Cotton's Law (9781101553848) (29 page)

Black Duck and Plink looked at each other and shrugged. Comanche Dan gazed off with a questioning scowl.

“Questions, Mr. Sobro?”

“No, Mr. Havens, no questions. Sounds like a solid plan. When is all this going to come down?”

“Tomorrow night looks to be a perfect time. Gives the boys a chance to spread the word about the game.”

All three of the gunslingers nodded and left Havens’s office. Delilah started to follow, but Havens called her back.

“My dear, I strongly suggest you go directly to your hotel room and get some sleep. Be here early in the morning, as usual, but I don’t want you talking to anyone without me present.”

“Why is that, Bart? Don’t you trust me?”

“I wish I could, but I can’t. Therefore, please do as I say or the penalty could be severe. You may go now.”

Red-­faced and angry, Delilah stormed out of Havens’s office and headed for the hotel.
I’ve had about all I can take of that insufferable man. His day of reckoning is coming. I can feel it. And it can’t arrive too soon for me.

When she started up the stairs of the hotel, a low voice from across the lobby startled her. She turned around to see Comanche Dan standing in the corner shadows. He took a couple steps toward her and removed his hat.

“Ma’am, would you join me for dinner? I hate eating alone.”

“Did Bart send you to keep an eye on me so I don’t violate his precious rules? Well, you can go back and tell him I haven’t needed a nanny since I was two.” She turned back to go up.

“No, ma’am, I surely wasn’t sent by that pompous bag of wind. And my invitation is sincere. I would enjoy your company. So, could you see your way to reconsidering?”

She hesitated for a moment. Havens had told her not to talk to anyone. He was so adamant about that, his words had frightened her. But he surely hadn’t been talking about one of his own handpicked killers.
Gunslingers
. The very word made her shiver. And yet, this particular gunslinger somehow made her feel different. She experienced no fear, no uneasiness whenever he was around. He didn’t have the same empty, cold eyes as all the others had. Certainly he was a killer, but she had to admit, only to herself of course, that there was something quite appealing about this man. Her decision was made.

“Thank you, Mr. Sobro, that would be very nice.” She came to him and took his arm. They went to the dining room looking very much like any normal, happy couple.

C
otton had washed his face and was combing his hair when Emily came into his room. She was still wearing a housecoat over her gown, and her hair was a tangle of curls. She leaned on the door frame and crossed her arms. She let out a sigh.

“After our talk last night, I thought perhaps I could convince you to spend some time here, away from the constant threat of being ambushed.”

He turned to her as he shrugged into his shirt. “There isn’t anything I’d like better and you know it. But I have to break up Bart Havens’s plan to destroy Apache Springs. I didn’t ask for his devilment, but I seem to have inherited it just the same.”

“Couldn’t you ask the U.S. marshal to send some deputies to help corral these rattlers?”

“I could, sure enough. But if I allowed myself to beg the marshal for help every time some threat wanders into town, how could the town have faith that I can protect them? That is what they elected
me
to do, isn’t it?”

“I understand what you’re saying, but—­”

“—­but you don’t want to come to another funeral, right?”

“That’s right. Especially not yours. Cotton, you know how I feel and . . .”

“Yes I do, and I feel the same way. It’s for that very reason, for
us
, that I must face this thing head-­on. And see it through to the end. Which, I might add, isn’t far off, I fear.”

“What do you plan to do about Havens? Since he supposedly doesn’t carry a gun, and has never personally threatened violence to anyone, how can you go after him? I know he’s a devil, but that doesn’t mean you can simply walk up and shoot him.” Her look of despair suggested that she, too, had spent considerable time seeking an answer to his dilemma and had come up empty-­handed.

“The idea of getting the folks who’ve taken loans out with Havens to pay up on the exact day their loans come due is a solid solution. The problem is, now that Sleeve Jackson, Bart’s most trusted hired hand, is lying dead at the undertaker’s, he’s bound to feel pressure to eliminate me, and likely Jack, before he’s forced to impose his scandalous loan contracts by himself. The one thing Bart has always understood is that without guns to back him, he’s vulnerable.”

“Do you think he has enough money to keep buying up hired guns until one of them gets lucky?”

“That I don’t know. He’s done all right so far. That’s always been his ace in the hole. It appears the time has come to lay down the law to Mr. Havens. I think he needs to fully understand that in Apache Springs, he’s dealing with
Cotton’s law
.”

Delilah and Comanche Dan spent nearly two hours over dinner at the hotel. His easy manner calmed her after Bart’s proclamation as to what would happen if she didn’t follow his rules implicitly. She had suffered enough at his hand but had been unable to come up with a way to divest herself
of the restrictions he’d placed upon her as terms of her employment and his deranged perception of a relationship.

She had yet to understand this man she sat across from, either. Here was a well-­known gunslinger, whose gun was available to the highest bidder, but he somehow seemed out of character. Inexplicably, he appeared to have the demeanor of a man of reason, a rarity in her experience. While not a woman of the world, she had certainly experienced enough of the underbelly of the frontier to know a decent man from a run-­of-­the-­mill scalawag.

She’d found out early in life that being beautiful can be a double-­edged sword, bringing both prize and condemnation in the same thrust. Her beauty had been something to wear as a badge of achievement for Bart Havens. For her, it had been like making one’s way through a pitch-­black forest without benefit of even the tiniest hint of light. Beauty had brought her nice things, clothes and jewelry, but neither peace of mind nor respect for who she was. Now the question seemed to be
What does this man Comanche Dan want of me, and what do I expect of him?
And what would be the result if he saw firsthand how Havens had treated her? Would he shy away or rush to her rescue?

“You seem distant, Delilah. Did I say something to distress you?”

“Huh? Why, er, no. I was merely guilty of giving myself over to the luxury of drifting off into a bit of fantasy, I suppose.”

“And where did your imagination take you?”

“Away from where I’ve been for the past year, that’s for sure.”

“You aren’t happy being the consort of Bart Havens?”

She was instantly impassioned with resentment. Her face was flushed and her eyes narrowed as she stuck a finger in his face. “Listen carefully to what I’m about to say. That word,
consort
, indicates something I am
not
where Bart is concerned. I would not willingly be either his
wife
or his
whore
under any circumstance. And I object strongly to the inference.”

“I, uh, am sorry if I offended, but I, uh, was under the impression you were with him in, er, every way.”

“Well, I’m not! So you can stuff that idea back in your hip pocket and not bring it out again, if you please.” She turned her glance from him and pulled up her long skirts, preparing to get up.

Like an awkward teenage boy, he fumbled for the menu and looked it over as if it held some deep secret. After a few awkward moments, he mumbled, “Please accept my apology, Miss Delilah. It was my foolish mistake. I opened my mouth when I had no call to do so. Uh, h-­how about dessert? I can recommend the apple pie.”

Delilah’s coldness turned soft at the suggestion, and she turned back to him, her sudden fury assuaged.
Perhaps this man has amended his first impression of me. Could he actually be more than just another ruffian?

“Apology accepted. And dessert would be nice. And some coffee to go with it,” she said with a sigh.

After dinner, he walked her to her room, bid her good night with a tip of his hat, and left the hotel by the alley entrance, checking all around to make certain he wasn’t seen by Bart or his other minions.

The next morning, word was being spread that there was to be a poker game worth sitting in on that evening at Melody’s Golden Palace of Pleasure. The stakes would be substantial. No penny-­ante pikers need bother. The Coleman brothers had several flyers printed up by the print shop and distributed them around town, nailing a few extras to trees and fences. When they’d finished spreading the news, they wandered back to Havens’s bank to firm up their plan of action.

“Anything in particular we should know about this Memphis Jack, Mr. Havens?” Farley said.

“He’s no clod-­buster, if that’s what you mean. He’s apt to drink too much, but he’s smart. And fast on the trigger. Don’t underestimate him, gentlemen. He gunned down J.J. Bleeker before the man could even take aim.”

“He know much about poker?” Cress asked.

“He’s spent many a day and night raking in some hefty pots. So play it close to the vest. He won’t be an easy one to buffalo.”

“Farley’s pretty damned good at sleight of hand. Don’t brush him off lightly, either,” Cress said, proudly.

“All right. I’m counting on you both.”

W
hen Cotton strode into the jail, Memphis Jack was removing the food tray from the cell where he’d put the gambler. He was whistling as he replaced the cell keys in the desk drawer. He looked surprised when Cotton came into the office.

“How’s our prisoner doing?”

“Grumpy and foul-­tempered. Like I’d be if I were in his situation. Maybe we should just let him out. I doubt he’ll ever set foot in Apache Springs again.”

Cotton chewed his lip for a second.

“Okay. Kick him loose. Town can’t afford to keep feedin’ him, anyway. Judge won’t be here for, what, a month?”

Jack took the keys back into the cell block. He opened the door to the hapless gambler’s cell and stood aside.

“Due to the generosity of our esteemed sheriff, you are hereby released. If—­and I do stress
if
—­you ever set foot in this town again, I’ll shoot you on sight myself. Do you follow what I’m sayin’?”

“Y-­yessir,” the poor man sputtered, as he frantically
gathered his coat, hat, and brogans and rushed from the cell and out the door as if the building were on fire. All to Jack’s great amusement.

Jack stood at the door watching the man try desperately to put on his shoes as he hopped around on one foot stirring up plenty of dust while at the same time trying to put as much distance between him and the jail as possible. Jack shook his head and chuckled at the sight.

“That boy had better learn more about poker or try some other endeavor.”

Cotton clucked his tongue. “Reckon so. And speakin’ of that very thing, I hear there’s goin’ to be a big game over at Melody’s tonight. Couple of gamblers named Coleman. You know them?”

“Nope, Cotton, I never heard of ’em. But I wouldn’t mind sittin’ in.”

“That’s just what I was goin’ to suggest.”

“You
want
me to drink and gamble?”

“Why, Jack, you amaze me with your quick grasp of my intentions. Only the drinkin’ part is out.”

“But gamblin’ isn’t gamblin’ unless accompanied by whiskey. Don’t you know that?”

“Maybe some other night that might apply. But tonight, it doesn’t.”

“You got some reason?”

“Uh-­huh.”

“Well, spit it out. I’m waitin’ for whatever pearl of wisdom is sure to come rollin’ from your lips.”

“Two things. The first is: I just got a telegram from another sheriff warnin’ me to be on the lookout for two brothers who are wanted in Albuquerque for murder. They are thought to be headed this way.”

“How’s he know that?”

“The stage line, where they bought tickets, and their telegraph operator, who received a message from Apache Springs.”