Cotton's War

by Phil Dunlap

  “Hell no. I want the buzzard shot. Can you handle that? He’s fast.”

  Jack stood frozen at the prospect of having to kill a man just because Virgil Cruz said so. But did he dare question a madman like Cruz? Jack was no murderer, but it appeared he’d just been handed an opportunity to go to Apache Springs, look up Cotton, and tell him what he’d learned. It was the first time since arriving at the Brennan ranch that Cruz seemed willing to let him out of his sight. Jack just shrugged.

  “I think I can take him, Mr. Cruz. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Go to the newspaper office and tell that editor, Birney, that it’s time to get out of town. He’ll know what you mean.” Virgil grinned his gold-toothed grin and sauntered off as if he’d simply stopped to ask for a light. “Oh, and don’t forget to hightail it back here as soon as you get the job done. I’ll need every gun I can get. Tomorrow is the sixteenth,” he called back over his shoulder.

  Jack didn’t like the prospect of leaving the ranch without warning Hank that he needed to be on the lookout for Cruz coming into the main house unexpectedly. But Cappy wasn’t around and Wu Chang was inside preparing a meal for the hands. Time was short and he knew he had to do something quickly. He had gone to the corral to saddle his horse when he saw Cappy riding in. Jack stalled around as much as he could while Cappy got close enough to get word to him of Jack’s leaving for a while. Cappy reined in beside Jack’s horse and dismounted.

  “That rattler Cruz sent me out to check some fence. Hell, there wasn’t a thing wrong with it. He just wanted me out from underfoot so he could talk freely about whatever it is he’s got planned. If I ever get the chance, I’m gonna blow that skunk to kingdom—”

  “Forget that right now,” Jack whispered. “I have to go into town. Cruz’s crazy, and I wouldn’t bet on his stayin’ out in the bunkhouse. He’s been actin’ like he already owns this spread.”

  “How long you gonna be gone? I couldn’t take him alone. He’s too fast, and besides, I ain’t real good with a gun,” said Cappy.

  “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Load up that shotgun I saw next to the fireplace. That’ll even the odds a bit. Don’t be afraid to use it, either, if it comes to that. Give Hank a Colt, too. He’s got one good hand, and I’ll bet he’s eager to get even with Virgil.” Jack wanted to get mounted up and ride off before Virgil saw him talking to Cappy.

  But Virgil had seen them together, and as Jack rode off, he stopped Cappy.

  “What was you two jawin’ about?”

  “Wh-why, he asked me how long a ride it is to town, since he ain’t never been there before. That’s all,” said Cappy. His nervousness gave away that he was lying. Cruz just grunted as the boy hurried off in the direction of the house.

  Virgil rubbed his chin as he pondered what to do with Cappy now that Hank was dead. Should he stick around after the robbery and make the Double-B his? He could shoot the kid and no one would be the wiser for a long time. He’d sell off all the livestock, and after he rid himself of those that might bear witness against him at some time in the future, he could sit up there in that big house and live the life of a rich man. Sounded good to him right at that moment. In fact, why wait until after the robbery? Why not shoot the kid right now and be done with it?

  Virgil drew his six-shooter, half-cocked it, and rolled the cylinder through. Fully loaded. He’d about made up his mind to go to the big house and make himself at home when Blade came riding through the gate hell-bent for leather. He’d taken the shortcut from town.

  “Virgil! Hold up. I got somethin’ you’re gonna want to hear.” Blade’s frothy horse came to a dusty stop as he yanked back on the reins. He dismounted like he’d been shot from the saddle.

  “What the hell’s got you actin’ like your ass is on fire?”

  “Where’s Jack Stump?”

  “Why, I, er, sent him to town to, uh, look you up. Why? Didn’t you pass him on the way in?”

  “Naww. I took the back trail anyway. And he ain’t who you think he is, neither. He and that sheriff are tighter than wet leather in the sun.”

  Virgil’s face turned red. He spit on the ground. He’d been made a fool of and that didn’t set well. Not well at all. “Ride up to the line shack and bring back Scat. Then, the two of you ride into town and gun down Mr. Stump. Maybe you’ll get to him before he can let on to the sheriff what he knows.”

  “Who’ll watch over the woman?”

  “Leave Dogman there. He ain’t all that good with a six-shooter, anyway. Liable to shoot himself in the foot. Just you get to doin’ what I said. And do it now!”

  Chapter 44

  Henry Coyote had been scouring the streambed that led up into the steep crags of Blue Mountain. He’d seen some fresh tracks of a horse that appeared to have been paralleling the creek bed within the past couple days. Those tracks matched the ones he’d seen at the ranch house. The tracks split off and headed into a narrow canyon. The way was confining, in places barely wide enough for one mounted horseman to squeeze between the jagged boulders. If he were seen, he would have little chance to escape. Rather than follow the tracks, he decided to embark on a treacherous climb to the rim.

  The steep walls made the going difficult even for an Indian. It was said an Apache could climb a sheer wall of granite and not be out of breath at the top. The thought of the many myths surrounding his ancestors brought a brief smile to Henry’s lips, just before he lost his grip and nearly tumbled into a crevice that could have killed him. But he grabbed onto a jutting slice of sandstone, worn smooth by the rains and blowing winds, and by spreading his powerful legs to either side of the split, he stopped his descent. His elbow had slammed into the stone and the pain of it shot up his arm. He ceased his climb long enough to catch his breath and to rub his bruised elbow.

  As he gripped the rock with one hand, glancing about for possible handholds farther up, he spotted a shadowy split in the rocks above him that he hoped would be a cave. He headed for that darkened hole.

  With a bandolier of .50-caliber cartridges carried across his chest, and his Spencer rifle with a handmade strap over his shoulder, Henry began the arduous task, climbing the tricky face of rock that would lead him to the top of the plateau. If the dark impression turned out to be a cave, he would rest in its cover while still remaining out of sight, watching for any riders to come through the gorge. When his hands finally got sufficient grip to give him leverage to pull himself onto the ledge, he hoisted his weary body up. He could just make out what he hoped would be a cave of sufficient size for him to rest and watch from. His hope was fulfilled as he glanced over the ledge into a large depression that likely had been, at one time, a hideout for others with the same desire as he: a safe lookout for any who would try traversing the gorge below.

  As he climbed inside and eased his burden by removing his rifle and the cartridge belt, he set about checking the cave for any signs of recent activity. He had no illusions that Cruz and his bunch might have used this place to hide Emily, as access would have been too difficult. But if it was still in use by others, for whatever reason, he didn’t want to wake up looking down the barrel of a rifle or, worse, not wake up at all.

  Near the rear wall he found evidence of a fire, one that had warmed the occupants of this cave many years in the past. And they had certainly been Indians, most likely Mescalero Apaches, like himself, or possibly Chiracahua. Markings and designs indicated an attempt to relay a message to whoever might use the cave after them. Unfortunately, Henry Coyote had been associated for too much of his life with the white man’s world to have knowledge of the ancient signs. To him, the symbols were no more than decorations, meaningless to furthering his quest to save a woman’s life. He lay back on the soft, sandy floor to rest. Anyone coming through the gorge would be traversing nearly solid stone, stone that would echo each step of a shod horse. He could hear and react in time. Sleep would not interfere with his vigil.

  But sleep would not come easily. He felt a pang of guilt for not telling
Sheriff Burke that he intended to leave the ranch and look for his mistress. Cotton Burke had told him the consequences of any rash action, that, if discovered, it could result in harm to Emily Wagner, something neither of them dared chance. But he couldn’t wait around doing nothing. A woman’s life was in danger, and he owed it to her to make every attempt to save her, no matter what the cost. It never occurred to him that he might be putting his own life in jeopardy in the process. But that really didn’t matter. In Henry’s mind, he already owed Emily his life, so it would be a fair exchange. In deference to the sheriff’s request, he vowed to be particularly careful as he searched for wherever the Cruz gang had her stowed.

  He drifted off into a light sleep but awakened often to noises that seemed foreign. They always turned out to be merely the wind, which, as it whipped around the rock face and across the cave entrance, created a forlorn moaning. He’d been out all night and half the next day, and as the afternoon sun was creating deepening shadows across the canyon face, another sound reached his ears. Neither wind nor wild animal nor the flapping of birds’ wings could simulate this sound. It was the sound he had waited for: the unmistakable clacking of a shod horse echoing off the walls. He crawled to the ledge and peered over to see a lone man making his way up the canyon. He had seen this man before. He was one of Cruz’s men. The mean one—Blade Coffman.

  Henry watched for several minutes as Blade disappeared on the winding trail. There can only be one reason that man is going up into that canyon, Henry thought. He’s going to where Emily is being held. The smart thing to do would be to wait until he came back. That would give a good idea how far away their hiding place was. He had waited and watched for nearly a half hour when he heard the same distinctive hoofbeats coming back down through the narrows. Only this time, Blade wasn’t alone. A rough-looking man with a sallow face, whom Henry had never seen before, followed closely behind Coffman. As they passed, Henry began to make a plan for the best way down to the canyon floor. Looking over the ledge, he saw that it would be even more treacherous descending than it had been making his way up. Then a thought struck him. If his ancestors had used this cave on a regular basis, there had to be another way out, something less adventuresome than a tricky descent down the face of the canyon walls. He went deeper into the cave, feeling his way along the smooth, cool cave surfaces until he found what he’d hoped would be there. Just ahead, a shaft of light indicated a small opening leading to the top of the plateau. Small, yes, but large enough for a man of his slight stature. Up he went into the afternoon light.

  Chapter 45

  When Jack got to town, he headed straight for the saloon and the only man he thought might be able to get a message to Cotton: One-Eyed Billy Black. He draped his heaving gelding’s reins over the rail and went inside, looking around briefly to see if he could spot Blade. He wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen Blade’s horse outside, either. He knew Blade enough to know he’d come straight into town, most likely to drink off the guilt of being a clumsy fool with a box of dynamite. Blade had had no inkling of the box’s contents, so he couldn’t really be blamed for dropping it. But in Virgil’s eyes, a blunder was a blunder. And Virgil’s idea of making people pay for blunders was usually a bullet for the guilty party.

  Jack ordered a beer and asked if Billy had seen Blade Coffman.

  “Yeah. He was in here earlier, but he left in a hurry right after Keeno came rushing in and told Cotton about some screechy woman I saw get off the stage.”

  “What! What did she look like?” Jack started sweating bullets at the possibility that Melody had followed him to Apache Springs.

  “She was a looker, a little whorish, though. She had long blond hair. Had on a blue dress that was right pretty. It showed her bosom off nicely. Oh, and she carried one of them frilly parasols. Cotton came back later and said he’d had a run-in with her.”

  Jack knew instantly that his worst fears had come true. Melody was in town and had probably already screwed everything up so bad he’d be lucky to get out with his life.

  “Billy, could you go to the sheriff’s office and ask Cotton to meet me here right now?”

  “Sure. If anyone wants a drink, collect for it on the spot. No credit,” said Billy, removing his apron. He then handed Jack his damp towel and strolled through the swinging doors like he’d been given a day off. The two men at the one occupied table looked at Jack like they’d like to order another round, but after seeing the look of dismay on his face and the twitchy way he kept stroking his gun butt, they decided to wait for Billy to return.

  Ten minutes passed before Cotton burst through the doors to the saloon. He motioned for Jack to join him in the back room. They hastily closed the door behind them. Cotton started to speak but was interrupted by Jack.

  “Is Melody here?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, and she may have blown our plans all to hell with her big mouth.”

  Jack hung his head. “Son of a bitch. Did Blade overhear anything that could do me in?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s likely. Your whore started bitching as soon as she stepped foot in this town, loud enough for the whole town to hear.”

  “Billy said Blade rushed out as soon as you and Keeno left. Where’d you go?”

  “To the jail. I ordered her to get back on the stage or I’d stuff her ass in a cell. She refused, so that’s where she sits, fuming, mad as a wet cat. And that’s where she’ll damned well stay until this thing is over. Did you learn anything about Cruz’s plans?”

  “Plenty. Tomorrow is the sixteenth and they plan to hit the train on the north side of Gambler’s Pass, where it starts up the incline into the narrows. He’s got himself a box of dynamite, and he aims to use it.”

  “Damn! You find out anything on where they’re holding Emily?”

  “No. Not one word was ever said about where she is except I heard the words ‘line shack’ and an admission that they had snatched her.”

  Cotton began pacing, stroking his chin and muttering. Jack broke the silence with an idea that sounded as feeble as his faith that he could turn Blade from an enemy to a friend.

  “Hank Brennan is lying up there in that big ranch house all busted up from Virgil’s attempt to kill him. What if you go up there and arrest Virgil? Hank’ll back you up in front of a judge. That oughta keep the bastard in jail for a long time, at least. What d’ya say? I’ll back your move,” said Jack

  Cotton shook his head. “I’ll let them rob a hundred trains before I’ll take a chance on Emily’s life.”

  “Say, it sounds like you’re really sweet on that gal. I never knew you to be this serious about some who—”

  Cotton grabbed Jack by the collar with his left hand, yanking him forward, while he drew his Colt and jammed it in Jack’s belly.

  “Don’t finish that sentence if you don’t want to be stuffin’ a cork in your gut to keep your food from spillin’ out. Emily is the finest woman I’ve ever known. And that’s all you need to know. Understand?”

  Jack quickly held up both hands in surrender. “Whoa, Cotton, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Never met the woman, so how would I know anything about her? I apologize. That good enough?”

  Cotton released Jack’s shirt and slipped the Colt back into its holster. He just shook his head. “Yeah, apology accepted. I’m sorry I let my concerns for her welfare color my judgment. We gotta stop these bastards and now. Before they can get their filthy hands on anyone else’s money or take another life.”

  “We?”

  “Since Melody has busted up our plan, you can’t go back to Brennan’s place. You’d be so full of lead you’d sink in the bathtub. I’m goin’ to deputize you. That way, anything that happens from here on, you’ll be covered by the law.”

  “You figure that’ll make a difference to ol’ Virgil when he comes gunnin’ for me?”

  “No, but at least you can shoot first without the court demandin’ I plunk you inside those bars alongside Melody.”

  �
�I thought you said my lawman days was over. Wasn’t that what you said?”

  “A man has a right to change his mind. And I’m changin’ mine. You’re my new deputy, as of now, whether you like it or not. We’ll walk over to the jail and fetch you a shiny tin star,” said Cotton, eyes narrowed to show he meant business.

  “What if I don’t want to be your damn deputy?” said Jack.

  “Then I’ll arrest you for conspiring with known criminals and toss you in the clink. You’d probably be safer there anyway.”

  Cotton and Jack had no sooner stepped inside the jail than Blade Coffman and Scat Crenshaw rode into town, stopped in front of the saloon, and dismounted. They pulled their guns, rolled the cylinders through to assure six shots apiece, and stomped onto the boardwalk. They looked around before going inside.

  “Hey, bartender, you seen Memphis Jack Stump lately?” Blade said.

  “Not for a while. But if I do see him, I’ll tell him you’re lookin’ for him,” said Billy, as he continued wiping a glass without looking up.

  “Think he’s lyin’?” asked Scat. The look on Blade’s face told him all he needed to know. They both drew their guns just as Keeno came in through the back entrance. The smoky explosions were only a blink apart, sounding like a single cannon blast. With a look of shock, Billy flew backwards into the stack of glasses on the back bar, glasses he’d never again have to polish. His limp body crashed to the floor, blood spreading across the shattered shards beneath him, mixing with spilled, watered-down whiskey. Keeno dropped to the floor in the rear doorway, clutching his chest, his revolver still holstered.

  “That oughta bring ’em both to us,” said Blade. Scat grinned as he built a smoke. He grabbed a bottle off the bar and headed for a table where he could watch the front doors.

  Chapter 46

  Emily Wagner was seated at the table with Dogman Crenshaw, five cards splayed out in her hand. An hour earlier, his brother, Scat, had ridden out with Blade Coffman. When Dogman had heard Blade’s horse approaching, he’d quickly wrapped rope around her hands and feet as if she were still tied up. Scat had stayed outside ever since Dogman had almost had to pull him off Emily. He still had every intention of taking her, even over Virgil’s explicit orders not to.