Cotton's Law (9781101553848) (10 page)

“Maybe Havens figures you might try to block his bank venture.”

“If that’s his thinkin’, he’d be right. That’s
exactly
my intent.”

“But if he doesn’t do anything illegal, how can you stop him?”

“My only chance is if I can
prove
Havens hired Granville to shoot me.”

“How do you do that?”

“I’m not certain I can. But maybe Jack is the answer.”

“Jack?”

Cotton stepped off the porch and headed for the corral to get his horse. Emily stood in the shade of the overhang watching him walk away, deep in thought. Cotton waved at her as he rode through the gate.

Melody and her two other working girls stepped off the stage in Apache Springs just after three in the afternoon. Dusty and tired, Melody told the other two to go down to the hotel and get a room. She would meet with them later, after she’d had time for a bath and a short nap. The trip had been exhausting. Melody told the stage driver to have someone take the girls’ baggage to the hotel and hers to the little house at the end of the street.

She hadn’t figured that Jack would be home in the middle of the afternoon, and she wasn’t about to stop at the jail and risk running into Cotton Burke. So, walking in the door, she looked with disgust at the haphazard way Jack had left the blankets half off the bed and one pillow on the floor. As she straightened up before heating some water for a bath, she noticed something on the pillow that lay on the floor. There was a long, black hair plainly visible on it. She cursed loudly, spewing profanities about what a cheating, lowdown piece of garbage she’d hooked up with. She didn’t calm down until she was soaking in the lukewarm water. Her ire returned only after hearing the front door open, and Jack’s distinctive whistling. She reached over to the stand beside the copper tub and picked up her .41-­caliber derringer, waiting for Jack to show himself. When he stuck his head in the bedroom, she pulled the trigger, missing him by inches.

He dove back into the front room, rolled away from the door, and drew his Remington.

“Come outta there, you sonofabitch,” she screamed, “and face the music!”

“Melody? It’s me, Jack. What the hell!”

“You know damned good and well what, you cheatin’, lyin’ rattlesnake. I go away for a few days and you drag some tramp into my bed. I oughta blow your privates off!”

“Now, hold on, Melody. What makes you think I did anything of the sort?”

“Long black hairs, that’s what! And on my very own pillow, you, you—­”

“Melody, you gotta let me explain. Just calm down and I—­”

“It better be good, Jack, or you’ll be hobblin’ around like a castrated pig,” she yelled at him as she stepped through the door, naked as a jaybird, pointing the derringer at his crotch.

“I got home late last night, after a few too many beers at the saloon, and while there, I met up with a cowboy I used to know. He had long, black hair, and I musta rubbed against him and picked up a hair or two that he’d shed. That’s all. When I got home, I dropped into bed, clothes and all. And that’s the truth.”

Melody lowered the gun, chewing on her lip, not certain whether to believe him or not. Finally she tossed the weapon on the chair, and returned to her bath. She emerged a half hour later, calm and freshly perfumed and powdered. Jack gave a sigh of relief.

She walked across the room to a table where a bottle of brandy sat. She poured a couple of glasses, handed one to Jack, and then settled onto the couch, patting the seat next to her as an invitation to join her. He did without hesitation, partly because she seemed to have accepted his explanation, and partly because she was still naked. And Jack was still Jack.

“Jack, I went to Gonzales to remortgage the hotel. I’ve made a deal with One-­Eyed Billy’s next of kin to buy the saloon. I’m going to expand the offerings over there, too.
Whiskey, cold beer, brandy, and Kentucky bourbon, and some girls to help all the poor lonely men survive the hardships of a frontier existence.” She gave him a self-­satisfied grin as she sipped her drink.

Jack just stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

S
leeve and his three new recruits had decided to ride through Lincoln to see if they could add Black Duck Slater to their number. It had been a good decision. When they arrived, Slater was riding hell-­bent for leather straight at them with a posse hot on his trail. When the posse saw Slater riding toward a bunch of armed men they didn’t know, it gave them pause. The town marshal held up a hand to halt the posse. As Slater continued toward the four riders, each well-­armed, giving no indication he feared them, the marshal turned the posse around and headed back to town. Lincoln County had already seen its fill of gunslingers and wasn’t eager to engage any more of them without more backup, preferably in the form of a detachment of soldiers.

Slater rode up on Sleeve and his men in a cloud of dust. “Howdy, gents. Looks like you came along just in time to save me from some unsavory sorts wearin’ badges. Good thing I recognized you, Buck.”

“Happy to oblige. What had those folks so riled up?”

“That marshal was none too happy when I cleaned him
out at a poker game last night. Then, someone accused me of palmin’ a king, and the marshal decided I’d look best decoratin’ a tree.”

“I don’t suppose you actually were palmin’ a king, were you?” Sleeve said with a frown.

“Hell, no. It was an ace.” Black Duck snickered.

“Then it looks like it was a good thing we came along when we did,” Sleeve said. “In more ways than one.”

“Why’s that?” Black Duck asked.

“I have a proposition for you. One that offers a one-­thousand-­dollar reward for helpin’ us take over a town,” Sleeve said.

“Okay, what’s the catch?”

“No catch, Sleeve’s tellin’ it straight. That’s what we’re all doin’ here,” Buck said. “And that ain’t all.”

“There’s more?”

“Another two thousand to the fella that actually plugs the sheriff.”

“Who is this badge-­toter I gotta plug?”

“Sheriff Cotton Burke, over in Apache Springs. Ever heard of him?”

“Uh-­huh. And I have to admit, I ain’t so all-­fired eager to match bullets with him. However, in my present financial condition, I may have to alter my stance. Reckon I’m in. As long as the money is up front.”

“It is,” Sleeve said, “Havens has guaranteed it.”

“Then, let’s get to it,” Black Duck said.

The five gunmen rode into Las Vegas, New Mexico Territory, mid-­afternoon and headed straight for the hotel. As they dismounted and tied each of their mounts to the hitching rail, Bart Havens stepped out onto the wide porch. He lit a cigar and leaned on a porch pillar. The men walked toward him, with Sleeve leading the way.

“Mr. Havens, these are the men I promised to enlist for your, uh, venture in Apache Springs,” Sleeve said, then introduced each of the men.

“Good work, Mr. Jackson. Step inside, boys, and we’ll get down to business. I’ll explain more over a bottle of whiskey. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds fine, Mr. Havens,” Sleeve said, motioning for the other four to follow him up the steps and inside.

The hotel had its own saloon separate from the dining room. Plink kept looking around like he’d never seen the inside of a decent hotel before. Buck kept pushing him ahead as if he were some recalcitrant child. They all sat at a table Havens pointed to. He ordered the bartender to bring a couple of bottles and some glasses. Having filled each of their glasses, Havens raised his and suggested a toast. Plink couldn’t wait and swallowed his in one great gulp, accompanied by a look of disgust from Sleeve.

“To the success of the new Havens Bank and Loan of Apache Springs. You boys are the keys to helping build my new empire and bring down an old enemy. I drink to you.”

They all swigged, and each glass was immediately refilled.

“I’m sure Sleeve has told you about the financial arrangements. Tomorrow morning, I’ll withdraw five thousand dollars, one thousand for each of you. It’s yours
if
you agree with my terms of employment.”

“I also told them there’d be a two-­thousand-­dollar bonus for whoever brings Cotton Burke down, Mr. Havens. That was right, wasn’t it?” Sleeve said.

“Yes, Mr. Jackson, that is correct. But that’s not the end. My plans also call for needing men beyond my immediate requirement for the elimination of a troublesome lawman.”

“Mr. Havens, you mind a couple questions?” Buck Kentner spoke up, his dark eyebrows hovering over his squinted eyes like roosting buzzards.

“Ask as you will, Mr. Kentner.”

“What did this sheriff do to put a burr under your saddle, sir?”

“He got me driven from a town,
my
town! Damned near broke me. It was, however, my good fortune to come across another opportunity, on which I shall not elaborate at this
time, but one that allowed me to reestablish my wealth. Now, with your help, I shall prosper beyond all I’ve ever gathered before. And Mr. Cotton Burke will have to be content to lie six feet under in Boot Hill, viewing my success in his eternal damnation!” Havens shouted. The depth of his need for revenge burned in his eyes, an almost demonlike manifestation.

Buck glanced over at Sleeve, then to Comanche Dan. Both had the same look on their faces, as if they’d just laid eyes on the devil himself.

“Get a good night’s sleep, boys. I’ll lay out the finer details of the plan first thing in the morning.” Havens downed the rest of his whiskey, shoved his chair back, and strolled out of the saloon like a great weight had just been lifted from him.

As soon as he was out of sight, Buck turned to Sleeve Jackson and frowned.

“What the hell have you gotten us into, Sleeve? That hombre’s jumped the tracks.”

“He may seem to have wandered a bit off the beaten path, I agree, but the man’s got a fortune stashed away, and he’s bound to make a lot more. We can get hold of our share and then some if’n we’re patient. Don’t go gettin’ spooked on me, boys. I got a plan of my own.”

“You’re plannin’ to go against that hombre on your own?” Buck said.

“I don’t figure to risk my life for no thousand dollars. I’m after the whole herd, not just one steer, if you get my meanin’.”

“What’s in it for us, Sleeve?” Buck continued. “Stickin’ with you, that is.”

“Equal shares. Right down the line. We get rid of the sheriff like Havens wants, then we sit back and watch him rake in more cash from these dumb yahoos than any of us has ever seen. That’s when
my
plan goes into action. I got it all worked out. I’ll let you in on it as soon as we get to Apache Springs. You with me?”

They all nodded, although Comanche Dan seemed less
enthusiastic than the others. Plink was hard to read because he was already well into another of his famous slobbering drunks. Sleeve couldn’t tell if he was nodding his acceptance or about to fall into another stupor.

The next morning, Sleeve and his gunslingers wandered into the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast. Havens was already there, a table set up and a fresh pot of coffee awaiting them.

“Good morning, gents,” Havens said. “Sit and have whatever you’d like. Soon as you’re finished, we’ll go over my plan for Sheriff Burke.”

“Since I’ve never met this Burke, nor have I had occasion to ride into Apache Springs, what do you know about the town? Is Burke the only law or is there also a marshal or a constable? How ’bout deputies?” Comanche Dan asked. He seemed particularly concerned about walking into an unknown situation without forehand knowledge. “And how about the army? Any of ’em stationed nearby? They close enough to send help if the sheriff should request them?”

“Fear not, Mr. Sobro. I have all that covered. There is no one except a sheriff, and possibly one deputy, from what I’ve gathered. The closest the army gets is a few buffalo soldiers at Fort Tularosa, and they’re busy keeping that Chiricahua chief, Victorio, at bay. With your numbers and expertise, you should have no trouble overcoming whatever skills the sheriff might have with a firearm. In fact, his talents may be just a myth, made up by enthusiastic journalists trying to make a name for themselves,” Havens said, playing down the fact that he knew just how much of a threat Cotton Burke could pose.

That seemed to dampen the urge for any of the others to query Havens further. He appeared pleased by their response as he put a spoonful of sugar in his coffee and sipped it. He looked around as if to be sure there were no more questions, then called the waiter over to bring whatever the men wanted.

As the men ate and drank coffee, Havens began to outline what he wanted each to do, how they were to arrive in town, and that they were not to openly communicate with one another, so as not to arouse the sheriff’s suspicions.

“It must be made to look as if you each rode into Apache Springs separate, quite innocently, and not as a group of gunslingers looking for trouble. Stay out of fights, don’t gamble, and keep your consumption of whiskey to a minimum. A drunken shootist is no longer a shootist, he’s just a man who carries a gun and thinks himself capable of using it against any opponent. I can assure you that is not true. A drunk is a drunk, period. I need you sharp and ready should the opportunity come to face a common enemy. And make no mistake about it, gents, Burke is an enemy to each of you, as well as of me. My enterprise will depend on my remaining above the fray in order to gain the confidence of all those suckers I intend to fleece.”