Cotton’s Inferno (16 page)

Chapter 30

T
he next morning, as Cotton was sweeping the floor inside the jail, Jack strode in whistling for all he was worth. He went straight for the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. The sheriff watched with a wicked grin as his deputy pulled back a chair, swung his feet up on the desk, and began blowing the steam from the cup of Arbuckles'. He switched from whistling to humming once he began sipping the coffee.

“Nice to see you back, Jack. For a while I thought you might have fallen into a bottomless pit of self-pity. Glad to see that didn't happen. Uh, it didn't, did it?”

“Nope.”

“The way you been actin' the past few days, I figured whatever was ailin' you had to have somethin' to do with Melody.”

“Yep.”

“I take it things have straightened themselves out.”

“Yep.”

“Good. Now we can get back to the business of keepin' the peace. You up for that?”

“Yep.”

“Then the first order of business is: Did you talk to the folks hereabouts concernin' anyone seein' any sign of Pick's old shotgun?”

“Nope, not yet. But, now that you bring it up, I'm about to.” Jack got up, gulped down his coffee, hiked up his gun belt, and went out the door almost as cheerfully as he'd come in.

I don't know what happened to change Jack's attitude, but I'd be in favor of more of it.

* * *

Jack went from one shop to another, sticking his head in and always asking the same question:
Have you seen that old ten-gauge shotgun that Pick Wheeler always carried, or anyone flashing a wad of bills?
By the time he got to the end of the street, covering both sides as well as the half dozen shops on a side street, he'd talked to everyone he could find. Neither hide nor hair of the old blunderbuss had been seen since Pick left town. Jack had purposefully avoided stopping by the gunsmith's shop. He didn't want to renew the confrontation with Carp Varner. Besides, he hadn't liked the man from the moment he'd first laid eyes on him, and since Melody had pulled one of her famous foolish moves in an effort to get her hands on a Colt .45 without any cost to her, except a roll in the hay, he thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. Not that he would ever forget the man's audacious and purposeful attempt to undermine a relationship he'd been well aware of. Situations like this almost always require a reckoning at one time or another. Jack would be certain to keep his eyes open.

As he made his way along the boardwalk back toward the jail, he had no way of knowing that behind the filthy windows of Burnside's shop stood a man with two shotgun shells in one hand and a double-barrel scattergun in the other. He opened the breech and slid each shell into a chamber. He snapped the old ten-gauge shut and slid it out of sight under the gun case.

Poetic justice is headed your way, Deputy. And it'll come when you least expect it.

* * *

Cotton was buoyed by the quick response he'd gotten from the man claiming to be Burnside's nephew. The telegram said he'd arrive in town in one week and would be carrying sufficient documents to substantiate his claim. He'd added that he, too, was an accomplished gunsmith and could prove it. He at least hinted at a desire to take over his uncle's business.

Cotton mulled the realization that this news wouldn't
sit well with Carp Varner. Then, out of nowhere, a devious thought crossed his mind.
I probably should let things be for a few days. On the other hand, it might be a good time to let Varner know someone is arriving in town to take up where Burnside left off. It'd be interesting to see what effect such news might have on our new gunsmith.
Since he had had second thoughts about Varner from the beginning, he felt no guilt about putting him to the test. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed exactly the right thing to do.
If he takes the news in stride, maybe I've been wrong about him. But if he flies into a rage, that might prove to be an opportunity to take him down a notch.

The feelings Cotton harbored about Varner puzzled him. Every time he saw him, the sheriff had an itch, and it only went away when the man was out of sight. Being a sheriff naturally made a man suspicious of others. It was an occupational hazard. But there was a niggling suspicion in Cotton's mind that this particular man harbored darker secrets than he would ever voluntarily disclose. It was up to Sheriff Burke to track down any such secret and bring it to light. And the sooner the better.

* * *

After the storm had passed and they could see there would still be sufficient daylight left to get closer to Socorro, Rachael and Johnny started down the hill to gather up their horse and rejoin the road. When they found her, their hobbled mare was nibbling on shoots of grass, seemingly unaffected by the big blow. Off to the south, they could see the effects flash flooding was having on the previously dry creek beds. Water rushed down the snakelike tributary, carrying with it all manner of debris—downed limbs, broken cacti, dead animals. Rachael was mesmerized by the sight of such destruction.

“Look, Johnny, over there. Isn't that an empty boat like fishermen use, all smashed on the rocks? Where could it have come from? I've never seen anything like that. All that stuff being pushed along to who knows where? I'm glad you were wise enough to guide us uphill and out of its way.”

“You're sure right about that. Why, I once heard a fellow up in Colorado got caught up in a deluge like that on a Sunday, and the rushing waters carried him all the way to Mexico, where he ended up on Tuesday. Of course, he wasn't all that upset because Mexico's where he wanted to go in the first place, and he'd had himself one helluva free ride,” Johnny said, with a smirk.

Rachael punched him in the back. “Laugh all you want to, mister, I'll admit I'm a little new to the more violent side of things out here, but I'll catch on, don't think I won't.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have teased you.”

“Oh, it's all right. I've been teased before, and it don't hurt none, leastways not so's a body'd notice.”

As they rode, Johnny kept an eye out for any hint they were getting close to Socorro, the place where the sheriff in Las Cruces had suggested Carp Varner might have headed. Of course, the elusive killer might have gone only a few miles, then changed direction and gone to Lordsburg or Silver City, instead. A man like Carp Varner didn't often do things the way most folks might figure. Johnny was acutely aware of that. Varner didn't shy away from trouble, either. He'd seen the man shoot someone for a mere slight, but then that kind of thing wasn't really anything out of the ordinary for small, dirty frontier towns. Violence was everywhere. But for a man to kill another man for no reason at all, then turn around and burn a whole town to the ground, taking innocent citizens with it, well that bespoke a man without a soul. A man inhabited by a demon so dark, no light could ever reach inside him.

That was a perfect description of Carp Varner, a man with Satan squeezing the very life out of him.

But pay it no mind, you bastard
,
Johnny thought,
because I'll catch up to you, and when I do, that demon better duck or he's goin' down with you
.

Chapter 31

B
lack Tom Callahan looked over with sleepy eyes. He and his two brothers, Stretch and Dal, had been in Apache Springs for a mere day and a half, spending their time staying to themselves, out of the public eye, and trying their best to be very subtle about keeping an eye on the comings and goings at the bank. They had set up camp outside of town, in a dense copse of trees by a creek, to avoid arousing suspicions as to their intentions, and when they came to town, they stayed far away from the saloon, where trouble often gathered.

“What's goin' through your mind, Tom?” asked Stretch, the tall, skinny brother whose nickname was an obvious reference to his appearance. All three Texas outlaws did their best to blend in and not bring undue attention to themselves, mostly spending the days lounging on a bench in front of the hotel pretending to read a newspaper or whittle a stick.

“That bank seems pretty busy. Another couple days and it'll be ready for the Callahan Brothers to stage a withdrawal. A big fat one. Any objections?”

“None from me,” Stretch said.

“I'm not near as sure as you two are,” Dal said. He sat forward and unfolded a well-read newspaper he'd picked out of the trash, shielding his comments with the paper held in front of his face. “I recognize that sheriff. Saw him in action a few years back in Texas. Not a man to mess with.”

“There're three of us, Dal, and only one of him. What's the problem?” Stretch said.

“He's got a deputy. Memphis Jack Stump. I've heard of him, too.”

“So what?”

“Makes it two of 'em we could have to face. And we don't know if there might be more with itchy trigger fingers,” Black Tom said. “And, I
mighta
made a mistake, but I could swear I caught a glimpse of a man that looked a lot like that son of a bitch Carp Varner walking out of the sheriff's office yesterday. Couldn't swear to it, though.”

“Varner? What the hell would he be doin' here?” Stretch asked.

“Who knows? I can't imagine he'd throw in with the law, more'n likely just the opposite. But if there was money to be made, who knows? With Varner, there's just no sense to be made of him or his ways,” Dal added.

“I can't figure out why the man's still alive. Shoulda been gunned down a long time ago, far as I'm concerned,” Stretch said.

“I'm thinkin' the same. But folks do seem to put up with a lot of hell-raisin' before they get down to doin' somethin' about it,” Dal said. “I give you Dirty Dave Rudabaugh as an example of what I'm sayin'. Now, can either of you tell me why that filthy pig is still runnin' around free as a bird?”

“The man's got nine lives, like a cat's supposed to have. Although, I never really believed that,” Stretch said.

Black Tom rolled his eyes.

Dal just shook his head.

“How about if I go into the bank, maybe ask about how safe the place is? I could act like I'm thinkin' of movin' a large sum of money to a bank that'd be safer than that tin box they got in Socorro,” Stretch said.

Still shaking his head, Dal said, “Now, pray tell what banker is goin' to believe you got two cents to rub together, let alone a ‘large sum'?”

“If I snuck into one of them stores at night and stole myself some nice duds, I'll bet they'd believe me,” Stretch said.

“All right, enough! Bickerin' ain't goin' to get us anywhere. I say we continue to lay low for a few more days, at least until we can size up who all we might be up against. Can't be in a hurry when there's big money at stake,” Black Tom said, biting his lip and looking off into the distance.

* * *

Carp Varner was keeping a keen, but clandestine, watch out for the Callahan Brothers, where they went and where they were at all times. He was spooked by what their presence might mean to his own plans for Apache Springs. They were the only ones who knew him and his reputation from back in Texas. He made sure he left his shop only after dark, and then he went out the back way, staying close to the buildings and remaining in the shadows. Fortunately, during the day he could spot them as they rode into town and took their places on the hotel porch.

As he was ramming a rod with a cloth down the barrel of a Sharps rifle that had come in the day before, he got an idea. He'd noticed the Callahans rode in early and left town late in the day. It was almost as if they were coming and going on a schedule. But why? The only reason he could think of was to make sure no one followed them to learn where they were holed up. But who would care? Maybe someone in town had recognized them and knew them for what they were: outlaws. As far as Carp knew, however, they weren't wanted in New Mexico for anything. At least not yet. He
had
noticed they stayed away from the saloon and seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time lounging around on the porch of the hotel or on the public bench outside the mercantile.

Maybe they don't want to draw attention to themselves for some particular reason
.
That's it! They're plannin' on robbin' the bank, and, if so, that could interfere with whatever plans I may come up with for this town.

He pondered that idea for a while, not certain if sharing such information with the sheriff would be beneficial to him or not. If he voiced his suspicions, the sheriff would probably only keep an eye on the Callahans, since he couldn't arrest them based on hearsay of a citizen, and a recent one at that. Sheriff Burke would ask him why he had misgivings about the men, who, to that point at least, had caused no trouble, even if they were wanted in Texas. Then there'd be more questions about how he knew them and then the inevitable digging into his own past. He didn't need any of that. While he'd been very careful not to leave any trail that could be followed by anyone except an Indian, he could never be too careful about what information he shared with anyone.

He set about changing some of the furniture around in the shop and cleaning the dirt off the front window. He scooted the display case around so instead of a customer walking up to it as soon as he came in, he'd have to turn to the left. He then put the workbench at a ninety-degree angle to the counter. That way he had a better view outside at all times. He also kept two loaded revolvers in the desk drawer and the ten-gauge shotgun under the counter. He never went anywhere without his own sidearm, either. His Smith & Wesson Schofield had served him well for a long time. Besides, he felt naked without it strapped on and ready.

Looking over the new layout, he smiled to himself, satisfied he'd done all he could to thwart any danger the Callahans might conjure up on his behalf, if on the off chance they spotted him. He wasn't about to leave himself vulnerable to whatever mischief those notorious gunslingers might be considering. Another thought then popped into his mind.

What if he was to jump in and help take down the Callahans when, or if, they
did
attempt something as audacious as robbing the bank? Of course, he'd have to be sure none of them lived to say anything about him. Would that make him a hero in the eyes of the community? Could becoming an instant hero erase the doubt that he'd clearly seen in the sheriff's eyes? He pulled the ten-gauge from beneath the counter and leaned it against the workbench.

If those three boys are fixin' to do what I think they are, this old ten-gauge scattergun will come in handy. Why, I might even be asked to consider becoming a deputy. Now, wouldn't that just speed my future in the community right along?