Cotton’s Inferno (15 page)

Chapter 28

A
s Jack returned to the jail, Cotton could see he was about to explode. The deputy came storming in, went straight for the first cell, lay down, and rolled over toward the wall. Cotton had known Memphis Jack long enough to see the signs of an anger so intense that any attempt to mollify the situation could get a man shot. He decided to keep quiet and let things settle out. He continued reading the week-old newspaper he'd been perusing when Jack came in. Since asking Jack what the problem was seemed out of the question, he decided to wander over to the saloon and listen in on any conversations that might touch on the subject. Clearly, whatever it was that had his deputy so steamed, Melody had played a part. And knowing Melody, as Cotton did, it was likely a huge part.

He'd no sooner entered through the batwings than he heard Melody shouting orders down to Arlo, the barkeep. “Bring me up a couple bottles of that Kentucky Bourbon and send Mr. Varner upstairs when he gets here!” She slammed the door to her bedroom.

Looks like Mr. Varner has made himself a friend . . . and an enemy
.
Not sure I'd want to be in his shoes in either instance.

When Arlo came over to the sheriff's table and asked if he wanted anything, Cotton said he'd have a beer. There were almost no customers at that time of day, so when Arlo brought the glass of beer, he pulled out a chair and sat down.

Cotton had chosen a table along one side of the room. He almost always sat alone, not being one to engage in conversations with strangers, especially when one of them might someday turn out to be confrontational when drunk. Cotton thanked the barkeep and took a sip.

“What was that all about?” Cotton asked.

“Don't know for sure, but I think Miss Melody is pretty upset with Jack because of the loss of her money.”

“How does she figure Jack could have done anything to prevent it? After all, even though he tried, he couldn't stop her from making a foolish investment in a worthless mine.”

“I know. One minute she can be sweet as sugar, and the next minute, a she-cougar defending her cubs couldn't compare to that lady,” Arlo said, looking down at the floor. He was obviously shy talking about Melody behind her back.

“I'm not clear on why she'd take up with Carp Varner, though. He hasn't been here long enough to get to know her.”

“First day he wandered in here, covered in trail dust and thirsty as a desert rat, he saw her prance through in one of her fanciest dresses and he said to me he had every intention of bedding her. I told him that'd be the stupidest thing he ever did. I figured that'd be the end of that, but he swore to me he'd make good his desires sure as there's fires in hell.”

“Sounds like he may get his wish.”

“Hard to say. I never figured she'd turn on Jack. And certainly not over something that wasn't his fault. She's a puzzle, all right.” Arlo scooted his chair back as a couple cowboys wandered in. “Time to get to work. See you later, Sheriff.”

Cotton held up his glass to the barkeep, then downed the contents in one long swallow. Having set the glass on the table, he slowly walked to the door and, stopping to glance up to Melody's bedroom, turned and left. When he started off the boardwalk, he saw Varner coming toward him with a big grin on his face.

“Business must be looking up, Mr. Varner, at least judging by the look on your face.”

“You noticed, huh? Yep, Sheriff, things are giving every indication of getting even better minute by minute now.” Varner didn't stop to chat but breezed by, straight up the steps and into the saloon like a man on a serious mission. Cotton noticed he carried a Colt .45 stuck in the front of his gun belt. He seemed unusually well armed.

I wonder what that Colt is for.
Shaking his head, he turned and walked the dusty street toward the telegraph office.
Probably something quite innocent. Right now, I reckon it's time I contact Burnside's nephew, if Burnside really did have a nephew.

* * *

“Thank you, Johnny,” Rachael whispered. She sat behind him with her arms wrapped around him so tightly he couldn't have escaped if he'd wanted to. “Thank you for letting me come with you.”

“Huh?” Johnny said, the wind whipping around them and making it hard to hear. The chattering sounds of birds usually filled the air, but today they were strangely silent, their cheery calls blown to the four corners of the earth by mini tornadoes swirling across the sands.

“I said, thank you for bringing me.” She hugged him tighter.

“Oh.”

The wind seemed to be picking up, and within minutes dark clouds started appearing over the mountains to the west. That wasn't something he looked forward to. A late summer storm often blew up winds carrying sands that could strip the paint off a building, or sudden showers with their attendant flash floods. He sniffed the air. It was there. You couldn't miss it. All the signs of a monster storm were building. The breeze picked up more and brought with it the unmistakable smell of rain.

This one looks to be about to drown us. We better get to cover. But where? There doesn't look to be anywhere that won't put us in worse danger. Time's running out. That gully washer will be on us in less than a half hour, I'd bet my britches on it.

“What is it, Johnny? You seem tense all of a sudden,” she said. With her face buried in Johnny's shirt, she was protected from the dust and the smell of rain. “What's got you bothered?”

“We got to find some shelter, and fast. We're about to be visited by one of them huge summer blows.”

“I don't see anything. Where?” She was now on alert also, scanning the sky and the desert from side to side. He leaned over so she could see what he'd been looking at for a while. What lay ahead was black, swirling, mountainous billows of towering storm clouds.

“Oh, my!” she said, her eyes wide. “What'll we do?”

He swung his head ninety degrees in each direction. The prospects were bleak. Few trees. Where he did see trees, they were obviously along a small creek, the last place to seek shelter when the heavens opened up and dumped an ocean's worth of water on the earth. Suddenly, he stopped and stared, squinting to sharpen the image of what he saw. Or, at least, what he thought he saw. Off to the south about a mile there was what appeared to be a cave on the side of a rock-strewn hill. It was about halfway up the incline and far enough away from where water might reach to safely ride out the storm.

“There! That looks to be a likely spot. We'll head for that dark opening,” he shouted. She could barely hear him above the increasing winds.

He kicked the mare to a run. Obviously aware of the danger herself, the horse didn't hesitate. They rode against the wind, covering their mouths and noses with kerchiefs to keep from ingesting half the desert's sand.

Johnny reined in a hundred feet from the entrance to what he'd presumed to be a cave. Between them and the entrance was too much loose rock and too many tight squeezes for him to take the horse farther. He hobbled the animal as far up from the base of the hill as he dared, took his rifle and Rachael's hand, and started up the slippery incline. Getting close enough to the opening to peer in, he was nervous about the possibility of coming upon another puma. He let go of Rachael's hand, lifted the rifle, checked that it had a cartridge loaded, and stood just outside the gaping dark hole. He raised the Springfield and fired a smoky blast into the dark hole. The blast lit up the interior, showing it going back only a few feet, too shallow to harbor any large animals. Rattlesnakes, however, were always a danger. He listened intently for any sound coming from the darkness. Fingering another cartridge, he loaded it in preparation for whatever might come next. No sounds emanated from the shallow cave, so he called to Rachael to come back. Things would be all right.

Johnny and Rachael ducked inside just as the storm broke over them.

Chapter 29

A
rlo pointed at the curving staircase with a long, bony finger, directing Carp Varner to Melody's quarters. In an obvious hurry, Carp took the stairs two at a time, arriving in front of her door with the quickest of strides. He removed his hat, licked his fingers, and slicked down his hair, then knocked.

“Who is it?” came a syrupy voice from inside.

“Uh, it's me, ma'am, Carp Varner, the gunsmith.”

“Why, do come in, Mr. Varner,” she answered, in a voice a Southern belle would envy. “I hope you brought what I asked for.”

He eased open the door, to find Melody lounging on her bed, propped up against a half dozen fat pillows. She wore a revealing gown that fell open sufficiently to display her ample pulchritude. Her white legs were crossed at the ankles, and she seemed to be fussing over what was once a long necklace, but which had now become merely a tangled pile of silver links.

“I'll just bet a gunsmith is very clever with his hands, wouldn't you agree, sir?” Melody flashed him a coy smile.

“I would indeed. Would you like for me to take a look at that mess you're fiddling with?”

“Oh, I surely would. Why don't you come sit next to me here and I'll just place the whole job in your capable hands?” Melody's voice had lost any semblance of subtlety and was now quite blatantly offering up an invitation to sample her charms. Her gown fell off one shoulder as she wriggled to one side, allowing Carp the space he might need to accomplish the task at hand.

* * *

Jack had tried unsuccessfully to take a nap, in hopes of calming his frayed nerves. His anger at Melody over her unreasonable reaction to his revelation that they'd had no luck finding her lost money had not diminished. Too frustrated by her attitude, he decided to confront her head-on. He was through trying to keep the peace by giving in to her every demand. He rolled off the bunk, pulled on his boots, strapped on his gun belt, and strode out the door. Cotton eyed him suspiciously as he passed the desk without a word.

His purposeful gait might suggest to anyone he passed on his way to the saloon that he'd firmly adopted a new attitude. He drew in a deep breath to shake off the effects of his restlessness as he barged into the saloon.

Arlo looked up and immediately broke into a wide-eyed, panicked stare, overcome by fear of what Jack might do if he found Carp Varner in
his
bed with
his
woman.

“Melody upstairs, Arlo?” Jack asked, stopping briefly at the bottom of the staircase.

“Melody? Uh, well, I . . .”

“You
do
remember Melody, don't you, Arlo? The one who pays you to dispense cheap booze and stare at deputies with dumbfounded expressions? That Melody.”

“Yes, of course, I know who Melody is, uh, how about if I go up and knock on her door and see if she's there and tell her that you'd like to see her and . . .”

“What the hell has you so spooked? I don't recall ever seeing you at such a loss for words, unless she's got someone with her. Is that it, Arlo? She entertaining a guest?”

“I-I-I don't, uh, know, Jack. Why don't y-you let me find out? Okay?” The barkeep's nervousness had spoken volumes, even though he'd tried to keep from blurting out words that he knew could easily get a person killed. He didn't favor any possibility of him being that person.

His patience stretched to its limit, Jack spun around and launched up the staircase. When he got to the top, he grabbed the doorknob to Melody's room, twisted it, and burst inside. There he saw Melody lying wrapped in an embrace with Carp Varner, whose pants had somehow fallen down around his ankles. Varner was kissing her and grabbing at her breasts with lustful vigor. In less time than it would take a man to blink, Jack's Remington .44 was in his hand, cocked and pointing directly at the gunsmith's buttocks.

“You son of a bitch! You have five seconds to get your ass out of that bed and away from
my
woman. Failing that, you'll be spending the rest of your life with a serious hitch in your git-along. One . . .”

Completely caught off guard, Carp fell off the bed trying to gather his wits and pull his britches up. His gun belt was lying on the floor beside the bed, too far for him to make a reach for the Smith & Wesson that rested in his holster. He scrambled to pull himself together.

“Two . . .”

Carp took hold of the mule ears of one of his boots, tugging as hard as he could before discovering he had it on the wrong foot.

“Three . . .”

Varner scuttled toward the door. Finally, he fumbled to get a grip on a chair and pull himself to a full standing position. He still had to hold his pants closed with one hand while he limped through the open door, one boot on, the other in his empty hand. Jack scooped up Carp's gun belt and threw it at him.

“Four . . .”

“I'm gone! I'm gone!” Carp yelled over his shoulder as he started down the stairs, lost his footing, and tumbled all the way to the bottom. Fumbling to get himself together and stand, he'd barely made it through the batwings when he heard Jack's shout.

“Five!”

“What the hell do you think you're doing, Jack!” Melody screamed at him, trying without success to gather the front of her gown together.

“I'm gettin' ready to make one less whore in this town!” He pointed the Remington at her.

In a panic, she began pulling pillows all around her to create a fortress to somehow stop Jack's shot. She sat wide-eyed and shivering with fear, tears streaming down her face as she clung to anything she could find for protection. She whined pathetically, choking back a cry. Her breath had been reduced to short, sorrowful gasps.

Jack glared at her with fire in his eyes. “Reckon
your
time has come, bitch!”

“No! No, please! Jack, Jack, honey, it was all a mistake. You know how much I love you. He just came up to, uh, sell me a gun. I swear!”

“He needed to jump your near-naked body to point out the finer points of a six-shooter? What kind of a fool do you take me for?”

“He started to take advantage of me for whatever reason I cannot imagine. I tried to fight him off, but as you could see, he was much stronger than me. I just couldn't—”

“Stop it, Melody! I'm sick of your lies, your selfishness, your wildly stupid schemes.”

When he turned to leave, she pleaded all the more.

“Don't leave, Jack, please. Come here and make love to me. I promise I'll never stray again. Please!” Completely naked, Melody swung her legs off the bed and got down on her knees, pleading.

Jack gave a huge sigh, reached down, and pulled her to her feet. He stared at her for a second while his anger subsided. Then he pushed her back on the pillow-strewn bed and dove on her. He couldn't get out of his clothes fast enough. The Remington clattered to the floor. They made love for the first time in a week—at a fever pitch.