Cotton's Devil (9781101618523)

by Dunlap, Phil

  Henry nodded and left by the rear door. Cotton was right behind him as he turned in the opposite direction. When he stopped after a few steps and looked around, Henry had already disappeared. The sheriff bolted down the alleyway, reaching in a couple of minutes the point where he intended to cross the street. He slowed and looked around the corner of the gunsmith’s storefront before heading across to the other side. With the possible exception of a woman sweeping the boardwalk in front of the dressmaker’s shop, he went unnoticed as he sauntered casually across the dusty street on a trajectory that kept him out of Hogg’s sight.

  When he reached the back stairs to the hotel, he looked down the alley to find Henry already in position to watch the rear door while also keeping an eye on Jack and anyone who might try getting behind him. Cotton opened the rear door and slipped inside. There was no one in either the hall or on the stairs. He took them two at a time as he raced up to the second floor. He slowed as he approached Sanborn’s room, from where he figured Lazarus would take his shot. As he neared the room, he leaned close so he could hear anything that might be said between them. At first there was no sound, but after a minute or so, he heard Sanborn giving a last-minute order.

  “Don’t shoot until he goes for his gun, remember that. It has to look like Hogg killed him in self-defense with a clean shot.”

  “Don’t you worry, Judge, I’ll have him dead to rights the moment he gets out of the shadow of the building next door.”

  Cotton smiled to himself. That’s when he heard Hogg’s first shouted declaration.

  “Citizens of Apache Springs, I, Deputy U.S. Marshal James Lee Hogg, have here in my hand a warrant for the arrest of one Sheriff Cotton Burke for murder, worthy of a hangin’ by all that’s holy. This vicious killer has, uh, pulled the wool over your eyes far too long, and I aim to end his reign of power over the good people here who thought they had an honest and honorable man as their sheriff. Yes, the guilty man is none other than Sheriff Cotton Burke, the man who murdered an innocent young man in Texas. It’s time he got dealt with properly. I’m here on orders of the Honorable Judge Arthur Sanborn. Come on out, Sheriff!”

  Chapter 52

  James Lee Hogg puffed up his chest in self-importance as people began slowly to step outside their places of business and venture onto the boardwalks that lined the main street through the center of Apache Springs, to see what the commotion was about. They were smart enough to know to stay a safe distance from the boastful Hogg, for his words were certain to bring a swift reaction from the sheriff. Should a confrontation ensue, and bullets begin to fly, none wished to be the unlucky recipient of a stray hunk of lead.

  “I’m callin’ you out, Sheriff Burke! Step out and face me, if you dare!”

  All eyes turned as Jack emerged from the jail, staying close to the buildings and keeping in the shadows of the porticoes that popped up intermittently along the way to the hotel. His hand rested on the butt of his Remington .44 as he strolled along at a leisurely pace, obviously in no hurry, even though Hogg was demanding he do just that.

  Hogg was becoming more and more impatient for the sheriff to appear before him instantly. He began wringing his hands, shifting from one foot to the other, looking generally disconcerted. He shifted his glance from the street to buildings on the other side, to windows that overlooked the road. That’s when he must have noticed the onlookers shift their gaze from him to somewhere down the street toward the jail. His nervousness seemed to increase by the second, as perspiration began to trickle down his forehead.

  “Where the hell are you, Burke? I can’t wait all day for you to show up so I can either put you in irons or plug you where you stand! There’s a circuit judge waitin’ to take you to trial, and he’s anxious to get on with it.”

  Hearing the racket outside, Mayor Orwell Plume stepped from his door and took up a position next to the town’s clerk. They looked at each other for a moment before Plume spoke up.

  “So that’s why the old judge wanted to hold court in the street. He was out to get the sheriff all along. I knew there was something wrong with that man from the beginning. I don’t like what I’m watching.”

  “You figure we should round up some folks to back the sheriff? There’s no damned way he could have done what that fool’s claimin’.” The clerk looked at Plume, awaiting an answer. Plume said nothing. He seemed frozen in place.

  Just then Jack stepped out from beneath the cover of an overhanging portico and onto the street. He was no more than twenty feet from Hogg. The phony marshal instantly recognized Jack and grew flustered. He clearly didn’t know what to make of this development. He twisted to look up at Sanborn’s window for some sign, some direction.

  Listening at Sanborn’s door, Cotton heard the distinct sound of a hammer being cocked. That was his cue to make his move. He took one step back from the door and slammed into it with all the force he could muster. The door was ripped from its flimsy hinges, crashing to the floor to the complete astonishment of Lazarus and Sanborn. Suddenly seeing his nemesis standing a mere three feet from him, the wide-eyed old man began screaming at the top of his lungs.

  “Kill him! Kill him, you fool! Kill him before he shoots me!”

  Unnerved by Sanborn’s crazed yelling, Lazarus tried his damnedest to turn the Sharps rifle around in Cotton’s direction before the sheriff could take aim, but the barrel first banged against the windowsill, then caught in the wafting curtains, causing him to hesitate that one split second too long. Cotton’s Colt bucked as it roared, spewing fire and smoke to send a lethal hunk of spinning lead straight for Lazarus’s forehead. The Sharps flew from his hands at the impact, crashing to the floor in front of Sanborn, who looked at it like it was a snake. Lazarus’s death was instantaneous, as his body was hurled through the open window, taking pieces of curtain, window frame, and glass with him and landing with a dusty whump on the street below. Having come to rest, sprawled behind a startled James Lee Hogg like a discarded bag of laundry, the body of the late Lazarus Bellwood didn’t even twitch as the dust from his untimely demise slowly dissipated in the slight breeze. The whole thing had transpired in the blink of an eye.

  Hogg’s eyes were wide as a barn owl’s. He swallowed hard, then spun back to face Jack. He had yet to complete his part of the bargain. He was suddenly face-to-face with a scowling deputy sheriff with a cocked Remington .44 aimed directly at his head. Hogg’s hand was shaking so badly, he couldn’t even find his still-holstered weapon. Finally, resigned to his fate, he could think of nothing to do but slump his shoulders in defeat.

  “Unbuckle that gun belt, Hogg, and take off the badge we both know you somehow got illegally. There’s no marshal on earth that would pin a badge on you. You and I are going to revisit the jail. Your last visit there didn’t last long enough. This time I’ll venture to guess you’ll be there for a month, which is when a real circuit judge will be here to pronounce you guilty of murder and set a date for a hangin’. I personally will be on hand to enjoy that moment.”

  Hogg hung his head and slowly began the trek to the jail, defeated and shamed in front of the whole town.

  * * *

  In the hotel room, Arthur Sanborn was spitting angry curses over what he saw as a violation of his privacy. He wasn’t through seeking his vendetta against this pompous sheriff, not by a long shot.

  “You’ve done it again! You just shot an innocent man down for no cause whatsoever. He was simply in my employ to assure there’d be no shenanigans when Marshal Hogg tried to arrest you. I’ll see you swing from a limb for this, you bastard; you mark my words!”

  “Oh, I’ll mark them all right, Sanborn, but I doubt it’ll get you anywhere.”

  “We’ll see about that when I bring charges against you for cheating a man out of his life by your callous act.”

  “Well, in the meantime, I think you and I will saunter down to the jail and continue our little chat there as we await a telegram I’m expecting.”

  “Telegram? Telegram from whom? Is t
his another of your tricks, Burke?”

  “No trick, Sanborn. Now, get going. You might as well bring along your belongings, too. I have a feeling you’ll not be comin’ back.”

  As they left the hotel, the mayor, the clerk, and several of the citizenry crowded around the two of them. Their curiosity was palpable. Questions came thick as flies to manure.

  “What’s going on, Sheriff? Who is that man lying in the street? Did you shoot him? Why’d your deputy arrest that marshal?” Mayor Plume bombarded him with inquiry after inquiry, as did several other people who shouted their own queries.

  Cotton held up his hand to stem the tide of anxiety surrounding the town’s citizens.

  “Folks, if you’ll let me get this man down to the jail, I’ll explain to everyone’s satisfaction as soon as I have all the answers myself.” The sheriff pushed Sanborn ahead of him and made his way toward the boardwalk in order to pinch off much of the crowd. Only a few people at a time could be accommodated by the plank walkway. Many dropped by the wayside, choosing to return to their shops and businesses. But Mayor Plume doggedly followed the sheriff’s footsteps, chin held out as if to say he would not be denied answers.

  When they reached the jail door, Sanborn was nearly knocked on his rump when Melody burst out like a buffalo stampeding, arms flailing to clear the way. She was sputtering some gibberish about a fine thing for a gentleman to do, humiliating a lady, or at least that was Cotton’s assessment of her words, unintelligible as they were.

  “What the hell was that all about, Jack? Why was Melody here?”

  “I had to lock her up because she demanded I stay out of your business with Sanborn. She held a gun on me. Didn’t give me any choice.”

  Cotton smiled and snorted. “You’re learning, my friend, you’re learning. Lock this snake up, will you. Better not put him in the same cell as Hogg. I’m not sure they’ll be gettin’ along after how well their plan went.”

  Jack shoved the hesitant Arthur Sanborn into the cell and closed and locked the door. Sanborn was still fuming as Hogg sat morosely on his cot. Cotton sent Jack to fetch the undertaker.

  “While you’re out, bring Henry here from the alley behind the hotel.

  “What’s he doin’ there?”

  “Coverin’ both our butts.”

  Chapter 53

  Cotton hadn’t seen Mayor Plume since he sent him off in a huff with no answers to his myriad of questions. He’d picked up a horse from the livery and sent Henry back to the Wagner ranch with an acknowledgment of his appreciation for all his help. No word had passed between them concerning Henry’s insistence that Cotton was in grave danger, as Cotton hadn’t really seen things that way. He’d felt he knew Arthur Sanborn well enough to stay at least one step ahead of him. Lazarus Bellwood had been a wild card, but he never doubted the eventual outcome. He’d figured out early on that there had to be someone else involved in shooting down all those men who’d opposed Lucky Bill Sanborn, and when it appeared Lazarus was that person, things seemed to fall into place rather nicely.

  “What’re you plannin’ on doin’ with those two owlhoots we got locked up, Sheriff?” Jack asked, leaning back in a chair with his boots on Cotton’s desk.

  “I plan to wait.”

  “Wait? On what?”

  * * *

  When Jack came back later in the afternoon, he found Cotton sitting on the edge of the desk with a big grin on his face. He was reading a telegram, likely delivered by the telegraph operator Jack had seen racing down the street just as he pushed through the batwing doors of the saloon. Cotton chuckled at what he was reading when Jack entered the jailhouse door.

  “You’re lookin’ darned chipper for a man with a dead body on display just down the street in front of the undertaker’s,” Jack said as he began searching around for his coffee cup.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So what’s on that paper there that’s got you lookin’ like you just discovered a gold nugget the size of your fist?”

  “Huh?”

  “I said, what’s got you lookin’ so pleased?”

  “Oh. That confirmation I told you about.”

  “Confirmation of what?”

  “What I figured all along. There is a weasel in the woodpile. And it’s time to show him up for the liar he is right now.”

  “What in tarnation are you talkin’ about?”

  “It’s all right here on this paper. And in spades.”

  “So now we’re talkin’ about a poker game?”

  “No, no, we’re talkin’ about makin’ sure a certain rattler gets what’s comin’ to him, or maybe even…”

  “You mean Sanborn? That who’s got you all smiles?”

  “In a manner of speakin’. Yep.”

  “So what’s it say?”

  “Solid gold evidence and it could prove deadly to someone.”

  “Who? You, me, Emily?”

  “Nope. None of us…now.”

  “The judge?”

  “Yep. It’s time to bring him down to earth.”

  “How do you figure on doin’ that? And what the hell’s in that telegram?”

  “Proof.”

  “Of…?”

  “Proof that the no-good son of a bitch is a liar and a murderer. And it’s goin’ to get him put away for the rest of his worthless life. That is if he doesn’t hang first.”

  “Who’s that telegram from?”

  “Our own cagey bounty hunter, Thorn McCann.”

  “Why would he send you a telegram? Isn’t he holed up at the hotel with Delilah Jones?”

  “Nope, not anymore. He’s been out of town for four days. Gone to see the governor. I’m amazed you didn’t notice, since Delilah has been seen around town without Thorn at her side. He volunteered for a mission and I accepted his offer.”

  “So what’s on that paper, or are you gonna make me guess?”

  “Says here we got ourselves a genuine counterfeit judge. And you were right in your assessment of James Lee Hogg—he’s no marshal, either.”

  “So, if the judge ain’t a judge and Hogg ain’t a marshal, we got them dead to rights?”

  “Yep.”

  “We damn sure got the goods on Hogg for killin’ Lucy, but how do you plan on provin’ Sanborn killed anyone? I’ve not even seen him with a gun,” Jack said with a quizzical look.

  “I agree that may be difficult, since the man he hired to shoot a number of men is dead.”

  “Yeah, thanks to you.”

  Since he still hadn’t confided in Mayor Plume about the reason for the shooting of Lazarus Bellwood and the events leading up to it, Cotton asked Jack to bring the mayor down to the jail before he confronted Sanborn. Cotton had always thought Plume was a rather shallow man, easily pumped up by flattery and constantly requiring a boost to his ego. But the sheriff was also aware that there were times when he needed the mayor’s cooperation. This he figured to be one of those times.

  “Well, Sheriff Burke, I’m here,” the mayor said, as he stormed into the jail. “Are you finally ready to take me into your confidence about the occurrences of yesterday and the claims made by that Hogg fellow?”

  “Yes, I am, Mayor. I hope you’ll forgive my reluctance to discuss the whole thing in front of a lot of folks who really didn’t need to know what was goin’ on. Perhaps you could see your way to excuse my secretiveness.”

  Plume loosened up and said, “Yeah, I reckon a sheriff has to have a few things he don’t blab to just anyone. Apology accepted.”

  “Thank you, Mayor. Now, about the two men being held in our jail, we have a messy situation, particularly over that man claimin’ to be a judge. First of all, he isn’t.”

  “He isn’t what?”

  “He isn’t a judge. I have here in my hand a telegram from a friend at the capitol in Santa Fe proving that Arthur Sanborn is no more a judge than me or Jack. The word is straight from the governor.” Cotton handed the telegram to Mayor Plume, who read it with eyes growing wider by the second.

  �
��Well, I’ll be damned. That sniveling highbinder pulled one over on me. Why, if it was up to me, I’d say hang him now and be done with it.”

  “How about you and me confront him together,” Cotton said.

  Chapter 54

  The pounding on Cotton’s front door did not come as a pleasant wakeup call. The yelling wasn’t much help, either. He swung his legs off the bed, pulled on his pants, and lumbered, barefoot, to the door. He swung it open to find Memphis Jack Stump in a lather, hollering loudly enough to wake the whole town.

  “Cotton! Thank heavens you’re here instead of out at the Wagner place. We got ourselves a problem. A big problem.”

  Cotton stepped aside sleepily, yawned, and waved Jack to sit on the small couch.

  “I’ll make some coffee. I’m goin’ to need it to wake up enough to understand what you’re blatherin’ about.” He had started to the kitchen, when Jack’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

  “You won’t need any coffee once I tell you what’s up. You’ll damn sure be awake.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “First off, you do remember tellin’ me to go back over and make up with Melody as soon as I got them two owlhoots tucked in, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said. And I assume that’s what you did.”

  “Correct, amigo. Left about eleven o’clock, after the prisoners were fed and had a chance at the outhouse one last time. Then I went to the saloon to find Melody. She was all smiles when I walked into the place. It was almost as if nothing ever happened between us.”

  “Jack, you’re tellin’ me things I either know or don’t care about. My head is full of cobwebs because I need coffee. So, be quick about it or I’m brewin’ up some Arbuckles’.”

  “Just wanted to make sure we both remembered last night’s instructions, that’s all.”