he said.
A man was lying on the floor, and a trail of blood showed where another had
dragged himself. A loose coil of rope and a six-shooter lay just outside the
cell.
“Seems I had visitors,” I said, leaning on the bars. “They wanted me for a
necktie party. Only I didn’t think it ought to go on without some sort of
official plannin’, so those folks, they taken off.”
Oury’s face was grim. “I am sorry, young man. Those were a bunch of drunken
teamsters and drifters, not citizens of Tucson.”
“I figured as much,” I said. “Mr. Oury, do you reckon you could get somebody to
bring me a pot of coffee from the Shoo-Fly, and something to eat? I’m getting
almighty hungry.”
“I will do more than that. Jim” — he turned to one of the others — “get me the
keys. I am taking this young man to dinner.”
He looked around again. The man lying on the floor was being examined. The
doctor looked up. “This man has three broken ribs and a punctured lung,” he said
quietly.
“That’s his problem,” I said harshly. “Anybody who fools around with the
bandwagon is likely to get hit with a horn.”
“Those are my sentiments,” Oury said crisply. The keys jangled, the door swung
wide. “Come, Mr. Sackett, you are my guest.”
“I don’t mind if I do,” I said, “but I warn you, I’m an eating man, just getting
my appetite back.”
The Shoo-Fly was almost empty when we went in, but a few minutes afterward it
was crowded to the doors.
When I’d eaten, I sat back in my chair. One of the Tucson citizens came in with
my Winchester and gun belt. “If you’re staying in town,” he said, “you’d better
go armed.”
“I am staying,” I replied, “until this matter is cleared up. I did nothing wrong
out there. I killed a good man, a tough man. He might have lived for hours in
that boiling hot sun with those slivers burning into him. He was not a man to
die easy.”
“I might have asked for the same thing,” somebody said.
I was quiet after that. I’d eaten well, and I had my guns on again, and all I
wanted was to get this affair cleared up and pull out for Tyrel’s outfit in New
Mexico. As for this town, it was no place for me until my enemies had drifted,
and being drifters, I knew they’d soon be gone.
The doctor came in and gave me a hard look. “I’ll say this for you,” he said,
“you’re a bad man to corner. You’ve put four men in bed. One of them has a
smashed cheekbone, his face is ripped open, and he’s lost nine teeth. One has a
torn shoulder muscle, another has a dent in his skull and his scalp is ripped
right across the top, laid open for five inches. The one with the punctured lung
will live if he’s lucky. All said and done, you put four men out of action, and
injured six or seven more.”
“They came after me,” I said. The outer door opened then and two men came in.
One was Captain Lewiston, the other was Toclani, the Apache scout. They looked
around until their eyes spotted me, and they came over to my table.
“Sackett,” Lewiston said, “Toclani has talked to Kahtenny. They verify your
story. Kahtenny told us in detail, as did several other Apaches, what was