Cotton’s Inferno

by Phil Dunlap

  Rachael blushed at his words. She hung her head. “We’re just, uh, friends. Maybe . . .”

  “I understand, young lady. But no one ever knows what the future holds.” He gave her a fatherly smile. “Now, go along with you. I’ve patients to visit.”

  Rachael thanked him once more and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. She left to find Johnny and give him the good news. She found him standing in the shade of a building, brushing their horse.

  “Johnny, the doctor says things are going well. He figures we can travel whenever we wish.”

  “Yeah, I know. He told me to expect good news. I’m thankful you came through that terrible experience all right. I was scared to death for a while. I’ll not let you out of my sight from now on. You can darn well count on it.”

  “Oh, Johnny, what happened wasn’t your fault. It coulda happened no matter what. I’m not made of porcelain, you know. Don’t need any special tendin’ to.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’m goin’ to just the same.”

  When she walked toward him, Johnny fidgeted with the bridle, taking far more time than necessary to get the horse ready to travel. Rachael just stood by patiently. He was having a serious problem with taking her along, possibly putting her in even more danger than a run-in with a mountain lion. But he had sort of promised, hadn’t he? He’d grown more than fond of her—her smile, the way her hair shone in the sun, the way she walked, straight and proud—everything about her. She wasn’t afraid of anything, and that might have been what bothered him the most. He was well aware of the kind of man Carp Varner was and how the man placed no value on the life of another human being. He was a vicious animal, plain and simple. Now that Rachael was well on her way to being healed from her wounds, Johnny was forced to find some excuse to leave her behind, to keep her safe, yet he’d seen no way to do that without destroying all they’d meant to each other.

  When he’d first come upon her lying on the floor of that dismal cabin, he’d felt pity. He knew from his upbringing that he could never walk away and leave someone in despair. He was forced by a well-taught conscience to help. But as her strength returned and he’d seen her blossom just by his being around, his feelings had changed. He didn’t fully understand any of it, but now he felt so strongly that she must be kept safe—at any cost—he was unsure how to go about telling her she couldn’t go with him. He started to speak several times, but each time the words caught in his throat and he stopped without saying a thing.

  “I can tell what’s goin’ through your mind, Johnny Monk, and it won’t work,” she said, arms crossed, tapping her foot, with an impatient set to her jaw.

  “Wh-what are you talkin’ about, Rachael? I’m not thinkin’ anything.”

  “You’re thinkin’ of a way to tell me you’re goin’ but I’m stayin’. That’s what’s goin’ on in your head, isn’t it?”

  “Uh, why, of course not. What’s put such a thought in your pretty head?”

  “Flattery isn’t goin’ to make things better, you know. It’s about time you understood that I’m not a child who needs to be pampered and scolded from time to time just to keep her out of trouble. I’m a full-growed woman and I can make my own decisions.”

  “Well of course you can. Whoever said different?” Johnny swallowed hard. How could she have possibly known what was going on in my head? Reckon I better make sure whatever I do get to thinkin’ on don’t rile her none.

  “I’d certainly be, uh, pleased to entertain whatever your thoughts are on the matter, Rachael. You know that. I just want to look out for your welfare.”

  “My welfare is to be best served by keepin’ you company on whatever journey you’re set on. So, whatever you’re plannin’ had better include me, Johnny Monk. I’m goin’ with you, no matter what. Do you understand?” Her face was getting redder by the second. Her fists were so tightly clenched, her knuckles were turning white.

  Johnny took a step backward with both hands in the air, fully prepared to surrender in case she was thinking of using something more dangerous than just words, something like that old broken ax handle resting only inches from her reach.

  He was clearly nervous. He knew she could tell by his hesitation to answer her that he was struggling to find a solution, and thus far failing. He’d never known such a strong-willed female; in fact, he’d never really been around any female except his mother and the lady of the evening at the saloon where he worked cleaning up after it closed. She didn’t count, he figured, since her job was to bow to a man’s will, unless, of course, he couldn’t come up with the wherewithal to afford her company.

  But here he was, facing the only girl he’d ever really gotten to know, and he was in a decidedly tough situation. He was either going to have to acquiesce to her demands or hightail it out of town as soon as he could. That thought was wallowing around in his head when an important realization came: the horse didn’t belong to him. By rights, it was her horse. The man posing as her father owned it, and when he died it came to her legally as his only kin. Legally, that is, as far as the rest of the world knew. So it appeared that unless he could bring himself to do something as dastardly as to steal a horse from a woman and leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere, he was committed to doing the right thing. Although he was having a devil of a time convincing himself that taking her on a dangerous mission was the right thing to do. Decision time had come. He nodded.

  “I reckon there’d be worse things that could happen to a man than to be travelin’ with a beautiful young lady. We’ll start out at first light tomorrow mornin’, if that’s all right with you.” His eyebrows shot up in anticipation of her affirming answer. What he got, however, was anything but expected.

  Rachael surprised him by running forward, grabbing him around the neck, and starting to plant kisses all over his face—on his lips, cheeks, eyes, and anywhere else she could.

  “Thank you, Johnny. You’ll not regret takin’ me, I promise,” she said still clinging tightly to his neck.

  As she giggled with happiness, Johnny thought to himself, Maybe this will work out all right, after all.

  Chapter 27

  Stage just dropped off the mail at the hotel, Cotton. Here’s one for you. I sure wish they’d hurry up and get that post office built like they been promisin’ for a month of Sundays. We’re getting’ big enough for one,” Jack said, strolling into the jail.

  Cotton took the envelope, turned it over to see who it was from, then tore one end off and blew into it to hold it open. He fished out the letter with his thumb and forefinger, unfolded it, and began to read. Silently. After his eyes had traveled the length of the missive three or four times, Jack’s patience had run out.

  “Well, what’s it say? You come into a fortune from a deceased uncle back East or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. But it is a surprise of sorts, and it seems those letters I sent out have paid off. Here we were in the dark about any Burnside kin, and now there’s the fellow we found in Burnside’s papers claimin’ to be his nephew. And I’ll bet you can’t guess what he wants.”

  “Probably thinks he’s got a gunsmithin’ business comin’ to him. Am I on the right scent?”

  “You got ’er sniffed out, pard.”

  “I figure since you haven’t officially turned it over to Varner, you can always backtrack.”

  “First, I’d better make certain this man is Burnside’s legal heir.”

  “How do you figure on doin’ that?”

  “I’m goin’ to send him a telegraph message to ask him to come to Apache Springs and bring everything he can to prove he is who he says he is.”

  “What if he can’t prove such a thing?”

  “He’ll have to scout out another line of work. Besides, what if he doesn’t know a damned thing about bein’ a gunsmith? We can’t afford to have some inexperienced fool takin’ folks’ guns apart and screwin’ things up, can w
e?”

  Jack scratched his head. “I see what you’re drivin’ at, but I still don’t . . .”

  “You’re goin’ to have to trust me, Jack.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Good, that’s settled. Now, I been thinkin’ on Melody’s money and Pick gettin’ himself shot to death. Even if we should come across a wad of greenbacks, there’s no way to prove it’s Melody’s. The only link I see is Pick’s old ten-gauge.”

  “I been thinkin’ on that very thing myself, Cotton.”

  “That shotgun was surely taken by the man or men who shot Pick. If we find that gun, we got at least a trail to follow.”

  “Yeah, I got to agree. But where do we start lookin’?”

  “First, I want you to start askin’ around town to all the merchants—and that includes Melody’s saloon—for folks to keep an eye out for anyone spending lots of cash. Especially those who aren’t known to have been flush before. And you can tell ’em to keep an eye out for that blunderbuss, too.”

  “I already came to the same conclusion. Got to thinkin’ offerin’ a small reward for anyone who’s seen it might be a good idea, too,” Jack said. “Okay if I get a few posters printed?”

  “Go ahead. Start at one end of town and stop at every store and shop all the way to the other end.”

  “Sounds like thirsty work. Mind if I fortify myself with a quick brandy?”

  “Suit yourself. A man should always be at his best.” Cotton gave him a cynical grin along with one raised eyebrow.

  Jack returned the favor with a salute and left quickly. He headed straight for the saloon.

  * * *

  “Get me a brandy, will you, Arlo?” Jack asked the bartender. “Melody around?”

  “I saw her about an hour ago. She said she was going to the gunsmith’s shop.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Said something about that peashooter she carries around not having the firepower she figured she needed.”

  “What the hell does she need firepower for?”

  Arlo nervously continued wiping the polished surface, mopping up spills.

  “I, uh, don’t know. All I can figure is she’s scared of something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t have any idea. But I know she’s real shook up about something, especially after Pick Wheeler took her for a wad. Maybe she figures someone else might try takin’ advantage.”

  “When did you say she left?” Jack swigged his shot of brandy.

  “An hour or so. Something like that.”

  “Thanks, Arlo. I think I’ll wander down to our friendly gunsmith and make sure she’s not trying to buy dynamite.”

  Arlo snorted at the thought. He continued his cleanup as Jack slipped out the batwings.

  * * *

  When Jack got to the gunsmith’s, he peeked in through windows so dusty he had to wipe a spot to even see if anyone was inside. He didn’t see Melody. He opened the door and went inside. He called out.

  “Mr. Varner, it’s Deputy Stump. You here?”

  He listened for a moment, then began scanning the place. He first noticed a glass case that had been left open, where new handguns were usually kept, at least they had been when Burnside was still alive. On the velvet lining he could make out a distinct impression, that of a revolver. A much larger revolver than Melody had ever carried before. That’s when he heard the shot. It came from out back. He raced to the back of the store and opened the door. There he saw Melody and Carp Varner standing very close together. In fact, Carp had one arm around her shoulder and the other hand helping her hold up a .45-caliber Smith & Wesson six-shooter. Smoke was trickling skyward from the barrel.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt such a cozy gathering, but there’s an ordinance in town that prohibits the discharge of a firearm within the town limits,” Jack said, walking toward them. “What’s the idea?”

  “Oh, sorry, Deputy, I didn’t know of such a rule. We’re done here anyway.”

  “What’re you doin’, Melody?”

  “I’m buying a new gun. I don’t feel that safe anymore. Figured I ought to be prepared, just in case. Especially since it doesn’t seem the law hereabouts can protect its citizens.” She glared at Jack like he was some inept dolt.

  “Melody, this doesn’t make any sense. Who haven’t we protected?”

  “Your being a deputy didn’t keep Pick Wheeler from robbing me, did it?”

  “Even after I advised against it, you made your deal with him. Then, Pick left town. He was no longer in our jurisdiction. There was nothin’ we could have done to prevent him gettin’ robbed and killed, either.”

  “And all my money being stolen!” she blurted out, spun around, and stomped off.

  Varner called after her. “Miss Melody, shall I bring the shooter to your establishment, later?”

  “Whenever you’ve a mind to, Mr. Varner,” she hollered back, hiking up her long skirt to step onto the boardwalk. “I’ll even buy you a drink.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Varner called out, then tipped his hat to Jack and went back inside his shop, closing the door behind him.

  Jack followed Melody out front and was left standing there, alone, fuming. His eyes followed her down the street. If looks could kill, Melody Wakefield would have been dropped on the spot.

  Chapter 28

  As Jack returned to the jail, Cotton could see he was about to explode. The deputy came storming in, went straight for the first cell, lay down, and rolled over toward the wall. Cotton had known Memphis Jack long enough to see the signs of an anger so intense that any attempt to mollify the situation could get a man shot. He decided to keep quiet and let things settle out. He continued reading the week-old newspaper he’d been perusing when Jack came in. Since asking Jack what the problem was seemed out of the question, he decided to wander over to the saloon and listen in on any conversations that might touch on the subject. Clearly, whatever it was that had his deputy so steamed, Melody had played a part. And knowing Melody, as Cotton did, it was likely a huge part.

  He’d no sooner entered through the batwings than he heard Melody shouting orders down to Arlo, the barkeep. “Bring me up a couple bottles of that Kentucky Bourbon and send Mr. Varner upstairs when he gets here!” She slammed the door to her bedroom.

  Looks like Mr. Varner has made himself a friend . . . and an enemy. Not sure I’d want to be in his shoes in either instance.

  When Arlo came over to the sheriff’s table and asked if he wanted anything, Cotton said he’d have a beer. There were almost no customers at that time of day, so when Arlo brought the glass of beer, he pulled out a chair and sat down.

  Cotton had chosen a table along one side of the room. He almost always sat alone, not being one to engage in conversations with strangers, especially when one of them might someday turn out to be confrontational when drunk. Cotton thanked the barkeep and took a sip.

  “What was that all about?” Cotton asked.

  “Don’t know for sure, but I think Miss Melody is pretty upset with Jack because of the loss of her money.”

  “How does she figure Jack could have done anything to prevent it? After all, even though he tried, he couldn’t stop her from making a foolish investment in a worthless mine.”

  “I know. One minute she can be sweet as sugar, and the next minute, a she-cougar defending her cubs couldn’t compare to that lady,” Arlo said, looking down at the floor. He was obviously shy talking about Melody behind her back.

  “I’m not clear on why she’d take up with Carp Varner, though. He hasn’t been here long enough to get to know her.”

  “First day he wandered in here, covered in trail dust and thirsty as a desert rat, he saw her prance through in one of her fanciest dresses and he said to me he had every intention of bedding her. I told him that’d be the stupidest thing he ever did. I
figured that’d be the end of that, but he swore to me he’d make good his desires sure as there’s fires in hell.”

  “Sounds like he may get his wish.”

  “Hard to say. I never figured she’d turn on Jack. And certainly not over something that wasn’t his fault. She’s a puzzle, all right.” Arlo scooted his chair back as a couple cowboys wandered in. “Time to get to work. See you later, Sheriff.”

  Cotton held up his glass to the barkeep, then downed the contents in one long swallow. Having set the glass on the table, he slowly walked to the door and, stopping to glance up to Melody’s bedroom, turned and left. When he started off the boardwalk, he saw Varner coming toward him with a big grin on his face.

  “Business must be looking up, Mr. Varner, at least judging by the look on your face.”

  “You noticed, huh? Yep, Sheriff, things are giving every indication of getting even better minute by minute now.” Varner didn’t stop to chat but breezed by, straight up the steps and into the saloon like a man on a serious mission. Cotton noticed he carried a Colt .45 stuck in the front of his gun belt. He seemed unusually well armed.

  I wonder what that Colt is for. Shaking his head, he turned and walked the dusty street toward the telegraph office. Probably something quite innocent. Right now, I reckon it’s time I contact Burnside’s nephew, if Burnside really did have a nephew.

  * * *

  “Thank you, Johnny,” Rachael whispered. She sat behind him with her arms wrapped around him so tightly he couldn’t have escaped if he’d wanted to. “Thank you for letting me come with you.”