Cotton's Devil (9781101618523) (36 page)

“This isn't a decent place to make a proper determination of death. Especially when there's no evidence, like blood or holes in the body. Help me get him down to my examining room and I'll do what I can to solve your mystery.”

Jack and Cotton lifted the emaciated corpse of Arthur J. Sanborn and toted it down the street to the doctor's office. Once inside, they placed him on the table on which both Thorn and Henry had been treated recently.

“You two may want to go back to the jail and wait. Things can get a little gruesome when you're trying to find a cause of death. I'll let you know as soon as I have some answers.”

*  *  *

“Winters is a good doc, Cotton, at least when he's sober; he'll figure it out,” Jack said, watching the sheriff pace back and forth across the room. “Anyway, you can't be all that tore up over Sanborn's death, can you? After all, wasn't he the one who wanted to see
you
sprawled out there on the street, all cold and stiff?” Jack had seated himself comfortably in the sheriff's swivel chair, tenting his fingers while Cotton kept the air in the stuffy office moving nicely.

“Yeah, it's not really Sanborn I'm concerned about. The important thing is where the hell is James Lee Hogg and how did he escape?
That's
what's botherin' me.”

“Yeah, well, I been figurin' on it, myself, and haven't come to any satisfactory solution,” Jack answered.

“If someone came in to break James Lee out of jail, why didn't they set Sanborn loose, also? Or was Sanborn already dead?”

“Yep, that's a real puzzlement.” Jack got up, walked over to the stove, and stuffed some kindling in to start a fire for coffee. He went out back and brought back a pot full of cold water and set it on the top of the stove. He was fishing around for the Arbuckles' when Cotton stopped pacing and began staring at Jack. “What're you lookin' at me like that for?”

“It just occurred to me you're takin' all this pretty casual-like. You know somethin' I don't?”

“Of course not. What would make you say such a thing? You think I had something to do with James Lee's escape and Sanborn's death?”

Just then Doc Winters strode in through the open door. Overhearing Jack's words, he jumped into the conversation.

“In case you're wondering, Cotton, and since your deputy brought it up, I can say for certain Jack had nothing to do with Sanborn's death, nor did anyone else. The old man's ticker just up and quit. It was worn out. He was in pretty bad health anyway, and I suspect the thought of spending the rest of his life behind bars was more than he could take.
Didn't help none that a man was shot right in front of him, either. No one's to blame, except maybe Sanborn himself.”

“His frustration at not gettin' me likely took its toll, too. I reckon that makes it easier on all of us, then.” Cotton stopped pacing for a moment. “Of course, that doesn't explain Hogg's disappearance,” he said, more to himself than anyone.

The doctor left, and Jack asked if it would be all right if he went over to the saloon and had a brandy. The sheriff just waved him off and took over the swivel chair Jack had been using. He frowned as various scenarios blew through his head.
How the hell does someone escape an iron-barred cage without leaving any evidence behind? He doesn't, and that's all there is to it.

That's when the idea hit him. He got up and meandered over to Melody's Golden Palace of Pleasure. Not in any hurry, since the town's latest threat had passed. In fact, he was feeling more relaxed than he had in months. When he pushed through the batwing doors, he spotted Jack at the end of the bar laughing with Arlo, the bartender. Cotton walked up and stood next to Jack, jerked his head to one side, then turned and walked off to an empty table. Jack got the message and picked up his glass of brandy and followed.

“Jack, when you and Melody were makin' up, did she happen to ask if I had stayed in town or gone to the Wagner ranch?”

“She asked if you were through puttin' me in danger for the night. I did mention you were exhausted and had left me in charge while you went home and hit the sack.”

“So, she figured
you'd
be stayin' at the jail to watch the prisoners?”

“Naw. I told her you had been generous and said I should get a little shut-eye, too.”

“What was her response to that?”

“She grabbed my arm and sorta dragged me upstairs. In case you're wonderin', I didn't resist.”

“Did she leave the bed before you started sawin' logs?”

“Yeah, once to do her business. She was only gone a few minutes. Why?”

“And when you first came into the saloon after beddin' down the prisoners at the jail, were there any customers still here?”

“Yeah, a few cowboys were sittin' around, playin' cards, and chattin'. Mostly, it was them that joined our posse when we went lookin' for James Lee the first time. Why all these questions?”

“No reason. Just that I'm a curious soul. I'll see you later.”

As Cotton walked out onto the porch, he saw several cowboys riding into town. They dismounted in front of the saloon and walked right by him without a word other than a barely audible greeting from one of them. As he passed their horses, he noticed something unusual, at least for cowboys.

He noticed two shovels tied on behind the cantle of one of the saddles. He smiled to himself.

Sometimes, justice does manage to take care of itself in proper fashion, he mused as he crossed the street and thought,
I hope they buried him deep
.

W
hen Thorn McCann arrived back in town, he could sense that something was different. The streets seemed alive with people coming and going, doing business and getting on with their lives just as if there were no threat from a phony judge and a crazed gunslinger. He stopped and dismounted in front of the jail. When he went inside, he found the sheriff with his feet up on his desk, cleaning his fingernails with a penknife and whistling to himself.

“Mornin', Sheriff. You appear chipper. Thought I'd stop by and see if that information I sent you was helpful. Looks like it mighta been.”

“Well, McCann, I must say it was, indeed. Thanks for sending it. I reckon we're even now.”

“Since you appear to be pretty calm about the whole Sanborn situation, I'm assuming he got wind of you finding out he was a liar and charlatan. Probably hit the road before you threw him in the pokey.”

“You assume wrong. Sanborn's dead, Hogg's dead, and Lazarus Bellwood, Sanborn's hired killer, is likewise
deceased. Sorry you missed all the action.” Cotton closed his penknife and stuck it back in his pocket. “Got pretty lively around here for a while, though.”

“
You
killed Sanborn?” McCann asked.

“Nope. He did himself in with a heart that was so full of bitterness and hatred it just naturally burst. He died like he lived, angry and alone.”

“Good. Saved the town a trial. But at least you gunned down James Lee Hogg, huh?”

“Nope, wrong again, McCann. He was, uh, apparently the unfortunate victim of some righteous fellows lookin' to teach him some manners as to the proper treatment of a fallen angel.”

“And that Bellwood character? He commit suicide?”

“Well, no. I reckon I
do
have to take credit for him fallin' out a window.”

“As a result of a little push from our erstwhile sheriff, I presume?”

“More like him walking in front of a hunk of lead from a forty-five.”

Thorn snorted and shook his head. “Three dead rattlers. My, my, sounds like you have your town back all nice and peaceable and you hardly had to lift a finger, other than your trigger finger, of course.”

“Just the way I like it.” Cotton stood up, stretched, and stepped out from around the desk. “Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. McCann, I'm going to go to the hotel and look in on that Denby Biddle fella. Haven't seen him around. Kinda wonder if he's too afraid to come out of his room after nearly being murdered by redskins.”

“He did seem a little pale last I saw, if I remember correctly,” Thorn said.

“Indeed. I must admit I'm also rather curious about what he was carryin' around in that wooden box he clung to like it was a matter of life or death.”

“Mind if I walk along? I'm kinda anxious to lay these appreciative eyes on one Delilah Jones. I'm certain you understand.”

Cotton snickered. “Reckon I do at that. C'mon.”

When they walked into the hotel, Cotton went straight for the checkin counter.

“Howdy, Sheriff. Lookin' for anyone in particular?” the desk clerk asked.

“That little fella, Denby Biddle. He around?”

“Why, no. The day you brought him to town, he came down asking for Bart Havens. I told him Mr. Havens was dead. He flew into a rage; slammed his fist down on the counter, uttering things I dare not repeat. Not if I want to keep my job, at least.”

“He
did
take a room, though, didn't he?” Cotton asked.

“Oh, no. He rushed out of here with a small wooden box tucked under his arm and headed straight for the Butterfield office. No more'n an hour later I saw him board the stage for Las Cruces or Lordsburg, don't know which.”

“Damn!” Cotton muttered. “There were some things I needed to ask him.”

As he started to leave the hotel, he noticed Thorn hurrying up the stairs toward Delilah's room without a word. Since he knew Thorn was looking forward to seeing his dark-eyed beauty, he could easily forgive the slight. Jack was sitting on the bench out front when Cotton got back to the jail.

“Where'd you go?” Jack asked.

“I'd been intendin' on checkin' on that little fella, Denby. Wanted to be sure he'd recovered from his experience with the Indians.”

“You find him?”

“Nope. Looks like I missed him by several days. Took the stage and skedaddled out of here like a frightened rabbit. That little skirmish with the Indians musta spooked him. Too bad. We'll probably never know what was in that polished walnut box he never let leave his sight.”

As Cotton took a seat next to him, Jack motioned toward the hotel.

“Looks like Thorn and Delilah are doin' the same. He say anything to you about goin' somewhere?”

Cotton turned in the direction Jack was pointing and rubbed his chin, deep in thought, as he saw Thorn McCann and Delilah Jones board the Butterfield stage headed south.

“Almost looks like they suddenly bumped up against some unfinished business,” Cotton mused. “Curious, real curious.”

“Like what? You think it had to do with the box?”

“Can't say for sure, but I think it's likely,” Cotton said. “
And
I got a strange feelin' we haven't heard the last of them two.”