Cotton's Devil (9781101618523) (34 page)

I
n preparation for the possibility that today was the day of Sanborn's retribution, Jack was shrugging into Cotton's familiar blue cotton shirt, the one with the hole sewn up where a bullet had found its way into his side. The fit was fairly good, although Cotton was two inches taller and ten pounds heavier. Jack placed his own hat on the desk and had just put on Cotton's when he heard her voice from behind him.

“Jack! Why in the hell are you wearing Cotton's shirt? I'd know it anywhere. You better 'fess up. Something stinks mightily of skunk in here,” Melody shouted.

“Melody! I thought you were going back to bed,” Jack muttered meekly.

Melody was swishing about the sheriff's office in her flowing robe with pink feathers all the way from the floor to her neck. She hadn't bothered to put anything on under it, and had just tied it with a satin belt in front. She went over to the room that contained the cells. Glancing in, she stomped her foot and spun around.

“Where's that poor sick man you told me about? Did he suddenly die? I'm sick of your lies, Jack. I want some answers and I want them now. Why are you wearin'— oh, my god. What that judge said was true. There's some men coming to kill the sheriff and you're going out in his place to face them down! He's too big a coward to do his own dirty work.”

“No, no, no, Melody. This is part of a plan we put together to trap that old man. He's the evil one here. There aren't any hombres comin' to Apache Springs intendin' to kill anybody. You were lied to.”

“I don't believe you. Why would a judge lie to me? Huh? Tell me that.”

“Because he is a crooked, vengeful, rotten old bastard that can't let go of his desire for revenge.”

“Revenge for what?”

“Uh…I can't discuss that right now. Maybe at a later date.” Jack was feeling trapped by her barrage of questions, and time was running out for him to be ready for Hogg's expected appearance.

“Now! I want to know now! And I'm not leaving until you tell me. Everything!” Melody's face had turned three shades of pink in her fury. She gritted her teeth.

Frustrated beyond control, Jack reached for her arm to usher her back out the door and set her on a course straight for her bawdy house. Just then she did something quite unexpected. She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out her Remington double-derringer. She pointed it at Jack, her hand shaking as she pulled back the hammer.

“Don't think you can just walk me out that door, either!” she said, her voice full of anger. She stuck the derringer in his chest.

“What the hell, Melody!
You
gonna shoot me? Why? You figure to keep me from getting shot by shooting me yourself? That musta took some real cogitatin'.”

“I, uh, no…” Her eyes seemed to be searching for some elusive answer to his questions.

As she was muttering incoherently, Jack took the opportunity to grab her gun away from her. Her expression was
one of shock and waning fury. He knew she wasn't going to go away quietly. He had to do something, and he didn't have a lot of time to think about it. He did the only thing he could under the circumstances: he whirled her around and shoved her into one of the empty jail cells. When she realized what had just happened, she burst into her terrible rant all over again, stomping her feet and cursing a blue streak. A couple of the words that came out of her mouth he could swear he'd never even heard before. He gave her an “I'm sorry” grimace and a shrug as he locked her in and hung the keys on the hook next to the gun rack. He went back to finishing the job of making himself appear as close as possible to the sheriff, Cotton Burke. He checked his Remington and sat on the edge of the desk to wait for whatever was to come. He tried to shut out Melody's string of curses and keep it from reaching everybody in town. The closest he could come was to close both the window and the door.

Cotton and Henry watched the street in front of the hotel from behind the curtains of Cotton's house. They could see out, but no one could see in. Just as Cotton was beginning to believe he'd been wrong about how Sanborn's scheme would unfold, the hotel door opened and out stepped James Lee Hogg. The man looked as if he'd slept in his clothes. He hiked up his gun belt and looked around nervously. He walked to the front of the porch and stepped into the street.

“Time for me to go, Henry. I'm taking the alley out back and crossing the street at the west end of town. No one will pay any attention to me if I act as if I'm just out for a casual stroll. You know what you need to do. Keep to the rear of the buildings to the east before you cut over behind the jail and up to the hotel. Keep a keen eye out for Jack. Go ahead.”

Henry nodded and left by the rear door. Cotton was right behind him as he turned in the opposite direction. When he stopped after a few steps and looked around, Henry had already disappeared. The sheriff bolted down the alleyway, reaching in a couple of minutes the point where he intended
to cross the street. He slowed and looked around the corner of the gunsmith's storefront before heading across to the other side. With the possible exception of a woman sweeping the boardwalk in front of the dressmaker's shop, he went unnoticed as he sauntered casually across the dusty street on a trajectory that kept him out of Hogg's sight.

When he reached the back stairs to the hotel, he looked down the alley to find Henry already in position to watch the rear door while also keeping an eye on Jack and anyone who might try getting behind him. Cotton opened the rear door and slipped inside. There was no one in either the hall or on the stairs. He took them two at a time as he raced up to the second floor. He slowed as he approached Sanborn's room, from where he figured Lazarus would take his shot. As he neared the room, he leaned close so he could hear anything that might be said between them. At first there was no sound, but after a minute or so, he heard Sanborn giving a last-minute order.

“Don't shoot until he goes for his gun, remember that. It has to look like Hogg killed him in self-defense with a clean shot.”

“Don't you worry, Judge, I'll have him dead to rights the moment he gets out of the shadow of the building next door.”

Cotton smiled to himself. That's when he heard Hogg's first shouted declaration.

“Citizens of Apache Springs, I, Deputy U.S. Marshal James Lee Hogg, have here in my hand a warrant for the arrest of one Sheriff Cotton Burke for murder, worthy of a hangin' by all that's holy. This vicious killer has, uh, pulled the wool over your eyes far too long, and I aim to end his reign of power over the good people here who thought they had an honest and honorable man as their sheriff. Yes, the guilty man is none other than Sheriff Cotton Burke, the man who murdered an innocent young man in Texas. It's time he got dealt with properly. I'm here on orders of the Honorable Judge Arthur Sanborn. Come on out, Sheriff!”

J
ames Lee Hogg puffed up his chest in self-importance as people began slowly to step outside their places of business and venture onto the boardwalks that lined the main street through the center of Apache Springs, to see what the commotion was about. They were smart enough to know to stay a safe distance from the boastful Hogg, for his words were certain to bring a swift reaction from the sheriff. Should a confrontation ensue, and bullets begin to fly, none wished to be the unlucky recipient of a stray hunk of lead.

“I'm callin' you out, Sheriff Burke! Step out and face me, if you dare!”

All eyes turned as Jack emerged from the jail, staying close to the buildings and keeping in the shadows of the porticoes that popped up intermittently along the way to the hotel. His hand rested on the butt of his Remington .44 as he strolled along at a leisurely pace, obviously in no hurry, even though Hogg was demanding he do just that.

Hogg was becoming more and more impatient for the sheriff to appear before him instantly. He began wringing
his hands, shifting from one foot to the other, looking generally disconcerted. He shifted his glance from the street to buildings on the other side, to windows that overlooked the road. That's when he must have noticed the onlookers shift their gaze from him to somewhere down the street toward the jail. His nervousness seemed to increase by the second, as perspiration began to trickle down his forehead.

“Where the hell are you, Burke? I can't wait all day for you to show up so I can either put you in irons or plug you where you stand! There's a circuit judge waitin' to take you to trial, and he's anxious to get on with it.”

Hearing the racket outside, Mayor Orwell Plume stepped from his door and took up a position next to the town's clerk. They looked at each other for a moment before Plume spoke up.

“So that's why the old judge wanted to hold court in the street. He was out to get the sheriff all along. I knew there was something wrong with that man from the beginning. I don't like what I'm watching.”

“You figure we should round up some folks to back the sheriff? There's no damned way he could have done what that fool's claimin'.” The clerk looked at Plume, awaiting an answer. Plume said nothing. He seemed frozen in place.

Just then Jack stepped out from beneath the cover of an overhanging portico and onto the street. He was no more than twenty feet from Hogg. The phony marshal instantly recognized Jack and grew flustered. He clearly didn't know what to make of this development. He twisted to look up at Sanborn's window for some sign, some direction.

Listening at Sanborn's door, Cotton heard the distinct sound of a hammer being cocked. That was his cue to make his move. He took one step back from the door and slammed into it with all the force he could muster. The door was ripped from its flimsy hinges, crashing to the floor to the complete astonishment of Lazarus and Sanborn. Suddenly seeing his nemesis standing a mere three feet from him, the wide-eyed old man began screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Kill him! Kill him, you fool! Kill him before he shoots me!”

Unnerved by Sanborn's crazed yelling, Lazarus tried his damnedest to turn the Sharps rifle around in Cotton's direction before the sheriff could take aim, but the barrel first banged against the windowsill, then caught in the wafting curtains, causing him to hesitate that one split second too long. Cotton's Colt bucked as it roared, spewing fire and smoke to send a lethal hunk of spinning lead straight for Lazarus's forehead. The Sharps flew from his hands at the impact, crashing to the floor in front of Sanborn, who looked at it like it was a snake. Lazarus's death was instantaneous, as his body was hurled through the open window, taking pieces of curtain, window frame, and glass with him and landing with a dusty
whump
on the street below. Having come to rest, sprawled behind a startled James Lee Hogg like a discarded bag of laundry, the body of the late Lazarus Bellwood didn't even twitch as the dust from his untimely demise slowly dissipated in the slight breeze. The whole thing had transpired in the blink of an eye.

Hogg's eyes were wide as a barn owl's. He swallowed hard, then spun back to face Jack. He had yet to complete his part of the bargain. He was suddenly face-to-face with a scowling deputy sheriff with a cocked Remington .44 aimed directly at his head. Hogg's hand was shaking so badly, he couldn't even find his still-holstered weapon. Finally, resigned to his fate, he could think of nothing to do but slump his shoulders in defeat.

“Unbuckle that gun belt, Hogg, and take off the badge we both know you somehow got illegally. There's no marshal on earth that would pin a badge on you. You and I are going to revisit the jail. Your last visit there didn't last long enough. This time I'll venture to guess you'll be there for a month, which is when a real circuit judge will be here to pronounce you guilty of murder and set a date for a hangin'. I personally will be on hand to enjoy that moment.”

Hogg hung his head and slowly began the trek to the jail, defeated and shamed in front of the whole town.

*  *  *

In the hotel room, Arthur Sanborn was spitting angry curses over what he saw as a violation of his privacy. He wasn't through seeking his vendetta against this pompous sheriff, not by a long shot.

“You've done it again! You just shot an innocent man down for no cause whatsoever. He was simply in my employ to assure there'd be no shenanigans when Marshal Hogg tried to arrest you. I'll see you swing from a limb for this, you bastard; you mark my words!”

“Oh, I'll mark them all right, Sanborn, but I doubt it'll get you anywhere.”

“We'll see about that when I bring charges against you for cheating a man out of his life by your callous act.”

“Well, in the meantime, I think you and I will saunter down to the jail and continue our little chat there as we await a telegram I'm expecting.”

“Telegram? Telegram from whom? Is this another of your tricks, Burke?”

“No trick, Sanborn. Now, get going. You might as well bring along your belongings, too. I have a feeling you'll not be comin' back.”