Cotton's War

by Phil Dunlap

  Now that Scat and Blade were gone, Dogman was free to continue his card game with Emily, something he’d been talked into by her gentle, convincing argument that she was no threat to him. Besides, where would she go? She didn’t even know where she was being held. Being an eager cardplayer and armed with the prospect of taking some of her money, Dogman seemed content to shuffle the pasteboards in anticipation of some big pots, which he fully expected to walk away with.

  But Emily Wagner was nobody’s fool. She didn’t care a whit whether she won or lost, and in fact, she hadn’t the slightest notion of paying off if she did lose. Kidnappers should not be rewarded for their treachery. She had feigned an interest in poker simply as a ruse to convince Dogman to untie her, thus affording her a better chance to escape, if such an opportunity presented itself. Her obvious femininity aside, she was no stranger to the grit it took to survive in the harsh New Mexico frontier.

  Dogman dealt the first hand. He grinned at the cards with an eagerness that told Emily she was sitting across from an amateur, a man for whom it was clear “poker face” meant nothing. After ten hands, Dogman was astounded at the woman’s good fortune. She had displayed no emotion at all, hand after hand, yet managed to win seven of the games. He was in debt to her to the tune of sixteen dollars, and he wasn’t happy about it. Emily could see his displeasure mounting. If he was as quixotic as his brother, Dogman might turn from an amiable cowboy to a desperate rattlesnake with the turn of a card. She had to keep him playing but not make it too obvious that she was letting him win more often. Even a gunslinger had pride. She purposely lost the next hand.

  “You’re a pretty good player, Mr. Crenshaw. But I need to make a trip outside, if you’d be so kind.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll have to walk outside with you, though. You wouldn’t try to make a run for it, would you, Miss Emily?” Dogman snickered.

  “Not while I’m winnin’,” she answered.

  Henry Coyote made his way along the rim of the cliffs that wound around in a confusing series of switchbacks and dips, large crevices that had to be jumped, and patches of shale broken off in storms or ancient earthquakes. The going was rough, even for an Indian. But he figured that as long as he could keep the trail below in sight, sooner or later he had to come upon the place where the two men he’d seen riding back through the gorge had met. That meeting place was likely the kidnapper’s hiding place. Night would come in a few hours. He knew he must make better time or risk missing the place Emily was being held. He pushed on with the fortitude of a young buck, and although he was over forty years of age, nothing could turn him back.

  When he came to a break in the crags, he looked down to see a small, crude cabin tucked neatly back in some pine trees. The trail he’d seen led right to the door. He saw only one horse in a rough corral of sorts, made mostly of ocotillo spires wired together. He crept to the edge of the rim, keeping low so as not to be seen before he could fully assess the situation and make his plans. If this cabin was where Emily Wagner was being held, he must make sure that when he made his move, he didn’t miss. He couldn’t allow her to be put in greater danger. He made certain his Spencer was loaded, then lay still, waiting until someone came out of the cabin.

  After a half hour’s wait, the door opened and a man stepped out, leading Emily. Her hands weren’t tied, and she was free to walk, or run, if need be. Henry was filled with joy that she appeared to be unharmed. The man carried a sidearm, but it remained holstered. The man’s confidence was unmistakable; his prisoner would not dare try to escape. They walked toward an outhouse ten feet to the rear of the cabin. When Emily went inside and closed the door, the man was alone, fiddling with the makings of a smoke. He made a perfect target. But could Henry hit him with one shot? He didn’t dare chance a miss. A second try would surely give the man plenty of time to scoot behind the outhouse and use it for cover. Then Henry couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting Emily. What if she were to come out just as he fired? She might actually step right into the path of his bullet. Should he try to get closer? His choices were limited, and he knew it. He would never get another chance with the same degree of certainty. The decision came as the moments ticked away. He wiped perspiration from his brow, lifted the rifle to his cheek, and braced the barrel against a rock. He aimed slightly high to allow for a bullet’s tendency to drop at that distance. The man turned toward him casually, as if he had all the time in the world. He showed nothing but confidence that he was alone with his captive. Just then the door began to open and Dogman glanced around. No more time.

  The Spencer bucked as Henry squeezed off his shot. Dogman Crenshaw was slammed to the ground, a gaping wound in his forehead. He hadn’t let out a sound. The smoke was still drifting from Henry’s rifle when he stood and shouted to Emily to stay put; he was on his way down.

  The shock of seeing Dogman’s head explode right before her eyes overcame Emily’s emotions in an instant. She screamed as she dropped to her knees and burst into tears. Her sobs showed just how grateful she was to be free of the animals that had been holding her captive for what seemed an eternity. The nightmare was over. She was free from the humiliation of being under the power of degenerates, men without conscience or principles. Men for whom self-gratification was paramount.

  Free!

  Chapter 47

  “Okay if I go back and see Melody? I should let her know I’m alive,” said Jack, as he polished the badge Cotton had handed him. He pinned it on his shirt with a wry smile.

  “I s’pose. But you can damn well tell her for me that she isn’t getting out unless she agrees to get her butt on the next stage and keep her big mouth shut. I can’t have her underfoot screwin’ up anything else. Make her understand that, Jack.”

  Jack nodded and went back to where three cells stood in a row. Melody was sitting in the first cell, on an adobe slab with a thinly stuffed mattress. She was bedraggled, her hair falling down, and her eyes puffy and dark. All the toughness she was famous for had evaporated. She was defeated; tears had drawn dark streaks down her cheeks. She looked up at the sound of the door opening, expecting to see Cotton ready to try once more to bend her to his will. When she saw Jack, she cried out, rushing to the steel slats that kept her prisoner. She reached through to grab on to him.

  “Oh, Jack, sweetie, thank God you’re alive. I knew you’d come. Get me out of this awful place. That bastard Cotton Burke had the nerve to put a lady in jail. I hope you’ve taught him a lesson,” she sobbed. “Whatever you had to do to him, he deserved it.”

  He reached through the bars to touch her face and wipe away her tears. But she could tell there’d been a change in the man she thought she knew so well. He hadn’t shown the eagerness to hold her and kiss her that she had been expecting.

  “Hi, Melody. I, uh, I’m afraid Cotton was right to put you in here. Why’d you have to come to Apache Springs anyway? As much as I sure do love layin’ eyes on you, I’m afraid you’ve put a lot of lives in jeopardy.”

  “Wh-what? I don’t understand. All I did was come looking for you, to bring you back with me. I’ve been so lonely without you. I just wanted you back. What’s so awful about that?”

  “Well, it seems you spouted off that Cotton and I knew each other. Some very dangerous men found out about it. You see I had gotten in with a gang that plans to rob a train. I was gathering information so Cotton could stop it. Now that they know who I am, well, they’ll be gunning for me.”

  “And I did all that?”

  “I, uh, I’m afraid you did.”

  Melody hung her head and returned to her pallet. She put her head in her hands and began sobbing again.

  “Cotton says if you don’t agree to get on that stage in the morning, you’ll stay put until this is all over. There’s not much I can do, I’m afraid.”

  Melody didn’t look up as Jack walked out of the cell area and went back to where Cotton was checking a shotgun.

  “She going?”

  “Didn’t say. I didn’t push it. You figu
re Cruz will send someone in after me or wait until I ride back to the Brennans’?”

  “If I was to guess, he couldn’t take the chance you’ll return on your own. We should be prepared for visitors.”

  “Cotton, I’m not so sure I can leave old man Brennan at the mercy of those cutthroats. He won’t stand a chance if they find out he’s alive,” said Jack.

  Cotton walked to the window. He hadn’t figured on Hank Brennan turning out to be an innocent bystander in Cruz’s plot to rob the railroad. Somehow, he’d figured that Brennan at least suspected what Cruz was up to. He had to be aware that the whole Cruz gang was as crooked as a juniper limb. But if Brennan’s life was in danger, Cotton couldn’t ignore Jack’s admonition.

  The roar of gunfire brought them both to high alert. Cotton tossed Jack a rifle, pulled a shotgun from the rack, and they both started for the door. Cotton stopped before stepping outside.

  “That could be some of Cruz’s men. From the shots, I’d guess there are two of ’em. They may be trying to draw us out the front door so they can gun us down. We’ll go around back and down behind the livery,” Cotton said, grabbing Jack by the arm.

  “Sounds right. Blade is sure as hell goin’ to be one of them and the other, well, I don’t know. I doubt that Cruz will risk a showdown here in town with all that money just a day away,” said Jack. “But I’m certain they want at me real bad.”

  Cotton opened the back door slowly. He was in no hurry to present a target to someone who might have guessed he’d come out the back and be ready for him. Seeing no one, they eased into the shadows behind the jail and moved quickly down the alley toward the livery. The way was clear, and they sprinted for the safety of the next building. That’s when bullets rang out, tearing chunks of pine from the livery’s walls.

  Jack dove for the safety of some barrels. Cotton barely made it to the other side before several bullets dug into the dirt behind him. He peered around the corner. A bullet embedded itself in the siding two inches from his head.

  “It looks like they’re in the saloon. Not easy to get to. The distance across the street is too damned far to make a run for it. We’d never make it from here to the saloon alive. Billy’s got a shotgun behind the bar. Maybe he’ll get a chance to use it on one of them buzzards,” said Cotton, hunkered down about fifteen feet away from Jack’s position.

  “What if one of us was to get on top of one of these two shacks? The sun would be to our backs and in their eyes. Maybe we could squeeze off a few rounds. That’d at least make ’em keep their heads down until one of us could rush the place,” said Jack.

  “You’re the one with the rifle. Easier to keep them pinned down with a few forty-four slugs pouring down on them than buckshot, which might not even get that far.”

  “Okay. Try to cover me with your Colt while I shinny up the tree behind the livery. If I don’t fall out of the damned thing and bust my fool neck, I’ll keep ’em busy for a while,” said Jack, not waiting for a reply.

  As Jack struggled to get a grip on one of the lower limbs and pull himself up, Cotton began firing at the front of the saloon. “I wonder what’s keeping Billy from joining the fray,” Cotton mumbled as he emptied his Colt and began reloading. Just as he took aim on a shadowy figure inside, Cotton heard three quick reports from atop the building adjacent to where he was holed up. He figured Jack’s aim must have been pretty good because there quickly came a yelp from inside the saloon. Cotton decided in a flash that now was the time for him to move. He burst out from behind the building, firing as he ran toward the saloon.

  He quickly regretted it.

  Chapter 48

  Henry Coyote half-slid, half-jumped as he came crashing down the split in the incline above the cabin where Emily had been held captive. His hurried descent rained down dirt and rocks from the steep sides of the canyon walls. He lost his balance more than once, tumbling into boulders that spared neither bruises nor cuts. But the pain of his awkward slide was nothing compared to the joy of seeing Emily Wagner safe. Until he reached the flat ground where she sat sobbing, he had not given any consideration to the possibility of there being more than one of Cruz’s men at the shack.

  He stood up, dusted himself off, then, with a round chambered and his rifle cocked and ready for whatever might come, he cautiously approached Emily. When she saw him, her face lit up, her pleasure in seeing a friendly face overcame her, and she struggled to her feet to greet him.

  “Henry, thank heavens you’ve found me. Are you alone?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The sheriff tries to show he follows writing in note so you safe.”

  “What note?”

  “One saying you captive. Not harm if he do as paper say.”

  “Did he send you?”

  “Hmmm. He say act as nothing happen. His words carry doubt I would obey,” said Henry.

  “I am indeed gratified that you disobeyed, Henry. I don’t know how much longer I could have held out. These men are a vicious lot.”

  She walked over to Dogman’s body and stared down at the gaping hole in his forehead.

  “He might have been the least devilish of them that seized me, but I fear he was still a rascal. He fully deserved the fate you have dealt him,” she said.

  Henry looked about as if the devil himself was on his trail. He was anxious as he spoke. “If we stay longer, we be found out. Should go now. Make way out by rim of canyon.”

  “Yes, Henry. You are right. But I am not certain I can make it up the steep wall you came down. And if we try to make our escape through the gulch, we would have no place to hide if someone were to come from the other direction. We would quickly be discovered and likely shot for our trouble. What shall we do?”

  “I make way to top. I send down rope. You tie around waist. I pull you up.”

  “Do you think it will work?”

  “It work. We hurry.”

  Emily nodded her acceptance of Henry’s plan. Immediately he began his ascent of the tricky terrain he’d just come down. With some trepidation, he began scaling the crumbling sandstone. He faced only an occasional setback, one of which—a possible bruised rib—slowed his progress. But, after several minutes of struggle, he successfully reached the top, at which time he tossed down his rope and braced his foot against a solid boulder. Almost immediately he felt Emily’s weight tug and stretch the hemp. His heart pounded and sweat broke out on his forehead as he prayed his strength would hold out until she reached the relative safety of the top. Once, he thought he heard the echo of horses’ hooves on the rocky surface below, but no rider came into view and he assumed it had been a mule deer somewhere nearby, scurrying for the same safety that Emily aspired to reach.

  As her hand reached up, he caught it and pulled her up with his last ounce of strength. He fell to the ground, his chest heaving, the muscles in his arms screaming for rest. But he knew there would be time for that only after they were well away from this place. And so he began to lead the way back in the direction of the Wagner ranch. As they walked, he thought to clear his mind of the questions he’d asked himself over and over since Emily had gone missing.

  “Miss Emily, forgive words, but must know why other hands not at ranch when you taken. Can you tell me?”

  Emily’s scowl told him that she, too, had pondered the same question. She didn’t answer for a minute, seeming to search for anything that might seem an acceptable excuse for them. By the time she spoke, she had found none.

  “I’ve rolled that thought over and over in my mind, Henry. But I cannot understand any plausible reason for them all to be away at the same time, the very time that Cruz and his men rode in. I found I was quite alone. It was as if all the men I had hired had vanished into thin air. Have you asked any of them where they were?”

  “No. I see no one since you gone.”

  “We shall look deeply into this when we return home.”

  “If safe, we stop at ranch to get horses. Ride to town and safety the sheriff provide.”

  Emily thou
ght this over for a minute. “We shall do as you suggest, Henry. But I fear we must hurry because tomorrow is the sixteenth, the date those awful men kept referring to. Whatever is going to happen will happen then. Sheriff Burke must know that I am safe and that he is free to go after those scoundrels.”

  It took several hours to reach the Wagner ranch. The terrain was rough and rocky. Emily’s shoes had been taken from her to prevent her from escaping. Her feet were bruised and cut, but she would not let that slow her more than necessary. Henry had volunteered to carry her on his back, but she refused. She could ask no more of him.

  Both were tired, hungry, and eager to see Cruz and his men brought to justice. As they approached the gate, Henry grabbed Emily by the arm and pulled her back behind some shrubs. Something wasn’t right. He made a sign that she was to remain silent and hidden while he scouted the area. He bent to make himself as small as possible, slipping down the dusty slope to get a better look at the ranch house. As he peered out from behind a clump of mesquite, his throat tightened at what he saw.

  They were definitely not alone.

  Chapter 49

  As Cotton sprang from behind the relative safety of the building across from the saloon, Blade saw him, took careful aim, and fired off a round. The force of the bullet knocked Cotton to the ground, his Colt flung aside as he fell. He lay still, assessing his situation. He’d been hit, that was clear from the searing pain in his side. How bad was it? It was a strange sensation, almost as if he’d taken a punch to the kidney from someone twice his size. He decided to lie there and catch his breath a little longer. A couple of minutes should do it.