Cotton's Law (9781101553848) (30 page)

“Now, who here in town would send a telegram to a couple of gamblers in Albuquerque?”

“One of only two folks I can think of: Bart Havens or Melody. Which one would you put your money on?”

“Melody has never been all that keen on gamblers, at least not the professional ones. So I suppose it falls to Bart. But why?”

“I’m not sure. But I got a notion who might.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Am I goin’ to like this?”

“I don’t know, but it isn’t important. I want you to talk to Delilah Jones. She knows why Bart sent for those two. She’ll tell you.”

“I don’t know, Cotton. The last time I tried to take her aside at the hotel, she seemed awful nervous and not too interested in bein’ seen with me. I’m thinkin’ Bart put the fear of God in her. He is one nasty bastard.”

“I know, but you’ve got to try. And do it before that card game.”

Jack was expected for dinner at Melody’s. But if he was going to corral Delilah, he needed to do it quickly. He didn’t dare show up late or Melody would skin him. She was very particular about promptness. So he went to the saloon early to tell her he was going to be late. He’d figure some excuse before he got there. He was sure of that. But when he pushed through the swinging doors, Melody was at the bar talking to Arlo. When she saw Jack, she waved him farther down the bar where they could talk without being overheard.

“I’ve been thinking of something I want to tell you about,” she said.

“Yeah, I, uh, have something to tell you, too.”

“You can tell me as soon as I’m through. Jack, sweetie, since your six months of servitude to Cotton Burke is about up, I want to move back to Gonzales, where things are a lot quieter. Too many shootings here in Apache Springs. It’s safer back home. Anyway, I’ve decided to look for a buyer for the saloon.”

“You want to sell the place after all the money you’ve
put into it?” Jack was clearly caught off guard, and not a little flustered.

“It’s
just
business. The banker, Mr. Givins, told me he is often approached by someone, usually someone wishing to remain anonymous, seeking to own a saloon. He said they almost always have the cash to pay for it. If something like that came along, I think it’d be too good to pass up. Probably make a nice return on my investment, too.”

“I, uh, didn’t know you wanted to leave. Besides, I’d need to talk to Cotton before—­”

“Talk to Cotton! Always ‘Talk to Cotton.’ Who the hell’s more important to you, me or him?” She was now on her tiptoes no more than an inch from his face, fists balled tightly. She was so close he could feel the heat from her flushed cheeks.

Jack was taken aback by her sudden, unexpectedly belligerent response. He’d known all along that she didn’t like Cotton, but he was unaware she’d let her dislike actually break them apart. He was instantly torn. Cotton had given him a chance to prove he could be a lawman again, and Jack was beholden to him for that. Melody was expecting him to agree with her idea, without argument, and her fury at not getting the response she expected burned in her like a sulfur match.

Getting into an argument with Melody wasn’t something to be looked forward to. She was like a raging bull when she didn’t get her way. It wasn’t that he was afraid of her, exactly, more like he didn’t want to lose her. She was, after all, the giver of nearly all things necessary to life, at least Jack’s life. A place to sleep, a beautiful woman to sleep with, most of his meals, and all the whiskey he could consume was provided by Melody. And at no cost to him, other than having to grin and bear it whenever a tantrum was in the wind. Now was one of those times. He knew damned well he’d better come up with something to calm her down before the explosion became deafening. And his mission went south.

“Melody, you know how much I care for you, and I
would never do anything to change that. But Cotton knows this town, and likely anyone who might be a potential buyer for the saloon. So, what I’m sayin’ is, let’s let him in on our thinkin’ and see if he’d consider lookin’ over any deal that was tendered. Just so you don’t get stung by some highbinder lookin’ to take advantage of a beautiful woman. That’s what I mean,” Jack said. He was feeling pretty proud of himself for that little speech. He struggled mightily to hide it, though.

Melody unclenched her fists, but kept her frown. It was obvious she needed some time to consider Jack’s rationale. That was obvious to him by the way she backed off, like a cat shies away from a skunk, thinking over whether it is friend or foe. He could see the thoughts swirling around in her head. She was actually rather transparent, especially to a man like Jack, who had always had a good grasp of what women were thinking. And if anyone knew Melody, it was Memphis Jack Stump.

Melody suddenly came out of her angry mood and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Jack. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

“I, uh, just wanted you to know I’d be a few minutes late for dinner. Cotton has a little job for me. But don’t worry, it won’t take long. Besides, I want to be here for the big poker game everyone’s talking about.”

Melody frowned at the word “poker” because Jack was notorious for letting his involvement with a poker game keep him up all night, whether he was winning or losing. But his announcement didn’t seem to have the negative effect he’d feared. She waved her hand as she started over to a table to talk to some cowboys who’d drifted in.

“As long as you’re here, so I have someone civilized to eat with, a few minutes one way or another won’t matter. See you later.”

Jack left to see if he could track down Delilah before he had to get back to Melody.

A
s he left the saloon, Jack noticed Bart Havens walking from his bank down a block to the livery. He was alone. Jack stood under the porch overhang for several minutes to see what Bart’s intentions were. Not more than ten minutes passed before he saw Havens driving a buggy out of the livery, heading down the street to the alley that led to the back of his bank. Curious, Jack ran down to the livery. Inside he saw the old man who ran the place with a pitchfork in his hand getting ready toss more hay into a stall.

“What can I do for you, Deputy?”

“Just curious about Bart Havens. Did I see him rent a buggy from you?”

“Yes and no. He didn’t rent it, he bought it. Made him a real good deal, too. Ten dollars cash and I threw in an extra cushion ’cause the one it had was threadbare and near wore out. Hope he don’t plan on any real long sorties, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, to be truthful, the wheel spokes looked to need
tendin’ to. Darn thing’s been sittin’ out back for two years, ever since Mr. Cotter got gored by one of his bulls and died. Took it in as payment for his feed bill. His widow seemed happy to get shut of it.”

“Thanks,” Jack said as he headed out to find Delilah.
What the devil could Bart Havens need with a buggy?

When he got to the hotel, he went to the desk clerk to ask if Delilah Jones was in.

“I do believe I saw her go up about a half hour ago, sir. She may still be there. Shall I go check for you?”

“No, thanks,” Jack said, waving the desk clerk off, “I’ll go up myself.”

When he got to her room, he stopped outside her door. He thought he heard sniffling or crying, he couldn’t tell which. He tapped lightly on the door. After a few seconds, the door opened a crack and one red, teary eye peered out.

“Yes. What is it?” Delilah said.

“It’s me, Jack,” he said in a near whisper, “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

She eased open the door, almost as if she couldn’t decide whether to admit him or not. Finally, she stood aside to allow him to enter, then closed it immediately. The sight of her face brought him to an instant boil.

“What the hell happened to you, Delilah? Who did this?”

She turned away from him, crossed her arms, and walked to the open window. Curtains fluttered from the slight breeze coming through. She sniffled and then dabbed at her eyes. Her face was bruised and red. One eye looked as if it might turn black and blue given a day or so.

“Who do you think?”

“Bart Havens? That son of a rattlesnake. I ought to go over there and blow him away.”

“What are you doing here, Jack?”

“I want to know what you know about the poker game at Melody’s Palace of Pleasure tonight. Is it something Bart is behind?”

“Oh, yeah. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay far, far away. The whole thing is a setup. And you’re the target. Or at least one of them.” She started to cry again. Tears streamed down her face.

“What’s the plan?”

“Those two gamblers are also gunslingers. They’re going to say they’ve caught you cheating, and the taller one, Farley Coleman, is going to shoot you. Then, when Cotton comes through the door after hearing the shot—­and Bart’s certain he will—­he’ll be met by several blazing guns. Neither of you will stand a chance.”

Jack walked up behind her, took her by the shoulders, and spun her around.

“You’ve put yourself in even more jeopardy by telling me this, but I want you to know I am grateful to have a friend like you. And don’t fret; Bart’s little ambush won’t go off as planned. Cotton and I’ll make sure of that. Now, dry those beautiful eyes, lie down, and rest. I’ll see you after this is all over.”

She laid her head on his shoulder for a moment, then looked him in the eye.

“Kill the bastard, will you? For me.”

“So that’s his plan, is it?” Cotton said, nodding at Jack’s revelation at what Delilah had told him. “You think she’s on the level?”

“You wouldn’t ask if you’d seen what he did to her. Any man who’d hit a woman ought to be strung up on the spot.”

“Okay. I reckon we’re goin’ to have to play the hand we’ve been dealt. Wish we had a few more guns, but . . .”

“Yeah, I know, but we don’t. Too bad Henry Coyote has done rode back out to the Wagner spread. We don’t have time to get him back here.”

“Hmm. Maybe we do, at that.” Cotton stroked his chin.

“How’s that?”

“That Oliver kid still work at the livery?”

“Yeah.”

“Give him this half dollar and tell him to ride hell-­bent for the Wagner spread. Have him tell Emily we need Henry, and pronto.”

Jack didn’t say a word as he tore out of the jail and ran down the street to the livery.

“Don’t know, ma’am, just that the sheriff said to get him to town lickety-­split,” Oliver said, not bothering to get down from the gray mare he’d ridden bareback all the way from town.

“Thanks, son. I’ll take care of it. You can go on back and tell the sheriff he’s on his way.”

The boy had no more than reached the gate than Emily had gathered two other riders in addition to Henry Coyote and was herself also saddled and ready.

“Make sure you got ammunition for that Spencer of yours, Henry. I got a bad feeling about this. Bart Havens must be up to more of his dirty doin’s. The four of us ought to change the odds in Cotton’s favor. Let’s ride.”

Jack wanted to look the saloon over well before the appointed time for cowboys and amateur gamblers alike to gather for the much-­ballyhooed game. He also wanted to talk to Arlo about the table arrangement. As he strolled in, Arlo was scooting chairs around one large table in the center of the room to allow for six players, and rearranging several smaller tables along the outer walls. He did this so that those not in the game would have a place to observe the goings-­on as well as order drinks. Of course, in Arlo’s and Melody’s minds, the whole purpose of such a gathering was to up the revenue to the house.

Jack motioned Arlo over to the bar where he could talk without being overheard, even though there were only a handful of patrons scattered about, mostly sipping whiskey and engaging in idle conversation. Two tables held card games of little consequence.

“What’s on your mind, Jack?” Arlo said, wiping the top of the bar and setting up a long row of glasses in anticipation of a busy evening.

“You still got that sawed-­off twelve-­gauge behind the bar?”

“Yep. Why?”

“I figure, if my information is correct, you’ll be needin’ it before the evenin’s over.”

“Who do you figure will be creatin’ trouble?”

“Couple of gamblers named Farley and Cress Coleman. They’re gunslingers Bart Havens brought in to take care of some business for him. Just be ready.”

“What kinda business?”

“Killin’ me and Cotton.”