“Yuk!” Stokes said, then put down his hands and stuck both of them in piles of manure.
“If your nose gets to itchin’,” I told him. “I’d suggest you scratch it with your knee.”
That young woman was laughin’ so hard she was leanin’ up agin’ a buildin’ for support. And from what I could see, she was sure some fine-lookin’ filly.
“Rusty! Come put Stokes in the bucket and charge him with battery on a peace officer. Set his bond, too.”
“Outrageous!” A.J. yelled.
“You want to go to jail, too?” I asked him.
He closed his mouth.
“You get five dollars for every arrest you make, Sheriff,” George Waller said.
That got my attention, ’Way things was goin’, I’d have that spread and all stocked, too, ’fore summer was out.
Howsomever, ’way I was fast makin’ enemies, I just might not live to the end of summer.
Stokes was sittin’ in the dirt, in the horse shit, on his butt, his mouth all swole up. Rusty helped him up, just a tad rough, and marched the lawyer off to the jailhouse.
A few punchers had returned to the street.
“Clear the street!” I hollered. “And do it right now.”
Man, that street cleared so fast you could fire a cannonball up it and not hit nothin’ .
Turning, I looked at the woman who’d thought it all hysterically funny. She met my eyes, and like them writers say in them dime novels, my ol’ heart went . . . bong!
She was about five foot, two inches tall. Robin’s-egg-blue eyes, hair the color of wheat. Heartshaped face. Figure that was . . . well, it was!
Somebody ought to write a song about five foot two and eyes of blue. Be a right catchy tune, I bet.
I took my hat off and took a step towards her. The toe of my boot caught on the lip of the boardwalk and I fell forward. I grabbed her and she grabbed me and together the two of us kept me from falling down.
Plumb embarrassin’! But she sure did feel nice, though.
She thought it was right funny. Personal, I didn’t see the humor in it.
My eyes bugged out when I seen the contents of that hat. More than two hundred dollars in there. I wanted to keep the Stetson, too, but the owner balked at that.
Jeff Baker, Pepper’s brother, sent around a boy with two double eagles for me.
All in all, it was turnin’ out to be a pretty nice day.
The lawyer and Junior had been bonded out, both of ’em madder than hell. Shadows was beginnin’ to creep around the town as me and Rusty got dressed for the social. I’d bought me a new suit and had the Chinaman press it to get the shelf marks out. My boots was blacked and I was all decked out in a new shirt with a little string tie. My face was patted down smelly-good with Bay Rum. I strapped on my guns and pinned on my badge.
A little boy stuck his head into the office.
“Sheriff?”
“That’s him with the big feet,” Rusty said with a grin.
I give him a look that didn’t have no effect a-tall and took the envelope from the boy and give him some money for a sarsaparilla drink. The kid ducked out of the office.
Careful-like, I tore off one end of the envelope. A double eagle rolled out. I grinned like a schoolboy as I read the note. Pretty handwritin’. My box is wrapped in red. White bow. It was signed Pepper.
Rusty was peerin’ over my shoulder. “Lord have mercy!”
“Mind your own truck!” I careful folded the note and tucked it away in my pocket. I’d save it; that was the first letter I’d ever got in my life, posted or otherwise.
Rusty wouldn’t let up. “Man! Pepper Baker’s had suitors lined up from the Sweetwater to the South Fork Shoshone. But she never give none of ’em the time of day.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe she ain’t never met no one quite like me.”
“Yeah,” he agreed with a grin. “I’d shore go along with that.” He drew back and looked at me. “There must be somethin’ there, but damned if I can see it. You look like a lost calf in a snowstorm.”
“Well, you shore ain’t got nothin’ to brag about. I never seen so many freckles.”
We insulted each other for a time then walked outside, laughing.
“Take the other side of the street, Rusty. We’ll make rounds and then meet up at the school.”
I might not be no great shakes as a lawman, but I was gonna give it all I had.
Steppin’ into the cantina, I nodded to the barkeep, a big rough-lookin’ Mex with a bushy moustache. He didn’t look like he was too thrilled to see me, but he also knew there wasn’t nothin’ he could do about it.
“Just makin’ rounds, barkeep,” I assured him. “No trouble.”
He nodded his head and relaxed a mite, putting his hands on the bar to show me they was empty. I took a casual look around the place.
The clothing and the low-heeled boots and clodhopper shoes of the men told me that most were farmers and sheepmen. Walkin’ around the room, I introduced myself, usually sayin’ something like, “If you got a problem, don’t hesitate to come to me with it. I’m here to enforce the law, fair and equal.”
They liked it, I could tell that. Whether they believed I’d actual follow through on it was something else agin.
It was dusk when I stepped out of the cantina and walked to the hotel, Doubtful Lodgings. It was a weird town.
The Dirty Dog and the Wolf’s Den was quiet. I think my actions of the past two days had put a damper on things. Them that hunted trouble had seen that I wasn’t goin’ to kowtow to no one, and there just wasn’t no backup in me.
Steppin’ into the hotel, I walked up to the night clerk, a young man with slicked-back hair, parted smack down the middle. I spun the register and noticed, among the people that had registered that day, two names that caught my attention—Black Jack Keller and Pen Castell.
Both of them was hired guns, and among the best. They come real expensive, so I’d heard.
I pointed at the names. “These two gents, they still in the hotel?”
“No, Sheriff. They partook of our special dinner menu and then stepped across the street to the saloon for a drink and cards. They seemed like very nice gentlemen. Their manners were impeccable.”
I blinked at that. Impeccable sounded like something you wouldn’t want on you. “Yeah. They’re just dandy fellers.”
On the boardwalk, I waved at Rusty and walked over to join him, telling him about Pen and Black Jack. He whistled softly.
“Top guns, Sheriff.”
“And fast. I seen ’em work up near the Oregon/Washington line. Little town in the Umatillas. Don’t never sell ’em short. They’re among the best. Things is heatin’ up, Rusty.”
“I wonder who hired ’em?”
“I don’t know. Was that feller who backed you up this afternoon Jeff Baker?”
“Yeah. Pepper’s brother. He’s a square shooter, all the way.”
“I figured as much. Let’s take the Dirty Dog first, then we’ll ease on over to the Wolf’s Den.”
The Dirty Dog was filled with the crews from the smaller ranches around the area, and they seemed to be a friendly, easygoin’ bunch. But I noticed that they was, to a man, all packin’ iron, some of them with an extra six-shooter tucked behind their gunbelt. That was not a good sign.
“Wouldn’t have taken a month’s pay to miss that show this afternoon, Sheriff.”
“Yeah,” another said. “That kid’s been achin’ for something like that to happen. He’s been ridin’ high, wide, and rough for a long time.”
“You be careful, Cotton,” an older cowboy told me. “That kid’s bricks ain’t stacked jist right.”
“I know you?” I looked him up and down.
“I know you. I was ridin’ for the Twisted River brand down on the Big Sandy when you braced them rustlers that night—’member?”
“Oh, yeah!” Rusty was all ears, leanin’ close. “They run off part of that herd we was pushin’ north and stole one of my hor
ses. Sure.”
“What happened?” the barkeep asked.
“We planted the two rustlers that braced Cotton,” the cowboy said quietly.
I noticed a puncher leavin’ out just then, turnin’ in the direction of the Wolf’s Den. But then, maybe he was just headin’ for the privy.
The older puncher said, “He’s a sneak and a snitch for Big Mike. Thinks we don’t know it.”
I chuckled. “Good way to feed wrong information.”
The puncher just grinned.
Me and Rusty could both feel the hostility when we pushed open the batwings and stepped into the Wolf’s Den.
Place got real quiet. Big Mike Romain was standin’ belly up to the bar, nursin’ a beer. Johnny Bull was on his right and Little Jack Bagwell to his left. Man enjoyed some fine company, to be sure.
Rusty stood at the end of the bar closest to the door while I ambled around the place. I met every eye that would meet mine. And I was thinkin’ that to my knowledge, this many top gunslicks had never been gathered in one place at the same time.
Other than a cemetery.
And neither of them thoughts was real comfortin’, to my way of thinkin’.
I nodded at the gunfighters that I knew personal well. They returned the unsmilin’ nod and that was the extent of our happy fellowship.
I’ll admit, I was some relieved to be out of that place and walkin’ up toward the schoolhouse.
Rusty must have read my mind. “You got anyone in mind for additional deputies, Sheriff?”
“I don’t know no one to even mull over. You got any ideas?”
“Matter of fact, I do. ’Member I tole you about them two punchers I rode with, Burtell and De Graff?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re livin’ in an old line shack north of town. They’re good boys, both of ’em.”
“Tell me why they got fired.”
“They didn’t. They quit. They didn’t like what was happenin’. Big Mike said he was gonna run ’em both out of the county. That was tried a couple of times, but they’re still here.”
“Gunhands?”
“No. Just punchers. They pro’bly better than average with a short gun, but they ain’t real fast. They will make their first shot count, though.”
“Hell, that’s half the fight. Some of the fastest guns I ever seen usually put their first shot in the dirt. You ride out in the mornin’, fetch them boys into town. Lemme talk to them.”
At the schoolyard, it was all lantern-lit, the lanterns hung from ropes, with fancy streamers a-danglin’ ever’ which-a-way. The adults were sippin’ punch and the kids was playin’ and runnin’ around and havin’ fun. The boys was pullin’ the girls’ pigtails and the girls was pretendin’ they was all upset about it.
And it made me kinda sad. This type of gatherin’ sometimes does that to me. Here I was, twenty-eight years old, I think, give or take a year, and I’d never had nothin’ much to speak of. I’d been driftin’ for a good many years. Oh, I’d seen the country, all of it west of the Big Muddy, but the feelin’ of belongin’ to someone . . . that was something I’d never known. Don’t get me wrong; I love the high lonesome. I like the smell of a wood fire and the cool mornings and the feelin’ that there ain’t another human person within a hundred miles of you.
But . . . well, you can’t think about that too much or too often. Tends to get a body down.
These folks now, all happy and gay, they had that feelin’ of belongin’. And it showed. Oh, many of them didn’t have all that much, cash-wise, but they had somebody.
Well, hell! You know what I mean.
And then I seen Pepper. That brightened me up real quick . . . in one way. And yet, in another, it produced a feelin’ that I never recollected havin’ before. Kind of a warm, gooey sort of feelin’.
I shuddered like a big shaggy buffalo and walked around the yard. Rich gal like Pepper Baker wasn’t gonna have nothin’ to do with a two-bit cowboy turned sheriff like me.
But she did send me that note.
There was three guys with a fiddle and guitar and squeeze box, and they cranked it up for dancin’ . That left me out in the hog-waller, ’cause when it comes to fancy footwork with a female, I got two left feet. So I just stood around lookin’ like a lonesome hound dog while Pepper danced every dance. And I couldn’t help but wonder how Big Mike felt about that . . . him havin’ her all staked out, at least in his mind.
Pepper took a break from her dancin’, leavin’ a lot of disappointed men standin’ around lookin’ glum. Damned if she didn’t walk straight up to me. I took off my hat when she come up.
“Put your hat back on, Sheriff. You might catch a chill out here.”
She stood lookin’ at me with them blue eyes, and that syrupy feelin’ sort of oozed over me again. I really didn’t know what to make of it. Least that’s what I kept tellin’ myself.
“Enjoyin’ yourself, Miss Pepper?” I managed to ask. Least I hadn’t tripped over my feet yet again.
“I’d enjoy it more if I knew why you haven’t ask me to dance.”
“I never learnt how! You get me out there on that flat and you’d have sore feet for a month.”
“Well, at least you’re honest about it. I better warn you, Sheriff . . . what is your name? I’m not going to call you Sheriff forever.”
“Cotton.”
“Just . . . Cotton?”
“Just Cotton.”
She smiled, a mischievous look creeping into her eyes. “You wanted by the law, Cotton?”
“Oh, no, ma’am!”
“Well, if I leaned rreeaall close,” she said softly, “would you whisper it in my ear?”
With a sigh, I agreed.
She leaned close, Rreeaall close. I could smell the flowery perfume she was wearing and the clean scent of her hair. I whispered in her ear.
I knew what she was gonna do. Ever’body does the same thing.
She started gigglin’. Really had to struggle to keep from bustin’ out laughin’ and drawin’ a lot of attention to us. She put her little hand on my arm and kind of guided me along, out of the lamplight. I got a little edgy about that.
“That really your last name, Cotton?”
“Sure is.”
“But Cotton is not your real first name? Surely not!”
“Yes, ma’am, it sure is. My daddy had a funny sense of humor.”
We stopped under a tree. The lights and the whoopin’ and hollerin’ kids and the music and the gaiety seemed to be far away. It was kind of a nice feelin’.
She leaned against the trunk of the tree and fanned herself with a little hanky. “I declare,” she whispered. “I do believe I’ve gotten too warm dancing.”
I was gettin’ a little warm myself.
I got a hell of a lot warmer when she undone the top three buttons of her dress and fanned her pale skin with that little hanky. It was just a damn good thing I didn’t have no chaw of tobacco in my mouth. I’d have swallowed it for sure.
I looked in ever’ direction there was except the . . . upper part of her. “You, ah, was gonna warn me about something, Miss Pepper?”
She laughed softly. “So you can be trusted, too, Sheriff,” she said. Kind of a strange thing to say, I thought. “Mike Romain would have had me raped by now.” She buttoned herself back up. “Forgive me?”
“Sure. I, ah, kind of enjoyed it, tell you the truth.”
“That’s good. I was beginning to think that you were made of stone.”
“Far from it, ma’am.”
“Would you please stop calling me ma’am!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She laughed and took my arm. “Come on, let’s walk back. Tongues are wagging now. Cotton, I . . . may have set you up for trouble. If so, I’m sorry. I simply cannot abide sharing my box with that Mike Romain another time.”
There was two ways to take that, but since I figured her for a nice lady, I elected for the fried-chicken side of it.
“Big Mike has made up his
mind that I’m the woman for him. No one else will bid against him.”
“Why?”
“They’re afraid of him. He’s crazy.”
“I didn’t figure his wagon was loaded full. And you want me to bid agin’ him, right?”
“Yes.” I could feel her eyes on me in the darkness. “For more than one reason, Cotton.”
I could see my ranch fadin’ away into the distance, ’cause if it took all that was in that hat, I was gonna have a taste of Pepper’s box. “I’ll go as high as the traffic will bear, Pepper.”
Her eyes had kind of a frightened look in them. “No one has ever gone over ten dollars.”
“I got a hunch this one will.”
She reached into a pocket of her dress, a real pretty gingham dress; not fancy like the gowns on Joy and Wanda. She reached down and took my hand, pressing something into it.
Several double eagles.
“Now, ma’am . . . !”
“No,” she said, a final tone in her voice. She gave her pretty head a toss. “If you’re brave enough to bid against Big Mike, on my behalf, the least I can do is pay for it. Don’t worry, my mother came from a very wealthy family back east. Old money. And I have money of my own. Besides, we’re doing this with Father’s permission and blessing.”
“Figurin’ anybody else might get stomped or killed, but Big Mike should have more sense than to brace the sheriff?”
“You’re quick, Cotton.”
I wasn’t really sure what she meant by “old money.” I guessed that meant she was rich.
All kinds of suspicions jumped into my head.
She looked up at me in the dim light from the lanterns. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
Before I could reply, and if I had done it, I’d a probably stuck my foot in my mouth, she said, “You’re different, Cotton.” She smiled. “And kind of cute, too, in a range-rough way. And you’re not afraid of Big Mike, or . . . anyone, so it seems. Cotton, you’re either a very brave man, or a fool. Time will tell where that takes the both of us. Now please walk me back. The bidding will start in a few minutes.”
Big Mike and some of his boys was all lumped up together, and they give me some hard looks when they spotted me and Pepper. I just smiled at them all and tipped my hat to Big Mike.
Blood Valley Page 4