Cotton's Devil (9781101618523) (31 page)

“I, uh, need to go out back. Duty calls,” he muttered.

“Oh, all right. Go down the back stairs and don't let no one see you. I'll be watchin' from the window. Get back soon's you're done.”

“I'm hungry, too. A man's got to eat.”

“When you're back in the room, all safe and sound, I'll go down and get us some victuals.”

James Lee didn't like being cooped up. He knew he'd screwed up seriously by getting drunk and killing that prostitute, but he was about to crawl out of his skin waiting for some action, the kind Sanborn was paying him for. He wanted to get it over with, collect his money, and move out of this dismal part of the country.

“All right.” James Lee pulled up his suspenders and boots and stomped to the door.

“Uh, don't forget, James Lee, I'll be watchin'.”

Lazarus's stern warning just about pushed James Lee over the edge. He held on, staring at the wood grain of the pine door, gripping the handle hard enough to squeeze water out of it, then flung the door open and stormed down the hall and down the back stairs.
Maybe I'll come back and maybe I won't, you little weasel. That'd teach you a thing or two.

“Okay, Henry, what have you seen?” Cotton leaned on the desktop, clutching a hot cup of coffee in both hands. He
hadn't slept well for the last several nights, and the only way he could cope with the circumstances of Judge Sanborn being so close was to guzzle coffee pretty much all day long.

“Man with fancy rifle sneak other man into hotel in dark. They go up back way.”

“Could you tell for sure it was James Lee Hogg?”

“No mistake bad foot.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“Need coffee. Remember better.”

Cotton laughed out loud. “Grab a cup off the counter and fill 'er up. Drink all you want.”

Henry was all smiles as he was, probably for the first time, allowed to serve himself.

“Could you tell which room they went to?” Cotton asked, sitting back.

“Make only small light. But saw them move about in room at back.”

Cotton thought about that. Such a position would give Lazarus no chance at all for a shot at him. Then it hit him. “Which floor?”

Henry looked at him quizzically. “Floor?”

“Where was room located in building? Up high, in middle, down low?”

“Ahh,” Henry said, grasping the concept of floors. “Up high.”

Just then Jack came back to the jail, gnawing on a thin piece of steak between two pieces of bread, took off his hat, wiped his brow, and sat on the edge of the desk.

“Whew, it's already building up to be a scorcher. Just checking with shop owners on my way to the restaurant for any more break-ins 'bout sapped me.”

“Have some coffee, Jack.”

“Coffee? Are you crazy? Didn't you hear what I said? It's hotter than Billy-be-damned out there. Hot coffee isn't the solution I'm lookin' for.” Jack shook his head as if Cotton had lost his mind. Cotton just smiled and turned back to Henry.

“I'm goin' over to the saloon for a beer. It may not be
cold, but it sure won't burn my lips,” Jack said. He spun around and sauntered back outside, his sandwich half eaten.

“Now that we got that settled, I think I got Sanborn's plot figured out, Henry. I talked to the desk clerk at the hotel, and he said he'd put Sanborn in the second-floor room, front corner. That would give someone a perfect shot at the street out front of the hotel. A sharpshooter couldn't miss his target from there.”

“You think that his plan?”

“Indeed I do. In fact the very thought of it has brought several incidents to mind that no one had ever given any thought to.”

“What that?”

“Every time Lucky Bill Sanborn faced a man down, it was in the street, in front of the hotel, right out in the open. Every time his opponent drew, he was instantly blown to hell. It looked to everyone like Bill had done the killin'. It was never questioned. Besides, who was goin' to question a judge's son?”

“You think other man doing shooting?”

“I'm afraid so. Even though no one ever saw anyone else. Lookin' back, the whole thing makes a lot of sense.”

“You think it man with rifle?”

“I never met the man, but if it was him, I figure
that
was his message when he went out to Emily's ranch to show her how good he was with a rifle. He probably had orders to throw a scare into me.”

“Teddy say he very good.”

“Yep, and I need you to continue keepin' an eye on him. Just don't let him see you. He might get spooked and do somethin' we aren't expectin'.”

“I watch good. He no see. I get more coffee now.” Henry scooted his chair back and went to fill his cup.

Cotton interlaced his fingers behind his head and sat back with a satisfied grin.

Looks like for once I'm ahead of you, you scheming old buzzard.

T
horn McCann sat across from his friend, Army Captain Berwick, pouring each of them a glass of the finest Kentucky bourbon they could find. The bartender guaranteed it was the real thing, and he demonstrated that point by showing them the wax seal around the cork. That was good enough for Thorn, who loved a good whiskey, but truth be known, he couldn't tell if it came from Kentucky, Scotland, or someone's backyard still. Their glasses clinked and were raised in a toast, then quickly consumed. Thorn hastened to pour another round.

“Good whiskey, Thorn, thanks. But you haven't told me yet about that favor,” Captain Berwick said, one eyebrow raised in curiosity, mixed with a touch of cynicism. He'd known Thorn McCann from when they both served in the army at the beginning of the Indian Wars. That was before Thorn discovered how little money he got paid, even as a lieutenant, for risking his life in extremely rough conditions. Thorn resigned his commission and began wandering all over looking for opportunities for easier money with
fewer risks. Being a bounty hunter had only marginally met his requirements.

“It isn't exactly for me. A friend is in some danger, and this favor could be a matter of life or death.” Thorn took another swig from his glass.

“Well, you better get on with it or the governor will start thinking I've been gone from my post too long and figure to bust me back to lieutenant,” Berwick said with a smirk.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Well, here's the way it lays out. A man named Arthur Sanborn blew into Apache Springs—the town where I'm currently livin'—claimin' to be a newly minted circuit judge. Told everyone who'd listen that Governor Wallace gave him the appointment. Happened real recent. You know anything about this?”

Berwick leaned back with a burst of laughter. He shook his head.

“Hell, Thorn, someone's been yanking your leg. That old fool sat in the waiting room outside the governor's office for damned near a whole day expecting me to talk the governor into bestowing a judgeship to him, and him without any credentials whatsoever.”

“None?”

“Not a whit. What an idjit.”

“So do you mean the governor flat turned him down?”

“Several times. Yep. Governor Wallace is a shrewd man, and you don't pull the wool over his eyes easily. The governor would be more likely to make
you
a judge than that old scalawag.”

Thorn leaned back and smiled. Satisfied he'd found what he needed, he reached over and poured another round for them both. He held his glass up.

“Don't suppose you'd be willin' to put that in writin' for me, would you?”

“Why not? Can't have men like that misrepresenting themselves in the governor's name, now, can we? I'll make sure folks'll know it's official because it'll have the governor's seal on it.”

Each man downed his glass and started back for the
captain's office. The captain pulled an important-looking piece of stationery from a drawer, took a pen, and dipped it in the inkwell on his desk. He then wrote out all that he'd told McCann, folded the paper, stamped it with the seal, and handed it to him.

“Here's to a governor with integrity,” Thorn said, as he put the paper in his pocket. He reached out to shake the captain's hand. “And to an old friend.”

“Thanks. Oh, since you've been hanging around Apache Springs
and
Silver City, Thorn, maybe you could make a couple inquiries about something the governor is interested in.”

“What would that be?”

“There've been rumors floating around that someone has been spreading some counterfeit money. See if you can put the rumor to rest, or maybe ferret out the culprit, if there is one.”

“I—uh, will do my best, Captain. Is there any reward if I can find out?”

“It's my considered opinion that Governor Wallace would be sufficiently appreciative of putting a stop to such activity to approve a reward.”

“Got any idea just how big a reward that might amount to?” Thorn asked, leaning forward and narrowing one eye.

“It hasn't been discussed in much detail, but I wouldn't be surprised to see something like a couple thousand dollars change hands. Let me know if it interests you, Thorn.”

“Oh, it interests me. I don't have to think on it. You can bet your britches it does. I'll do some askin' around and see what I can come up with,” Thorn said, eagerly. He stuck out his hand. Berwick took it and they shook.

“Wish I could stay and jaw with you a bit, Thorn, but duty calls. I'm sure you see this pile of papers that need attending to before the governor gets back to town. Keep in contact.” Berwick quickly returned his attention to the papers on his desk.

“Good to see you, too, Captain, and thanks for your help,” Thorn called out as he left the office.

*  *  *

Shortly after nightfall, Lazarus tapped lightly on Sanborn's door. He heard someone moving about inside, then the door eased open a crack. He could see little more than one sleepy eye peering out at him.

“Who is it and what do you want?” Sanborn said with a grumpy whisper.

“It's me, sir, Lazarus, and I got a problem.”

“Come in and be quick about it.”

Inside, the judge struck a sulfur and touched it to an oil lamp. He blew out the flame and sat back on the edge of his bed.

“All right now, what's this big problem? Hogg didn't get away from you, did he?”

“Not yet, but that don't mean he ain't been tryin' his damnedest.”

Sanborn let out a deep sigh. He began muttering under his breath. There was just enough light in the room for Lazarus to make out a reflection of the lamp's flame flickering in Sanborn's eyes, as if the devil himself was inside, working his evil magic straight from hell. The whole thing made Lazarus shiver.

“Then there's only one thing to do, strike before that bumbling fool ruins everything.”

“What do you suggest, sir?”

“We'll move our plan up earlier in the day. Instead of waiting till afternoon, we'll do it in the morning, first thing. The light should be sufficient for your shot. Go get Hogg and bring him down here. I've got to make him see the plan clear as day, which for his dimwitted mind may be asking too much. But we don't have time to find someone else to take his place. I've waited far too long for my revenge to wait longer on account of some fool that can't control his urges.”

Lazarus didn't move. The look on his face suggested he wanted more.

“What's eating you, Lazarus? Spit it out.”

“I was just wonderin' why you needed to be a judge if you just intended to shoot Burke from the start.”

“Being a judge carries with it a certain unquestionable power. When James Lee goes out there on my orders to confront the sheriff, it makes it all legitimate. And it makes our getaway easier. I won't have to explain anything to anyone. Besides, I want Burke shot down in the same manner as we did it every time that Bill got himself in over his head. Does that clear it all up for you?”

“Yessir, it does.”

Lazarus slipped out the door and raced up the back stairs. When he got to his room, he found the door ajar. “Hogg. You awake? Hogg!”

When he got no response, he lit a lamp, and made the sudden chilling realization that James Lee Hogg was not in the room. Lazarus went to the window to see if he could spot Hogg on his way somewhere. He knew he had to stop him before another catastrophe occurred from James Lee's crazed impulses. Seeing no trace of him, Lazarus ran down the stairs to the front desk. The night clerk was sitting on a stool, chin held in his hands, nodding. He came fully awake at the sound of Lazarus's stumbling approach.

“H-have you seen a large man with a limp come through the lobby?”

The surprised clerk shook his head.

In a near panic, Lazarus ran out the front door, into the street, then around the side to the alley.
What the hell am I goin' to do now?
Sanborn's gonna make my life hell for lettin' Hogg slip away
. As he stood there, shaking and grumbling to himself, a dark figure ambled up behind him.