Cotton’s Inferno (18 page)

Chapter 34

C
otton, I got Melody's list of folks she shot off her big mouth to. Oh, and she says she's sorry.” Jack lied, handing a folded piece of paper to the sheriff who opened it and began reading.

“There could be something in here that will help. I reckon we'll see.”

“Yeah. I was particularly suspicious of the lady at the dress shop,” Jack said, with a smirk.

“Uh-huh, that one struck me, too.” Cotton folded the paper and stuck it in his shirt pocket.

“What do we do now?” Jack asked.

“The man claiming to be Burnside's nephew is supposed to arrive this afternoon. News of him wantin' to take over where his uncle left off should prove interestin'. Now that we're for sure he's comin', I think I'll saunter over and talk things over with Carp Varner. You want to come along?”

“Why not? Never know what might turn up when you shuffle a new deck.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

* * *

Varner was jamming an oily cloth down the barrel of a Springfield rifle. A drop of the oil landed on the desk as he pulled it out. He looked up as Cotton and Jack entered.

“Well, Sheriff, I hope you're coming with good news,” Varner said. “Ahh, I see you brought along your impulsive deputy, too. I hope nobody's lookin' for trouble.”

“Why should there be any trouble?” Cotton said quizzically.

“The last time me and the deputy spoke, he was pretty riled up about me and a certain lady.”

“I get it. Jack failed to tell me you two had a run-in.” He looked at Jack, who looked away. “I reckon whatever went between you is over. Anyway, I'm here with some news about the shop.”

“Good. I'm eager to hear what you've got to say,” Varner said.

“I doubt you'll see it that way. I received a notice from Burnside's nephew, a man we didn't know existed, and he says he might want to take over his uncle's business. He's supposed to be arriving on the afternoon stage. Since I've never seen the man, I'll have to wait until we've talked to know if he has a legitimate claim and is even capable of repairing firearms.”

“I, uh, reckon that means I'd better start clearin' out.”

“Not yet. Give me a chance to see what kind of critter we're dealin' with. I'll let you know.”

“Fair enough, Sheriff. I'll wait to hear from you.”

With that, Cotton and Jack went to the hotel for lunch and an opportunity to talk over what would happen if the nephew turned out to be a good prospect to run the gunsmithing business.

* * *

Looks like I'm going to have to make something happen. Can't just sit here and twiddle my thumbs while that fool sheriff decides whether I go or stay.

Carp Varner stared out the window of the shop. His ex-pression was as dark as a looming thunderstorm. He had only a couple of minor jobs to do, neither of which was due to be done anytime soon. Taking time to look out the window wasn't keeping him from completing anything that would bring in any quick cash. After seeing the Callahan Brothers ride into town, he'd been biding his time. He knew they were up to no good, and if he could put a stop to their misdeeds before the sheriff caught wind of their plans, he figured to be a hero. And towns like Apache Springs didn't have the stomach for tossing out a hero.
What the hell's taking them so long?

* * *

Almost as if responding to Varner's silent question, just after noon, the Callahan Brothers left the hotel porch and began a slow walk toward the bank, looking around like mice wary of being spotted by a cat. They split up, two walked down one side of the street, and the other took the side where the bank sat, diagonally across from the gun shop. Few people were in town at this time of day, it being near lunch. Some were at the hotel, eating, and others were staying inside their shops, avoiding the midday sun. As they got close to the bank, Black Tom stopped and signaled the others to cross the street and join him. They gathered in front of the millinery store, which sat on the corner of the alley next to the bank.

“All right, one more time, here's how this is going to go down. Dal, you go stand at the entrance to the alley, back enough that you don't attract attention. Stretch, get our horses and bring them around back of the bank. As soon as I see you're in position, I'll go into the bank and wait for any customers to leave. When I come out with the money, Dal will step up and cover me from the alley entrance alongside the bank. Stretch, when you see me come out, you bring the horses up to the front of the bank. We'll tear out of here to the south. Any questions?”

“Where you figure on us makin' for, Tom?” Dal asked.

“There's plenty of good places to take cover in those rough hills. If the sheriff gets up a posse, it will take him at least an hour, maybe more. We can easily shake him off our trail if we make it through the first south pass.”

“And if we don't?” Stretch asked.

“Then we're in for one helluva gunfight. Unless you've got some other half-assed questions, let's get this soiree started.”

They each headed for their places, all under the watchful eyes of Carp Varner.

* * *

Looks like I won't have to wait much longer
. Varner chuckled as he took the shotgun and went to the front door. His shop being at ninety degrees to the bank's entrance, across the main street, guaranteed him both a front row seat and the first shot, if it came to that. And he knew damned good and well it would, at least if he had anything to say about it.

Carp checked the loads in the shotgun one more time, closed the breech, and cocked the hammers. His Smith & Wesson Schofield sat comfortably on his gun belt. He was ready for a small war. He watched Stretch make a run to the livery stable, go inside, and come back out minutes later with three horses in tow. Halfway down the street, he led the horses down a side alley. Probably goin' to meet up at the back of the bank.
Dumb plan
. Carp smiled.

Dal positioned himself at the entrance to the alleyway beside the bank, turned, and stood near the entrance to the street. When it was obvious Black Tom was preparing to enter the front door of the bank, Varner stepped onto the boardwalk and stood in the shadows of the portico—and waited for the first move to be made. He didn't have to wait long.

* * *

Luckily, there was no one in the bank except the manager. When Black Tom entered, the man stood up and extended his hand. “Good afternoon, sir. How can—”

Tom didn't wait to hear the entire greeting. He held up his six-shooter, pointing it directly at Darnell Givins, and said, “No bullshit, mister. Start cleanin' out that vault.”

“Y-yessir.” Shaken, Darnell moved as fast as he could, which obviously wasn't fast enough for the robber. Black Tom gave him a very sharp stab in the back with the barrel of the revolver. “Move it! I'm not a patient man, mister, and I don't intend to tolerate no shenanigans.”

Givins began stuffing money in the gunnysack Black Tom had tossed to him. He started to perspire profusely upon hearing Tom cock the hammer. He dropped several of the money packs, then had to scramble to gather them and shove them in the bag. He handed the bag to Black Tom with trembling hands.

Black Tom smiled and said, “There now, that wasn't so hard, was it?” He turned suddenly to leave, then looking back momentarily, he said, “Don't holler for the law before we get gone and I won't have to shoot you. Understand?”

Givins was nodding his head so hard his teeth were chattering.

Black Tom burst out the door and started for the alley. He hadn't gone fifteen steps when he noticed a familiar face across the street.

“You! You son—”

“This just isn't your day, Callahan,” Carp Varner hollered and then let loose with one barrel of the shotgun, striking Black Tom in the face. Dal pulled his gun, but to no avail. He, too, was cut down instantly by the second barrel of the ten-gauge.

Seeing what was happening, Stretch came thundering down the alley. He'd just begun to pull his revolver when a voice from behind yelled.

“That's far enough, mister! Unless you want the same as your brothers got.” Cotton Burke was behind him, coming fast from the rear of the bank. Stretch threw up his hands.

“D-don't shoot, Sheriff. I give up. All I did was fetch the horses. That's all, I swear.”

Cotton took his revolver from him and marched him to the front of the bank, where his two brothers lay covered in blood. Stretch stared in disbelief at the corpses. He began to tremble. He was so shocked at seeing his brothers lying in pools of blood he didn't even look up to see who'd pulled down on them. Cotton looked over just as Carp Varner was slipping back into the gunsmith's shop and shouted, “Nice shooting. Thanks for your help.”

Varner smiled as he called over his shoulder, “You're welcome, Sheriff. Anytime,” and then he popped back inside to return the shotgun to a safe place.

Cotton pushed the tall, skinny Callahan along in front of him. Jack came running toward them, Remington at the ready.

“What the hell happened, Cotton?”

“Tell you when I get this hombre locked up. Oh, and make sure Givins is all right and take him back the bank's money, then fetch the undertaker.”

Chapter 35

S
tretch sat morosely in his jail cell. The sheriff and his deputy were in the other room talking about what had befallen the other two Callahan Brothers. The remaining brother was nearly in tears as he overheard only bits and pieces of their conversation.

“So what happened out there, Cotton? I heard what sounded like a cannon goin' off. Figured we were at war all of a sudden.”

“Those three we figured for the Callahan Brothers? Well, they were, and they cleaned out the bank. Nearly got away with it, too.”

“So you got the other two.”

“
I
didn't get the other two.”

“Uh, I saw them lying in the street. What happened, they fall down and start bleedin' from fright at seeing you thunderin' toward them?”

“The only one that saw me was the one I got locked up in back.”

“What was it made you go back there in the first place?”

“I noticed them leave the hotel porch, stop, and put their heads together for a minute, then head down the street in the general direction of the bank. I got curious when one of 'em went straight for the livery. When he came out with their horses, I went around the back way to see what was goin' on, just in case we'd been right about 'em.”

“Those two blasts were louder'n what a Colt puts out.”

“Uh-huh. Seems our gunsmith stepped out of his shop at just the right moment, saw what they were up to, and started blastin' away with a scattergun. Got those two in the street before I could catch 'em tryin' for a getaway.”

“Handy.” Jack scrunched up his mouth in a doubtful frown. “Real handy. Almost
too
handy.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“You haven't had time to talk to your prisoner yet. While you do that, I'll make sure the undertaker has hauled away the mess, if you'd like.”

“I'd like.”

Jack left, and Cotton poured coffee into two cups. He opened the door that separated the cells from the office. Stretch was surprised when the door opened, and he sat back on the cot quickly. Cotton handed him a cup, which he took, although reluctantly.

“So, what's your name?” Cotton asked, blowing the steam off his coffee.

“Name's Stretch and don't try being nice to me, Sheriff; I ain't up to none of your questions. What about my brothers, Tom and Dal?”

“What about them?”

“I could see they was bad wounded in the dirt. Did you send for a doctor?”

“Nope.”

“Why the hell not? You folks ain't no better'n us.”

“Bein' good or bad doesn't make any difference. But bein' dead trumps all manner of reasons not to fetch a doctor.”

“Dead! You sayin'
both
my brothers was dead lyin' there?”

“Deader'n a skunk in a stampede. Undertaker'll take good care of 'em, though.”

Stretch sniffed back a tear. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked away.

“Wh-what's goin' to happen to me? I didn't rob nuthin'.”

“You were in on it, weren't you?”

“I, uh, s'pose. But it was all words, nuthin' like really doin' . . .”

“You might as well stop there. All three of you were in on robbin' the bank. Two of you didn't make it out alive. Just because the others are dead doesn't let you off the hook.”

“What's that mean?”

“Means you'll be stayin' with us until a U.S. marshal can come pick you up.”

“Don't I get a trial?”

“If you want. The judge won't be around for a couple weeks. Besides, the marshal will be takin' you back to where the original wanted poster came from: Texas. Better get comfortable.”

Stretch Callahan stared at the sheriff like he'd been handed a death sentence.

* * *

“Undertaker took 'em. Reckon they'll be stood up in front of his place for a day or two, then he'll plant 'em.” Jack said, as he glanced at the prisoner, who stood holding on to the bars with an iron grip. “What d'ya figure to do with him?”

“If he behaves himself, he'll get a trial back in Texas, and the judge will likely send him off to prison. If he doesn't, maybe we'll take him out back and
hang
him,” Cotton said, plenty loud enough for Stretch to hear. The reaction was instantaneous.

“I ain't never killed no one! You can't hang a man for just
thinkin'
on doin' a robbery,” Stretch yelled from his cell.

“I'd surely have a problem with that, indeed I would, but there's no tellin' what a bunch of liquored-up yahoos with a rope might conjure up,” Cotton hollered. “That was their money you were fixin' to make off with.”

“Then you gotta get me out of here. Take me down to Silver City or . . .”

“Calm down. I'm not takin' you anywhere. You're as safe here as you can be.”

Stretch thought on that for a minute before speaking again.

“Uh, Sheriff, if'n I'm to be your guest, don't that mean you gotta feed me?”

Jack leaned over and whispered to Cotton. “He's got a point. I don't know about you, I'm thinkin' I don't want to wet-nurse this hombre for a couple weeks waitin' on a judge.”

Cotton scratched his head. Fact was, he didn't favor the situation, either. Then an idea came to him. He got up and went back to the cells. He leaned against the wall facing Stretch and drew his Colt.

“Here's the lay of the land. You're goin' to answer some questions. For every one that's a lie, I pop a cap into the cell. Now, you may not get hit, but on the other hand, you may. A stray bullet has a mind of its own.”

Stretch began to perspire. “You-you can't do a thing like that. It's illegal.”

“Or just an unfortunate accident.”

“I, uh, wh-what is it you want to know?”

“First question: you got any past trouble anywhere here in New Mexico?”

“Why'd you want to know that?” Stretch said, a little hesitant with giving information to a lawman. “No-no . . . er, well, yes. We did sorta have a little trouble in Las Cruces.”

“That was a close one. Wanna tell me what sort of trouble?”

“There was this fella we'd tangled with one time before. He up and stole what was ours. Black Tom said if we ever run on him ag'in, we was to gun him. Spotted him in Las Cruces. 'Bout the time we was all fixin' to draw down on the hombre, the sheriff stepped in. Told the other man to get the hell out of town. On his way out, he bumped into a Mex. Reckon his anger got the best of him 'cause he up and clubbed the fellow senseless. Then he mounted up and lit a shuck to hell an' gone.”

“Sheriff go after him? Get up a posse?”

“No, sir. He just let him leave. I figured he didn't want anything more to do with that gent. As I think on it, he may have just saved our lives that day.”

“What was the man's name?”

“Can't rightly remember, uh, Varmint or somethin' like that.”

“So what did you do to get you into trouble?”

“We was broke, so we broke into a hardware store that night and took the cash drawer. Don't know if there was a posse after us, either. Kinda felt like that sheriff didn't really want to leave town much.”

“Second question. You ever kill anybody?”

“I never did. Never had the stomach for a killin'. But my brother, Black Tom, he had to put a couple fellows in the ground.”

“Where was that?”

“Missouri. Texas.”

“Self-defense?”

“Uh, not really.”

“Then I reckon he got what was comin' to him.”

Stretch gave him a sad look. Dark circles of despair suggested he'd never been on his own and wasn't sure he liked the way things were shaping up for him.

“The wanted dodger I got on you three didn't say anything about murder, just robbery. So until I figure out who to contact to come get you, you best get used to this cell, because you're goin' nowhere,” Cotton said. He walked back into the office, holstered his Colt, and sat down.

“Get what you wanted?” Jack asked.

“Got what I expected. I'd like you to go to the telegraph office and send for a U.S. marshal to come get this fool.”

“All right, then what?”

“The stage is due in an hour. Burnside's nephew ought to be on it. After I've talked to him, we can make a decision about what, if anything, we can do with Carp Varner. That fellow still bothers me. And I need to talk a bit more about him shootin' down those two Callahans. Can't go lettin' citizens gun down folks on a hunch.”

“Pretty good hunch though, wouldn't you say?” Jack said, with a smirk. “You figure there's more to it?”

“I'd bet on it.”