Cotton’s Inferno (24 page)

Chapter 46

H
ow come you left me to do all the work myself? I thought you offered to come along to help?” Teddy's words carried the sting of disappointment with them. He was noticeably perturbed by Johnny's hasty withdrawal.

“I'm sorry, but I had something that needed doin'. Won't happen again.”

“Darn tootin' it won't, because I'll be comin' alone the next time.” Teddy looked straight ahead as he angrily slapped the reins on the horse's rump to hurry her along.

“I said I was sorry.”

“Yeah, well what's more important than doin' what you say you're goin' to do?”

“Oh, I fully intend to do what I've said. Count on it.” Johnny glowered straight ahead as the buckboard pitched and rolled with the added weight of three rolls of heavy fencing wire.

“And just what would that be?” Teddy's response to Johnny's elusive answer was snappish.

“I'm goin' to even the score with a snivelin', belly-crawlin' snake. I'm goin' to put him in the ground sure as I'm sittin' here. And that's somethin'
you
can count on.”

Teddy chose to discontinue the conversation at that point. He figured this new hand wasn't quite right in the head. He went back to making certain they got back to the ranch in one piece, even if a couple times in the waning sunlight that seemed unlikely, as a result of one or another of the wheels dropping precipitously into ruts that drifted too close to the edge of the often washed-out road and its attendant steep drop-offs.

* * *

“I'd better go into town and see if I can find this wayward lad, Emily. I'll bring him back and you can figure a way to deal with him, just as soon as I get some answers about this supposed killin'.”

Emily stood with arms crossed to keep away the chill. She had wrapped a crocheted shawl around her shoulders, but the breeze still carried with it a nippy warning of things to come.

“If you don't get back tonight, I'll assume you have him safe and sound.”

“Let's hope it's that easy.”

As he reined the mare around, there came the distinctive sound of the buckboard straining under a load. Down at the end of the lane, Teddy jumped off and began to lead the horse uphill. Johnny, too, had gotten out to lighten the load. The horse was lathered and wheezing. As they got closer, Cotton stepped down from his saddle and retied the reins to the rail. He walked out to help the boys unload the wire.

“You fellows need a hand?” Cotton said.

“Howdy, Sheriff. Yessir, it'd be nice to have a pair of reliable hands to help with the unloading,” Teddy said, with a clearly sarcastic tone to his voice. Johnny said nothing. He was staring wide-eyed at Cotton. The fearful look did not go unnoticed.

“Reckon I'm the only one that don't have other duties. I'll grab a pair of gloves and be right back.” Cotton wandered off toward the bunkhouse. He came back in seconds with a pair of heavy leather gloves suitable for handling rolls of barbwire that could slice a man's hands to shreds if mishandled. Johnny continued to keep a close eye on the lawman.

Cotton and the two boys got the job done quickly, with the wire stored beside the barn. It would have to wait for the next day to be used to build onto the corral. When they'd finished, Emily called them to come in for supper, but insisted they not forget to wash up first. Cotton was amused at the expression on Johnny's face. It appeared the boy was none too fond of being mothered. Teddy, on the other hand, loved being thought of as a part of the ranch family.

When all were seated, Emily set bowls of potatoes, beans, carrots, and canned tomatoes out for everyone to take what he wanted. She then came around with a platter of sizzling meat, rare and juicy, and smelling like heaven. Cotton rose to fetch the coffeepot, when suddenly Rachael jumped up and said, “I'll get it, sir. Sorry I forgot my manners.”

Cotton thanked her, sat back, and cut into a hunk of steak. He chewed extra slowly in order to decide the best way to get the conversation going in the direction he desired. Emily had given him a talking to about rushing into the subject of killings and such. She had sensed the deep conviction both of these young people held of delivering justice to one who deserved it in the strictest terms. And Cotton had firsthand knowledge of dispensing justice. He had only to look back on his own recent past to conjure up an example.

“Emily tells me you're from Texas, Johnny. What part?”

Johnny made sure to swallow before speaking, just like he'd been taught.

“When my pa and me got to a little spit of a town, he said it looked a fair to middlin' place to settle, for a while, at least. It was called Whiskey Crossing, mostly 'cause it wasn't much more than a saloon, a general store, and a livery. The livery had a blacksmith, though.”

“Sounds like most towns hereabouts that started from dust and cactus, then grew to lots more dust and cactus. Just added a few sticks.”

That made Johnny crack the least bit of a smile, which spread to Rachael.

“How long did you live in Whiskey Crossing?”

“Oh, about four years, I reckon. On the way through Texas, my ma caught the fever and died. It wasn't long after we arrived my pa got bit by a rattler. He died before I could get him help. The townsfolk put up with me and made me feel welcome. So I stayed, since I really didn't have nowhere else to go.”

“What did you do there?”

“I swept out the saloon every night. Then I helped at the livery, muckin' stalls an' such. Even helped stock shelves and carry in boxes when they was delivered at the general store.”

“And you got paid to do all this?”

“In a manner of speakin', yep. They fed me three meals a day and let me sleep in the back room of the saloon.”

“Was there a school?”

“Uh, no, there weren't no schoolhouse. But the whore, er, sorry, the
lady
at the saloon could read and write some, and she took the time to teach me to cipher and make my letters.”

“So, what was it that made you decide to leave? It doesn't sound like a bad place to live.”

“No, sir, it wasn't. Fact is, I felt like I belonged. Those folks was my family.”

“But you left.”

“Not 'cause I was of a mind to. There weren't nothin' left after that bastard burned the whole town to the ground. Killed every livin' thing. All gone in a horrific blaze. An inferno!”

“That's terrible! How did you escape?”

“I was down the hill dumpin' a load of manure from the livery when I heard the shouts and the shootin' and the screams and cryin'. I crawled back to the top of the hill and saw it all, but that lowdown snake didn't see me.”

“Why would somebody do such a terrible thing, Johnny?”

“I figured it was because he lost the election for mayor and folks laughed at him. He was evil when he came to town, though. Didn't just up and get that way overnight. Why, he shot four men over several weeks, most for back-talkin' him. Worst man I ever did see.”

“Who is this man? Is he the one you're lookin' for?”

“How'd you know I was lookin' for someone?”

“I-I reckon I, er, let it slip, Johnny.” Rachael spoke up. “I'm sorry.”

Johnny looked into Rachael's eyes, eyes that were pleading for his understanding.

“That's okay, Rachael. It don't matter. I'm still goin' to get him.”

“You haven't told me who this man is, Johnny,” Cotton insisted.

“Name's Carp Varner. That's who. And I figure he's in Apache Springs.”

“Carp Varner!” Cotton's mouth dropped at the news. He'd thought all along that there was something rotten about Varner, and now it appeared he was right.

“What do you figure to do, Cotton?” Emily asked, her face shadowed with fear.

“First thing in the mornin', Johnny and I are goin' into town.”

“You arrestin' me, Sheriff?” Johnny said.

“Not exactly.”

Chapter 47

E
arly the next morning, Cotton sauntered into the dining room. All of Emily's ranch hands were already there, each eagerly chowing down on the day's fare. They paid him no mind, having become comfortable with him showing up at unexpected times. He looked around to see Emily coming from the kitchen with a bowl of freshly baked biscuits. She smiled at him. He noticed Rachael sitting next to an empty chair, looking nervous.

“Good morning, Rachael. Where's Johnny?” he asked as he took a seat and unfolded his napkin.

“I, uh, I'm not sure. I haven't seen him this morning.”

Cotton was clearly concerned about the young man's absence, especially after his confessing the previous evening to a deep desire to seek out and kill Carp Varner. The sheriff placed his napkin on his plate and walked out of the room. He went to the porch and looked around. Seeing no signs of the boy, he jogged across the yard to the bunkhouse. Throwing the door open, he wasn't surprised at what he found. Or didn't find. Johnny's bunk was empty. His gun belt and six-shooter were also missing. Peeking inside the corral, he saw that the mare the two young people had ridden in on was gone, along with the saddle. He gathered up his own horse and then ran back to the house. He called inside to tell Emily he had to leave and that he'd be back later. He was just clearing the front gate when she stepped out onto the porch with a look of concern.

Henry Coyote came around the corner of the house. Seeing him, Emily asked, “Do you know where Cotton has gone off to?”

“No. Go in hurry. No words.”

“Never mind whatever you were going to do today. I want you to go after the sheriff. Find out what's going on. He may need help. And if you see Johnny, tell him to come in for breakfast.”

“Young boy no here.”

“What do you mean, not here?”

“He go early. Take horse. Go in direction of town.”

“Damn! So that's where Cotton went, to catch up with that young adventurer. Go find them, Henry. Find them and keep them safe.”

Henry must have anticipated something akin to the orders he'd just been given because he had no sooner disappeared into the barn than he emerged almost instantly, mounted on his pony and ready to ride. He was carrying his Spencer rifle, and a bandolier of cartridges was draped across his chest.

As Emily turned to go back inside, she came face-to-face with an anxious Rachael. “He's gone, isn't he? He's gone to kill that awful Carp Varner,” Rachael said, nearly in tears.

“I don't know, dear. Kill-or-be-killed seems to be a way of life out here. Pray Cotton gets to him before he does something terribly foolish,” Emily said, pulling Rachael close and hugging her tightly.

* * *

Cotton spurred his mare to run for all she was worth.
Got to get there before that fool does something we'll both regret.
He decided to cut through Chiricahua Pass, a place known to harbor all manner of dangers, to reduce the time it normally took to get to town. Only a single horse and rider could expect to get through the impossibly narrow pass the walls of which were festooned with jagged thrusts of flesh-ripping rock jutting out like fingers waiting to grasp the unwary. The trail itself was littered with fallen debris from small landslides brought on by spring rains and winter ice. All in all, the sheriff's choice of a fast route to Apache Springs was questionable at best.

Damned good thing that kid didn't know about this pass; I doubt he could have made it. Come to think of it, I'm not so sure I can
. He ducked suddenly, just missing being knocked from his saddle by a scraggly juniper branch that seemed to come out of nowhere, long dead from many a harsh winter.
Hmm,
best keep my mind on getting there in one piece.

* * *

Carp Varner had decided he'd been brooding long enough. It was time to make his move. He must get rid of the man calling himself Burnside's nephew. After deliberating for hours, he'd come up with a plausible plan, at least to his demented mind. He stuck his Smith & Wesson .45 in his holster, slipped on his black duster, and closed and locked the shop door behind him. He strode purposefully to the hotel. When the desk clerk saw him and asked if he could be of help, Varner said no, he was going into the restaurant for a bite to eat. The clerk turned back to whatever aimless task he'd been pursuing when he was interrupted by Varner's arrival.

But Varner merely went into the restaurant, passed through to a rear entrance, and continued outside.
That little maneuver should get me an alibi, at least for a bit
. He climbed the outside rear stairs to the second floor. Earlier that day, he'd gotten Burnside's room number when the clerk went out back to take care of business. Carp just ducked behind the counter long enough to glance through the register, take note of the room, and leave before anyone noticed he'd even been there.

When he got to Burnside's room, he tapped lightly on the door.

“Who's there?” came a voice from inside.

“Telegram for Turner Burnside.”

The door opened quickly. “I'm Turner Bur— What the hell! It's
you!
”

Turner tried in vain to shut the door before Carp could get inside. But, being a much larger man, Varner shoved Burnside aside and closed the door. He put a finger to his mouth. Turner got the point.
Keep quiet. Or else
. He got that second part when Carp drew a finger across his throat as he pulled open his duster to reveal the hilt of a very large knife, known to all as an Arkansas toothpick.

“Yep, it's me, Carp Varner.”

“Wha–what do you want, Varner? Haven't you done enough to my family?”

“Not quite yet, sonny. Pack your bags, you're leaving town. Now!”

Although he kept his voice down, Varner's intentions were clear: “Do my bidding or die.”

Burnside stuffed everything he had into two suitcases. He carried no gun, which Varner had taken note of as soon as he entered the room. When Burnside was done packing, Varner made a quick survey of the room, and seeing nothing to indicate anyone had ever inhabited number 6, he pushed the younger man toward the door, then grabbed him by the shirt collar and shoved his face against the frame.

“Here's what's goin' to happen. You'll do exactly as I say or this extremely sharp dagger will be shoved through your back and into your heart, at which time you will feel horrendous pain . . . but only briefly. Then, a split second later, your life will be ended. Understand? I've seen a man die that way, and it wasn't a pretty sight.”

Burnside nodded that he understood.

“Good. Go down the hallway toward the back stairway. Do it very quietly. If we should meet anyone along the way, you are to do or say nothing, not even a look that might suggest you are in a tight spot. When we get downstairs, we'll follow the back alley down to the Butterfield Stage office. I'll purchase your ticket so there's no reason for you to converse with anyone. Now, move.”

Burnside was shaking so hard he was struggling to get himself and the two suitcases through the narrow hall without banging against the walls and causing other residents to step out of their rooms to see what the commotion was about. Varner didn't seem to care how they got to their destination, only that they arrived before the stage was scheduled to leave, twenty minutes from then. He gave Burnside some incentive, a sharp jab in the shoulder blade with the point of the stiletto.