Cotton's Law (9781101553848)

by Dunlap, Phil

  “So, where did he ‘maybe’ get dead?”

  “Can’t rightly say. I know it weren’t here. The sheriff we got couldn’t hit his own foot with a scattergun. Coulda happened down near the border. Maybe one of them others will recollect. I ain’t never even seen the man.”

  “That leaves Buck and Plink.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen them in the past week or so. I’ll put out the word there’s some fella lookin’ for them. I assume you ain’t lookin’ to shoot ’em, are you?”

  “No. I want to hire them. There’s good money in it.”

  “Hell, why didn’t you say so? There’s Buck at that table in the far corner. He’s the lonely fella suckin’ on that bottle like it was his mommy’s tit.”

  Sleeve tried to hide his disdain for the bartender. Any other time, he’d likely have blown the man into the next century. But for now, striking up a conversation with Buck Kentner was his first aim. As he approached the table, Buck glanced up with rheumy eyes, giving Sleeve the once-­over.

  “Buck Kentner?” Sleeve asked.

  “Who wants to know?” Buck put the bottle down, nearly tipping it over. A last-­second grab saved the contents from spilling. Sleeve was immediately impressed by Buck’s ability to react quickly even in a drunken state.

  “Name’s Sleeve Jackson. And I may have a job for you, if you’re willin’ to give me a minute of your time.”

  “Pull up a chair and fill me in on this ‘job’ you’re offerin’.”

  “You ever heard of a fella named Bart Havens?” Sleeve said.

  “Who ain’t? Some kinda banker prone to stealin’ other folks’ land, way I hear it.”

  “Close enough. He’s plannin’ another town takeover and he needs a few good guns to back his play.”

  “Who I gotta kill and how much does it pay?”

  “Pay is one thousand dollars up front and another two thousand to the man who actually gets the job done. How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds good. Who’s the target?”

  “A sheriff by the name of Cotton Burke.”

  “Whoa. The Cotton Burke?”

  “The one and only,” Sleeve said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Hellfire and damnation, I’d have to have twice that amount to tangle with Burke.”

  Chapter 11

  “What’s eatin’ at you, Cotton? You’ve been moody ever since you got back. It can’t be that fellow that tried to shoot you, since you put him in his grave. It’s all over, isn’t it?” Emily and Cotton were sitting on her porch swing. She leaned in close to him, her arms crossed to ward off an evening chill. The sun was just setting, and the horizon was blood red as nightfall began its march from the east.

  “I’m afraid it has just started. I reckon it’s best if you hear it now . . . from me. If the rumors are true, there’s a rattler named Bart Havens who’s intending on starting another bank. If he does, all hell will break loose in Apache Springs.”

  “Why? The town can probably support another bank, can’t it?”

  “Not the kind Havens intends. You see I know him from way back. He’s done his treachery before, in other towns. Folks lose their land, cattle, homes, and savings. People usually die before he’s done.”

  “Heavens. I didn’t realize he could be such a threat. What are you going to do?”

  “The trouble is, he doesn’t do anything illegal himself. He has others do it for him. He just steps back and watches the bodies fall. One of those bodies could be me, or Jack. At least I’m certain that’s his plan.”

  “Why would he want to kill you?”

  “Because I’m what stands between him and another successful town takeover.”

  Emily’s pretty face grew pensive. Her eyes flashed with anger at the thought of another man in her life possibly being gunned down. And she had no intention of allowing that to happen. She had men working for her, and they could all ride and shoot with the best of them. If she needed to marshal her own army to save the man she loved, so be it. Emily Wagner was tough-­minded. Even after what she’d been through during the short time she’d been in the territory, she had few doubts that she and Cotton, together, could weather any storm. And by damn, she meant to do just that.

  As they swung slowly back and forth to the squeaks of ropes being stretched from their weight, she watched Cotton out of the corner of her eye. What is really going through his mind? she wondered. Will I ever get close enough to him for us to plan and dream as one?

  Jack was finishing his meal at the hotel when he heard his name being called. He continued to stab a piece of beef and slipped it into his mouth. He was still chewing when he looked up to see a woman he thought he’d never lay eyes on again. He almost choked. Delilah Jones was a dark-­eyed beauty he’d met before returning to Gonzales and taking up with Melody. The shock on his face brought a smile to hers.

  “Yes, Jack, it’s me. Did you think I’d come to some ignominious end after you left town?”

  Jack stood up, pulling out another chair at his table.

  “I’m certainly glad you didn’t, Delilah. Damn it’s good to see you. Please join me.”

  She sat with a rustle of her satin skirts, resting a parasol on the edge of the table. She leaned forward, just to tease him with a hint of her soft, white bosom, then leaned on one elbow and stared directly into his eyes. He became so flustered he forgot to call a waiter over.

  “If I’m to join you, I suspect I should order something so as not to give the impression of vagrancy. Don’t you think?”

  “I, uh, yes, yes, of course. How foolish of me. Waiter!”

  “Sir?” the waiter said from across the nearly empty dining room.

  “The lady will be joining me. Could you please bring a menu and a glass of wine?”

  “Of course, sir.” The waiter left briefly, returning in seconds with a bottle of wine and a menu scribbled on a piece of paper. Jack handed her the menu, such as it was, noticing that she raised her eyes questioningly at the misspellings that accompanied the evening’s fare.

  “The food’s real good, even if the menu’s a bit rough. I can recommend the beef stew.”

  Delilah nodded at Jack’s choice and handed the menu back to the waiter. “I’ll have what he suggested. Thank you.

  “So, Jack, what are you up to these days? Still shooting up towns? Or just trying to drink them dry?”

  A resentful look came over his face. He chewed his lip for a second as he thought out what words he dared let slip out of his mouth. His relationship with this woman had been stormy at times, but his jealousy of the attention she got from nearly every man who saw her was what finally led her to dissolve their plans for something more permanent. He was crushed by her rejection over what he figured was a trivial matter, a normal reaction of one man to another who might be viewed as a rival. Not that his relationship with Melody hadn’t had its ups and downs, but he knew from the start she was a whore and had no illusions about anything like marriage coming into the picture.

  “Neither, Delilah. I’m a duly appointed deputy sheriff, and I’ll thank you to try forgetting the old Memphis Jack Stump of the past. I’m a new man. You’re looking at a man with a future.”

  “Deputy sheriff, are you? Well, it does appear you’ve taken a different road. But I seem to recollect you had been a deputy when we first met, and you’d had a bit of trouble where you came from.”

  “Uh, well, I did stumble over a little root in the road, I guess you’d say. But that’s all changed now. Say, where are you stayin’? Will you be here long? Is there a man in your life?”

  “Hold up, Jack. Let me catch my breath and answer one question at a time.”

  “Oh, sure. Sorry. I tend to get ahead of myself whenever I’m gazing at a beautiful woman.”

  Delilah lowered her eyes as if in deep thought, wondering whether to tell Jack everything, or just a taste of the truth. She seemed to decide on the latter. She hesitated before speaking.

  “Well, there was a man in my life, but events c
hanged that. I, uh, came farther west to, er, evaluate other, uh, opportunities.”

  “You say there was a man? What happened?”

  “As it turned out, he had, uh, chosen an unfortunate line of work.”

  “What work did he do?”

  “They say he was rustling cattle. I never believed a word of it. But they hanged him, anyway.”

  “The law must have had some pretty solid evidence to hang a man.”

  “It, well, it wasn’t exactly the law that did him in. It was vigilantes. They said they caught him with a running iron, standing with several newly altered brands and freshly butchered beef.”

  “Oh, I see. I don’t hold with vigilantes, myself, but if he was caught red-­handed, er—­”

  “I know. Evidence like that is hard to defend.”

  “I’m sure sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He didn’t treat me that well after we were together a while. Tried to get me to work one of the cribs and bring him the cash. I told him what he could do with his whores. I’d walked out by the time he was hanged. So, there you have my sordid story. What’s yours?”

  Her food arrived just as she took a sip of wine. Jack smiled at her. He struggled with whether to spill the whole story of his own dealings with a fallen angel. He decided that glossing over that part might be the best idea. Besides, as good as she looked right then, and with Melody gone for who knew how long, well maybe, just maybe . . .

  “I was living in Gonzales when the sheriff here in Apache Springs came lookin’ for me, not because I’d done somethin’ illegal, but because he needed help with a serious problem. The town had fallen under the influence of a gang of bushwhackers bent on robbin’ a train, and they kidnapped a widow lady to keep the sheriff off their ass, er, pardon my language.” He gave her a guilty look as if he’d just dragged something smelly onto her carpet.

  “Goodness, what happened to the poor woman?”

  “Oh, it turned out she got rescued; we killed all the owlhoots, and Cotton, that’s the sheriff, went to stay with Miss Emily while he healed up from an unfortunate bullet wound. I don’t think he minded all that much, the movin’ in with her part, that is. He was in love with her, anyway. Probably had been ever since her husband was shot for doin’ nothin’ more than comin’ out of the barbershop at an inopportune time. That’s when he made me a deputy, so he could fiddle away the hours in her company while I busted my, er, sorry again, backside keepin’ the riffraff out of town.”

  Delilah covered her mouth with her napkin to stifle a laugh.

  Chapter 12

  While Sleeve Jackson and Buck Kentner stared at each other over a bottle of whiskey, Buck seemed particularly pensive. Sleeve had figured the amount of money he’d offered would not meet with resistance. He was obviously mistaken.

  “Tell you what, Buck. If you keep it to yourself, and you’re the one that gets the sonofabitch, I’ll make sure there’s a healthy bonus in it for you. But if you spread that around to the others, the deal’s off.”

  “It better be damned healthy. Cotton Burke can shoot the head off a fly in midair. Leastways that’s what I’ve heard.”

  “I’d have to say that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Suffice to say, he’s quick all right, but he’s still just a man, not unlike others you’ve faced down. Now, you in or not?”

  “Yeah, reckon I’m in. Besides, I’m damned near busted, anyway.”

  “Good. Now, do you know where I can find Plink Granville?”

  “Aww, he’s around somewhere. Probably down at the Silver Strike. Leastways that’s where he generally hangs out, proppin’ his chin on the bar to keep from fallin’ into the cuspidor. Man’s a fallin’ down drunk, you know. What do you want with a kid like that? He’d be just as likely to shoot himself as he would Burke.”

  “Maybe the information I have for him will convince him to sober up for a spell.”

  “Yeah, what information is that?”

  “Cotton Burke killed his brother, Whitey, last week.”

  “Burke got Whitey Granville?”

  “Yep. Shot him twice before Whitey could even pull the trigger on that Sharps.”

  Buck got a sick look on his face as he stared at his glass. Sleeve noticed a change in the gunslinger’s demeanor at hearing the news. He wasn’t certain he could keep Buck from bolting. But he had to try.

  “I know it sounds like Cotton Burke is unbeatable, but he ain’t. One of Virgil Cruz’s men near killed him a month or so back. He’d be dead if it hadn’t been for Memphis Jack Stump.”

  “Stump? Damn! Is he in on this thing, too? On Burke’s side?”

  “Likely, unless we can take him out.”

  “Any more money in the deal for takin’ down the two of ’em?”

  “I don’t know. Depends on whether Bart Havens figures Memphis Jack for a threat.”

  “He does if he has any sense at all.”

  “So, Delilah, what are you doing in town? And how long do you figure on bein’ here?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Where are you stayin?”

  “The hotel says they’re full up tonight, but I can get a room tomorrow. Maybe I’ll just sit up in the lobby tonight.”

  “Not while ol’ Memphis Jack’s got a bed that’ll fit two just fine.”

  “You’re suggestin’ I spend the night with you?”

  “That’s about the size of it. What do you say?”

  “You do remember what happened the last time we were together, don’t you?”

  “Uh, yeah, but as I recall it didn’t have nothin’ to do with a problem over the sleepin’ arrangements.”

  “No, it had to do with me not wanting anything to do with a whiskey-­soaked drunk. So, unless you’re reformed, I think I’ll just avail myself of one of those plush chairs in the lobby for the night. Thanks, anyway.”

  “I have,” Jack said, “reformed, that is.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “So, you’ll take me up on my offer after all?”

  Delilah slowly broke into a smile. “One night.”

  “That’s Plink over there, the one with his head on the table, snorin’ away like a wounded grizzly. Don’t look much like a shootist, does he?” Buck said, as the two of them pushed through the doors of the Silver Strike Saloon.

  “No, I reckon he don’t, at that.” Sleeve sauntered up to where Plink Granville had chosen to sleep off a drunk, spilling whiskey all over the tabletop and lying in it. “Plink, wake up!”

  After Sleeve hollered his name several times, Plink slowly lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot. Spilled whiskey ran down his cheek.

  “Leave me alone, you bastard. I’m busy.”

  “Yeah, I can see that, you drunken pig. Wake the hell up. I got some news and a proposition for you,” Sleeve growled.

  “What’d you call me?” Plink went for his gun and got it halfway out of the holster, when he realized he was staring down the barrel of Sleeve’s Schofield. Sleeve gave Plink’s chair leg a swift kick, dumping the surprised man onto the floor with a thud.

  “I called you what you are: a drunken pig. Now, you goin’ to listen or just keep wallowin’ there under the table in the chawin’ tobacco spit?”

  Plink groaned and tried to get up. He fell back twice before Buck reached down and grabbed his shirtsleeve and yanked him to his feet. Plink grabbed hold of the table, leaned on it with both hands splayed flat in the foul-­smelling spill, then stood blinking. He shook his head a couple of times. Sleeve called for the bartender to bring some coffee, hot and strong.

  Sleeve and Buck sat across from Plink as he drank the coffee, although not without a fair amount of resistance did he do so. He called Sleeve some names that normally would have gotten him shot. Had the circumstances been different, there could have been no doubt he would have, at that moment, been laid out, pasty white and ready for burial.

  It took almost an hour for Plink to regain a sense of what was going on, where he was, and who these men were who had so ru
dely forced him back from his stupor. His eyes, still bloodshot, wandered from Sleeve to Buck and back. Finally, Sleeve decided it was time to sober Plink up with the reality of his brother’s death.

  “Plink, I’m Sleeve Jackson, and, like I already said, I’m here with news and a proposition. You ready to listen?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not really. Anyway, here it is: Bart Havens needs some gunhands to help him take over a town. He’s willin’ to pay for it.”

  “How much?”

  “One thousand up front, and another two thousand to the one who guns down the sheriff.”

  “A sheriff? What sheriff you talkin’ about?”

  “The sheriff of Apache Springs, Cotton Burke.”

  “Sorry. I may be a drunk, but I’m not plumb loony. Get yourself some other fool.”

  “Now hold on there, you dumb—­” Buck growled.

  Sleeve stopped Buck from going further. He knew that if Buck antagonized the young gunslinger to the point he’d draw on him, one of them would sure as hell die. He couldn’t take that chance. If he was to come up with four killers for Havens, and do it in the time he’d been given, he couldn’t take a chance on losing either one.

  “Plink, there’s one other reason to go along with this plan. Sheriff Cotton Burke shot and killed your brother last week.”

  “What? Whitey’s dead?”

  “Sorry to break it to you this way, but I reckon there ain’t no good way to tell a fellow his kin has been murdered.”

  At the news, Plink Granville suddenly seemed to sober up.

  “I’m in. When do we leave?”

  “Tomorrow. On our way, I have to try locating Black Duck Slater and Comanche Dan Sobro. Either one of you know where they might be?”

  “Black Duck was last seen wandering around Lincoln County, probably tryin’ to cook up more trouble down there,” Buck said. He waved the bartender over to bring him a beer.

  “And Comanche Dan?”

  “Somebody here dishonoring my fine reputation?” The rangy man coming through the door wore deerskin leggings, knee-­high boots, and carried a Winchester rifle held like he figured to clear the house.