Cotton's Law (9781101553848)

by Dunlap, Phil

  She paced back and forth for nearly an hour before finally coming to a conclusion. Bart had made it clear she was to do exactly as he bid. And she didn’t like it one bit.

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, as Delilah entered the bank, Havens came rushing out of his office to meet her.

  “I assume you got my message,” he said.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “You will carry out my instructions as specified in the accompanying note. And do it to the letter exactly. Is that clear?”

  “It is. But I don’t understand why you had to send that sleazy man to my hotel room at night.”

  “Call it a test, my dear. I was interested in keeping the message quite secret, and I also wondered whether you would let him in.”

  “Did I pass your little test, Mister Havens?”

  “You did, my dear, you did.” With that, he spun around and headed back to his office, whereupon he closed his door.

  Delilah was steamed by Havens’s rationale as to why he sent Sleeve to her room so late, as a test of her loyalty to him. She returned to her post as greeter to any customers that might venture in. Her usually cheerful smile was now turned upside down. The reasons to hate that man were mounting up faster than tumbleweeds against a fence. She crossed her arms and made a feeble attempt to look pleasant in case someone might come through the doors.

  But, after two days of standing all day, her legs were throbbing and her back had begun to ache. Havens had made it clear he wanted her at the ready the instant a customer arrived. So far, none had. And hers was not a position that allowed sitting. Finally, as if in answer to her prayers, a man and his wife wandered in. Delilah had nearly forgotten what to say, but the man spoke up first.

  “I see in the paper that you’re giving loans for no interest for the first ten customers to apply. That right?”

  “It is, sir. Let me introduce you to our president, Mr. Havens. If you’ll follow me.” She led the couple to Havens’s door and rapped softly.

  “Come in,” Havens said, standing quickly as Delilah pushed open the door and he saw that she wasn’t alone.

  “Bart Havens is my name. And you are . . . ?”

  “This here’s my wife, Agnes, and I’m Donald Blanchard. We own a little spread in the hills out towards the Brennan ranch. Not much, but we got a few head of pretty fine stock. Like to build that bunch of Herefords up a mite.”

  “And how much of a buildup you got in mind, Mr. Blanchard?”

  “Like to start with an additional hundred head. I figure, if the winter ain’t too bad, I can make that hundred grow to at least one-­fifty, maybe more. I should easily pay off my loan by spring.”

  Havens pulled some papers from his desk drawer and spread them out in front of Blanchard. “Sounds like a sound investment. I think you’ll find we’re a good place to do business with. Now, if you’ll just sign these papers, I’ll get you the money. Now, exactly how much do you figure you’ll need?”

  “Two thousand ought to do it, Mr. Havens.”

  “Two thousand it is, Mr. Blanchard. And since you’re one of the first ten people to come looking for a loan, there won’t be any interest for a full six months.”

  “Six months? I thought the ad said ‘no interest’ at all.”

  “Well, now, Mr. Blanchard, I’m sure you understand, being a businessman yourself, that it would not be feasible to not require any interest at all, forever.”

  Blanchard scrunched up his face into a scowl that was magnified by his rough, weathered skin. It was the face of a man who had spent many winters and summers under some very harsh conditions. He sighed, then bent over to sign. His wife said not a word.

  “Just curious, Mr. Blanchard, was it the lack of interest that brought you in?”

  “Yup. That fellow Darnell Givins tried his damnedest to keep me from bringin’ my business to you. When I asked if he’d match your offer, he said he couldn’t. That’s why I’m here. I been doin’ business with him for five years and now he don’t think I’m worth keepin’.”

  When the Blanchards left, Bart said, “Delilah, run that ad again next week. And the week after that.”

  Melody shook Jack from a sound sleep. He mumbled something foul as he tried to escape her persistent jabs. “Jack, damn your hide. Get your lazy ass up. I want to talk to you.”

  “Melody, just come back to bed, will you. Whatever it is will keep till mornin’.”

  “It won’t if that gambler downstairs gets caught cheatin’ by one of them gunslingers.”

  “How do you know he’s cheatin’?”

  “Honey, I can spot a card slick a mile off. And I’m bettin’ they can, too. Now, get dressed and hustle yourself downstairs. You got to keep an eye on things.”

  “And if I catch him cheatin’, what am I supposed to do?”

  “You are the deputy sheriff, aren’t you? And ain’t card sharks illegal?”

  Jack had buried his head in his pillow. It stayed there until she got to the deputy part. He grumbled, but he finally, out of desperation, swung his legs off the bed, gathered up his shirt and pants, and slipped into them. He strapped on his gun belt and started for the door.

  “Uh, Jack, maybe you’d look a little more imposin’ if you’d put on your boots. A barefoot deputy ain’t likely to strike fear in those snakes.”

  Finally, properly shod, and slightly embarrassed, he started down the stairway. Below he could see Buck Kentner and Sleeve Jackson engaged in a card game with a man who had a long coat and a bowler hat he had taken off and placed conveniently near the edge of the table. From where Jack was standing, any fool could see the gambler was a beginner. He was fumbling the cards as he shuffled the deck and showed no finesse dealing. This man will be dead before morning if this keeps up.

  Jack sauntered up to the table, where he howdy’d each of the two gunmen. He stuck out his hand to the gambler.

  “Name’s Memphis Jack Stump. Deputy Sheriff Jack Stump. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before.”

  The gambler was suddenly more nervous than before. He’d started to cut the cards, but the deck slipped from his hand and scattered on the floor.

  “Oh, dear. Gentlemen, I’m so sorry. I’ll get a fresh deck right away.”

  Just then, Sleeve scooted his chair back and eased his revolver from his holster. “Aww, that ain’t necessary. You been cheatin’ so long a new deck ain’t gonna change nothin’. I figure your dealin’ days are about to come to an end anyway.”

  The gambler’s eyes grew wide and his face turned pasty as Sleeve brought the gun up to eye level with the hapless card shark. Jack stepped in, placed his hand on Sleeve’s gun, and shook his head.

  “This gentleman is correct, Mr. Gambler. You been cheatin’, and that’s against the law in Apache Springs. I’m obliged to take you to jail, where you’ll find accommodations until the judge comes to town and sets your fine. Now, get up.”

  “No need to get involved, Deputy, we can handle this ourselves,” Buck said.

  “Oh, no problem, gentlemen. Besides, since you fellows will be dividin’ all the money on the table amongst yourselves, I figure this fella has a few extra dollars tucked away in his hat or vest. And the town does need funds to pay for its law keepers. That’d be me and the sheriff.”

  Sleeve slipped his gun back in his holster and sat back with a grin.

  “Fair ’nough this time, Deputy. But the next pasteboard hustler to drop by may not be so lucky.”

  Jack hastened the gambler’s departure from the saloon so fast the man nearly forgot his genuine felt bowler. Maybe a night in jail will at least keep this fumbling jackass alive awhile longer, Jack mused as he escorted the gambler to the jail.

  Chapter 27

  Jack was in the middle of doing something he’d probably never done before. He was sweeping out the office. The door was open as he took one final dusty swipe at the little pile of dirt, nearly choking the sheriff, who had dismounted in front of the jail.

  “Wha
t the . . .” Cotton muttered when Jack stepped outside.

  “Uh, sorry, Cotton. Just figured the place needed a little tidying up.”

  “Hmm. I reckon you’re right.” The sheriff stepped inside and removed his hat. As he was about to hang it on the nearest peg, he spotted a new tenant in the first cell. “Who’s that?”

  “Oh, him, well he’s just about the worst crooked gambler west of the Mississippi. Caught him trying to bamboozle a couple of Havens’s owlhoots. Figured a night in jail might keep him alive a bit longer.”

  “Good thinkin’, Jack. We can put him on the Thursday stage out of here.”

  “That’s what I figured. The town’s close enough to explodin’ as it is. Don’t need a senseless killin’ for all hell to bust loose.”

  Cotton seated himself behind his desk and leaned back in the swivel chair.

  “I figure that’s just what’s about to happen. The hell of it is, I don’t know when or how or by whom. I swear I should have shot Havens the moment he stepped off that stagecoach.”

  “I got the same feelin’. Everybody is actin’ like they was sittin’ too close to the fire.”

  “Melody let anything slip that’s been said to her girls by their customers?”

  “Nope. And to top it off, I’m not real sure she’d let on if she had heard something.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, if you was to fail, she likely figures the mayor would appoint me sheriff and she’d be sittin’ pretty.”

  “That figures. She’s one power-­hungry bitch.”

  “But a damn sexy one, you got to admit that, Cotton.”

  “I reckon.”

  “You come up with a plan to get ahead of this bunch without tippin’ them off to our knowin’ about it?”

  “Not yet. But unless I’ve been hornswoggled, that information should be showin’ up any day now.”

  “You obviously know somethin’ I don’t. You care to share with your ol’ pard?”

  “Soon, very soon. Too early and I could jeopardize our chances of success.”

  “Ahh. You’re thinkin’ I might blab to Melody, and every­one knows she can’t keep her mouth shut unless she sees some profit in it. That about it?”

  “Not exactly. I don’t think you’d intentionally blab anything, Jack. You know I trust you, but you do have one shortcoming that could prove deadly.”

  “What the hell does that mean? What shortcoming?”

  “You talk in your sleep.”

  Sleeve’s late afternoon ride out of town took him to a campsite along a creek, well hidden from the road, among a copse of cottonwood and oaks. He reined up short of the burbling water and turned his horse loose. He felt a presence and spun around to find J.J. Bleeker seated on a boulder with a shotgun across his legs.

  “Where the hell you been, Jackson? You said the wait wouldn’t be long. I’d call four days one damn long time for a fellow to wait for the money he was promised.”

  “Yeah. Mr. Havens had me doin’ errands and such. But don’t worry, I brought the money with me. I also got you a room at a little boardinghouse on the edge of town. The hotel is full up. Got any coffee?”

  J.J. slid off the boulder and sauntered over to the remains of a small fire. A coffeepot sat on the fire ring, a collection of rocks placed around the fire to keep it from spreading. He picked up a cup, poured some coffee in it, and handed it to Sleeve.

  “Thanks,” Sleeve said as he took a sip while fumbling in his pants pocket. He came up with a wad of bills and held it out to Bleeker. J.J.’s eyes lit up at the sight of all that cash. “Sorry it took so long.”

  “The sight of all them bills has done took away the pain.”

  “Good. We can ride back towards town together, but we gotta split up before we get there. Havens don’t want us lookin’ too friendly with each other. I’m hopin’ Havens don’t find out I was in a card game with Buck Kentner last evenin’. Damn near come to blastin’ some sidewinder we caught cheatin’.”

  “What kept you from it?”

  “The deputy sheriff stepped in. Saved that ornery gambler’s butt.”

  “You said we was to kill the sheriff. You didn’t say nothin’ about a deputy, too. There more in it if we gotta take him down?”

  “Havens ain’t said a word about the man. As far as I know, he ain’t part of the deal. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

  “What’s this deputy’s name? He any good?”

  “Name’s Memphis Jack Stump.”

  “Reckon I just answered my own question.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’ve never actually met him, but I heard about him in El Paso. ’Bout four years ago.”

  “He’s alive, so I reckon he won,” Sleeve said.

  “Uh-­huh. Against three of ’em.”

  Sleeve began stroking his chin. Damn, he thought, I didn’t figure on Memphis Jack gettin’ in the middle of this. I got to think Havens knew about him all along. I wonder if he’s figurin’ that we ain’t all gonna come out of this alive. Maybe cut down on his investment. Wouldn’t put it past the bastard. I may need to move things along a little faster than I figured. I don’t intend to be left out of that two-­thousand-­dollar bonus, after which Mr. Havens will quickly get to see the real Sleeve Jackson.

  “You sayin’ he’s fast?”

  “Didn’t say that, but he’s damned accurate.”

  “How accurate?”

  “You ever see Wild Bill Hickok shoot?

  “No.”

  “It was a sight. You didn’t never want to be the one he was aimin’ at. Gone now.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Got back-­shot. That’s what.”

  Chapter 28

  The town had been quiet—­too quiet—­for several weeks. Cotton didn’t like how unnatural it felt. All the while unsavory characters seemed to be gathering in Apache Springs like it was a convention site. Normally, he’d be taking in drunks for sleeping one off in doorways or trying to bust up the saloon after losing a month’s pay in a card game. Nothing of the sort had happened. It was as if someone had lit a very long fuse and was just waiting for it to reach the dynamite and blow everything to hell and back. Havens’s crew had as yet caused no problems, and they seemed to be keeping everyone else in check just by their presence. None of the cowhands from nearby ranches dared come up against men that, judging by their very looks, would be formidable adversaries—­drunk or sober. Man’s natural instincts for survival kept those less adept at gunplay alive to return to their families and out of the town’s Boot Hill.

  And the longer the lack of normalcy lingered, the more Cotton was fraught with turmoil, although he’d been trying hard to keep it inside. He didn’t want Emily to worry about him, and he sure as hell didn’t need Jack getting ahead of himself by trying to push one of Havens’s men into making a move. He’d seen that response in Jack before. Memphis Jack Stump was an easygoing, soft-­spoken man whose needs seemed to be met with a bottle of whiskey and a willing woman. He didn’t need a fortune, nor was he driven by the need to take a chance on one more hand of cards or roll of the dice. Not that the occasional game didn’t have its appeal, but never a man driven to succeed, for the most part Jack was content to sit back and let others do the heavy lifting. Being a deputy was a perfect position for such a man. Of course, as with many men with the same lack of ambition, he did have a couple of quirks that could be downright dangerous.

  Pushed to pull his Remington or die, Jack Stump had always chosen to risk a responsive hail of bullets by thumbing back his own hammer and letting fly. Never one to try talking his way out of a fight, Jack would shoot. And he was damned good at it. Sometimes, maybe, too good. That was just his way. Jack Stump had never precipitated a gunfight, but he’d ended his share of them, and almost always with a fatal outcome. That was one of the reasons Cotton had yanked Jack out of Melody’s house of prostitution in Gonzales and brought him here to help with that good-­for-­nothing bunch that had kidnap
ped Emily. Jack had proven perfect for the job.

  “Cotton, did you take note of that big fella that rode in about an hour ago?”

  “Yeah, what about him?”

  “Couldn’t place him at first, but I got to thinkin’ maybe I’ve seen him before.”

  “And . . .”

  “And I have. I went back through some of the wanted dodgers we got piled up. I found him. Name’s J.J. Bleeker. He’s apparently not a man to trifle with.”

  “Where’s he wanted?”

  “Now that’s the question. Says he was wanted for robbery and murder about three years ago in Colorado. That’s long enough that things might be different today.”

  “Send a telegram off to the sheriff of wherever he was wanted and see if he served some time or if he’s still got folks lookin’ for him.”

  Jack left and went to the telegraph office. When he walked in, he found the telegrapher tapping away at the key with one hand while writing something down with the other.

  “Be with you in a minute, Deputy,” said the man, without missing a beat.

  Jack nodded and turned toward the door. He stood in the doorway watching two riders pass by as they left town, while a wagon loaded with crates was arriving. A lady across the street stepped out of the millinery shop, trying to close the door with one hand and keep her new hat on with the other. She managed the door just in time to catch her skirt as it began to billow from a brisk wind whipping down the street. Dust whirled along the boardwalk causing a black-­and-­white dog to scuttle around the corner for refuge.

  “Now, Deputy, what can I do for you?”

  Jack turned. “I need to send a telegram off to Colorado, place called Lake City. I need information from the sheriff there about a man named J.J. Bleeker. Can you get that out for me?”

  “Sure. You want to know if he’s wanted or what?”