Cotton's War

by Phil Dunlap

  “I don’t suppose one of you came into a little extra money about that time, did you?” Emily’s face was turning red, her temper rising. The other men began staring at Toby like he was some sort of pariah.

  “I-I didn’t know it was gonna turn out like it did, ma’am. That fella said I was to get the men outta here long enough to bring you a surprise birthday present. And he said he’d give me ten dollars.”

  “It ain’t my birthday, you damned fool. Who was this fella, anyway?” said Emily.

  “It was that one they called Ben. Course he never did give me my ten dollars.” The others groaned at Toby’s stupidity. “I’m sorry I let you down, Miss Emily.”

  “Pack your things and scat, Toby. I won’t have anyone that stupid working this ranch. And the rest of you, get yourselves armed and meet me in front of the house in a half hour. We’re goin’ hunting.”

  Chapter 52

  Cotton groaned as he tried to sit up. “Where the hell am I?” he mumbled. He raised his voice and tried again. There was no answer. The room was pitch-black and smelled of alcohol, or was it death? He stopped his struggle to sit up and just tried to let his head clear. Am I dead? Is this what it’s like to have your life snuffed out in an instant?

  Then a door creaked open and a weak shaft of light drove into the room. His eyes were slow to adjust, and he could barely make out a shadowy form standing in the glow.

  “Are you awake, Sheriff?” asked a familiar voice in a whisper.

  “Uh, yeah, I think so. That you, Doc?” said Cotton. “Where am I?”

  Doc Winters came fully into the room and stood at Cotton’s bedside. “I had you brought to my office. How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Sore, confused. Have I been drunk or sick or what?”

  “You were shot, son. The man who did it is likely the one the deputy killed. An owlhoot named Scat Crenshaw. Ever heard of him?”

  “I think so. Everything’s sorta hazy right now. Where’d I get hit?”

  “In the side. Plowed a furrow, but the bullet didn’t get inside. Cracked a rib, and you lost a lot of blood. You’ll be up and around in a few days. Just lie still and try to get some sleep. I had to give you some laudanum to keep you still so’s I could get you sewn up.”

  “Could you send Keeno over so I can give him some instructions, Doc?”

  “I’m sorry, Cotton, but Keeno is dead. So is One-Eyed Billy Black, both shot down by that Crenshaw feller and Ben Patch.”

  “But you said my deputy shot Crenshaw.”

  “I meant your other deputy, that Memphis Jack fella. Probably saved your life by pluggin’ Crenshaw before he could get to where you were lyin’ and finish the job.”

  Cotton mulled that over in his head for a moment or two.

  “You say Memphis Jack is my deputy?”

  “That’s what that tin badge on his shirt says. You don’t remember swearing him in?”

  “No, uh, but that don’t mean I didn’t do it. Things are a little sketchy to me right now. Maybe if I could sit up and have some water things would clear a mite,” said Cotton. He groaned as he tried to scoot into a more comfortable position. His ribs were bound tightly and his legs felt like they were full of angry hornets.

  The doctor placed a lantern on a table beside Cotton’s bed. The room was quickly filled with a pleasant orange glow, and Cotton could finally make out where he was: a couch in the doctor’s operating room. Glass-fronted cabinets and trays of instruments surrounded him. There were several bloody towels lying in a heap near the rear door. He assumed it was his blood. The doctor handed him a cup full of cool water from the well. To Cotton, that was the sweetest taste he’d had for ages. But sitting up wasn’t all he’d hoped for. He was still dizzy, and the thought of lying back down appealed to him greatly.

  “What day is this, Doc?”

  “Why, it’s the sixteenth now. About one in the morning. Why do you ask?”

  The day of reckoning had come. The day Emily was supposed to be freed. The day Cruz and his gang would probably try robbing the railroad. And he was lying there, doing nothing. This isn’t the way it is supposed to be, he thought.

  Memphis Jack had loaded every gun in the sheriff’s office—shotguns, rifles, revolvers—everything that could spit out death. It looked as though he was fixing to take on an army all by himself. But, of course, he wasn’t about to try to go after Cruz’s little army alone. He needed help, and the only way he was likely to get it was to sound the alarm to the townsfolk, explain the situation, and hope they’d jump to his call for assistance.

  He went to the biggest house in town, which he figured to be where the mayor lived, and pounded on the door. The house was dark, and it was several minutes before a skinny man with a beard, dressed in a knee-length nightshirt, came to the door, rubbing his eyes.

  “What the hell do you mean waking a man in the middle of the night? Who are you anyway?” said the mayor.

  “My name is Memphis Jack Stump, and I need your help.”

  “Help? Help for what? Are you some sort of lawman? That badge looks suspiciously like a deputy’s tin. Where the hell is the sheriff?”

  “Cotton’s been shot. He’s at the doc’s. The other deputy is dead. Virgil Cruz and his gang are planning to rob the railroad today. I can’t stop him alone. I’m asking you to rouse some of the townsfolk and enlist their aid.”

  “I’m sorry, son, but we’re just a bunch of storekeepers and merchants. They aren’t any gunslingers hereabouts. We’d be about as useless as fleas on a rock. I’ll bid you a good night and wish you all the luck in the world and remind you that this is what you were hired for.” With that, the mayor promptly shut the door in Jack’s face.

  Jack stomped off in the direction of the jail, mulling over a proper response to the mayor’s denial of help. His thoughts shifted to what he knew about Cruz’s plans. He knew when and where they were going to hit the train. He knew how, and he knew about how many men would be there backing up the operation. He knew he was vastly outnumbered and that any thought of his successfully taking on the whole gang alone was tantamount to insanity. Only a drunk or a fool would even attempt it. He began to wonder which he was.

  Jack stopped in front of the doctor’s office. He saw a light in the back room. What if Cotton has taken a turn for the worse, or even died? he thought. He went up to the front door and knocked.

  “Come in, Deputy. What can I do for you?” The doctor opened the door to let Jack enter.

  “I saw your light, and I was hopin’ you’d have good news about the sheriff. Sorry to intrude.”

  “Not at all, not at all. Come in. The patient is doing fine, drinking a sip, I venture.”

  “I could use a drink myself about now, Doc,” said Jack.

  “Well, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed in his libation. The sheriff is drinking water.”

  Jack’s face turned red. “Can I see him?”

  The doctor led him back to Cotton’s bedside. Cotton opened his eyes just enough to see Jack through little slits. “That you, Jack?” he muttered.

  “It’s me, Cotton. And we got a problem. Today is the day Cruz is plannin’ on robbin’ that railcar, and I ain’t certain I want to take on that bunch of jackals alone. Any suggestions?”

  “Take the next stage out of town. It don’t appear I’ll be much help.”

  “Uh, I don’t think you understand. I came here to participate in your little war. And even though I was dragged outta my comfortable bed against my will, well, here I am, and here I damned well intend to stay until this war, your war, is over. Hmmm. Cotton’s War. I like that. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  Cotton gave him a weak but insincere smile.

  Chapter 53

  At dawn, Virgil Cruz called his men together in front of the bunkhouse. He signaled them to hurry up and gather around him. There were eight of them. He was missing one man, Scat Crenshaw, and he was angry that killing the sheriff had cost him a good gunhand.

  “Al
l right, you hombres, listen up. Ben’s carrying the dynamite for the express car. Blade is handling the explosives for the track, and the man with the goose grease has a whole bucket of the smelly stuff. The rest of you know where you’re supposed to be, surroundin’ that damned train, ready to plug the first man that tries to stop us. In about six hours, we’re all goin’ to be so damned rich, folks’ll be bowin’ and scrapin’ as we walk by. Any questions?”

  No one voiced any concerns. Every one of the men had a look of anticipation on his face, especially after Virgil told them how much money they’d have at the end of the day.

  “Now, don’t forget, after we hit the train, we light out eight different ways. Ain’t no posse goin’ to split up and come after us all. They’ll know that if they tried that, we’d pick them off like a turkey shoot. No two of us go the same direction. I’ll be carryin’ the loot. We meet three days from now at the line shack up in the hills where we got the Wagner woman stashed.”

  “How come we don’t split the money right off? That way we don’t have to risk comin’ back and gettin’ spotted?” asked Blade.

  “You suggestin’ I can’t be trusted with the money?” Cruz gave Blade a hard, squinty-eyed look. While others had the same thought, no one raised an objection. Even Blade let the subject drop after Virgil eased his hand to the butt of his revolver.

  “We’ll be headin’ out just as soon as that good-fornothin’ Chinaman cooks us up some vittles. So head on over to the cook shack and start bangin’ your cups on the table to let him know we’re in a hurry.”

  The group started off, but Virgil went the other direction. Blade decided it was his business to keep an eye on the leader of the gang, a man that he had no trust in whatsoever.

  “And we’re s’posed to meet at the line shack?” he said.

  “That’s what I said, Blade. Now, get on over there with the others and start chowin’ down. I’ll be there directly.”

  Blade watched as Virgil went up to the main house and banged on the door. When Cappy opened it, Virgil stomped inside, coming nose-to-nose with Hank’s son. Cappy tried backing away, but he was encumbered by having been shoved against a large leather sofa, with no place to go. The little terrier stayed beneath the table, growling lowly.

  “Uh, what can I do for you, Mr. Cruz?” Cappy said.

  “Well, for starters, since it’s become apparent that your skinflint father has done took off, probably with the payroll, I figure you owe us about three thousand dollars in wages.”

  “Why, Mr. Cruz, you know I don’t have that kind of money lying around. I’ll have to go into town to the bank and make a withdrawal.”

  “Nope. You ain’t leavin’ here until I’m satisfied we’re goin’ to get what’s due us. So, since your pappy’s gone, that makes you the new owner, don’t it? In lieu of the cash, you can sit right down at that desk and sign this IOU I had made up in case you came up with an excuse for not forkin’ over the money. I put in there that if the full amount ain’t paid by day after tomorrow, the ranch becomes the sole property of one Virgil J. Cruz, ranch foreman. Sign it!”

  “I-I won’t do anything of the sort. You can’t bully me into turning over this ranch to you or anyone else. I’ll go to the sheriff.” Cappy attempted to push away, but the tough little man didn’t budge an inch. Nervously, Cappy wiped perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief.

  “Well, that ain’t goin’ to help you none. One of my men saw to that by gunnin’ Sheriff Cotton Burke down. So if you want to see the next sunrise standin’ up, I’d say you’d better find it in your heart to do as I say, sonny.” With that, Virgil slapped Cappy across the mouth. Cappy wiped at his mouth and came away with a smear of blood. He bent down and took a pen from the desk, scrawling his name at the bottom of the paper Virgil had placed before him.

  As soon as Virgil left, Cappy rushed up the stairs and into his father’s room. When he burst in, he found Hank snoozing.

  “Poppa, wake up, we have a big problem.” The old man stirred, then slowly opened his eyes. The flustered Cappy wasted no time in explaining what Virgil Cruz had demanded. Hank was fuming by the time his son told about turning the ranch over to Cruz.

  “Slip out the back way and ride into town. Bring back the sheriff and his deputy. They’ll not be so easily cowed by this madman,” said Hank through gritted teeth.

  Cappy looked down, shaking his head. “Virgil said that the sheriff is dead, killed by one of Cruz’s men.”

  Hank chewed on his lower lip with a scowl. The tough old rancher knew he was in a difficult spot. There appeared to be little he could do to prevent Virgil Cruz from stealing his ranch. He couldn’t even get out of bed to face him with a gun. And while he loved his son, it was common knowledge that Cappy Brennan didn’t have the courage it took to stand up to any man with a gun, especially a killer like Cruz.

  “Then it looks like we’re whipped, son. If only I’d seen this comin’ long before now. While I was healthy, I coulda done somethin’.” Hank seemed to sink into himself. His will to fight had left him, and Cappy’s expression showed there was nothing more he could do, either.

  Cappy went downstairs slowly, shuffling his feet like an old man. I just wish I had half the sand my father has, he thought. Then he screamed, “Damn!”

  For several minutes he stood at the window, staring blankly as Cruz and his men saddled up and rode off single file to the north, armed to the teeth, and looking every inch the ruthless, murderous outlaw band that they were. The son of a bitch must be in a powerful hurry for something, Cappy thought.

  Chapter 54

  Emily Wagner was mad, damned mad, madder than she’d been since the death of her husband. She was mad at Cruz for kidnapping her and humiliating her by allowing that scum Scat Crenshaw to paw at her. She was mad at the man who killed Sheriff Burke, and she was furious at herself for not plugging that pompous pig Cruz when she had first seen him riding up at the head of his little band of outlaws like he was Napoleon. And she fully intended to get even.

  “Men, we have to stop these owlhoots. My intention is to ride into town and gather up whatever men there might be with spines stiff enough to drive Cruz and his bunch out of the county. Or hang the bastards. Whatever seems most fittin’ at the time. Any of you that don’t want to go, say so now or get to saddlin’ up.” Emily stood with her hands on her hips and a determined look on her face.

  Every one of the men saddled his horse, strapped on guns, and shoved rifles into saddle scabbards. They left the Wagner ranch in a cloud of dust, with Emily and Henry Coyote at the head of the column. They rode into Apache Springs about an hour later. It was still early, and few stores had opened for business. They arrived to nearly empty streets.

  Emily got off her horse and went straight to the sheriff’s office, hoping to at least find a deputy. She shoved open the door and came face-to-face with Memphis Jack loading his Remington. He looked up in surprise.

  “Oh, I expected to find Keeno. Who are you?” she said.

  “Keeno was killed yesterday, sorry to inform. I’m Memphis Jack Stump. I’m fillin’ in while the sheriff is on the mend from a wound he received from an hombre I had to shoot.”

  “Wha—You mean Cotton isn’t dead? I heard he’d been killed.”

  “He ain’t up to dancin’ to no fiddle, but I reckon you could say he’s pretty much alive. Everything considered.”

  “Wh-where is he? I have to see him.”

  “Just who might you be, ma’am?”

  “My name is Emily Wagner, and Cotton, er, the sheriff and I are, uh, friends.”

  “Emily Wagner! We thought you were being held prisoner by Virgil Cruz.”

  “I was his prisoner, but one of my men shot and killed the man guarding me and led me to safety. I’ve come to town with my men hopin’ to gather some others willin’ to face down Cruz and even the score. Now, can I see the sheriff?”

  “C’mon with me, ma’am, I’ll walk you over to the doc’s place. And about that recruitin’ y
ou’re intent on, you can forget it. I’ve already tried. Town’s about to wet its britches at the thought of goin’ up against Cruz. I was fixin’ to go after him myself.”

  “Alone! You must be crazy to think you can go up against that bunch by yourself.”

  “Crazy. Yup. That pretty well sums up the life and times of Memphis Jack Stump. More’n one would agree with you.”

  The doctor saw Emily and Jack approaching and opened the door. Emily pushed past Jack and rushed inside.

  “Miss Emily. Damn it’s good to see you’re safe and sound. We was mighty worried about you, what with the sheriff’s hands tied on freeing you and all,” said the doctor.

  “Thank you, Doc. Can I see Cotton, please? I’d heard he’d been killed.”

  “Sure. Sure. He’ll be brightened up by seeing you safe and sound. About him bein’ killed, well, it was close, and if it hadn’t been for that fellow that came in with you, we’d be burying him by now. But he’ll live to see many more summers.”

  Emily turned to Jack and said, “I’m grateful you saved the life of a good man, Mr. Stump. I personally offer my thanks.” She slipped into Cotton’s room and was shocked to see him struggling into his bloody shirt.

  Sensing a presence, Cotton looked up. The sight of Emily brought a huge smile of relief to his face. His voice was weak and raspy, and a spasm of pain struck him as he reached out to touch her, causing him to wince. He took a breath and said, “Emily, thank God you’re safe. How’d you get free?”

  “Henry Coyote. He found me and shot Dogman Crenshaw for his trouble.”

  “Good ol’ Henry. We talked a spell about the situation and how I couldn’t head up a search myself. That was Cruz’s warning. I asked Henry to wait for six days until I could put a plan in place before he set out on his own.”