Cotton's Law (9781101553848) (22 page)

C
otton was too restless to stay in town that evening. So he rode out to the Wagner ranch to spend time with Emily. She could see how distracted he was, so she tried to stay out of his way. She knew he was struggling with something but figured to keep silent unless he asked for her opinion on whatever it was that had him so upset. She scurried around tidying things up, straightening pictures, dusting, sweeping dirt off the front porch. As the evening wore on, she became lost in whatever business she could find to attend to and paid no attention to the morose sheriff sitting in her living room like a buzzard waiting for something to die. She looked up in surprise when Cotton suddenly leapt out of his chair and announced, “That’s it! That might work!”

“What might work, Cotton?” she asked, a broom loosely held in one hand.

“I’ve been trying to figure a way to break Havens’s hold on all the people that have taken loans with him. They were all bamboozled by his offer of no interest, and they
failed to look his contract over carefully. Darnell Givins says the terms are ironclad, but I figured there
had
to be a way to break them.”

“And now you have found it?”

“Well, at least I think I have. It will take the cooperation of more than one person, but if I’m right, we
could
break Havens’s hold over the people he’s fixin’ to cheat.”

“That’s wonderful. How about some supper, and you can tell me all about it?”

He followed her into the dining room. The other hands had already eaten hours before, so they were alone as she fussed around gathering together leftovers and putting a skillet on the stove to fry a piece of beef. Cotton seated himself at the long table and watched her appreciatively. She brought freshly sliced bread, a pot of reheated beans, and some coffee to tide him over as he waited for the meat. She placed a plate in front of him, along with silverware, and sat down.

“Your steak will be ready in a few minutes. Go ahead and start eating. You must be starved.”

“Uh-­huh. You’re right about that,” he said, sipping the coffee.

“So, your idea, what is it?”

“Okay, here it is. First, I have to get Givins to go along with it. If it doesn’t work, he could get burned.”

Emily jumped up suddenly. “Oh, my goodness. Thanks for reminding me. Your steak.”

Cotton snickered at her rush to take the skillet off the fire and fork up the steak. She placed the sizzling meat in front of him. His eyes showed how appreciative he was. “Thanks.”

“Now, go on with your plan.”

“I’ll have to convince Givins to loan every customer that Havens doled out money to the same amount they borrowed from him. Then they pay Havens on the exact day their loan is due. That’s the key to making this thing work.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You see, Havens made sure that each loan was locked
up by the fine print. If a loan was paid early, there was a huge penalty in interest, likely several percent. But if it was late in being paid back, even by a day, the borrower forfeited whatever he’d put up as collateral for the loan.”

“So, if he pays the money back on the exact day it is due, the contract doesn’t address that eventuality, is that right?”

“That’s exactly right. Havens will have no choice but to mark the loan paid, without getting his dirty hands on one red cent of interest or penalty, and he’s gained nothing by his little charade. Not only that, but he won’t be able to pay the high interest rate on deposits he’s been offerin’ to get people to put their money in his bank instead of Givins’s.”

“Will it work?”

“I hope so. If it does, instead of Havens putting Givins out of business, the tables will be turned.”

“When are you going to suggest your idea to Givins?”

“First thing tomorrow.” Without further conversation, Cotton began carving up a juicy hunk of steak that all but melted in his mouth.

Sleeve Jackson left Havens’s office in an ugly mood. He’d had about all he could take of his pompous, ill-­tempered employer. Every tirade, every angry outburst over the past few weeks seemed to have been aimed squarely at him. And his patience was nearing its end. He’d only hung around and taken the abuse this long because of the two-­thousand-­dollar bounty on Cotton Burke, a bounty he fully intended to walk away with, along with what he figured he owed Havens in payback.

Havens had told his gunslingers they could go ahead and take the sheriff down anytime they wanted, then he changed his mind and decided to hold off until his bank-­loan scheme was fully operational. He’d been making interest-­free loans hand-­over-­fist for several days now. Most folks didn’t really need the money, but if it was going to cost them nothing for its use, well, what the hell. Sleeve didn’t understand the details of those loans, only the
certainty that Havens would come away richer than ever. The man knew how to bilk folks out of their hard-­earned money, and he somehow had eluded any consequences for his actions for years. He’d guaranteed Sleeve that everything he did was legal. But who could believe a man who’d been run out of town after town? If Havens had been a man to carry a gun, he’d probably have been shot by now.

Before making his own move, Sleeve decided it would be a good idea to talk to some of the other gunslingers he’d convinced to join in on the devious banker’s plan to turn Apache Springs into another Lawrence, Kansas. He liked the idea of all those guns hanging around, ready to leap into action and cut down anyone that stood in their way, even if that probably meant a sheriff and his deputy with reputations of their own. If he worked it right, he’d have the backup he needed, while he walked away with the prize, and he fully expected to shoot Havens for good measure just as soon as he had the reward in his hands. He figured he’d find most of the others at Melody’s saloon and that’s right where he directed his steps.

Plink Granville was asleep at a table by himself, facedown in a puddle of spilled whiskey. Buck and Comanche Dan were playing cards with two cowboys Sleeve didn’t know, and Black Duck Slater was leaning on the bar in conversation with Arlo, the bartender. A lumpy girl was leaning on the gunslinger’s shoulder trying her best to get him to go upstairs with her. Sleeve had no sooner entered the noisy room than the skinny girl he’d accompanied to her crib several days back approached him with a gleam in her eye.

“Where you been, stranger? I’ve been pining away waitin’ for you to return. What say we go upstairs and stare at the wallpaper?”

“Uh, you actually remember me?”

“Well, of course, sweetie. A girl don’t never forget a
real
man. So, what do you say? Want to invest a dollar on a sure thing?”

Sleeve’s resolve to engage the other fast guns in a conversation
about Havens and when they might expect to begin dropping a cap on ol’ Cotton Burke began to wane. Women had always been the one weakness he just couldn’t seem to put away in favor of more important things. But then, no one had ever convinced him that there
was
anything more important than lying beside a filly on a soft mattress after taking care of business. He sighed and took her hand, slipped a dollar into her palm, and followed her up the winding staircase Melody had had built special for her new Golden Palace of Pleasure.

The lumpy girl didn’t seem to be having much luck with
her
attempts to drag Black Duck away from tossing down shot after shot of whiskey and exchanging jokes with the bartender. She looked bored and frustrated as she turned and wandered away to find a more willing customer.

T
he next morning, Cotton sat cross-­legged in the captain’s chair across from Darnell Givins. He’d explained his plan to the banker, who had, as yet, not commented on what he thought of it. The expression on Darnell’s face plainly expressed his misgivings. Cotton fully understood the position it put the banker in. If the bank president was unwilling or unable to take a chance on an admittedly risky scheme to best his chief rival, Burke could do nothing. He’d have to come up with some other avenue to make certain Bart Havens didn’t do to this town what he’d done to so many before. Cotton hoped he could do it legally. If not, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to step outside the law to accomplish a just and proper outcome. Givins cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on his desk.

“You have to understand, Sheriff, if this doesn’t work, Havens could end up with
complete
control of Apache Springs. I’m sure you see my reluctance.”

“Indeed I do. And if you can come up with a better,
safer plan to help these folks out, I’ll be right there to cheer you on. But, for now at least, I’ve given it my best shot.”

Givins sat back with a sigh. His sack suit was rumpled, giving the impression he’d slept in it for days on end. Cotton figured the truth was that Darnell Givins hadn’t slept
at all
for some time. His eyes were bloodshot and dark circles gave the impression of a raccoon.

“I have to admit I like the sound of it. The timing, of course, would be crucial. One slip-­up, though, and we’d be done for.”

“And, for the whole thing to work properly, we’d need everyone who borrowed from Havens to jump on the idea. And, the payments would have to be paid back exactly six months from the day they took the loan out. To the hour.”

“I’m not sure how we find out who all has fallen for this deception.”

“I’ve been ponderin’ that, too.”

“Although, I reckon most of the ranchers hereabouts know each other’s business to some degree, don’t you, Sheriff?”

“I do.”

“I suppose we don’t have to make a decision on this for a few days, even weeks, do we?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe with a little more time, we can come up with something even better.”

“Yup.”

“Well, Sheriff, until something better
does
come along, you may assume
your
plan is
my
plan.”

“Good. We’ll make it work, Darnell. Don’t worry. Now, I suggest you get some sleep so you can handle all the business that’ll be walkin’ back in here once folks find out how they’ve been hoodwinked.”

Cotton blinked in the bright sunshine as he stepped outside the bank. He hadn’t wanted to mention it, but he
did
have an idea how he might get his hands on the list of loans Havens had made in the last several weeks. And he hoped Jack might be the key to finding it. As he walked down the
boardwalk back toward his office, he noticed Buck Kentner keeping an eye on him while leaning on a post outside Melody’s place. And across the street, Comanche Dan Sobro was keeping an eye on them both. He had to stifle a chuckle.

Cotton went inside his office to await an answer to any one of several telegrams he’d sent out to various towns both in New Mexico and in Texas. Never a man to take another’s word for anything that could carry with it a life or death penalty, his inquiries all focused on two particular subjects: Comanche Dan Sobro and Judge Arthur Sanborn. So engrossed was he in his deliberations, he failed to take notice of a lone rider coming into town, carrying a shotgun, and heading straight for the Havens Bank.

Blanchard opened the door to the bank, looked around, then stepped toward Delilah, who was posted at the ready, a willing greeter to all who entered.

“Where’s your boss, pretty lady?” Blanchard asked. His face was dark and lined with anger.

“H-­he’s in back, uh, with a customer, Mr. Blanchard. May I, uh, tell him you’re here?”

“Nope, I’ll tell that polecat myself.”

Delilah took a step to divert Blanchard, but he just pushed her aside. She ran after him in an effort to warn Havens. But before she could reach the door, Blanchard had kicked it open and was already cocking the shotgun. Havens looked up at the intrusion, at first surprised; then seeing who it was, he broke into an amused smile.

“Why hello, Mr. Blanchard. To what do I owe this distinct pleasure?” His statement dripped with insincerity.

“Ain’t gonna be no pleasure when I blow your lyin’ head clean off’n your shoulders.”

As Blanchard raised the shotgun, Havens stood up with one hand in the air.

“Now, hold on, my friend. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, I’m certain we can work it out.”

“Highway robbery, that’s what it is. And out here we deal with your kind in a most decisive manner. That’d be what I’m totin’ this here iron for.”

“Did you say robbery? I say, you can’t believe I would stoop to such behavior. I’m an honest businessman, and as such cannot condone anything other than absolute righteousness in my bank. Now, sit down and tell me what it is that makes you think you’ve been mistreated.”

“You know damned well what it is, you rattlesnake. You got me to sign a contract that lets you either squeeze a tidy sum from me if I pay off early or turn over my deed to you if I pay up late. Either way, I lose.”

“Now, who’s been filling your head with such nonsense?”

Delilah had retreated toward the front door of the bank. Sleeve Jackson was coming her way. Seeing she was in some distress, Sleeve asked what was wrong.

“Mr. Blanchard is really upset at being cheated in his loan contract.”