Cotton’s Inferno

by Phil Dunlap

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asked, reaching over to stroke his cheek.

  “I’m tuckered, that’s what. Plumb tuckered. Been up since five.”

  “Tuckered? From doing nothing?”

  “Nothing! You think I do nothing? Let me tell you, woman, I work plenty h—”

  “Yeah, I know,” she said, covering his mouth with her hand. “Listen, I want you to ride out to my new mine with me. I need to see if there are any miners nearby that are interested in coming to work for me. I’d rather not go alone. Besides, you need to see what a grand investment I’ve made.”

  “Aww, can’t it wait till tomorrow? I told you I’m too—”

  “Uh-huh. You told me. But this can’t wait. So let’s get a move on before it gets too late.”

  Jack sat up, groaning as he bent to snag a boot from the floor. He knew he would get nowhere arguing with Melody. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to get his way, no matter which way the wind blew. He strapped on the Remington and opened the door, giving her a sweeping bow, suggesting she lead the way, as any servant would. She gave him a sour look as if she didn’t appreciate the innuendo.

  * * *

  “At least you didn’t make me ride a mule like that jackass Pick Wheeler did. He said only mules could reach his mine. I think he lied to me. This mare seems to have a sweet disposition,” Melody opined. “You’re sure she can make it?”

  “Uh-huh. Just don’t kick her in the ribs to get her to do your bidding, or you might find she can turn real temperamental. They don’t call her Volcano for nothing,” Jack said and gave her a wink.

  At first Melody looked frightened by the name, then after a moment of thought, she narrowed her eyes and became the old Melody. “You wouldn’t dare! If this horse even thinks of unseating me, you damned well better catch me before I hit the ground, or so help me, Jack, I’ll castrate you.”

  Jack began to chuckle, then he broke out in a gale of laughter. Melody just glared at him with all the venom she could muster.

  After riding deeper and deeper into the foothills, following much the same path Pick had taken, or at least that’s the way she remembered it, she saw something she thought looked familiar.

  “Up there, Jack, isn’t that a couple of mules?”

  “Congratulations, Melody, your little jaunt with Pick has made you able to identify some of the wildlife.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass, Jack. I know a mule when I see one. And that one on the left looks real familiar.”

  When they got closer, Jack dismounted and slowly approached one of the mules. The animal acted skittish and out of sorts. Its coat was full of cockleburs and cactus scrapes. The saddle and bridle were still on, with the reins dangling and being dragged along. He looked over at the other animal, which had wandered off another hundred feet. Both were grazing on the bleak, nearly grassless downslope of a hill. The pack animal was still burdened with a fully loaded wooden pannier. The mule moved away from him with every attempt to get hold of the reins. Melody kept a close eye on the mule as she threw one leg over the saddle horn in an effort to get off her horse, but Jack held up his hand, looking around to see where the owner of the mules might have gone, or at least to pick up some sort of trail.

  “Stay there, Melody. There’s something not right about this. These animals look as if they’ve been abandoned in the middle of the desert. And there doesn’t appear to be any sensible reason for doing such a foolish thing.” Jack continued his surveillance of the area. “Do either of these animals look familiar?”

  “The one with the saddle does. I already told you it looked familiar. Don’t you ever listen to me?”

  Jack continued to very slowly approach the mule, talking gently and working his way around to a better place to grab the reins. As the mule got to a dip in the ground where enough water collected during the monsoons to help the grass grow abundantly, the animal seemed to lose interest in him and munched on a thick patch of the verdant green. Jack reached out very carefully and snagged one rein, still talking in a low voice. He was finally able to corral the animal so he could get a better look at him. He didn’t like what he saw.

  “What are you looking at, Jack? Did you find something to tell you who they belong to?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, don’t make a mystery out of it. Whose mule is it?”

  “It’s Pick’s. I figure they both are. It’s for sure his old scarred-up saddle. And I’d know those hand-made panniers anywhere.”

  “Then we must be close to the mine. If that old fool is trying to gather up a little traveling money, I’ll kill him,” Melody shouted.

  “I don’t think that’s what he’s doin’.”

  “How the hell do you know what he’s doing? He could be up there right this minute pulling my silver out of my mine and filling his pockets. That bastard!”

  “I reckon I don’t really know what he’s up to, but I do know there’s a lot of blood on this saddle, and it doesn’t belong to the mule.”

  “Blood! You suggesting something happened to Pick?”

  “Kinda looks that way. C’mon. We’ll get closer to the mine. He might be injured.”

  Melody looked down the hill, trying to identify anything that might remind her of the exact location of her mine. Jack led the one mule over to where the other stood, figuring that if he had one in tow, the other wouldn’t sense any danger and would come along quietly. Just as he gathered up the rope to lead the second animal, Melody called out.

  “There it is, Jack. That’s the entrance. Down there! See that dark place near those rocks?”

  Jack looked to where she was pointing. He led the two animals back to his horse and swung into the saddle. He’d tied the pack lead onto the other mule’s saddle horn and led them both toward the place Melody had pointed out. When they reached an area devoid of anything but dirt, rocks, and old hunks of timber, he saw the entrance to what must have been the mine all the fuss was about. It was a pitiful excuse for a working mine, at least in his mind. He shuddered to think what they might find in the massive hole he was staring into. He could only sigh at the secrets held by that chasm.

  “That’s it! That’s the silver mine. Come on, let’s get inside so I can show you how rich we’re going to be.” Melody fairly jumped from her horse’s back, nearly twisting her ankle and falling when she hit a rock.

  “Damn, Melody, you got to be careful where you step in a place like this. You could break a leg and there sure isn’t anyone around to care for you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m being careful. And, as far as going inside that old hole, I’m not worried. What do you think I brought you for?”

  Jack started for the entrance but was shoved aside by an overeager Melody. She was at the entrance before he could locate his tin full of lucifers. She was already inside when he approached. She thrust a lantern out to him.

  “Here, light this and let’s get started,” she said, with the eagerness of a child on her first adventure. She shoved the lantern into his hand, staring at him with a “What’s keeping you?” look.

  After lighting two oil lanterns, Jack stood in the yellow glow they threw off. He looked around as Melody began shouting.

  “See! Do you see all those sparkles, Jack? They’re everywhere! What did I tell you? This mine is full of silver!”

  Jack was picking at something in the side of the tunnel. He had a disgusted look on his face. He was shaking his head when Melody grabbed his shirtsleeve and began shaking him.

  “What’s wrong with you? Aren’t you happy about all this money just leaking out of the walls?”

  “No, Melody. I’m not happy. You’ve been taken. This mine has been salted!”

  Chapter 16

  I . . . uh . . . don’t know what that means. What’re you saying, Jack?” The look of panic on her face was unmistakable. She may not have known what “sal
ted” meant, but she knew instinctively by the way Jack spit out his words that it wasn’t going to be good. She balled up her fist in anticipation of Jack’s answer.

  “It means, my dear, that Pick Wheeler saw you comin’ a mile away. He likely loaded up that old shotgun of his with silver shavings from coins and fired them into the walls. There’s no mistaking it. Silver doesn’t show up this way.”

  Stunned, Melody stood in silence. Her breathing became unsteady, and she looked like she was about to faint. In fact that’s what she did, at the same time Jack reached out to catch her. He carried her outside and sat her against a boulder. She was pale and dazed.

  “D-does that . . . mean . . . there’s no silver? He just stole all my money?”

  “I don’t know. There may still be some back further in the tunnel. No way to tell until an expert comes out to survey the mine. If you’ll recall, that’s what I warned you to do in the first place before you handed over all your cash to that old highbinder.”

  Jack left her sitting alone, breathing heavily and looking scared. He went back into the mine to have a look around. After several minutes deep inside, he figured he’d seen all he needed to. He blew out the lantern and placed it on a stack of unused beams near the entrance. When he stepped into the sunlight, he saw Melody in a huff, on her way back to the horses. She was understandably anxious to get to town. Jack removed the saddle and bridle from the one mule and the lead rope and pack from the other, then set the two animals to wander freely. He followed after Melody. When they reached the horses, he helped her up. He climbed into his own saddle and eased his horse around.

  “Let’s go, Melody. There’s nothing more to see. You only have to go about ten feet further into the tunnel to see where the silver petered out,” he said, turning to her. He could see the pain in her eyes. Her face was drained of color. But he also saw a flash of something beginning to build. He’d have bet his last dollar she would explode any minute. He didn’t have to wait long. When Melody Wakefield got royally pissed off, she could be hell on wheels. It looked like this was going to be one of those times.

  * * *

  Carp Varner was hunched over the workbench at the gunsmith shop when he heard footsteps behind him. He spun around while at the same time snagging a Smith & Wesson Schofield .45, fully loaded and ready for action. It was his, not one from the pile of well-used firearms set aside for repair. He always kept his at the ready. A gunslinger can never be too careful. This, however, was one of those times when being hasty could have cost him. He came face-to-face with the sheriff, who held both hands in the air.

  “Whoa, pardner, no need to be gettin’ edgy. A fella could get hurt makin’ a false assumption.”

  Carp placed the revolver back on the bench and gave the sheriff a guilty grin.

  “Yeah, sorry. I’ve been told before that I sometimes act a tad impulsively when someone sneaks up behind me. I reckon I got a thing about folks comin’ up too quiet-like. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

  “Yeah, sure. I probably should have knocked or somethin’, although I’m surprised the bell didn’t ring.”

  “Yeah, I took it down. All that jinglin’ set my teeth on edge. You lookin’ for somethin’ in particular, Sheriff?”

  “Just curious. How’re you comin’ with that bunch of derelicts?”

  “I’m getting’ on top of it. Most of the problems are from folks not keepin’ their firearms clean. Some of ’em were so dirty you could grow corn in the barrels.”

  “I’m not surprised. These people are mostly ranchers and farmers. Don’t get a chance to use a gun very often.”

  “You get a chance to talk to the mayor?” Carp said.

  “Not yet. He’s been out of town for a few days, a sick sister or something. I’ll talk to him as soon as he returns. You keep on with what you’re doin’; I figure we’ll be able to work somethin’ out to your satisfaction. It’s no secret, we need a gunsmith.”

  “Sounds like the town has seen its share of gun toters. That why you’re anxious to keep folks armed and ready?”

  “Could be, Mr. Varner, could be. But then, I notice you weren’t far away from that forty-five you wear. You must feel the need to be ready, too, huh?”

  Cotton turned and left the shop before Varner could cobble together an answer.

  * * *

  When Jack and Melody rode into town, she didn’t wait for him to help her down. At that moment being ladylike was the farthest thing from her mind. She stormed up the steps to the saloon and shoved the batwings aside like they were only there to be a nuisance for her. Arlo gave her a greeting, which, as it turned out, was just the catalyst she needed to let the world know she was on the warpath and someone was going to lose his life.

  By the time Jack got there, Arlo was standing behind the bar, hands spread apart, with a look of shock on his face. “Uh, hi, Jack. Everything, er, all right?”

  “I see Melody let you know she was havin’ a bad day, huh?”

  “Y-yes, yes, I reckon you could call it that. I . . . d-don’t ever recall hearing some of those words come out of a lady’s mouth before.”

  “Melody just pretends to be a lady, Arlo, you should know that by now. She can be as tough as any hard-bitten range rider on his worst day. Don’t worry, she’ll get over it.” Jack strolled up the stairs as casually as if he was just dropping by for a visit. He pulled the door to Melody’s boudoir closed behind him, whistling softly all the way.

  Jack knew he was in for a rough time until Melody figured out it was as much her fault as Pick Wheeler’s that she’d been taken. It was she who insisted that he shouldn’t just walk away from such a valuable asset. Jack wasn’t even sure just where she was in the process of revelation, but one thing he was sure of was that there had been no sign of anyone other than Pick Wheeler, alone, working that gaping hole in the ground. There had never been any other miners. In fact, he figured it might be a good idea to talk to Darnell Givins, the bank president, and get his opinion on how much Pick had taken out of his mine and whether he’d ever paid anyone else. But before he could put that plan into action, Melody came out from her curtained powder room and lit into him like a banshee.

  “Jack! I need to know where the hell you were when that bastard was stripping me of all my hard-earned cash. Where? What good is a deputy sheriff that doesn’t keep law-abiding citizens safe from the likes of a varmint like Wheeler?”

  Jack just shook his head in disbelief. It was clear to him that Melody would never accept responsibility for her own predicament. Greed is a powerful thing.

  Chapter 17

  Cotton was pensive after his chat with Carp Varner. His misgivings about the stranger came not from any specific knowledge, but from a feeling of mistrust deep down. Although it certainly came partly from the eagerness the man had shown to go for his gun. Cotton tried unsuccessfully to shake his doubts.

  Returning to the jail after his ride to the mine, Jack was trying unsuccessfully to hide his anger at Melody’s foolishness. No words passed between him and the sheriff before Cotton had a fire going in the stove and a pot of coffee beginning to brew. It took the aroma of boiling Arbuckles’ to prod a few words out of either of them.

  “Saw you ride in with Melody, Jack.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Pleasurable ride?”

  “Huh uh.”

  “Wanta talk about it?”

  “Hell no!”

  “Sounds like the romance has hit a snag.”

  “More’n a snag.”

  “Hmm. You didn’t by any chance take a little trip out to Melody’s newest bold venture, did you?”

  “Yep,” Jack said, lifting the pot and filling two cups with steaming coffee.

  “And you found it to be the bonanza she claimed it was?”

  “You know damned well I didn’t. In fact, what I found was a mine that had been salted with silver shavings, probabl
y from coins. There’s no silver in that godforsaken hole. Nothin’ more’n a few rotten timbers and a handful of mice.”

  “Ol’ Pick played her, huh?”

  “And stole a pile of greenbacks from her.”

  “What do you figure on doin’ about it?”

  “What can I do? It’s done. He’s probably halfway to Chicago by now.”

  “Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, saltin’ a mine is illegal. I’ll draft up a wanted poster, if you can get Melody to offer a reward. We’ll catch him. Hopefully he won’t have spent all her money by the time someone with a need for the reward lays eyes on him.”

  “Considerin’ all she lost, I’d say a reward is the least she can do. I’ll suggest it to her.”

  Cotton walked over to the open door, sipping his coffee as he went. He stood in the doorway silently. Jack’s temper had cooled somewhat after he’d heard Cotton’s common-sense approach to his problem.

  “I got a feelin’ I’m not the only one around here that should spill what’s eatin’ ’em.”

  “Very perceptive, Jack.”

  “Well, lay it out. I’m listenin’.”

  “I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but there’s somethin’ not quite right about our new gunsmith, Carp Varner.”

  “You figure he’s wanted somewhere?”

  “I looked through all the dodgers we’ve collected for over a year now. Can’t find anything. Of course, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t done somethin’.”

  “Just nothin’ you can pin on him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What’re you figurin’ on doin’?”

  “It’s what we’re both goin’ to be doin’: keepin’ a close eye on him.”

  * * *

  Carp Varner stood up from his workbench, stretched, and went to the window at the front of the gunsmith shop. He watched the comings and goings of the few people on the street at that time of morning. He then went to the door and turned the key to lock it. He pulled down the shade on the door and turned to begin a task he’d been eager to start since taking over the gunsmith’s duties. He went first to the rolltop desk and opened it. Inside he found the many cubicles and small drawers crammed full of papers and small envelopes. He opened each carefully and without haste, so as not to let others, in particular the sheriff, discover his intention to find any hidden money he might secure.