Cotton's War

by Phil Dunlap

  “Whatever you say, Pa.”

  Hank caught up to the only hands he truly trusted, the Tulip brothers, as they were coming out of the cook shack. Cruz was nowhere in sight.

  “Hold up, boys. I want a word. Was that the truth when you said you weren’t with Cruz and his boys and don’t know what they were doin’?”

  “Yeah. We was doin’ like we said. Now, Cruz, uh, well–” stammered one of them.

  Hank shook his head and walked away. “Never mind. I figure I oughta knowed better than to expect the truth from that bunch. Never shoulda hired that no-account Cruz.”

  Cruz came out of the cook shack in time to see Hank walking away from the Tulips. He was picking his teeth with a toothpick and glaring at the two brothers.

  “What’d the old man want, boys?” Cruz said.

  “Nothin’, Virgil. Just passin the time of day, that’s all.”

  Virgil squinted at them both, then said, “You two are a-lyin’. I can see it in your eyes. And I don’t hold with no liars. Now, get mounted ’cause we’re headin’ up to Saucer Valley like old man Brennan told us to. We’ll put on a good show for him.”

  The Tulip brothers went for their horses as Ben Patch approached Cruz.

  “How long we gonna have to put up with that old fool’s orders, Virgil?” said Ben.

  “Till the sixteenth. That’s all. Then we’ll be rich beyond belief.” He looked over at the Tulip brothers with a sneer.

  The Tulip brothers always did as they were told. This time, though, they were nervous and hesitant, both knowing they would be without jobs if they didn’t follow the foreman’s orders, and while they weren’t certain what Cruz was up to, they were certain that it likely wasn’t legal. But jobs were too scarce to take a chance of getting kicked off the ranch. All five of the men whipped their mounts to a trot. They noticed that Hank Brennan had pulled aside the heavy drapes on the front window and was watching them leave.

  Hank and Cappy stared after the departing riders for several minutes before Hank allowed his feelings to spill out.

  “I’ve never had a good feelin’ about that bunch, Cappy. I surely haven’t.”

  “Why don’t you just run ’em off? We can get a new crew together in no time. Why there’s men in town who’d give their right arm to get on with the Double-B,” said Cappy. “I’ve been asked lots of times if we got any need for wranglers.”

  Hank turned away with a sigh, failing to answer his son.

  After they arrived at the ridge that overlooked Saucer Valley, Cruz reined in and swung his horse around to face the Tulip brothers. He had been silent for the whole time since they had left the ranch house. Now, after letting his anger build to a fury, he was ready to say his piece.

  “You two dumb sons of bitches. Why didn’t you back me when I was tellin’ Brennan where we were?”

  “I don’t understand,” said one of the brothers. “Why would we say we was with you when we wasn’t? We was doin’ what we said. Fact is, you shoulda been with us, but you took off and hightailed it to who knows where, leavin’ us to shoulder all the work. We ain’t takin’ the blame for you fellas messin’ in business you shouldn’t ought to. You was comin’ back from the direction of Saucer Valley, and that’s the truth of it.”

  Cruz got off his horse and led the roan over to a tree where he tied off the reins. The others followed suit. The Tulip brothers sauntered over to the edge of the overlook.

  “It don’t look to me like there are two hundred head down there. Where do you suppose the others could have got to?” said one of the brothers. “Do you know anything about this, Cruz?”

  “Well now, it ain’t nothin’ you two need to worry yourselves about. You got other worries right now,” snarled Cruz. The Tulips turned to see Cruz pointing his six-shooter at them.

  “Wh-what the hell! You–” was all that one of them was able to spit out before Cruz emptied all six shots into the brothers. They were dead before their dusty slide to the bottom of the hill ended in a tangle of brush and prickly pear cactus.

  “Damn!” said Ben, his eyes wide in surprise. “I sure didn’t see that coming.”

  “Neither did they,” said Cruz, with a snicker.

  Chapter 6

  “Where are you taking him?” Melody grabbed at Cotton. “You got no right to haul Jack outta here. He ain’t done nothin’ to you. I’m the one you want. Beat me, slap me around, shoot me if it’ll make you feel better. But don’t take it out on Jack, please. I love him,” she screamed, and took a wild swing at his chest.

  Cotton grabbed her hand, pulled her close, and looked her right in the eye.

  “Stay out of this, Melody. It’s got nothin’ to do with you.” He released his grip and pushed her back onto one of the overstuffed chairs in the lobby. She jumped up angrily and stomped her foot.

  Cotton turned to Jack and gave a jerk of his head to say it was time to leave. But Melody rushed around the counter and grabbed a .41-caliber Colt derringer from an open drawer. She pulled back the hammer with both thumbs, leaned her elbows on the sign-in book, and took shaky aim at Cotton.

  “If you don’t let go of Jack, I swear I’ll blow a hole through your gizzard. So help me, I will.”

  Seeing that the situation was escalating and that someone could get killed, even from a stray shot, Memphis Jack held up his hands.

  “Now, hold on, Melody. He ain’t worth gettin’ you strung up for a killin’. If he says it ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, then I gotta believe him until I find out different. I reckon I do owe him for keepin’ me from a prison cell. That don’t mean I like him, just that I trust him to keep his word. Now put that thing away and come kiss me goodbye. Cotton says I’m goin’ on a little trip to help him out, although he ain’t said how I’m supposed to do that.”

  Melody eased the hammer back and placed the pistol on the counter. She had tears in her eyes as she spoke.

  “Cotton, you got to promise me nothin’ will happen to Jack. Please, Cotton.”

  Cotton pushed Jack toward the door and then turned to Melody.

  “Ain’t no guarantees in this old world, darlin’. You of all people ought to know that.” He shoved Jack ahead of him out onto the boardwalk. The blast from the little singleshot derringer shattered the glass in the door frame and lodged in a porch post not two feet from Cotton’s head.

  As he hurried Jack toward the stable, Cotton said, “Good thing she never really learned to shoot.” He smiled as he remembered the day several years back when he had tried to give her shooting lessons. She never could hit the broad side of a barn, but the way she looked and the things she could do, who cared?

  As they reached the other side of the street, Cotton untied his horse’s reins and led him to the livery. Jack stopped just inside the door and turned to Cotton.

  “I want to know where we’re goin’, and I want to know now, before I take another step.”

  “You’ll know when I’m good and ready to tell you, Jack. Now, move it.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed, and if he’d had a handful of six-shooter, he would probably have taken that opportunity to plug his old friend Cotton. But Cotton was no stranger to Jack’s mercurial changes in mood or attitude and was prepared for whatever might come.

  Jack’s swing at Cotton came with the suddenness of an aroused rattler. Cotton merely dodged the roundhouse punch and jammed the Winchester in Jack’s ribs.

  “Oww! Damn, Cotton, you don’t have to get rough. I’m comin’ along, ain’t I?” Jack doubled over in pain.

  “I suppose that fist was just your way of sayin’ thanks for the invite.”

  Jack hung his head for a minute. “Naww. maybe I was just thinkin’ about havin’ to leave sweet Melody all alone. Nobody knows better’n you what happens when she ain’t got a man around for a couple of weeks. She goes on the scout for a replacement, that’s what.”

  “Yeah, I reckon I do know how Melody is. But you’ll get over her. I did. Now, let’s get a move on.”

  “W
hen do you intend on tellin’ me what I’m gettin’ myself into? Or are you scared I’ll light out on you after findin’ out?”

  “Jack, you won’t light out, because if you try it, I’ll blow you to kingdom come without another thought. You were right back there, you do owe me a favor and a whole lot more. So get that gelding saddled and be quick about it. The devil’s a-waitin’ and I don’t want him to have to twiddle his fingers.”

  Jack swallowed hard and threw the saddle on his horse. He tied his bedroll on the cantle along with the saddlebags and then climbed aboard.

  “Okay, Cotton, I’m ready to ride. But you better make it worth my while, because I’m an unforgiving sort.”

  “It ain’t like you’re in that corral all by yourself, pardner. Now, let’s move out.”

  They rode for several hours, heading north through scrubby desert land that no farmer could ever make pay. What few cattle they spotted were spread so far trying to find a patch of edible grass, a man could ride for days just rounding up a handful of them.

  “Can’t see what would bring anyone out here in the first place, unless they got a hellish hankerin’ to dig up what’s beneath the ground,” said Jack, turning in his saddle to give his sore back a rest. “ ’Cause there sure as shootin’ ain’t a thing above ground a soul could yearn for.”

  “There’s lots of things a man with a twisted sense of what he wants can dream up.”

  “We goin’ after someone like that, Cotton? I’m itchin’ to know what I’m headed into.”

  “You’ll know in due time, Jack.”

  “Cotton, for old time’s sake, you know I never did hold with walkin’ into a bad situation blind. At least give me a hint at what’s goin’ on.”

  “You want a hint? Okay, Jack, I’ll give you a hint. You remember back about eleven years ago, when you and me found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a cattle war? The outcome wasn’t all that certain.”

  “Uh, yeah. You sayin’ we’re walkin’ into another one?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “Not a cattle war. But it likely won’t feel much different,” said Cotton.

  Jack looked away as he muttered something foul under his breath.

  Chapter 7

  Virgil Cruz and his thugs dug two graves in the rocky soil. The dead bodies of the Tulip brothers lay several feet away, awaiting burial at the bottom of the ravine where they fell, the stench of death already beginning to encircle them.

  “This hole’s ready. How’re you coming over there?”

  “About finished. Not quite deep enough, but I can’t stand the stink any longer. This one musta relieved hisself just as he died. Let’s get the bodies underground and be done with it, Virgil,” said Ben Patch.

  Virgil spat a stream of tobacco juice into the hole and nodded. He’d had all he could stand of digging holes, anyway. He climbed out of the trench and motioned for the other two to drag one of the bodies to the edge of the fresh grave. He wiped his sweat-drenched brow on a filthy shirtsleeve.

  “You two get a hold on his feet and toss him in,” he said.

  They grumbled at the sight, bloody and beat-up as if the dead brothers had been dragged through a field of cactus. But they bent down, grabbed each of the corpses by its near worn-out boots, and did as they were told. All three began shoveling dirt into the holes as fast as they could. When they were finished, Virgil smoothed over the dirt so it wouldn’t attract any special attention.

  “Help me gather up some brush and a few rocks to scatter on top, so no one will figure these for fresh graves and get curious enough to do some diggin’. Hell will freeze over before anyone finds the Tulip brothers, poor dumb souls that they was,” said Virgil.

  “You sure are right about that, Virgil. Reckon they shouldn’t oughta suggested you weren’t on the up-and-up. They surely was a couple of fools,” said Ben.

  “Yeah. And you can see what it got them. Let’s mount up and go into town for a couple beers before heading back to the ranch,” said Virgil. “Bring their horses.”

  The three of them barely glanced back at the freshly made graves of two men who only hours before had been a couple of hardworking cowboys. They’d never been considered members of Virgil Cruz’s very small circle of friends. But then, that circle always did seem to have a way of shrinking, often suddenly.

  Cruz and his men rode into the dirty little town of Apache Springs, Catron County, New Mexico Territory, as if nothing had happened, as if their fellow cowboys had merely ridden off into the desert and never come back. Virgil Cruz led the others into the saloon and up to the bar. Bartender One-Eyed Billy Black took note of their presence and wiped the bar top in front of them.

  “What’ll it be, gents?” said Billy.

  “Beers.”

  Billy drew three beers from a barrel on the end of the bar, blew the foam off the tops, and sat them in front of his customers. The sound of three coins hitting the wood completed the transaction. Billy stood for a moment, then sauntered back down toward the end to reenter the conversation he had been engaged in when Virgil and his two cohorts had come in. An old man leaned over to Billy and whispered something, masking his mouth so as not to be overheard.

  “Ain’t that ugly one Virgil Cruz?” he mumbled.

  “That’s him,” said Billy. “But I wouldn’t let him know you’re asking about him, ’cause he’s meaner than a rabid coyote. I saw him gun a man down just for lookin’ at him wrong.”

  “What is it that makes a man that mean?”

  “With some men, it usually results from life dealing them a lousy hand. With Cruz, it just come natural.”

  The other man laughed and slapped the bar top.

  Virgil got an itch. It was one of those feelings like a bug crawling on his skin that he couldn’t actually see. He just knew it was there. “Drink up and let’s get out of here. I feel like we’re becomin’ the talk of the town,” he said.

  The others did as he said and they all three started toward the door. Suddenly, Virgil stopped, dropped his hand to his Colt, drew, cocked, and fired in the blink of an eye, shattering the glass that sat between Billy and the other man.

  “Next one will split your skull, old man. Don’t you ever talk about me when I’m within earshot. You understand? Never!”

  The old man just nodded rapidly, shaking like an aspen in a gale. Billy didn’t move, didn’t even look up. He’d seen Virgil’s antics before, and nothing surprised him. In fact his only having one eye had a lot to do with Cruz. It was something he knew better than to talk about when Cruz was around.

  Virgil and his crew of misfits sauntered down the boardwalk, crowding other pedestrians out into the street to avoid being shoved aside. Women, of course, were different. If Virgil and his men came upon a woman leaving the dress shop or mercantile, they politely stepped aside and tipped their hats, being certain the lady heard whatever crude remark they made about her as she passed. Women usually checked the walkway before venturing out, to avoid any such contact with bullies if possible. Even the town’s soiled doves kept their distance so as to not attract the kind of trouble these three were known to dish out.

  “Blade, I think it’s time to turn a profit on some of them beeves we got hid out in the hills. Our funds are getting low, and the sixteenth is still a ways off,” said Virgil. “We’re goin’ to have to move a few of Brennan’s cattle for a quick sale.”

  “I ain’t sure we can rustle much more from these hicks. Folks are pickin’ up and leavin’ left and right. Pretty soon, there won’t be any brands left to work,” said Blade Coffman, a long-faced, hollow-cheeked gunman who walked with a limp from a piece of lead that was lodged in his thigh. He’d been shot during a bank robbery attempt in Arizona that almost took his leg off. He’d found he was no match for a sheriff with a Winchester. He was left alive, but gimpy. After spending a year in prison, he was pardoned when a man came forward to give testimony that Coffman had simply been an innocent bystander in the bank that afternoon an
d had been shot by mistake.

  Coffman was so grateful to the man for getting him out of prison, he joined up with him as soon as he was set free. He never asked why it had taken him a whole year to come forward. The man who had sprung him was Virgil Cruz, one of the bank robbers who hadn’t been caught.

  Chapter 8

  “Blade, as soon as we get back to the ranch, you and Ben go on up to the line shack and look in on things. Make sure Scat ain’t been messin’ around with that gal. The only way this is goin’ to work is if it goes according to my plan and she stays unharmed until we’re through. After that, well, it’s a different story. You understand me?”

  “Virgil, you cut me deeply. Why, even my sainted mother knows there weren’t nobody ever born that’s better at followin’ orders than me.” Blade’s mouth twisted into a brown picket fence of a grin, with several pickets missing.

  Virgil had handpicked Blade Coffman and Ben Patch because they were two of the meanest gunmen west of Amarillo. Between them, they accounted for eleven dead men, not including an estimated dozen more that didn’t count in their minds because they were Indians, blacks, or Mexicans. One of the six deaths attributed to Blade was a soiled dove in Fort Worth. Blade wasn’t picky about who became one of his victims. And he never showed remorse.

  “Where’ll you be when we get back, Virgil?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, Ben, but I’m goin’ to tell old man Brennan how the Tulip brothers got themselves shot up defendin’ the herd from rustlers. That and how we saved the day by ridin’ in just in the nick of time to save all but a few head of his prize cattle.”

  “Say, that’s a good story, Virgil. Think he’ll buy it?”

  “He’ll swallow whatever I tell him, boys, ain’t you figured that out yet? Now, get along with you.” Virgil swung his horse around and headed for the Double-B ranch.