Cotton's Law (9781101553848) (8 page)

“Beer’s a dime, answers might come higher. You can ask, though,” retorted the bartender.

“We’ll start with the beer.”

The bartender slipped down to the other end of the long, polished bar and held a glass under the spigot of a barrel. He returned a minute later to place the foamy-­headed glass in front of the shootist. Sleeve flipped him ten cents.

“Now, about that information,” Sleeve said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m lookin’ for some fellas.”

“You some sort of badge-­toter?”

“Hell, no. Just lookin’ up old pals, that’s all.”

“Gimme their names. I’ll spread the word there’s some fella in town wantin’ to palaver. ’Bout the best I can do. This ain’t a town where folks put a man on another’s trail till he gets to know who the hell’s askin’.”

Sleeve was seething inside. He didn’t like it one bit that this lowly purveyor of spirits had the nerve to presume he was there for some nefarious reason. It wasn’t any of the bastard’s business, anyway. He mulled over whether he was goin’ to blurt out the names or turn around and stalk out. He was known to be fast with his gun, but with his
brains
, figuring out the best moves to make—­well, not so great. He stared at the bartender for a full three minutes before the decision was made. He had no choice. He could be
stubborn some other time. Now wasn’t that time. Not with Bart Havens expecting him back in Las Vegas with four top gunmen. He needed to avoid getting sensitive or, worse yet, letting that nervous trigger finger get the best of him.

“Okay. Reckon I’ll have to live with that. Name’s Sleeve Jackson. I’m lookin’ for Buck Kentner, Black Duck Slater, Comanche Dan Sobro, and Plink Granville. You seen any of ’em around lately?”

“Maybe one or two of ’em. I heard Black Duck was in Abilene, and Comanche Dan, well, he may or may not be dead.”

“Dead?”

“Said maybe.”

“So, where did he ‘maybe’ get dead?”

“Can’t rightly say. I know it weren’t here. The sheriff we got couldn’t hit his own foot with a scattergun. Coulda happened down near the border. Maybe one of them others will recollect. I ain’t never even seen the man.”

“That leaves Buck and Plink.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them in the past week or so. I’ll put out the word there’s some fella lookin’ for them. I assume you ain’t lookin’ to shoot ’em, are you?”

“No. I want to hire them. There’s good money in it.”

“Hell, why didn’t you say so? There’s Buck at that table in the far corner. He’s the lonely fella suckin’ on that bottle like it was his mommy’s tit.”

Sleeve tried to hide his disdain for the bartender. Any other time, he’d likely have blown the man into the next century. But for now, striking up a conversation with Buck Kentner was his first aim. As he approached the table, Buck glanced up with rheumy eyes, giving Sleeve the once-­over.

“Buck Kentner?” Sleeve asked.

“Who wants to know?” Buck put the bottle down, nearly tipping it over. A last-­second grab saved the contents from spilling. Sleeve was immediately impressed by Buck’s ability to react quickly even in a drunken state.

“Name’s Sleeve Jackson. And I may have a job for you, if you’re willin’ to give me a minute of your time.”

“Pull up a chair and fill me in on this ‘job’ you’re offerin’.”

“You ever heard of a fella named Bart Havens?” Sleeve said.

“Who ain’t? Some kinda banker prone to stealin’ other folks’ land, way I hear it.”

“Close enough. He’s plannin’ another town takeover and he needs a few good guns to back his play.”

“Who I gotta kill and how much does it pay?”

“Pay is one thousand dollars up front and another two thousand to the man who actually gets the job done. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good. Who’s the target?”

“A sheriff by the name of Cotton Burke.”

“Whoa.
The
Cotton Burke?”

“The one and only,” Sleeve said, raising his eyebrows.

“Hellfire and damnation, I’d have to have twice that amount to tangle with Burke.”

“W
hat’s eatin’ at you, Cotton? You’ve been moody ever since you got back. It can’t be that fellow that tried to shoot you, since you put him in his grave. It’s all over, isn’t it?” Emily and Cotton were sitting on her porch swing. She leaned in close to him, her arms crossed to ward off an evening chill. The sun was just setting, and the horizon was blood red as nightfall began its march from the east.

“I’m afraid it has just started. I reckon it’s best if you hear it now . . . from me. If the rumors are true, there’s a rattler named Bart Havens who’s intending on starting another bank. If he does, all hell will break loose in Apache Springs.”

“Why? The town can probably support another bank, can’t it?”

“Not the kind Havens intends. You see I know him from way back. He’s done his treachery before, in other towns. Folks lose their land, cattle, homes, and savings. People usually die before he’s done.”

“Heavens. I didn’t realize he could be such a threat. What are you going to do?”

“The trouble is, he doesn’t do anything illegal himself. He has others do it for him. He just steps back and watches the bodies fall. One of those bodies
could
be me, or Jack. At least I’m certain that’s his plan.”

“Why would he want to kill you?”

“Because I’m what stands between him and another successful town takeover.”

Emily’s pretty face grew pensive. Her eyes flashed with anger at the thought of another man in her life possibly being gunned down. And she had no intention of allowing that to happen. She had men working for her, and they could all ride and shoot with the best of them. If she needed to marshal her own army to save the man she loved, so be it. Emily Wagner was tough-­minded. Even after what she’d been through during the short time she’d been in the territory, she had few doubts that she and Cotton, together, could weather any storm. And by damn, she meant to do just that.

As they swung slowly back and forth to the squeaks of ropes being stretched from their weight, she watched Cotton out of the corner of her eye.
What is really going through his mind?
she wondered. Will I ever get close enough to him for us to plan and dream as one?

Jack was finishing his meal at the hotel when he heard his name being called. He continued to stab a piece of beef and slipped it into his mouth. He was still chewing when he looked up to see a woman he thought he’d never lay eyes on again. He almost choked. Delilah Jones was a dark-­eyed beauty he’d met before returning to Gonzales and taking up with Melody. The shock on his face brought a smile to hers.

“Yes, Jack, it’s me. Did you think I’d come to some ignominious end after you left town?”

Jack stood up, pulling out another chair at his table.

“I’m certainly glad you didn’t, Delilah. Damn it’s good to see you. Please join me.”

She sat with a rustle of her satin skirts, resting a parasol on the edge of the table. She leaned forward, just to tease him with a hint of her soft, white bosom, then leaned on one elbow and stared directly into his eyes. He became so flustered he forgot to call a waiter over.

“If I’m to join you, I suspect I should order something so as not to give the impression of vagrancy. Don’t you think?”

“I, uh, yes, yes, of course. How foolish of me. Waiter!”

“Sir?” the waiter said from across the nearly empty dining room.

“The lady will be joining me. Could you please bring a menu and a glass of wine?”

“Of course, sir.” The waiter left briefly, returning in seconds with a bottle of wine and a menu scribbled on a piece of paper. Jack handed her the menu, such as it was, noticing that she raised her eyes questioningly at the misspellings that accompanied the evening’s fare.

“The food’s real good, even if the menu’s a bit rough. I can recommend the beef stew.”

Delilah nodded at Jack’s choice and handed the menu back to the waiter. “I’ll have what he suggested. Thank you.

“So, Jack, what are you up to these days? Still shooting up towns? Or just trying to drink them dry?”

A resentful look came over his face. He chewed his lip for a second as he thought out what words he dared let slip out of his mouth. His relationship with this woman had been stormy at times, but his jealousy of the attention she got from nearly every man who saw her was what finally led her to dissolve their plans for something more permanent. He was crushed by her rejection over what he figured was a trivial matter, a normal reaction of one man to another who might be viewed as a rival. Not that his relationship with Melody hadn’t had its ups and downs, but he knew from the start she was a whore and had no illusions about anything like marriage coming into the picture.

“Neither, Delilah. I’m a duly appointed deputy sheriff, and I’ll thank you to try forgetting the old Memphis Jack
Stump of the past. I’m a new man. You’re looking at a man with a future.”

“Deputy sheriff, are you? Well, it does appear you’ve taken a different road. But I seem to recollect you had been a deputy when we first met, and you’d had a bit of trouble where you came from.”

“Uh, well, I did stumble over a little root in the road, I guess you’d say. But that’s all changed now. Say, where are you stayin’? Will you be here long? Is there a man in your life?”

“Hold up, Jack. Let me catch my breath and answer one question at a time.”

“Oh, sure. Sorry. I tend to get ahead of myself whenever I’m gazing at a beautiful woman.”

Delilah lowered her eyes as if in deep thought, wondering whether to tell Jack everything, or just a taste of the truth. She seemed to decide on the latter. She hesitated before speaking.

“Well, there
was
a man in my life, but events changed that. I, uh, came farther west to, er, evaluate other, uh, opportunities.”

“You say there was a man? What happened?”

“As it turned out, he had, uh, chosen an unfortunate line of work.”

“What work did he do?”

“They say he was rustling cattle. I never believed a word of it. But they hanged him, anyway.”

“The law must have had some pretty solid evidence to hang a man.”

“It, well, it wasn’t exactly the law that did him in. It was vigilantes. They said they caught him with a running iron, standing with several newly altered brands and freshly butchered beef.”

“Oh, I see. I don’t hold with vigilantes, myself, but if he was caught red-­handed, er—­”

“I know. Evidence like that is hard to defend.”

“I’m sure sorry.”

“Don’t be. He didn’t treat me that well after we were
together a while. Tried to get me to work one of the cribs and bring him the cash. I told him what he could do with his whores. I’d walked out by the time he was hanged. So, there you have my sordid story. What’s yours?”

Her food arrived just as she took a sip of wine. Jack smiled at her. He struggled with whether to spill the whole story of his own dealings with a fallen angel. He decided that glossing over that part might be the best idea. Besides, as good as she looked right then, and with Melody gone for who knew how long, well maybe, just maybe . . .

“I was living in Gonzales when the sheriff here in Apache Springs came lookin’ for me, not because I’d done somethin’ illegal, but because he needed help with a serious problem. The town had fallen under the influence of a gang of bushwhackers bent on robbin’ a train, and they kidnapped a widow lady to keep the sheriff off their ass, er, pardon my language.” He gave her a guilty look as if he’d just dragged something smelly onto her carpet.

“Goodness, what happened to the poor woman?”

“Oh, it turned out she got rescued; we killed all the owlhoots, and Cotton, that’s the sheriff, went to stay with Miss Emily while he healed up from an unfortunate bullet wound. I don’t think he minded all that much, the movin’ in with her part, that is. He was in love with her, anyway. Probably had been ever since her husband was shot for doin’ nothin’ more than comin’ out of the barbershop at an inopportune time. That’s when he made me a deputy, so he could fiddle away the hours in her company while I busted my, er, sorry again, backside keepin’ the riffraff out of town.”

Delilah covered her mouth with her napkin to stifle a laugh.