Cotton's Devil (9781101618523) (7 page)

Jeremiah's face tuned red from the dressing down. He slunk over to a chair near the door and sat in silence. Delilah looked as if she was going to get sick. Cotton led her outside for some fresh air.
He
wasn't all that interested in watching the old lady demonstrate her sewing skills, either.

Delilah crossed her arms and stared off into the dark. Cotton started to say something, but her pensiveness gave him pause. He'd wanted to ask her about Bart Havens, her relationship with him, and some further explanation about her claim to have been the one who killed him. His curiosity about her relationship with Jack was also on his mind. The light from several lanterns inside glowed through the open door like a shaft of sunlight when it peeks through holes in dark clouds. Her features were accentuated by the warm radiance on her cheeks and her raven hair. He had no trouble understanding why Thorn had taken such a liking to her. But exactly who
was
this beautiful but mysterious woman? He needed to know, but for the moment at least, he had no sense of how to go about penetrating her facade.

She looked over at him after several silent minutes. “You have questions, don't you?”

Cotton was stunned by her perception of what had been going through his mind. “Yup, reckon I do, at that.”

“First, you can't understand how a woman like me could have tied up with Havens in the first place. Right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“It was never what you thought, not what anyone thought. Havens paid me to act as his eyes and ears in town. He never bedded me, nor did he ask to. He did, however, demand complete allegiance to him and his scheme.”

“I assume you went along with him out of a need for a livelihood. Right?”

“I was broke. Destitute. My husband had just been hanged for absconding with some horses and cattle that belonged to someone else. Never made it to a trial. Vigilantes took justice into their own hands. Bastards.”

“I don't hold with vigilantes, but then I also don't hold with folks taking things that don't belong to them. Havens was an old hand at that.”

Delilah looked away briefly. “I know. But when you're in desperate need of money, you don't always have a firm grip on the difference between right and wrong.”

“How did Havens dealing in counterfeit money play into your moral dilemma?”

“I-I never knew he was using counterfeit money. I couldn't tell the difference. It never occurred to me to even ask. Thorn didn't know either.”

Cotton stroked his chin, puzzling over her claim of innocence. He wasn't quite ready to be taken in by a beautiful woman, although it would have been easy to do.

“When did you figure it out?”

“When those folks in Silver City raised a ruckus. We realized we had to get out of there before someone started talking about a necktie party. As it was, the marshal arrested Thorn before we could leave. The citizenry was madder than a coop of wet hens.”

“Can you blame them?”

“Well, no, I suppose not.”

“Back in Apache Springs, you didn't question why Havens was putting the town's money in valises separate from his money?”

“No, Sheriff, I did not. It was only after the marshal in Silver City told Thorn we'd been spreading fake bills all over town that I figured it out.”

“Havens musta figured he needed to keep the monies separate so he could pull the same scheme again in some other unsuspecting community,” Cotton said.

“I imagine so.”

Cotton began to stare at his boots as if he was thinking of something else. Delilah picked up on his pensiveness.

“Is there something else you wanted to ask?”

“When you said that fellow Denby looked familiar, where is it you figured to have met him?”

“I don't know, but for some strange reason when I saw him, Bart Havens came to mind.”

“You think there might be a tie between them?”

Before Delilah could answer, they were interrupted.

“Sheriff, you best come inside now,” Mrs. Hardin called out. “Your man is sound asleep. Actually, he's drunker'n a skunk.”

Delilah led the way back inside. Thorn McCann was snoring loudly, spread out naked to the waist, wrapped mummy-like in long strips of white cloth. Delilah walked over and sat beside the bed. She put her hand on his arm. Cotton gave Mrs. Hardin a questioning glance.

“Can't say for certain, mind you, but I got him sewed up real nice and tight. Got the bleeding stopped and the wounds good and cleaned out. If no infection comes on him, he'll survive. Hope that's the answer you was lookin' for, Sheriff.”

“It was, indeed, ma'am. You think he'll be able to travel tomorrow?”

“If 'twas up to me, I'd say let him rest up for a couple more days. Oughta let them holes sorta grow together some on their own. If you're in a hurry to get on with your own business, he's welcome to stay for a spell.”

“That's kind of you, Mrs. Hardin. I may take the rest of these folks out tomorrow and head on to Apache Springs. Hopefully we won't run into any more Apaches. Word is these hills are full of 'em. You better keep a keen eye out yourself.”

“Jeremiah and I have been drivin' them red rascals off every whipstitch for over ten years now. They don't come
around much anymore. They never did take a liking to Jeremiah's ten-gauge,” she said with a crooked grin.

“Since the stage is out of business for a couple more days, how's about loanin' me three horses to transport Mr. Denby, Miss Delilah, and Jimmy back with me? The county will reimburse you for their use.”

“Reckon that'd be all right. You plannin' on leavin' in the mornin'?”

“That's my plan.”

Mrs. Hardin hollered for Jeremiah to have three extra horses saddled and ready at first light.

“Yes, Ma,” Jeremiah answered, somewhat bitterly.

Cotton marveled at the way she got things accomplished with just the two of them, and, of course, Jeremiah's complete acquiescence to everything she demanded of him.

I
n a dust-blown town on the East Texas prairie, weeks before Sheriff Cotton Burke departed on his quest to save Thorn McCann from the hangman's noose, the devil's own plans were being set in motion, which would change Apache Springs forever.

A large, rough-looking man with a scowl that seemed to say, “keep the hell out of my way,” tied his dun-colored mare to a railing in front of a narrow storefront with peeling paint and filthy windows. He looked around before entering through the door, almost instantly coming face-to-face with the man he was there to see. The man motioned for him to take a seat across from him.

A thin, shriveled old man sat behind a huge oak desk littered with scraps of newspaper stories, clipped and tossed randomly about. Paper nearly covered the entire top of the desk. The balding gent wore a wrinkled shirt that might have been white at one time but was now a sad, badly worn and faded gray. A wooden gavel sat next to a hunk of stained walnut that was dented from too many abuses from the old
man's rulings. A lightly stained, hand-carved wedge of wood at the front edge of the desk proclaimed the man who sat behind it was Judge Arthur Sanborn.

Across from Sanborn sat a grizzled, Kentucky-born, self-styled gunslinger with a flat-brimmed hat tilted back on his head. He wore two guns: one a .44 Remington and the other a .38 Smith & Wesson with a spur trigger that rested in a shoulder holster. He went by the name his daddy had bestowed upon him at birth: James Lee Hogg. He hung his duster on a peg behind him. The office–or what Sanborn referred to as his courtroom–was tiny, dusty, and cluttered. No trials had been held there for a very long time.

“Hogg, I sent for you to do a job for me, a serious job. So let's get down to business.”

“That's what I'm here for, Mr. Sanborn.”

“Judge! That's
Judge
Sanborn! And don't you forget it!” Sanborn slammed his hand on the desktop.

“I heard a rumor that the county commissioners fired your scrawny ass two years ago, and that you ain't a judge no more. Ain't that right?”

“Never you mind about whether I am or am not currently a judge. This is but a temporary setback. So it don't affect our association. Got that?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say. Go ahead and lay it out for me.”

“You must listen carefully and do just as I say,” Sanborn said.

“Just as long as the deal is for cash on delivery.”

“That's the deal. What I want you to do is make nothing but trouble for a certain Sheriff Burke in Apache Springs. You ever heard of him?”

“We've met and it weren't all that friendly.”

“Well, I want him pushed to the limit. He has to be angry enough to call you out.”

“And then I'm supposed to take him down?”

“Not exactly. I'll be taking care of that end of things.”

“What's in it for me?”

“Two thousand dollars cash money.”

“We goin' there together?”

“No. I've some business to finish before I get there. You'll have to use your own judgment as to how much pain you bring to the sheriff. Just don't shoot him.”

“How're you gonna know I've done what you're askin' if you aren't there?”

“I'll know, all right. I got eyes and ears taking note of every move you make. I don't want you trying to kill him until I get there. I just want him to have plenty of reason to want you dead.” Sanborn shook a bony fist at Hogg. His nod sealed the deal.

“I've heard tell Burke ain't too easy to kill. Didn't you send another bounty hunter after him? He never came back, did he?” James Lee Hogg lifted one eyebrow and gave the judge a wry grin. “You likely got a story on his demise in one of them clippin's spread all over your desk.”

“I have no idea whether he's dead or alive. Ain't important now, anyway. Never felt Thorn McCann was all that reliable, but, at the time, I was forced to rely on him,” Sanborn said.

“What if I come up against resistance from Burke's family?”

“He doesn't have any family. Believe me, I've looked high and low for some relative—a brother, cousin, uncle—anyone I could kill in retribution for Burke shooting my only son, Billy.”

“And the well came up dry? There's no one?”

“Not that I can find. Now, that don't mean he hasn't taken up with some woman of recent. If he has, kill her. I'm none too particular who falls to your gun, Hogg. Just as long as it has a devastating impact on that murdering badge-toter.”

“How come I have to wait for you to get to town?”

“I
must
be there to see it!
Absolutely must!
And as many men can attest, I'm not a good man to cross.”

“That's plain enough for me. I'm goin' to need some
travelin' money, though, and enough for a hotel room when I get there. You say he's in Apache Springs, New Mexico Territory?”

Sanborn reached down into a lower desk drawer and drew out a tin box. He opened it and pulled a stack of bills from it. One of the two hinges was rusted through, nearly causing the top to break free. He pulled off several bills and handed them across the desk to Hogg.

“That's right, Apache Springs. Here's fifty dollars. That ought to get you food, room and board, and ammunition sufficient for your journey.”

Hogg took the money with a greedy grin on his scarred and deeply lined face.

“Should be. Well, then, I reckon I'll be off to do the job McCann couldn't. I'll send you a telegram when I got him good and riled. That way, it'll give you time to come up with every penny of my money so I don't have to wait around after you give me the go-ahead to kill him.”

“One more thing, Mr. Hogg. You'll not be working entirely alone when things get serious,” Sanborn said.

“I don't need no help. I can take that sheriff.”

“You'll take the help and be glad for it. I guarantee.”

“Who is this so-called helper?”

“You'll be given that information at the proper time.”

“What's the matter with now?” Hogg growled.

The old man said nothing as he drilled the gunslinger with a glare that could have killed a rattler.

Feeling unfairly chastised, Hogg scooted his chair back, stood with a frown, grabbed his duster from a peg, and left his dusty surroundings in favor of some sunshine. He stood for a moment to acquaint himself with the small, dirty, ramshackle cluster of buildings, hoping to find a general store where he could buy supplies. Finally he saw a narrow whipsaw-sided building with a sign that proclaimed it as having
EVERYTHING A BODY MIGHT NEED FOR TRAVEL OR SETTLING DOWN
.

“Looks like a perfect place to spend some of the old man's money,” he mumbled bitterly.

*  *  *

Hogg chewed on a stick of hard candy as he slowly made his way across the Texas prairie and into the mountains to the west. He'd been in the saddle for two and a half days now and was growing impatient to reach New Mexico, even though he knew Apache Springs was all the way across the territory to the southwest. Another three, maybe four days should bring him face-to-face with his quarry and a showdown between him and the sheriff with a reputation for being too tough to kill. He laughed to himself at the thought. While it wasn't something he was willing to share with the grizzled old judge, James Lee Hogg already had a little history with the sheriff of Apache Springs.