Moonshine Massacre

by William W. Johnstone

  “We just planned to pick up some supplies,” Matt said. “Reckon we’ll go on over to Mr. Hilliard’s store and see about doin’ that.”

  “But we could stay a few days,” Sam added. “We’ve been on the trail for quite a while. Our horses could probably use the rest.”

  Matt’s eyebrows lifted. “You think so?” He knew good and well why Sam was suddenly so interested in staying a spell in Cottonwood, and her name was Hannah Coleman.

  That was all right with Matt, other than the fact that they couldn’t get a drink here.

  Or could they? All they had to go by was the word of Calvin Bickford and Ambrose Porter. The two so-called “special marshals” hadn’t seemed to be lying, but despite his relative youth, Matt was old enough to know better than to take everything at face value.

  “Say, Marshal,” he went on, “we heard there’s a new law here in Kansas that says no more liquor.”

  Coleman nodded. “That’s right. Governor signed it into law a while back.”

  “Does that just apply to whiskey, or—”

  “Whiskey, beer, wine, anything with alcohol in it. It’s illegal to sell any of it or have it in your possession.”

  “So there’s no place here in Cottonwood where a man can get a real drink?” Matt asked as if he couldn’t believe it.

  “I’m afraid not. I reckon that means you fellas will be in even more of a hurry to move on—”

  “Not at all,” Sam broke in. He smiled at Hannah. “It really doesn’t matter to us.”

  Matt wanted to tell his blood brother to speak for himself, but instead he just shrugged and said, “I reckon we can take it or leave it.”

  It was true that Sam wasn’t much of a drinker to start with. He had seen how badly liquor affected his father’s people. Matt was more inclined to tip an elbow, but he could live without it for a while, he supposed. Sam would get over being smitten with Hannah Coleman as soon as he realized that he would have to be ready to settle down in order to get anywhere with a girl like her.

  Coleman sighed and said, “I’m glad to hear that somebody around here feels that way about booze. When the governor got the legislature to pass that law, I don’t reckon he knew just how much of a hornets’ nest he’d be stirring up.”

  “Folks haven’t taken kindly to it?” Matt asked.

  “That’s putting it mildly. Governor St. John had to send out special deputies to try to enforce the ban, and they’ve wound up getting in shoot-outs with saloon owners and people who try to smuggle in the stuff and just average folks who want to take a drink.”

  Matt and Sam glanced at each other, but didn’t say anything about having witnessed one such gun battle earlier that very day.

  “On top of that, local badge-toters like me have had to close down the saloons in our towns, and that’s caused a lot of hard feelings, too,” Coleman went on.

  “Someone tried to shoot Dad from an alley a few nights ago,” Hannah said. “I’m sure it had something to do with that ban on liquor and the way he ordered all the saloons in town to close.”

  “Now, we don’t know that,” Coleman said with a shake of his head.

  “Why else would anyone try to bushwhack you like that?”

  Coleman shrugged. “Lawmen always have enemies.”

  “There hadn’t been any real trouble in town for months,” Hannah insisted. “Not until that new law went into effect.”

  “Well, maybe not, but we still don’t need to jump to conclusions.” Coleman turned to Matt and Sam again. “But you young fellas don’t want to stand around listening to my problems. Tell you what. Since I can’t buy you a drink to thank you for helping me out, why don’t I feed you supper instead?” He looked at his daughter. “That is, if Hannah doesn’t mind me volunteering her to cook for you.”

  “Not at all,” Hannah said quickly. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  “So do I,” Sam said without hesitation, which didn’t surprise Matt. “Thank you for the generous invitation. We accept.”

  Matt didn’t mind Sam speaking on his behalf this time. After being on the trail for several weeks, a home-cooked meal sounded mighty fine.

  “We live on Third Street,” Hannah told them. “Just go up one block and then turn left. It’s the fourth house.”

  Sam nodded. “We’re much obliged, Miss Coleman.”

  “Yeah,” Matt added. “Thanks. Now we’d better see about finding a stable for our horses and a place to stay.”

  “Cottonwood Hotel’s across the street in the next block,” Coleman said. “Nice, clean place. And I’d recommend Loomis’s Stable, at the eastern end of the street. Ike Loomis will take good care of your animals.”

  Matt and Sam nodded their thanks, then went to gather up their mounts while Coleman and Hannah went into the marshal’s office. The horses were well trained and hadn’t gone far. As the blood brothers led them toward the stable Coleman had recommended, Matt grinned and said, “You’ve got it bad.”

  “What?” Sam said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The hell you don’t! I saw the way you were makin’ calf eyes at Miss Hannah.”

  “You’re loco!” Sam protested. “She’s a pretty girl, I suppose, but I wasn’t…I didn’t…” His voice trailed off and he blew out an exasperated breath.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that you started talkin’ about stayin’ around these parts for a while.”

  “The horses need a rest,” Sam insisted.

  “I need a drink, too, but it looks like I’m not gonna get one here.”

  “You can live without a drink for a few days.” Sam paused, then went on. “Did you hear what Hannah said about someone trying to bushwhack her father?”

  “Of course I heard her. I was standin’ right there.” Matt frowned a little. “But that is a mite interestin’. Could be the marshal has more trouble on his hands than he realizes.”

  “And the prospect of trouble always intrigues you, doesn’t it?” Sam asked.

  Matt grinned in response but didn’t say anything.

  They reached the livery stable. According to the sign painted on the front wall over its big double doors, it was LOOMIS’S LIVERY—ISAAC LOOMIS, PROP. When they led their horses inside, a short, barrel-shaped man in overalls and with a plug hat met them. He had a short, rusty beard, and a crooked black stogie was clenched between his teeth.

  “Howdy, gents,” he said without removing the stogie. “He’p you?”

  “We need a place to put up our horses,” Sam said.

  “And a place that’ll sell us a drink,” Matt added jokingly.

  The fat man leaned out to look both ways along the street, then slowly straightened and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone as he said, “Just could be I might can he’p you with both of them things.”

  Chapter 5

  The blood brothers looked at him in surprise. Matt said, “I was just funnin’ with you, old-timer. We know about the new law in Kansas.”

  “Yeah, well, just ’cause somethin’s a law don’t mean that everybody follows it.” The liveryman frowned suddenly. “You boys ain’t some o’ them special marshals, are you?”

  “Us? Not hardly,” Matt said.

  “We’re just passing through Cottonwood,” Sam added. “And we’re really not interested in having a drink.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Matt said. He turned to the liveryman. “Just what were you gettin’ at, amigo?”

  “There’s an old barn at the other end o’ town. It used to be Cottonwood’s other livery stable, but there weren’t enough business to support two of ’em. Fella who owned it closed up shop and went back wherever he came from. Barn’s been sittin’ there empty for nigh on to a year.”

  “So what happened?” Sam asked. “Someone came along and converted it into a secret saloon once that new law went into effect?”

  The liveryman looked around nervously again, then said, “You didn’t hear it from me.”

  �
�Wait a minute. You’re serious? There really is a saloon down there?”

  “Now you’re talkin’,” Matt said.

  “Just go ’round back and tell ’em that Ike sent you. That’s me, Ike Loomis.”

  Matt grinned. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Loomis. Under the circumstances, mighty pleased.”

  “I suppose you get a little payment for sending customers down there,” Sam said with a note of disapproval in his voice.

  Loomis shook his head. “No, sir, I sure don’t.” He hooked his thumbs in the suspenders that held up his overalls and added proudly, “I own the place. Well, not the barn itself, I reckon, but nobody was usin’ it. I brought everything in and set it up, though.”

  “Where do you get your booze?” Matt asked.

  Loomis shook his head. “That’s a secret. I’m already takin’ a chance just tellin’ you about the place, but you boys look trustworthy to me.”

  “We just helped Marshal Coleman arrest some men who were disturbing the peace,” Sam said. “He’s the one who told us to bring our horses down here.”

  Loomis started to look worried again. “Oh, shoot. You’re friends of Marsh Coleman, are you?”

  “We just met him,” Matt said. “Don’t worry, Mr. Loomis, we’re not gonna run back to the marshal’s office and tell him about your saloon.”

  “I expect he’ll find out sooner or later, though,” Sam said. “He seems like a pretty smart man.”

  Loomis nodded. “Oh, he is. Marsh is sharp as a tack, and a damn fine lawman, to boot. Reckon when the time comes, he’ll close me down. But I plan on makin’ a nice tidy sum before that day dawns.”

  “That’s your business.”

  “That’s right, sonny, it is.”

  “Can you take care of our horses?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, sure, sure. That’s my business, too, takin’ care o’ horses. They’ll be took good care of, too. You got my word on that, Mr….”

  “I’m Bodine,” Matt said. “He’s Two Wolves.”

  Loomis scratched at his graying red beard and frowned. “Bodine and Two Wolves…seems to me I’ve heard them names before.”

  “Must’ve been two other fellas,” Sam said. He held out the reins. “Here you go.”

  Loomis took the reins of Matt’s mount, too, and said, “That’ll be a dollar a day for each, plenty o’ grain and water included. I’ll make sure they get rubbed down good, too.”

  “We’re obliged,” Matt said with a nod.

  “Now don’t tell anybody what I told you about that barn,” Loomis warned.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll keep it to ourselves,” Matt promised.

  As they left the livery stable, carrying their saddlebags and rifles, Sam muttered, “I can’t believe you’d do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Tell that old-timer we’d keep his secret, when we’re going to Marshal Coleman’s house for dinner this evening.”

  “Coleman offered to feed us because we rounded up those troublemakers for him,” Matt said. “The way I see it, one thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other.”

  “He’s sworn to uphold the law here in Cottonwood, and you just agreed to help someone break it.”

  “Loomis is gonna be runnin’ that illegal saloon whether I say anything about it or not,” Matt pointed out. “He was runnin’ it before we got here, and I figure he’ll be runnin’ it when we leave.”

  “Unless we tell the marshal about it and help him close it down.”

  Matt stopped in his tracks. “Oh, now, wait just a minute. It’s a far piece from tellin’ Coleman about it to helpin’ him put the place out of business.”

  Sam shrugged. “You heard Hannah. He doesn’t have any deputies.”

  “Well, don’t go volunteerin’ me for the job. We didn’t even wear badges when we helped out ol’ Seymour Standish down there in Sweet Apple, Texas. We were unofficial deputies, at most.”

  “All I’m saying is that the deck is stacked against Marshal Coleman the way it is.”

  “And we don’t have cards in that game,” Matt said. “I’d just as soon keep it that way.”

  Sam grunted and shook his head. “Now you’re saying we should avoid trouble. Never thought I’d see the day when Matt Bodine did that.”

  They glared narrowly at each other as they reached the Cottonwood Hotel, a nice-looking, two-story establishment. While the blood brothers got along quite well most of the time and had for many years, it wasn’t unheard of for the two of them to clash. A time or two, they had gotten so mad at each other that they split up and rode separate trails for a while. They had always come back together eventually, but who was to say whether or not one day their trails might fork for good?

  Not today, though, not over something as minor as this. They went into the hotel and got a couple of rooms, Sam paying for both of them since he usually kept their cash.

  Matt looked through an arched entrance that led into a smaller room off the lobby and saw several men sitting around a table playing poker. “You’ve got a card room,” he said to the clerk.

  That slick-haired, bespectacled gent nodded. “That’s right. When all the saloons closed, folks still needed a place to play, so Mr. Winston, the owner of the hotel, made a card room out of that storage room.”

  “High-stakes games?”

  “Well, more friendly, I’d say,” the clerk replied. “But from what I hear, the pots sometimes get pretty big. Two or three hundred dollars, even.”

  Those weren’t huge pots as far as Matt was concerned, but they weren’t penny-ante, either. If a man spent a few hours in a game like that, he might walk away with enough cash to buy quite a few supplies.

  He inclined his head toward the card room and said to Sam, “I think I’ll have a look.”

  “Give me your gear,” Sam said. “I’ll put it in your room.”

  “Thanks.” Matt handed over the saddlebags and Winchester. The momentary friction of a few minutes earlier was forgotten.

  He strolled over to the door and stepped into the card room. Since it was a converted storage room, it didn’t have any windows, but paintings had been hung on the walls. Three of them sported scenes of the English countryside, while the fourth painting was of a well-upholstered gal with bright red hair and absolutely no clothes. One hand and a long, flowing strand of hair covered up the essentials.

  Five men sat at a table covered with green felt. Matt eyed the lone empty chair. To the players who glanced up at him, he gave a friendly nod, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to distract anybody from their cards.

  A handsome, brown-haired man in a gray suit with fancy vest, white shirt, and a cravat with a diamond stickpin in it was handling the deck, as well as playing his own hand. The bet went around the table as the players discarded and drew, then went around a couple more times until the only ones left in were the dealer and a bald-headed man with a big belly and a second chin. Matt tipped his hat back, leaned against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched the play. He didn’t know what either man had, so he tried to decide by studying their faces if they were bluffing or not.

  When there was about eighty dollars in the pot, Double-Chin called the bet and put down his cards. He had a good hand, three nines, but the other man beat him with a straight.

  As the brown-haired man raked in his winnings, he smiled up at Matt and said, “Interested in sitting in on the game, friend?”

  “You’ve got an empty chair,” Matt pointed out.

  “Indeed we do. Pull it up.” The man glanced around the table. “That is, if no one else has any objections.”

  A couple of the men shook their heads, one grunted in assent, and another said, “Fine by me.” The only one who didn’t respond was the fat man, who was still frowning at the table as if he couldn’t believe that he had lost the last hand.

  Matt sat down at the table and took out a twenty-dollar gold piece. He had been saving the double eagle for a moment like this. As he tossed it onto
the green felt, he said, “Is that enough for me to buy in?”

  “More than enough,” the brown-haired man said. “Like me to change that for you?”

  “I’d be obliged.”

  The man counted out some greenbacks from the pile in front of him and pushed them over to Matt, who handed him the double eagle. “I’m Linus Grady, by the way,” the man introduced himself. “That’s Ted Barnes, Seward Stone, Walt Phillips, and Gus Blauner.”

  “Matt Bodine.” Judging by the lack of reactions around the table, none of the men had heard of him, which was just fine with Matt. Sometimes having a reputation as a fast gun was just an annoyance, and sometimes it was a downright danger. None of these men looked like the sort who’d be interested in challenging him just to get a reputation of their own, though. They were more interested in playing cards.

  “The game is straight draw poker,” Linus Grady said. “Two-dollar ante. Sound all right to you, Matt?”

  “Sounds fine. Deal ’em.”

  Grady began flicking the pasteboards around the table with a practiced ease that said he was a professional. As Grady dealt, the fat man, who had been introduced as Seward Stone, continued to glare at him.

  Matt told himself to keep an eye on that one. If there was going to be trouble, it was likely to come from Stone.

  Chapter 6

  The game went smoothly for a few hands, though. Stone seemed to get over being mad about losing that good-sized pot to Grady. The pots stayed relatively small, under fifty dollars, and Matt won several of them.

  Then a pot started to rise as several of the players seemed to think they had good hands. Either that, or some of them had decided to run a bluff. Matt was confident that Stone wasn’t bluffing. The big man wasn’t quite good enough to hide his emotions completely. Excitement lurked in his piggish eyes.

  With Grady, on the other hand, Matt didn’t have any idea. The man was a professional, and the vaguely pleasant smile never left his face. He was unreadable.

  As for Matt’s own hand, he liked it. On a whim, he had tried to fill a flush on the draw, and two spades had turned up to go with the three he already had. He kept his raises conservative, though, knowing that if he plunged it would just run the other players off before the pot built up.