Cotton’s Inferno

by Phil Dunlap

  “How do you figure to do that?”

  “Have they seen you?”

  “I ’spect.”

  “Then I can’t have you take off your badge and go down there to ask who they are.”

  “Maybe not. But I could ask Arlo to keep his ear out for any loose conversation. He gets a lot of folks in the saloon that might hear somethin’ useful.”

  “That’s a good idea. Do it. Oh, has Melody cooled off enough to talk to me in a reasonable fashion yet?”

  “Not likely. Maybe I can make another run at her. Gotta be careful how I go ’bout it or I’ll be back here sleepin’ in a jail cell again.”

  “You can always throw your bedroll on the floor at my house if you need to. Just let me know before you walk in.”

  “’Fraid I’ll catch you, uh, entertainin’?” Jack said with a knowing grin.

  “You never can tell, Jack. Now, go tell Arlo what we want him to do.”

  * * *

  Jack looked around the near empty saloon. It was the middle of the day in the middle of the week. Customers tended to come in the evenings or on the weekend. He walked casually over to the barkeep and leaned on the bar.

  “What’ll it be, Jack?”

  “Brandy, and I have a job for you.”

  “As long as it don’t involve using that shotgun on someone again, I’ll do it.”

  “Nope. No shotgun this time. I want you to ask around to see if anybody recognizes three men sittin’ either on the hotel porch or in front of the mercantile. Came in one, maybe two days ago. We may have some paper on them, but we have to make certain we got the right ones,” Jack said, leaning over the bar and keeping his voice low.

  “I can do that, Jack. I’ll let you know as soon as I get something.” Arlo turned to get a bottle of brandy and poured a shot glass full. Jack thanked him and went upstairs. He could tell Melody was in her room because he heard her humming some song off-key. He opened the door and went in.

  “Hi, sweety, where’ve you been?” she asked.

  “My job. You remember what I do, don’t you?”

  “Oh, that’s right, you fetch and do errands for the sheriff, uh, Bark or Beak, or . . . now what was his name?”

  “Stop it, Melody. I’m not here to fight. I’m tired and hungry. I thought we could get a bite to eat.”

  “Ah, that would be very nice. Let me put something on I can be seen in and we’ll go to the hotel,” she said, moving away from her mirror to an armoire, wherein hung dozens of fancy dresses.

  He helped her into a long blue dress with satin bows and a lacy neck and cuffs. She slipped into shoes with silver eyelets and highly polished pointy toes. As they left the room and started down the staircase, he took her arm and pulled her near.

  “Do you know anything about three men who came to town a day or so ago? They seem to be spending a lot of time watching the bank,” he whispered. She stared at him for a second.

  “No. Should I?”

  “Not really, but you usually make an acquaintance with everyone who comes to town.”

  “Sorry, not this time. Haven’t noticed them around the saloon. Just drifters, I’d guess. Why do you give a damn?”

  “They kinda fit the description on a wanted dodger that Cotton got this mornin’.”

  “Oh? What might they be wanted for?”

  “Bank robbery. A killin’, too, I think.”

  “This town sure does seem to attract the worst type of people. Lordy me, what’s this old world coming to?”

  “I am also curious about that thing Cotton asked you about. Remember? He wanted to know who all you told about givin’ Pick Wheeler a lot of money?”

  “You asking because you want to know, or did Cotton put you up to it?”

  “Nope, he didn’t. It’s still his idea. But I want you to take another look at it without worryin’ about whose idea it was. It’s good solid reasonin’. Whoever you might have told could play an important part in my, uh, investigation.”

  “All right, if it’s for your ears only. First, of course Darnell Givins knew, since he’s the one handed all that cash over to that old reprobate. And there was some fellow sitting on the bench outside the bank when we came out. I s’pose he could have overheard our conversation, but I was so excited I didn’t really take notice of him. I mighta said something then that could have been important. Oh, and I reckon I was a little over-ecstatic about owning a silver mine, so I think I let something slip to the ladies at the dress shop. And the waiter at the hotel restaurant. And a few cowboys that suggested I go upstairs with them for some touch and tickle, but I shut them down telling them I now owned a silver mine and didn’t need their measly dollars,” she said, drifting off in thought. “I think that’s all. Maybe. I’m not sure. Things were happening pretty fast and . . .”

  “And you got caught up in the excitement.”

  “Uh-huh. Did I blow my chances for getting my money back?”

  “I’ll let you know. First, I need to follow up on those people you talked to and see who they talked to. You see, something like this can spread like a wildfire. Somewhere in that string of folks might be whoever shot Pick and stole your money. See, simple.”

  “I, uh, never thought about it that way. I figured Cotton was just trying to make me look like a fool.”

  “Shall I tell him you’re sorry?”

  “Must I go that far?” she said with a sheepish grin.

  Chapter 34

  Cotton, I got Melody’s list of folks she shot off her big mouth to. Oh, and she says she’s sorry.” Jack lied, handing a folded piece of paper to the sheriff who opened it and began reading.

  “There could be something in here that will help. I reckon we’ll see.”

  “Yeah. I was particularly suspicious of the lady at the dress shop,” Jack said, with a smirk.

  “Uh-huh, that one struck me, too.” Cotton folded the paper and stuck it in his shirt pocket.

  “What do we do now?” Jack asked.

  “The man claiming to be Burnside’s nephew is supposed to arrive this afternoon. News of him wantin’ to take over where his uncle left off should prove interestin’. Now that we’re for sure he’s comin’, I think I’ll saunter over and talk things over with Carp Varner. You want to come along?”

  “Why not? Never know what might turn up when you shuffle a new deck.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  * * *

  Varner was jamming an oily cloth down the barrel of a Springfield rifle. A drop of the oil landed on the desk as he pulled it out. He looked up as Cotton and Jack entered.

  “Well, Sheriff, I hope you’re coming with good news,” Varner said. “Ahh, I see you brought along your impulsive deputy, too. I hope nobody’s lookin’ for trouble.”

  “Why should there be any trouble?” Cotton said quizzically.

  “The last time me and the deputy spoke, he was pretty riled up about me and a certain lady.”

  “I get it. Jack failed to tell me you two had a run-in.” He looked at Jack, who looked away. “I reckon whatever went between you is over. Anyway, I’m here with some news about the shop.”

  “Good. I’m eager to hear what you’ve got to say,” Varner said.

  “I doubt you’ll see it that way. I received a notice from Burnside’s nephew, a man we didn’t know existed, and he says he might want to take over his uncle’s business. He’s supposed to be arriving on the afternoon stage. Since I’ve never seen the man, I’ll have to wait until we’ve talked to know if he has a legitimate claim and is even capable of repairing firearms.”

  “I, uh, reckon that means I’d better start clearin’ out.”

  “Not yet. Give me a chance to see what kind of critter we’re dealin’ with. I’ll let you know.”

  “Fair enough, Sheriff. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  With that, C
otton and Jack went to the hotel for lunch and an opportunity to talk over what would happen if the nephew turned out to be a good prospect to run the gunsmithing business.

  * * *

  Looks like I’m going to have to make something happen. Can’t just sit here and twiddle my thumbs while that fool sheriff decides whether I go or stay.

  Carp Varner stared out the window of the shop. His ex-pression was as dark as a looming thunderstorm. He had only a couple of minor jobs to do, neither of which was due to be done anytime soon. Taking time to look out the window wasn’t keeping him from completing anything that would bring in any quick cash. After seeing the Callahan Brothers ride into town, he’d been biding his time. He knew they were up to no good, and if he could put a stop to their misdeeds before the sheriff caught wind of their plans, he figured to be a hero. And towns like Apache Springs didn’t have the stomach for tossing out a hero. What the hell’s taking them so long?

  * * *

  Almost as if responding to Varner’s silent question, just after noon, the Callahan Brothers left the hotel porch and began a slow walk toward the bank, looking around like mice wary of being spotted by a cat. They split up, two walked down one side of the street, and the other took the side where the bank sat, diagonally across from the gun shop. Few people were in town at this time of day, it being near lunch. Some were at the hotel, eating, and others were staying inside their shops, avoiding the midday sun. As they got close to the bank, Black Tom stopped and signaled the others to cross the street and join him. They gathered in front of the millinery store, which sat on the corner of the alley next to the bank.

  “All right, one more time, here’s how this is going to go down. Dal, you go stand at the entrance to the alley, back enough that you don’t attract attention. Stretch, get our horses and bring them around back of the bank. As soon as I see you’re in position, I’ll go into the bank and wait for any customers to leave. When I come out with the money, Dal will step up and cover me from the alley entrance alongside the bank. Stretch, when you see me come out, you bring the horses up to the front of the bank. We’ll tear out of here to the south. Any questions?”

  “Where you figure on us makin’ for, Tom?” Dal asked.

  “There’s plenty of good places to take cover in those rough hills. If the sheriff gets up a posse, it will take him at least an hour, maybe more. We can easily shake him off our trail if we make it through the first south pass.”

  “And if we don’t?” Stretch asked.

  “Then we’re in for one helluva gunfight. Unless you’ve got some other half-assed questions, let’s get this soiree started.”

  They each headed for their places, all under the watchful eyes of Carp Varner.

  * * *

  Looks like I won’t have to wait much longer. Varner chuckled as he took the shotgun and went to the front door. His shop being at ninety degrees to the bank’s entrance, across the main street, guaranteed him both a front row seat and the first shot, if it came to that. And he knew damned good and well it would, at least if he had anything to say about it.

  Carp checked the loads in the shotgun one more time, closed the breech, and cocked the hammers. His Smith & Wesson Schofield sat comfortably on his gun belt. He was ready for a small war. He watched Stretch make a run to the livery stable, go inside, and come back out minutes later with three horses in tow. Halfway down the street, he led the horses down a side alley. Probably goin’ to meet up at the back of the bank. Dumb plan. Carp smiled.

  Dal positioned himself at the entrance to the alleyway beside the bank, turned, and stood near the entrance to the street. When it was obvious Black Tom was preparing to enter the front door of the bank, Varner stepped onto the boardwalk and stood in the shadows of the portico—and waited for the first move to be made. He didn’t have to wait long.

  * * *

  Luckily, there was no one in the bank except the manager. When Black Tom entered, the man stood up and extended his hand. “Good afternoon, sir. How can—”

  Tom didn’t wait to hear the entire greeting. He held up his six-shooter, pointing it directly at Darnell Givins, and said, “No bullshit, mister. Start cleanin’ out that vault.”

  “Y-yessir.” Shaken, Darnell moved as fast as he could, which obviously wasn’t fast enough for the robber. Black Tom gave him a very sharp stab in the back with the barrel of the revolver. “Move it! I’m not a patient man, mister, and I don’t intend to tolerate no shenanigans.”

  Givins began stuffing money in the gunnysack Black Tom had tossed to him. He started to perspire profusely upon hearing Tom cock the hammer. He dropped several of the money packs, then had to scramble to gather them and shove them in the bag. He handed the bag to Black Tom with trembling hands.

  Black Tom smiled and said, “There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He turned suddenly to leave, then looking back momentarily, he said, “Don’t holler for the law before we get gone and I won’t have to shoot you. Understand?”

  Givins was nodding his head so hard his teeth were chattering.

  Black Tom burst out the door and started for the alley. He hadn’t gone fifteen steps when he noticed a familiar face across the street.

  “You! You son—”

  “This just isn’t your day, Callahan,” Carp Varner hollered and then let loose with one barrel of the shotgun, striking Black Tom in the face. Dal pulled his gun, but to no avail. He, too, was cut down instantly by the second barrel of the ten-gauge.

  Seeing what was happening, Stretch came thundering down the alley. He’d just begun to pull his revolver when a voice from behind yelled.

  “That’s far enough, mister! Unless you want the same as your brothers got.” Cotton Burke was behind him, coming fast from the rear of the bank. Stretch threw up his hands.

  “D-don’t shoot, Sheriff. I give up. All I did was fetch the horses. That’s all, I swear.”

  Cotton took his revolver from him and marched him to the front of the bank, where his two brothers lay covered in blood. Stretch stared in disbelief at the corpses. He began to tremble. He was so shocked at seeing his brothers lying in pools of blood he didn’t even look up to see who’d pulled down on them. Cotton looked over just as Carp Varner was slipping back into the gunsmith’s shop and shouted, “Nice shooting. Thanks for your help.”

  Varner smiled as he called over his shoulder, “You’re welcome, Sheriff. Anytime,” and then he popped back inside to return the shotgun to a safe place.

  Cotton pushed the tall, skinny Callahan along in front of him. Jack came running toward them, Remington at the ready.

  “What the hell happened, Cotton?”

  “Tell you when I get this hombre locked up. Oh, and make sure Givins is all right and take him back the bank’s money, then fetch the undertaker.”

  Chapter 35

  Stretch sat morosely in his jail cell. The sheriff and his deputy were in the other room talking about what had befallen the other two Callahan Brothers. The remaining brother was nearly in tears as he overheard only bits and pieces of their conversation.

  “So what happened out there, Cotton? I heard what sounded like a cannon goin’ off. Figured we were at war all of a sudden.”

  “Those three we figured for the Callahan Brothers? Well, they were, and they cleaned out the bank. Nearly got away with it, too.”

  “So you got the other two.”

  “I didn’t get the other two.”

  “Uh, I saw them lying in the street. What happened, they fall down and start bleedin’ from fright at seeing you thunderin’ toward them?”

  “The only one that saw me was the one I got locked up in back.”

  “What was it made you go back there in the first place?”

  “I noticed them leave the hotel porch, stop, and put their heads together for a minute, then head down the street in the general direction of the bank. I got curious when one of ’em went straight f
or the livery. When he came out with their horses, I went around the back way to see what was goin’ on, just in case we’d been right about ’em.”

  “Those two blasts were louder’n what a Colt puts out.”

  “Uh-huh. Seems our gunsmith stepped out of his shop at just the right moment, saw what they were up to, and started blastin’ away with a scattergun. Got those two in the street before I could catch ’em tryin’ for a getaway.”

  “Handy.” Jack scrunched up his mouth in a doubtful frown. “Real handy. Almost too handy.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “You haven’t had time to talk to your prisoner yet. While you do that, I’ll make sure the undertaker has hauled away the mess, if you’d like.”

  “I’d like.”

  Jack left, and Cotton poured coffee into two cups. He opened the door that separated the cells from the office. Stretch was surprised when the door opened, and he sat back on the cot quickly. Cotton handed him a cup, which he took, although reluctantly.

  “So, what’s your name?” Cotton asked, blowing the steam off his coffee.

  “Name’s Stretch and don’t try being nice to me, Sheriff; I ain’t up to none of your questions. What about my brothers, Tom and Dal?”

  “What about them?”

  “I could see they was bad wounded in the dirt. Did you send for a doctor?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why the hell not? You folks ain’t no better’n us.”

  “Bein’ good or bad doesn’t make any difference. But bein’ dead trumps all manner of reasons not to fetch a doctor.”

  “Dead! You sayin’ both my brothers was dead lyin’ there?”

  “Deader’n a skunk in a stampede. Undertaker’ll take good care of ’em, though.”

  Stretch sniffed back a tear. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked away.

  “Wh-what’s goin’ to happen to me? I didn’t rob nuthin’.”