Cotton's War

by Phil Dunlap

  The two of them went across the street to the hotel dining room. Cotton steered Jack toward a table in the back where they could talk without interruption. A lady brought over a pot of coffee and two cups then left to get their food.

  “Okay, Cotton, time to let me in on this big secret you’ve wrangled me into, and I want it straight. Keep holdin’ out and I’m on my way back to my sweet Melody.”

  “You may want to hold back on that threat until you’ve read a little something I’ve brought along,” said Cotton, as he patted his shirt pocket.

  Chapter 17

  “Virgil, what’re we goin’ to do about that Red Carter fella? I lost him when he cut through a store and slipped out the back. Musta knowed there was someone on his trail,” said Blade Coffman.

  “You lost him! You couldn’t track a mule pullin’ a plow. You’re just plain worthless! I shoulda done it myself.”

  “I’m sorry he got away, but that still don’t answer my question: What’re we goin’ to do about his deal?”

  Virgil Cruz leaned back in his chair, gulped the last of his whiskey, and held the glass in his lap, turning it around and around as his expression turned from dour to surprised. A slight grin crept across his mouth and he broke out in a laugh.

  “Why, boys, I figure we’ll send him off on an opossum chase, that’s what. Matter of fact, I think we can put ol’ Red onto another trail altogether.” He leaned forward and poured his glass to near overflowing.

  “Uh, how we gonna do that?” asked Ben Patch.

  “You just watch and listen as I tell him about a bank over in Santa Fe that needs some attendin’ to. Maybe you two will learn a valuable lesson on the fine art of deceit.” The look on Virgil’s face even made a hard case like Ben Patch cringe.

  Ben was about to ask Virgil something when he stopped mid-word, staring at the figure coming through the swinging doors. It was Red Carter. He walked straight to the table where the three were. He stopped short, making no attempt to sit.

  “I’ve changed my mind about joinin’ your deal, Cruz. No hard feelings, but I’ve decided to take my chances alone. No point in sharing all that loot.” Red kept his hand on the butt of his Remington, turned and walked away. He leaned on the bar and ordered a whiskey, drank it, and left the establishment just as the piano player started playing “The Lady from Abilene.”

  Virgil’s jaw dropped at what had just happened. His gaze followed Red all the way out the door. He was silent as he stared after him.

  “Was that the valuable lesson we was s’posed to learn, Virgil?” asked Blade.

  Virgil’s face turned red as he grabbed his hat by the brim and slapped Blade across the face. In an attempt to duck, Blade fell backwards, his chair crashing to the floor. As he struggled to get to his feet, he was suddenly staring down the barrel of Virgil’s Colt. He stopped cold.

  “If that was supposed to be funny, it wasn’t. If it was meant to mock me, it worked, and that don’t make me happy. If I was you, I’d find it in my heart to offer an apology and maybe beg for forgiveness. Of course, your other choice is to get a whiff of one last puff of smoke just before your head goes flying off your shoulders. That clear?”

  “Clear! Oh, yeah, clear as water, Virgil. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I wasn’t thinking, that’s all. Please accept my humble apology,” muttered Blade, a bead of perspiration beginning to trickle down his nose.

  Virgil replaced his six-shooter in his holster and sat back down. He glanced around the room to see how much attention he had attracted by his loud reaction to Blade’s comment. Not one person was looking his way. He liked it when men feared his reprisals, none wishing to curry his ire by staring. He enjoyed being a man others were afraid of, and he played it for all it was worth.

  “Now, that’s more like it, boys.”

  “Uh, Virgil, what about what Red was talkin’ about? Do you suppose he’s figured out what we’re up to?” said Ben. “How we goin’ to find out what he knows?”

  “Won’t be hard. Not hard at all. Did either of you notice what was stickin’ outta Red’s hip pocket when he left?” said Virgil.

  “Nope,” said Ben. Blade just shook his head.

  “A folded up newspaper.”

  “What’s that got to do with Red’s scheme?” said Blade, a little sheepishly, still shaken by his confrontation with Virgil.

  “Don’t know yet, but I figure we will soon enough. Blade, you run over and see if that newspaperman, Birney, has had anyone come in askin’ questions about the sixteenth, and did he give a fella answerin’ to the name of Red Carter an old edition of the paper. Then hustle on back here without delay.”

  Blade almost tipped his chair over again in his haste to get as far away from Virgil as possible, at least until he knew he’d cooled down. Blade had seen Virgil at his meanest on more than one occasion, but his wrath had never been aimed at either him or Ben before. It was unnerving.

  After Blade left, Ben asked, “You wasn’t expectin’ Red to change his mind voluntarily, were you?”

  Virgil scowled at the words, but then shook his head. “No, I reckon I wasn’t. It came as a surprise. Of course, I reckon I never did know what Red was up to in all the years I’ve knowed him.” Virgil kept shaking his head.

  “Course, there is one thing I know: that Red Carter can’t be trusted. So if he somehow escapes runnin’ afoul of Cotton Burke, I figure to pull the rug out from under him and maybe get the blame placed on him for what we’re plannin’.”

  “Is that how you plan to finish him?”

  “If that’s the only way. Red Carter’s remainin’ days on this earth can be counted on one hand. And I aim to be responsible for endin’ his miserable life, one way or another,” Virgil said.

  Just then Blade came hurrying back through the swinging doors. He dropped into his chair and tossed down the last drops of whiskey in his glass.

  “Birney said a man came in yesterday askin’ about what might have been in the paper concernin’ somethin’ happenin’ on the sixteenth, a date he said he’d heard on the street. He said the man pushed pretty hard until he broke down and gave him an old copy of the newspaper,” said Blade.

  “Well, boys, I reckon we know where ol’ Red got his information. We go ahead with our plans, and make sure he gets what’s comin’ to him in the process.”

  “What is it you figure he’s up to?” said Blade.

  “As usual, no good. But this time him tryin’ to cut in on our deal will blow up in his face. We’ll still be the ones who’ll be puttin’ money in our pockets, and lots of it,” said Virgil. “Red Carter will be takin’ up space in boot hill.”

  Chapter 18

  Hank Brennan groaned as he tried to roll over enough to get a better idea of his situation. His battered body was jammed in between three jagged boulders and even the slightest movement sent a wave of agony throughout his body. He had slept fitfully, but the dawn brought with it hope that someone might ride by and hear his call for help. His right hand and arm were twisted beneath him in such a way as to keep him from freeing his gun and firing a shot to attract attention. Hank was helpless, and he knew it. He wasn’t certain he would last another night if the temperature dropped any more than it had last night. His mind wandered between hope that Cappy would miss him and come looking and hopelessness that he was doomed to end his days in this broken condition lodged in a crevice on the side of a cliff.

  His mind slowly cleared as to how he happened to get where he was. He had a foggy image of riding with Virgil Cruz, Ben Patch, and Blade Coffman, three of the most despicable types he had ever been cursed with hiring. But then, had he known what he was getting into, he wouldn’t have employed them. Instead, he would have tried to have them tossed in jail for something, anything. That’s certainly where they belonged. But when a ranch needs hands, sometimes any man will do.

  The fog in his brain was lifting sufficiently to remember Virgil’s horse crowding him too near the edge of the path along the rim of Crazy Horse Pass. That�
��s where he was, jammed into an outcropping on the sheer cliff that rimmed the pass. Now it was all coming back. Virgil Cruz had tried to kill him. In fact, he probably thought he’d been successful.

  Off in the distance, Hank heard what sounded like hoofbeats echoing in the canyon. His voice was weak from being unable to gather much air into his lungs without terrible pain. But if they came closer, he’d try his best to yell out. Maybe someone would hear him. It looked like the only way out of his nearly impossible situation. But after a few minutes, the sounds of the horses died away, having never come close to where he lay trapped and badly injured. Probably just a herd of wild mustangs, he thought. Why didn’t I just die in the fall instead of this? Having your life drained from you by inches is no way to go.

  Cappy Brennan strolled over to the bunkhouse. He had been unable to find his father and was getting concerned. He went inside to find two of the ranch’s wranglers stretched out on their bunks.

  “Either of you seen my father?”

  They shook their heads.

  “The last I seen of him was when he headed out yesterday with Virgil, Ben, and Blade. A little after noon,” said one of them.

  “So neither of you has seen my father since then?”

  “Nope. Last thing he said was he didn’t know when he’d be back.”

  “Where’s Virgil?”

  “Got no notion. Ain’t seen him this mornin’. Can’t say I care, neither,” said one. The other nodded in agreement.

  “Well, you ought to care. He is the foreman, you know. You need to have respect for the man in charge,” said Cappy, even though he had no respect for Virgil himself. In fact, he had nothing but contempt for a man who seemed to have no redeeming virtue other than being good with a gun, even though that was worth its weight in gold in this part of New Mexico Territory. And his father certainly needed help if he was to get a handle on all the rustling going on in the county. Cappy turned and walked out. Then, as if a puzzle was forming in his head, he stopped and went back inside.

  “Which way did my father and the others go? Did they take bedrolls?”

  One of the men got up, walked to the door, and pointed to the hills off to the west.

  “I overheard Virgil sayin’ something about havin’ trouble with the herd up there in Saucer Valley. They rode off in that direction. Don’t recall hearin’ anything about stayin’ out.”

  “Get saddled. We’re goin’ out for a look-see. Maybe somethin’s happened to them,” said Cappy. The other two groaned. They’d just come in from riding herd most of the night, and they were tired and hungry. Breakfast was about to be served up at the big house.

  “Uh, Cappy, how about we get a bite to eat first. We been up all night and we ain’t et since last evenin’. My belly’s growling something awful. Wouldn’t want me to grow faint and fall outta the saddle and bust my head, would you?”

  Cappy Brennan was torn between doing the decent thing, feeding his men, or going out to look for his father. He didn’t like it that his father had been gone for so long. It wasn’t like him at all. Everyone knew Hank Brennan wasn’t one for sleeping on the ground, anyway, ever since he’d taken a bad fall during a cattle drive four years ago and suffered a broken leg that hadn’t healed properly. But Cappy wasn’t the hard-nosed boss his father was. Finally, he just shrugged.

  “Okay, boys. But as soon as you’re done, we’ll need to get a move on if we’re going to locate them before another nightfall. There’s a lot of territory out there to cover.”

  The two cowboys hightailed it straight for the cook shack before Cappy changed his mind. If it had been Hank giving the orders, they’d be going hungry. Hank was tough as nails and not easily swayed by the needs or wants of others. Everybody liked Cappy, but they also knew he wasn’t the tough, no-nonsense rancher his father was. And they all took advantage of his basic good nature, which they perceived as a weakness.

  Cappy followed the two men to the cook shack in back of the ranch house. Hank had found the cook, a Chinaman named Wu Chang, while on a trip to San Francisco before Cappy was born. Wu Chang had been cooking at a rundown restaurant near the waterfront and forced to sleep in a lean-to in the alley. Hank liked Wu’s cooking but didn’t like the way he was being treated, so he offered him a job and brought him back to Apache Springs.

  “Where Mr. Hank? He no come home to eat special meal Wu Chang fix him. I have bad feeling ’bout this, Cappy-san.”

  Cappy grew anxious at Wu’s words. The Chinaman seemed to have a knack for knowing when something bad had happened or was about to happen. Cappy ate hurriedly and left the room before the others were finished. His stomach was churning. Forget those lazy fools, he thought, I’ll go out looking for Dad myself. He started to saddle his roan, then changed his mind and went up to the house to wait for the others. He was nervously pacing the floor, contemplating what could have happened to his father, when he grew too impatient for the men to come get him. He went to the cook shack to see what was holding them up. When he got there, Wu Chang said they had slipped out the back door earlier.

  “I should have gone myself instead of waiting for that bunch of lazy bums,” Cappy said through gritted teeth. He spun around and stormed out.

  Wu Chang clapped as he left. “Now you talk like man! Hank be proud.”

  Chapter 19

  “I haven’t told you what you’re doin’ here because I wasn’t sure myself,” said Cotton, taking a slurp of hot coffee.

  “You drag me outta bed at gunpoint and you ain’t sure why? What’s the matter with you, Cotton? You gone loco?”

  “No. I wasn’t sure because I had to find out if I could trust you before I spilled what’s been goin’ on in Apache Springs. Now I’m stuck here in this one-horse town, and things are goin’ from bad to worse. And I don’t know any more about where you fit into my problem than I did when we got here.”

  “Well, here’s how it is. You either tell me what you want of me or I’m getting’ on my horse and ridin’ outta here. You can accept that or you can shoot me in the back. One way or another, I’m free of your dad-blamed nonsense,” said Jack. He finished his coffee and started to get up. Cotton grabbed his arm and tugged him back in his chair.

  “You’re right, Jack, I have been a little hornswoggled. I reckon I owe you an explanation. Whether you stay or go oughta be your decision, not mine, because what I’m about to ask you is damned dangerous. What say we order a couple steaks and I’ll get to it?” said Cotton.

  “Now you’re talkin’ sense.”

  Jack sat up with a wide-eyed grin when the cook came out with two rare steaks. Though Jack’s looked a little like someone had dropped it on the floor then scooped it back onto the plate. He didn’t complain because, as suspicious as it looked, he was hungry enough to have gone out and gnawed a chunk out of the hindquarters of the cow itself.

  The two of them tore into their food like they’d neither one eaten for a month. The steaks disappeared in a flurry of knives and forks, along with bread sliced thick as a fist and fresh-churned butter slathered on like plaster. Their coffee cups had to be refilled three times, and the pot of beans was scraped so clean it could have been used again without washing. When they were finished, they sat back with satisfied grins and groans.

  “That was good, but I’m waitin’ to hear this bucket of hogwash you’re about to splash my way. So have at it. I’m all ears, especially since the tab’s on you,” said Jack. “Oh, and by the way, a whiskey would go down nicely, as well.”

  “If you’re still here after what I’m about to tell you, Jack, we’ll go have that whiskey together.”

  Jack lifted his last cup of coffee in toast to Cotton’s offer.

  “I’m the sheriff of a little town in the middle of Catron County called Apache Springs. It’s been a quiet place, for the most part. I haven’t had to shoot anybody for over a year, and that’s an improvement over my last town. But things have changed since a bunch of gun sharks started driftin’ in about a month ago. I didn’t thin
k too much about it until things started happenin’ that got me to lookin’ into the history of a couple of them.”

  “I take it you didn’t like what you found,” said Jack.

  “The number of cattle disappearing went up considerable. Then, petty thefts turned into major thefts. Last month, a rancher got himself killed when he caught someone breaking into his house.”

  “Well, where the hell were you when all this was happening?”

  “It’s a big county and I only have one deputy, and he’s not worth much. I don’t have a handle on who’s behind the crime increase. I have my notions, but I don’t have enough solid evidence to go after anyone.”

  Jack let out a loud burp and patted his full stomach. “But you got someone in mind, right?”

  “Yeah. Virgil Cruz, a lowlife workin’ for the Brennan ranch. He’s been around for a while, but lately he’s been gatherin’ a bunch of saddle bums around him that look like honest work don’t suit them, neither.”

  “So you’re lookin’ for someone to back you up? That what you’re thinkin’? An extra gun?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what, exactly?”

  “I want you to ride in a day ahead of me and look around. Tell folks you’re drifting and looking for work—the kind a fast gun might get you. Then, if the opportunity arises, try to get inside Cruz’s bunch. He works out of the Double-B, Hank Brennan’s spread. With you on the inside, maybe I can get ahead of these owlhoots and catch them in the act before someone else gets killed.”

  “That’s all you want me to do? I’m supposed to saunter into a hornet’s nest, sidle up to a bunch of thieves and cutthroats, somehow avoid getting shot in the back, and then just walk out with details of all their nefarious plans—that all you want? How about I shoot myself right now and save Catron County the cost of burying me later?”