Cotton's Devil (9781101618523) (15 page)

“I'm sure Cotton appreciates your faith in him, Jack. All of this is a little overwhelming right now, that's all,” Emily said.

“When Cotton gets back, things will get straightened out. Right now, however, I'd better get back to the jail and check on that animal I got caged up,” Jack said, with a snicker. “That's where I'll be in case you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. As he left, she closed the door and locked it.

The shadows of evening had descended when Jack decided to stop by the hotel and grab a bite to eat. He could also see if the restaurant had any slop they were going to toss to the pigs anyway, and have them put some on a plate for James Lee Hogg. He was grinning from ear to ear at the thought of pigs and slop and James Lee Hogg all together. It was almost prophetic. He had taken one step up onto the hotel porch, when out of the near darkness stepped a figure. Jack suddenly felt a sharp pain explode at the back of his head, then his whole world turned to midnight.

Blinking furiously to try to make something come into focus, anything at all, he was barely aware of the people gathered around him. Shadows, garbled talk, or at least he assumed it was talk. Questions emerged from his confusion.
Where am I? Who are these people? Why does my head hurt so damned bad?
I don't remember drinking, or did I really hang one on?
Am I just so drunk I don't remember falling down?
If Cotton finds out, I'm through as a deputy
. All of these rolled over in his befuddled mind.

“Deputy, the doc is on his way. Just lie still,” said a voice he thought he knew, but couldn't place. Then other voices joined in. Something was said about drinking too much, but then he heard “No, he's not drunk. He's been hit over the head. Can't you tell? Just look at all that blood.”

Blood?

Jack tried to say something, to question those around him, get some answers to whatever dilemma he now found himself in.
That talk about blood, what the hell is that all about?
Then…

“Move out of the way. I can't tell what kind of injuries this man has if you don't give me room. Now, stand aside!”

Ahh. That voice I recognize. That's Doc Winters. Wonder if he's been drinking. Hmm.

Jack felt hands taking hold of his shoulders then lifting him. He heard the doc ask for help to get the patient to his office. Then there were muffled voices seeming to agree to the request. He felt himself lifted and being carried.
Who's the patient they seem so interested in?

After a few minutes of being jostled about, he figured he was being placed on a bed.
No, a table. Too hard for a bed.
Someone said, “Go get Melody. If Jack's going to die, she'll probably want to know.”

Die? I'm not going to die! Am I? What the hell?
He heard a furious shuffling of boots and the doc's voice shooing people out of the room. Then, a few seconds later—

“Jack, I'm going to lift your head just enough for you to take a drink of this.”

He tried to ask what it was, but the words wouldn't come. He felt the doc put a steady hand behind his neck then gently raise him up. He still didn't know what he'd been asked to drink, but he knew it wasn't brandy. In fact it was about the foulest-tasting stuff he'd ever drunk. His head was then carefully placed back onto a pillow.

At least he assumed it was a pillow. That was just before his world began swirling around again and then turned black.

A
fter three and a half days of driving the rough-riding buckboard, Cotton pulled up in front of the doctor's office. He helped Delilah down, then asked Jimmy to help him get Thorn inside. Delilah was fidgeting as she tried to grab Thorn's hand while the two men carried him onto the porch.

“You better knock, Delilah, in case the doc is asleep.”

Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door flew open.

“I thought I told you people…Oh, it's you, Sheriff. Sorry. Who is this? How many folks am I expected to handle in one night?”

“It's Thorn McCann, Doc. He's been shot. A lady patched him up as best she could, but he ain't lookin' too good.”

“Okay. Bring him inside. Uh, put him on the floor over there. Roll up this blanket for under his head. I'll look after him shortly.”

“Wouldn't it be better if we took him into your back office?” Cotton said with an angry look in his eyes.

“It
would
be better, but there isn't room. Got another patient in there and he needs my help more'n this one.”

“Who is it?”

“It's your deputy, that's who. Got busted up pretty good. Someone musta taken a rifle butt to his head. I was just about to stitch him up when you come stomping up on the porch.”

“Who did it?”

“Don't know, and he isn't up to talking about it yet.”

“Can I go in and see him?”

“Had to give him some laudanum. He's not going to even know you're in the room.”

“I'll leave Delilah Jones here to help you with Thorn. I better see what I can find out about Jack's attacker. Where'd it take place?”

“Front of the hotel, near's I can figure. Leastways, that's where I found him bleeding all over the place.”

Cotton bolted from the doctor's office and headed straight for the hotel. There were several people standing around outside. As he approached them, one spoke up.

“Jack gonna be okay, Sheriff?”

“I don't know yet. Any of you see what happened?”

“Joe, here, came upon him lyin' on the porch bleedin' somethin' fierce. That's all we know. Didn't see no one hangin' around. Got no idea who done it.”

Cotton looked perplexed about the whole matter. He glanced up and down the street, seeing nothing unusual. Then it occurred to him he'd better check on Emily. Even if she was all right and knew nothing about Jack, she'd be anxious to take Henry Coyote back to her ranch as soon as possible. He walked back to the doctor's office, took the reins of the horses, and led them back to his place. As he tied them to the rail outside, he saw the curtains part and Emily peering out. He waved, but the curtain was drawn shut in an instant. The door flew open and Emily ran to him, crying.

“Thank god you're back!”

“What is it? Is Henry not doin' well? Are
you
all right?”

“Henry is coming along fine. I'm not doing so well,
however. Come inside. There's something important that needs discussing, and the street isn't the place for it.”

He followed her inside and closed the door. He started to sit but stopped when he saw her put her hands on her hips and glare at him like he was a condemned man. His insides turned to jelly. He started to speak but was cut off.

“You got lots of explaining to do, Cotton Burke, and my patience has run out! Did you or did you not shoot down a young man in Texas for no reason? I'm tired of you not coming clean with me.”

Cotton took a deep breath and hung his head. The time had come and he didn't like it one bit. If he could have crawled under the door and escaped, he would have.

“Emily, you have to understand, I—”

“Just
tell
me, no backtracking!” Her eyes had narrowed to slits, and her lips were pursed so tightly she looked as if she'd just eaten a dozen persimmons. He held up his hands in surrender.

“Sit down and I'll tell you,” he said. She didn't move. “Please.”

She complied with his request, reluctantly. Her fists were balled as she laid them on her lap. At that moment, Cotton was certain he'd rather be facing a mountain lion with only his bare hands for defense.

“I did shoot a man, but not for no reason. He was the son of a no-good justice of the peace, and a spoiled rotten son at that. Whatever he wanted, he got. If it hurt someone, Daddy bailed him out. I was the deputy in the town, and I'll admit I hated the skunk. Then one day, I went to visit my younger sister. She was newly married, and she and her husband had settled into a small house at the edge of town. She was beautiful, and I was so proud of her. When I walked in the door, I found her husband on the floor in a puddle of blood. He'd been stabbed to death. When I heard a moan comin' from the bedroom, I rushed in to find Juliet on the bed, clothes ripped off her body. She'd been raped and beaten. She died soon thereafter. Before she passed away, though, she told me who'd done it. I tracked him to
his favorite haunt, a saloon, and heard him bragging about his conquest. I was so furious, I pulled my Colt and shot him in the head.”

“H-he murdered your sister?”

“Yes. And my brother-in-law.”

“And they called what
you
did murder?”

“Yes.”

“This is what you couldn't tell me for fear of…of…what?”

“I didn't want you to think badly of me. I-I'm sorry. I reckon I
should
have told you.”

“I reckon you should have, too. Cotton, don't you understand the concept of trust?”

“I—”

“So that's what that Hogg fellow was blathering about.”

“Hogg?”

“Yes. He came here and threatened to shoot me if I didn't tell him where to find you. Thank goodness Jack came bursting through that door and hauled him off to jail.”

“You're sayin' James Lee Hogg is in my jail?”

“Yes! Jack took him there at the end of a shotgun.”

“I'll bet money that he ain't.” Cotton jumped to his feet and rushed out the door.

“Cotton! Where are you going?”

He didn't answer her. He ran straight for the jail, with his Colt cocked and ready. When he got there, he burst through the door. He was met with exactly what he had expected. His shoulders slumped when he saw the empty jail cell.

Son of a bitch!

He grabbed a short-barreled shotgun from the rack, loaded it, and beat a path back to Emily. When he opened the door, she was standing at the window, watching him through the curtain.

“Why did you—”

“James Lee Hogg is gone. He must have a confederate in town that whacked Jack over the head to cover the escape.”

“Jack's hurt?”

“Badly, I'm afraid. But not as bad as James Lee Hogg will be when I find him.”

Emily put her hand over her mouth and shuddered. Cotton could see the fear that had overtaken her. He held out the shotgun.

“Here, take this. It's loaded and ready. When I leave to go check on Jack, you lock the door and don't let anyone in but me. Understand? If James Lee Hogg should come back, don't ask questions, don't even talk, just blow the bastard to hell and gone.”

“Y-yes, of course, but what if—”

“Please, Emily, please do as I say. I know you're worried, but
your
safety is the most important thing in my life right now. I'll be back soon.”

He turned and all but flew out the door and down the street toward the doctor's office.

H
e'll be groggy from the laudanum. You'll get little out of him, I'm afraid,” Doc Winters said. “I got him all stitched up right and proper. Going to have one helluva headache for a spell. He'll be his old self in a day or so. He's damned lucky, though.”

“Lucky?”

“A blow that hard
could
have caved in his skull. I couldn't have
patched
that up.”

“I appreciate what you've done, Doc. What about Thorn McCann?”

“Whoever sewed him up did a right good job. But he'd lost a lot of blood. If that lady in there with him can get him to eat regular so he can build up his strength, he'll be fit as a fiddle in a few days.”

“I'll be back later to check on Jack,” Cotton said, as he turned the door handle to leave. He hesitated, saying, “Thanks, Doc. Don't know what we'd have done without you.” He left in the same hurry that had brought him. Only,
instead of going to the jail, or to see Emily, he headed for the clapboard-sided building that housed the undertaker's establishment.