Cotton's Law (9781101553848)

by Dunlap, Phil

  “Well, I’ll be damned. You must be Comanche Dan!” Buck Kentner grumbled. “I reckon we heard wrong, he ain’t dead.”

  Chapter 13

  When Delilah drew open the drapes to let the sunlight in, her naked body cast an enticing shadow across the bed. That’s when she noticed for the first time all the feminine accouterments lying about. She frowned as she picked up a hairbrush with long blond hairs caught in the bristles, then, tossing it aside, she continued her perusal of where she’d just spent the night, wrapped in Jack’s arms. Jack was slowly coming awake when he spotted her dark expression.

  “Jack, you sonofabitch, you didn’t tell me you were married. Where the hell is your wife?”

  Jack slipped out of bed and pulled on his pants and boots.

  “I didn’t tell you I was married because I ain’t married. That’s why.” He went into the kitchen to put some coffee on to heat. He stuck several small pieces of wood in the belly of the cast iron stove, tossed in some paper and lit it.

  “Then what are all these womanly touches lyin’ around everywhere?” she said.

  “I’m, uh, sharing the place with, uh, a workin’ girl.”

  “You’re livin’ with a whore?”

  “I guess you could put it that way; Cotton does.”

  Delilah broke out laughing. As if suddenly ashamed, Jack looked at the floor.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, pouring water and coffee grounds into the pot.

  “Hope this won’t come as a big disappointment, Jack, but, after a fashion, you slept with another one last night.”

  “You? But I thought you, er, that is, didn’t you say we couldn’t get hitched because I drank too much? You didn’t say nothin’ about goin’ into the business of sellin’ your charms.”

  “At that time, I was true to you, Jack. When you left, I found I was flat broke and needin’ to come up with money or get tossed out of my house. This nice man came along and offered me a deal. He said if I’d come work for him, and only him, he’d treat me nice and I’d have money left over at the end of the month. He’s made no demands for sharing a bedroom. But, I guess you could still say I’m a whore, too. In a way, aren’t we all?”

  “He the only one you, uh, do business with?” Jack squinched up his eyes in a dark frown.

  “Uh-­huh. That’s why I’m in town. I’m supposed to be sizing up the population hereabouts, so I can give him an idea about who is important and who isn’t when he gets to town. I kinda act as his eyes and ears when he’s setting up a deal.”

  “So, where is this ‘nice’ man?”

  “Oh, he’ll be arrivin’ soon. Guess he’s got business elsewhere. We can stay together and keep doin’ what we did last night until he does. If you’d like, that is.”

  Jack found himself in a quandary, at an awkward crossroads. He didn’t know when Melody would return, but he knew damned well if she caught him in bed with Delilah, he was as good as dead. Her offer was tempting, however, and if they went ahead and got a room at the hotel, well, Melody might never be the wiser. He let a broad grin wipe away the frown.

  “We’d have to get that hotel room, but the other part sounds fetchin’.”

  “Since my benefactor will be footing the bill, we’ll have to keep a watch out for his arrival. Then, I’m sad to say you’ll have to go back to your previous lady friend.”

  “Fair enough. Just who is this ‘gentleman’ I’m to keep an eye out for?”

  “You’ve probably never heard of him. His name is Bart Havens.”

  Comanche Dan pulled a chair over to the whiskey-­soaked table and sat. He leaned the rifle against the arm of his captain’s chair, took out the makings, and rolled himself a smoke.

  “So, how’d my name come up in conversation with you three?”

  “Sleeve has a proposition for you. It’s a good’un,” Buck blurted out.

  “Uh-­huh,” Dan said, blowing a smoke ring.

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

  “Heard he was a snivelin’ rattler. That the one?”

  “Probably, but a wealthy rattler. That’s what’s goin’ to make the difference,” Sleeve said.

  “Okay, so what’s the deal?”

  “Havens is fixin’ to take over a new town, and he needs some men good with shootin’ irons to lend a hand. He’ll pay a thousand dollars to each man, up front, and another two thousand to the one who actually plugs a certain man.”

  “Who is the target?”

  “Cotton Burke.”

  Comanche Dan scowled at the mention of Cotton Burke. He didn’t look pleased.

  “What if it takes all of us? Any extra in it?”

  “I never thought about that possibility. I’ll have to ask Havens. But I’m certain he’ll want to make some accommodation. He hates Burke.”

  “What did Burke ever do to him?”

  “Got Bart chased out of Benbow Creek. Cost him a fortune. Lost everything. Fact is, Havens can’t show his face in Texas again ’cause of Burke. Man’s got fair reason to want to get even. So, you interested?”

  “I got nothin’ against this Cotton Burke, but I could use an infusion of cash. I’m strapped. So, yeah, I’ll throw in with you. Where we headed?”

  “We’re to meet Havens in Las Vegas, New Mexico. He’ll lay out the plan. We’ll leave at sunup.”

  Right after breakfast, Cotton walked out on the porch with Emily on his arm.

  “You seem to be off somewhere else, ’stead of here with me. What’s eatin’ at you, Cotton?”

  “Whitey Granville. The man I shot.”

  “He shot at you first, didn’t he? Why should that bother you?”

  “The part that bothers me is: I’d never met the man, had no qualms with him, and wouldn’t have even known who he was if Jack hadn’t come up with a fella passin’ through town who recognized him lyin’ in that pine box.”

  “You think somebody has it in for you? Or maybe Jack?”

  “Uh-­huh.”

  “How can you find out?”

  “I’m not sure, but I have more than a passing feelin’ that Bart Havens is already gettin’ back to his old ways.”

  “Maybe Havens figures you might try to block his bank venture.”

  “If that’s his thinkin’, he’d be right. That’s exactly my intent.”

  “But if he doesn’t do anything illegal, how can you stop him?”

  “My only chance is if I can prove Havens hired Granville to shoot me.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “I’m not certain I can. But maybe Jack is the answer.”

  “Jack?”

  Cotton stepped off the porch and headed for the corral to get his horse. Emily stood in the shade of the overhang watching him walk away, deep in thought. Cotton waved at her as he rode through the gate.

  Melody and her two other working girls stepped off the stage in Apache Springs just after three in the afternoon. Dusty and tired, Melody told the other two to go down to the hotel and get a room. She would meet with them later, after she’d had time for a bath and a short nap. The trip had been exhausting. Melody told the stage driver to have someone take the girls’ baggage to the hotel and hers to the little house at the end of the street.

  She hadn’t figured that Jack would be home in the middle of the afternoon, and she wasn’t about to stop at the jail and risk running into Cotton Burke. So, walking in the door, she looked with disgust at the haphazard way Jack had left the blankets half off the bed and one pillow on the floor. As she straightened up before heating some water for a bath, she noticed something on the pillow that lay on the floor. There was a long, black hair plainly visible on it. She cursed loudly, spewing profanities about what a cheating, lowdown piece of garbage she’d hooked up with. She didn’t calm down until she was soaking in the lukewarm water. Her ire returned only after hearing the front door open, and Jack’s distinctive whistling. She reached over to the stand beside the copper tub and picked up her .41-­caliber derringer, waiting for J
ack to show himself. When he stuck his head in the bedroom, she pulled the trigger, missing him by inches.

  He dove back into the front room, rolled away from the door, and drew his Remington.

  “Come outta there, you sonofabitch,” she screamed, “and face the music!”

  “Melody? It’s me, Jack. What the hell!”

  “You know damned good and well what, you cheatin’, lyin’ rattlesnake. I go away for a few days and you drag some tramp into my bed. I oughta blow your privates off!”

  “Now, hold on, Melody. What makes you think I did anything of the sort?”

  “Long black hairs, that’s what! And on my very own pillow, you, you—­”

  “Melody, you gotta let me explain. Just calm down and I—­”

  “It better be good, Jack, or you’ll be hobblin’ around like a castrated pig,” she yelled at him as she stepped through the door, naked as a jaybird, pointing the derringer at his crotch.

  “I got home late last night, after a few too many beers at the saloon, and while there, I met up with a cowboy I used to know. He had long, black hair, and I musta rubbed against him and picked up a hair or two that he’d shed. That’s all. When I got home, I dropped into bed, clothes and all. And that’s the truth.”

  Melody lowered the gun, chewing on her lip, not certain whether to believe him or not. Finally she tossed the weapon on the chair, and returned to her bath. She emerged a half hour later, calm and freshly perfumed and powdered. Jack gave a sigh of relief.

  She walked across the room to a table where a bottle of brandy sat. She poured a couple of glasses, handed one to Jack, and then settled onto the couch, patting the seat next to her as an invitation to join her. He did without hesitation, partly because she seemed to have accepted his explanation, and partly because she was still naked. And Jack was still Jack.

  “Jack, I went to Gonzales to remortgage the hotel. I’ve made a deal with One-­Eyed Billy’s next of kin to buy the saloon. I’m going to expand the offerings over there, too. Whiskey, cold beer, brandy, and Kentucky bourbon, and some girls to help all the poor lonely men survive the hardships of a frontier existence.” She gave him a self-­satisfied grin as she sipped her drink.

  Jack just stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  Chapter 14

  Sleeve and his three new recruits had decided to ride through Lincoln to see if they could add Black Duck Slater to their number. It had been a good decision. When they arrived, Slater was riding hell-­bent for leather straight at them with a posse hot on his trail. When the posse saw Slater riding toward a bunch of armed men they didn’t know, it gave them pause. The town marshal held up a hand to halt the posse. As Slater continued toward the four riders, each well-­armed, giving no indication he feared them, the marshal turned the posse around and headed back to town. Lincoln County had already seen its fill of gunslingers and wasn’t eager to engage any more of them without more backup, preferably in the form of a detachment of soldiers.

  Slater rode up on Sleeve and his men in a cloud of dust. “Howdy, gents. Looks like you came along just in time to save me from some unsavory sorts wearin’ badges. Good thing I recognized you, Buck.”

  “Happy to oblige. What had those folks so riled up?”

  “That marshal was none too happy when I cleaned him out at a poker game last night. Then, someone accused me of palmin’ a king, and the marshal decided I’d look best decoratin’ a tree.”

  “I don’t suppose you actually were palmin’ a king, were you?” Sleeve said with a frown.

  “Hell, no. It was an ace.” Black Duck snickered.

  “Then it looks like it was a good thing we came along when we did,” Sleeve said. “In more ways than one.”

  “Why’s that?” Black Duck asked.

  “I have a proposition for you. One that offers a one-­thousand-­dollar reward for helpin’ us take over a town,” Sleeve said.

  “Okay, what’s the catch?”

  “No catch, Sleeve’s tellin’ it straight. That’s what we’re all doin’ here,” Buck said. “And that ain’t all.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Another two thousand to the fella that actually plugs the sheriff.”

  “Who is this badge-­toter I gotta plug?”

  “Sheriff Cotton Burke, over in Apache Springs. Ever heard of him?”

  “Uh-­huh. And I have to admit, I ain’t so all-­fired eager to match bullets with him. However, in my present financial condition, I may have to alter my stance. Reckon I’m in. As long as the money is up front.”

  “It is,” Sleeve said, “Havens has guaranteed it.”

  “Then, let’s get to it,” Black Duck said.

  The five gunmen rode into Las Vegas, New Mexico Territory, mid-­afternoon and headed straight for the hotel. As they dismounted and tied each of their mounts to the hitching rail, Bart Havens stepped out onto the wide porch. He lit a cigar and leaned on a porch pillar. The men walked toward him, with Sleeve leading the way.

  “Mr. Havens, these are the men I promised to enlist for your, uh, venture in Apache Springs,” Sleeve said, then introduced each of the men.

  “Good work, Mr. Jackson. Step inside, boys, and we’ll get down to business. I’ll explain more over a bottle of whiskey. How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds fine, Mr. Havens,” Sleeve said, motioning for the other four to follow him up the steps and inside.

  The hotel had its own saloon separate from the dining room. Plink kept looking around like he’d never seen the inside of a decent hotel before. Buck kept pushing him ahead as if he were some recalcitrant child. They all sat at a table Havens pointed to. He ordered the bartender to bring a couple of bottles and some glasses. Having filled each of their glasses, Havens raised his and suggested a toast. Plink couldn’t wait and swallowed his in one great gulp, accompanied by a look of disgust from Sleeve.

  “To the success of the new Havens Bank and Loan of Apache Springs. You boys are the keys to helping build my new empire and bring down an old enemy. I drink to you.”

  They all swigged, and each glass was immediately refilled.

  “I’m sure Sleeve has told you about the financial arrangements. Tomorrow morning, I’ll withdraw five thousand dollars, one thousand for each of you. It’s yours if you agree with my terms of employment.”

  “I also told them there’d be a two-­thousand-­dollar bonus for whoever brings Cotton Burke down, Mr. Havens. That was right, wasn’t it?” Sleeve said.

  “Yes, Mr. Jackson, that is correct. But that’s not the end. My plans also call for needing men beyond my immediate requirement for the elimination of a troublesome lawman.”

  “Mr. Havens, you mind a couple questions?” Buck Kentner spoke up, his dark eyebrows hovering over his squinted eyes like roosting buzzards.

  “Ask as you will, Mr. Kentner.”

  “What did this sheriff do to put a burr under your saddle, sir?”

  “He got me driven from a town, my town! Damned near broke me. It was, however, my good fortune to come across another opportunity, on which I shall not elaborate at this time, but one that allowed me to reestablish my wealth. Now, with your help, I shall prosper beyond all I’ve ever gathered before. And Mr. Cotton Burke will have to be content to lie six feet under in Boot Hill, viewing my success in his eternal damnation!” Havens shouted. The depth of his need for revenge burned in his eyes, an almost demonlike manifestation.

  Buck glanced over at Sleeve, then to Comanche Dan. Both had the same look on their faces, as if they’d just laid eyes on the devil himself.

  “Get a good night’s sleep, boys. I’ll lay out the finer details of the plan first thing in the morning.” Havens downed the rest of his whiskey, shoved his chair back, and strolled out of the saloon like a great weight had just been lifted from him.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Buck turned to Sleeve Jackson and frowned.

  “What the hell have you gotten us into, Sleeve? That hombre’s jumped the tracks.”

&nbs
p; “He may seem to have wandered a bit off the beaten path, I agree, but the man’s got a fortune stashed away, and he’s bound to make a lot more. We can get hold of our share and then some if’n we’re patient. Don’t go gettin’ spooked on me, boys. I got a plan of my own.”

  “You’re plannin’ to go against that hombre on your own?” Buck said.

  “I don’t figure to risk my life for no thousand dollars. I’m after the whole herd, not just one steer, if you get my meanin’.”

  “What’s in it for us, Sleeve?” Buck continued. “Stickin’ with you, that is.”

  “Equal shares. Right down the line. We get rid of the sheriff like Havens wants, then we sit back and watch him rake in more cash from these dumb yahoos than any of us has ever seen. That’s when my plan goes into action. I got it all worked out. I’ll let you in on it as soon as we get to Apache Springs. You with me?”

  They all nodded, although Comanche Dan seemed less enthusiastic than the others. Plink was hard to read because he was already well into another of his famous slobbering drunks. Sleeve couldn’t tell if he was nodding his acceptance or about to fall into another stupor.

  The next morning, Sleeve and his gunslingers wandered into the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast. Havens was already there, a table set up and a fresh pot of coffee awaiting them.

  “Good morning, gents,” Havens said. “Sit and have whatever you’d like. Soon as you’re finished, we’ll go over my plan for Sheriff Burke.”

  “Since I’ve never met this Burke, nor have I had occasion to ride into Apache Springs, what do you know about the town? Is Burke the only law or is there also a marshal or a constable? How ’bout deputies?” Comanche Dan asked. He seemed particularly concerned about walking into an unknown situation without forehand knowledge. “And how about the army? Any of ’em stationed nearby? They close enough to send help if the sheriff should request them?”

  “Fear not, Mr. Sobro. I have all that covered. There is no one except a sheriff, and possibly one deputy, from what I’ve gathered. The closest the army gets is a few buffalo soldiers at Fort Tularosa, and they’re busy keeping that Chiricahua chief, Victorio, at bay. With your numbers and expertise, you should have no trouble overcoming whatever skills the sheriff might have with a firearm. In fact, his talents may be just a myth, made up by enthusiastic journalists trying to make a name for themselves,” Havens said, playing down the fact that he knew just how much of a threat Cotton Burke could pose.