Cotton's Devil (9781101618523) (30 page)

“Wha' wif you're shlow in takin' yer shot? I could get killed.” James Lee looked around for his canteen.

“Quit whinin'. You aren't goin' to get killed. You gotta trust me. I been doin' this for Sanborn for years. That stupid son of his called out some of the best shootists in Texas, and I never let him down, did I? If I'd had an inkling of what he'd done to the sheriff's sister, I'd have been there to stop the killin' of Lucky Bill. But I wasn't. So I reckon he wasn't so lucky after all, was he?” Lazarus said with a chuckle.

“Mokay,” Hogg mumbled, stuffing the last biscuit in his mouth whole.

“With no moon tonight, it'll be dark enough to leave here in about an hour.”

Hogg nodded his acceptance of the timetable. His nods weren't enough to convince Lazarus that the big, dumb oaf wouldn't manage to screw up the plan one more time. He could only hope he wasn't in the line of fire when it happened. He was imagining Hogg getting restless halfway through the day and deciding to take a stroll over to the saloon and risk ordering a whiskey in front of a bunch of cowboys who'd taken quite a liking to Miss Lucy. In such a case, he could see Sanborn completely losing control and ordering him to shoot everybody in sight, including Hogg, a
feat better left to someone with something less limiting than a single-shot rifle.

A few minutes before midnight, Lazarus kicked a loudly snoring Hogg's bootless foot.

“Get up. It's time to shove off.”

“Oww!”

“Oh, sorry. Didn't know that was your bum foot.”

“Huh? What the hell…? Ohh, it's you. O-okay.” Hogg slowly stumbled to his feet, stretched and yawned, then shuffled over to where he'd picketed his horse. Lazarus led out, with Hogg sleepily wobbling from side to side in his saddle. Lazarus had mapped out a route back to town that would avoid contact with any ranch houses. He didn't want to bring attention to two riders traveling in the dead of night, something that would surely arouse the suspicions of a community already nervous since Lucy's violent death.

Lazarus had, from the beginning, been unable to understand why a man with Sanborn's cunning would saddle himself with a disreputable oaf like James Lee Hogg. Hogg had a reputation for being unruly, unreliable, and a poor shot. If Sandorn had picked a gunslinger of some note, the whole plan would have made sense, and likely progressed smoothly. Of his own volition, James Lee Hogg had caused havoc and brought too much attention to himself, and thus to any who might appear to be associated with him.

As they neared the town limits, only two or three windows had lamps lit. There were no signs of life on the streets, not even a stray dog to nip at their heels. The coast looked clear. Lazarus motioned for Hogg to follow him in. When they got to the back of the hotel, Lazarus dismounted, whispered for Hogg to do the same, and then tied the horses to a railing. James Lee followed Lazarus up the back stairs to the third-floor room where he was to be ensconced for a day and a half.

Lazarus unlocked his room and went in, then closed and
locked it behind Hogg. He struck a lucifer and lit an oil lamp, turning the wick up only enough to make out what little furniture there was. While he hated sharing a bed with the unkempt Hogg, Lazarus had no choice. If the plan was to work, he knew he must stick to the every detail as worked out by the judge. It looked as though things had gone perfectly. No one had seen them, of that he was certain. He could rest easy in the knowledge he'd followed his part to the letter.

“Why is the judge wantin' to wait an extra day?” Hogg asked.

“He wants the sheriff to stew a bit longer, maybe worry himself into a frenzy,” Lazarus said.

He smiled as he turned down the lamp.

At the back of the alley, a walnut-skinned man squatted against a stockade fence in the shadow of a lone cottonwood, a Spencer rifle resting across his knees. He watched and waited. The information he had gathered that evening would prove invaluable to a certain man of the law. Of that, he was sure.

W
hen the posse returned to Apache Springs well after midnight, having seen neither hide nor hair of the elusive James Lee Hogg, a disgruntled group of men bent on revenge disbanded in front of the sheriff's office and staggered off to their homes for some much-needed rest. Jack, never one to let conversation get in the way of his sleep, merely gave Cotton a half-assed salute and wandered across to Melody's saloon and her bed.

He staggered up the stairs, opened the door gingerly, and slipped inside. He pulled off his shirt, gun belt, and boots, and eased into bed beside Melody. He left his pants on. Too much trouble to remove them as sleepy as he was. He was snoring within a minute.

It felt as if he had no more than drifted off when he was quickly awakened by being punched and pummeled by a frantic, naked woman. Melody. And she seemed to have finally lost her mind.

“Jack! Jack! Jack!”

“Melody, stop! I need my sleep. Wake me later, please…” And he rolled over to bury his head in his pillow.

“No, Jack, get up! This is a matter of life and death. Please, wake up!”

“Uh-huh, life…and…deafp…” he muttered, his voice muffled by the deep folds of the down pillow.

“I'm not kidding, Jack. If you don't wake up and listen to me, you could be lying out there on the street as cold and dead as Cotton Burke.”

Jack suddenly came awake. He pushed himself up on one elbow and met her face-to-face. What he saw was fear.

“Wh-what did you say? Cotton…what?”

“I had a visitor today while you were gallivanting all over looking for Lucy's killer. He made it a point to drop by and let me know about the danger you are in.”

“What danger and what visitor, Melody?”

“Seems there's a gang of lowlifes on their way to Apache Springs. They intend to see Cotton Burke dead in the dust. This man very kindly warned me to keep you off the street so you don't end up like Cotton. He said these men are so evil they'd stop at nothing to get their quarry and anyone nearby wearing a badge. That'd be you.”

“This visitor. Who was he?”

“Said he was a new judge—Sanborn, I think he said—and that he is privy to information plain folk don't know. Sounded like he knew what he was talking about.”

“Sanborn, huh?” Jack mulled that over a couple of times, swung his legs off the bed, and pulled on his boots. He grabbed his holster, gun belt, and Remington .44. As he was finishing getting ready to leave, Melody's expression changed from despair to shock.

“Wh-what are you doing? Didn't you hear me? I said you are in
danger
.”

“I heard you. Did this judge happen to mention when this was all goin' down?”

“I, er, think he said something about tomorrow…at noon. I…think.”

“Good.” Jack leaned over and gave Melody a kiss on the cheek. “I'll be back in a little while. Keep the bed warm.”

When he opened the door, Melody put her hand to her mouth.

“I-I can't believe you'd take a chance on going out on the street when you know there's trouble brewing. What if those men get here early? What if the old judge got his day wrong? All sorts of things could happen that make it dangerous for you to leave this room. Haven't you been listening? Don't you understand?”

“Oh, I understand, all right. And I'll explain later, but in the meantime, don't fret your pretty face about me. Why, you might cause wrinkles to set in,” Jack said with a laugh and closed the door behind him. The last he saw of her she was sitting up in bed with the sheet pulled up to her chin to cover her nakedness, wearing nothing but a frown that could burn a hole in shoe leather.

“Cotton, it appears the old judge has put his next move into motion,” Memphis Jack said, as he walked through the open door to the jail at first light. The heat from the past few days meant windows were left open all day and all night, along with doors at least kept ajar by a rock or a chair.

Cotton, in early because of a restless night, looked up from pushing a cleaning rod with a piece of cloth soaked in cleaner through the barrel of his six-shooter. The desk was covered with various parts from rifles and shotguns, in addition to the sheriff's Colt .45. He didn't stop attending to the task at hand as Jack continued.

“Anyway, it seems Sanborn stopped over to Melody's while we were out with the posse. It sounds like you were right, much as I hate to admit it. He indicated to her that some
owlhoots
are on their way to town to gun you down. He let her know in no uncertain terms that I should stay out of the way and I wouldn't get hurt.”

“Nice to know he's concerned over
your
welfare.”

“Kinda what I thought, too. Why, the more I think about
it, I could grow to like the old buzzard.” Jack laughed. Even Cotton found that humorous.

“Time to prepare for Sanborn's version of Armageddon.” Cotton stopped what he was doing and leaned back in his captain's chair. “Strange as it sounds, I'm lookin' forward to gettin' the whole thing behind me.”

“Unless, of course, it all turns sour and it happens he had planned farther ahead than we figure.”

“There's that possibility. But I kinda doubt it.”

“Why's that?”

“Sanborn has always been a man to take his time conjurin' up some evil doin's and never wavering from 'em. He doesn't seem to favor last-minute changes.”

“Hmm. I reckon I see what you mean. James Lee Hogg's crazy antics would have put most normal-thinkin' men to scrub the plan and come up with another. Or leave town altogether.”

“Exactly. Jack, I do believe there's hope for you yet.”

“So, you still expect to be meetin' Hogg all by himself?”

“Not really ‘all by himself.' There's that other element I told you about.”

“Oh, yeah, Lazarus Bellwood.”

“Unless I'm way off the trail, he's in it up to his neck. The very same neck we'll hang him by if he goes through with Sanborn's orders.”

“You seem pretty confident you have it all figured out. I hope to hell you're right. I'd hate to become sheriff by an unfortunate accident,” Jack said, turning to step back outside.

“Where you goin'?” Cotton asked.

“I didn't get a chance to eat anything. I need a little something to wake me up.”

As Jack was leaving, Henry Coyote strolled in.

“I'm glad you're here, Henry. You get what I asked for?” Cotton said.

The wily old Mescalero smiled as only he could.

“You got coffee? Trade for information,” he said with a chuckle.

J
ames Lee Hogg awoke before dawn. His mouth was dry, and he had the jitters. He hadn't had a drink of whiskey since the day he'd lost control and smashed Lucy's head in with the butt of his gun. His stomach was turning over from lack of food, too.
I can't stay cooped up in this dismal room for another twenty-four hours, no matter what that jackass Sanborn says. I gotta get me somethin' to eat and a bottle of whiskey to wash it down.

With that thought in mind, he stood up, a little wobbly at first, then started across the room. Four steps from the bed he stumbled and fell. Hard. Hitting his head on the floor.

“Wh-what the hell!!” Lazarus sat up. James Lee was lying across his legs, trying to sit up as he rubbed his forehead. “What're you doin' up wanderin' around, James Lee? Damn you anyway.”

“I didn't know you was lyin' on the damned floor. What're you doin' there, you idjit?”

“Just what I'm bein' paid to do, watch over you to make
sure you don't go doin' somethin' stupid…again. Now, get off me and go back to bed.”

James Lee's face was flushed with anger at the dressing down by someone he considered his inferior. Hadn't Sanborn originally told him
he
was the man in charge? If so, why was he taking orders from this scrawny, rifle-toting nobody? After all, at least in his mind, he was a gunslinger, bounty hunter, and marshal, even if his badge
was
a fake. He did enjoy puffing out his chest and playing the tough guy. He sat back on the edge of the squeaky bed to ponder the possible ramifications of any disobeying of Lazarus's command he might be tempted to consider.