Cotton’s Inferno (6 page)

Chapter 10

B
y the time Johnny Monk returned to the little cabin, the young lady was sitting in a rocking chair. Her face seemed to have gotten back some of its color and she looked more at ease.

He held up the two rabbits he'd managed to shoot with the Springfield. She gave him a smile for the first time since he'd come upon her lying in the doorway to the cabin. He told her he'd skin the rabbits and make a fire. But first he'd have to chop a few more pieces of wood. Fortunately, right behind the house, he found some wood and an ax, although the blade was rather dull from accumulated rust. He didn't have time to try sharpening it; he'd have to make do with what he had.

As soon as he had a fire built up in the stove and the two rabbits ready for the frying pan, the lady had regained enough strength to pitch in. She found a small amount of lard in a can and some flour in a paper sack hidden behind a skillet. This puzzled Johnny, but he decided he'd keep that and all the other questions he'd saved up for after she had eaten and he could tell she was feeling better. He did take notice, however, that she had changed into a flowery gingham dress while he was out chopping wood or, more accurately, beating it into kindling. She took charge when it came time to actually frying the meat, for which he was more than glad. He could kill a dinner, but he wasn't that adept at making it edible.

“Why don't you go sit down and rest for a spell? You've been fussing over me all day. Heavens, what could have come over me to cause me to just faint dead away? Lucky you came along when you did. The coyotes could have dragged me out and had a meal of me. I don't know how to thank you.”

Johnny said nothing as he watched her take two hands to heft the iron skillet onto the stove. She wasn't much more than a slip of a thing, and while he had no idea how old she was, he could tell she'd been through some pretty tough times. Her hair was a mousy brown and appeared not to have been brushed or combed for weeks, but she had the makings of a pretty young lady. He smiled as he watched her stand over the frying pan with a look of anticipation.
Bet she hasn't eaten in a month of Sundays
, he thought. The girl forked the pieces of fried rabbit from the skillet onto a platter and brought it over to the table. She sat and folded her hands to pray. Johnny didn't know exactly what to do, but he kept his mouth shut and followed her lead. He listened, slightly embarrassed, when she thanked the Lord for sending
this fine young man
to her in her time of need.
Amen.

They both ate like ravenous wolves. Johnny had eaten little except a rabbit he'd trapped and a javelina he'd shot since leaving the ashes of Whiskey Crossing, and now he found himself in an awkward situation. He harbored a deep need to continue his quest to find Carp Varner and kill the bastard. But now, faced with leaving a young woman alone to face any number of possible evils, he was torn by what his proper course of action should be. He was shaken from his woolgathering by a voice, her voice, seemingly much stronger. Sweet and melodic.

“What is your name? I don't believe you told me. Or did you? I can't seem to remember those hours just after you came along.”

“My name's Johnny, Johnny Monk. What's yours?”

“Rachael.”

“I don't mean to pry, Rachael, but what's a lady doin' out here all alone? I can tell you from experience it ain't safe.”

“I didn't start out alone. My mother died from a fever soon after we began building the cabin. Then my father went to find work somewhere, another ranch maybe. Said to wait right here. He promised he'd come back for me. He didn't.”

“How long ago did he leave?” Johnny asked, scratching his head in wonderment that a father would leave his daughter alone to fend for herself.

“In the spring. Early May, I reckon it was.”

“Lordy, Rachael, it's the first week of September. Where do you figure he got off to?”

“I . . . I . . .” Her eyes could no longer meet his. She looked away as if ashamed of some terrible act.

“You don't figure he's comin' back, do you, Rachael?”

She hung her head and sniffled a little. Johnny felt bad for her. She seemed to want to cry but couldn't. He figured she'd already cried herself near to death. He wasn't quite sure what he should do next. When he started to say something, Rachael broke in.

“Could you stay for a while, Johnny? Just until my pa comes back, that's all. I won't be no trouble, I promise.”

He found himself torn between what he felt was his mission and doing the honorable thing for this young woman. Honor was important to Johnny Monk. His mother and father had both stressed time and time again how important it was for a man to stand straight and always do the honorable thing. That meant helping folks the best he could, at least that's what he thought it meant. He began to stroke his chin.

“Course, if you don't want to, I'd understand. I reckon you got things of your own to do. A young man don't need no scrawny, homely girl to look after. Why, I'll just bet you was on your way to seek your fortune when you come across me.”

“Uh, I don't think you're . . . uh . . . homely
or
scrawny. I think you look just fine. And I don't reckon there's no fortune waitin' for me to drop by and pick it up. But . . . I . . . uh . . . do sorta have a, er, mission, I reckon you could say.”

“What kind of mission, Johnny?”

“I'm goin' to kill me a monster, that's what. A murderin' monster that burnt up a whole town and killed lots of people. There weren't nothin' left but a smokin' pile of sticks and stuff. Why, I was lucky to get out of there with my hide intact.”

Rachael's hand flew to her mouth. “Mercy sakes alive! I never heard tell of such a man. What'd he look like?”

“Well, he was kinda tall and he always wore a long black duster and a red neck scarf. Carries a Smith & Wesson Schofield revolver, all shiny, with ivory grips. And he's a dead shot, too.”

Rachael recoiled at Johnny's description of Carp Varner. She covered her eyes as tears burst forth like a spring shower. Her whole body began shaking as if the angel of death was at her doorstep.

“What is it, Rachael?”

“That's him! He came by several days ago. He stole all my food, took everything of value my pa left me, and then he . . . tried to . . . have his way w-w- . . .” Her tears were now an agonizing testament to what she'd been through. Johnny didn't need a further description of Carp Varner's capabilities. He'd seen what the despicable snake was capable of. He wanted to put out of his mind the vision he got of Rachael falling victim to such demonic acts.

“Did, uh, did he . . . ?”

“No. I was able to evade all his advances. He'd probably have caught me sooner or later, but he seemed in an awful hurry to get shed of the place. When he tore outta here, he lit a lantern and threw it on the porch. Flames erupted all over. He just shouted something I couldn't make out. I reckon he figured to pay me back for the rejection by burning the place. It had rained for two days and the wood was pretty soaked. I was able to get a bucket from the well and douse what fire there was.”

Johnny's hatred for Varner was growing by the minute. He moved to Rachael and took her in his arms, hoping that if he gave her comfort, her sobs would soon subside. He didn't really have any idea about what to do with a woman in tears, but he had a very good idea of what needed to be done with Carp Varner, and he fully intended to be the instrument of retribution for her and for all those lost at Whiskey Crossing. But first, he had to figure out what to do with Rachael. Pretty soon, she pushed back and turned to sit in the rocker. Her eyes were red from crying. It didn't take a worldly man to see what all the trauma of losing her father and mother had done to her, and now this vicious attack by a murderous gunslinger had all but brought her world to an end. That's when he surprised himself by the next words out of his mouth.

“I'll stay with you, Rachael. Together, we'll set things right. Count on me. I won't abandon you.”

She looked up at him with the first ray of hope he'd seen on her pretty face since he arrived.

Chapter 11

W
hen Melody and Pick rode slowly back into Apache Springs, it was late afternoon, and except for the few lanterns popping up in the windows of a couple shops on the dark side of the street and in the restaurant, folks seemed to have called it a day. Melody was so tired she nearly fell off the mule's back trying to dismount. She was muttering something about never going into a hole in the ground again, so help her. As she started for the steps to the saloon, she turned and said, “Pick, you be at the bank at nine
A.M
. sharp. We'll get this deal settled and you can be on your way.”

Pick had already started toward the livery with the mules as Melody stomped up the steps. Inside the saloon sat five or six men drinking and laughing. It was too late for any serious card games to be in progress. One of those men was Carp Varner, although he had chosen to avoid company and sit off to himself. He had an open bottle of whiskey sitting in front of him, but it looked as though not a drop had been poured or spilled. As Melody stormed by in her rush to get upstairs, Carp spoke up with what he figured would be an irresistible enticement.

“Say there, pretty lady, how about I join you in your ‘boudoir'?” He sat back and pushed his hat off his forehead.

“Get lost!” she shot back with a snarl, then motioned for Arlo to follow her. On her way up the curving staircase, she whispered to the bartender to heat some water so she could take a bath. He ran down again and headed for the back room to get a fire started under a bucket of water. On his way, he was again accosted by the rude man in the black duster.

“Hey, bartender, what's it gonna take to get the lady to pay attention to a paying customer?”

“Like I told you before, mister, she's not available. Pick another. It's for your own sake.”

“I take what I want! Guard my words well, friend, you'll see what I mean. It'd be a good idea if you passed that on to the lady,” Carp said sharply, before Arlo could disappear into the back room. Carp poured a glassful and gulped it down. It would be his first drink of the day.

* * *

Melody had soaked in the sudsy warm water for about a half hour before stepping out of her imported copper tub and drying off. She slipped into a robe and eased into the room she shared with Memphis Jack Stump, who had gone to bed quite early. She bent over his still form, kissed his cheek, then shook his shoulder.

“Jack. Jack! Wake up. I have marvelous news. We're going to be rich,” she said, getting into bed alongside him.

“Huh? What's that? What the hell time is it anyway?” He was muttering in such a confused way, Melody wasn't certain he'd understood what she said. She figured a more blatant approach might be necessary, thus she applied one. She snuggled closer and began kissing him all over. He started to fight her off, but as deep sleep faded and wakefulness increased, he regained sufficient consciousness to participate in whatever game she had in mind. He rolled over on his back, blinking in the darkness.

Melody didn't give up on her intention to bring him fully awake by whatever means necessary. “
J-a-a-a-ck
,
h-o-o-o-ney
,” she whispered, in a voice dripping with honey. “Are you ready to hear my
great
news?
H-m-m-m
?”

As Jack suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her so close she could hardly get her breath, he muttered, “Uh-huh. I
will
be in a few minutes.”

“I guess it can wait that long,” she gasped.

* * *

Carp Varner stumbled several times, nearly losing balance each time, as he made his way to the hotel. The now nearly empty bottle dangled from his hand, then slipped from his grip and crashed to the ground. As he went, he whistled a tune he'd made up. He'd no more than reached the bottom of the stairs when he began muttering, at first almost inaudibly, but slowly growing louder and louder as he climbed the steps to his third-floor room.

“Ain't no damned floozy gonna make a fool of Carp Varner, no siree. She'll wish she'd done her d-damnedest to satisfy my every want and need, or I ain't the spawn of ol' B-Bloody Bob Varner, the meanest, killin'est son of a bitch the frontier ever heard of.”

He struggled to find the keyhole, punching at the presumed location of it over and over until finally succeeding. He kicked the door open so hard it hit the wall and bounced back in his face. He slapped at it, then crossed the tiny room and fell facedown onto the iron bed. He was soundly snoring in seconds. The door remained wide open the rest of the night.

* * *

Jack awoke early to see Melody sitting at her mirror running a brush through her thick blond hair. She was dressed like she was going out. “Good morning, sweety,” she cooed.

“G'mornin', Melody. Say, what was all that you were mutterin' about last night when you came in? I don't think I got much of it.”

“You wouldn't wake up, so I had to help you, and then when we were done, you went right back out again. I knew it could wait until morning. And here it is, all sunny and bright. Another beautiful day.”

“Uh-huh. Melody, when you're this cheerful this early in the day, there's somethin' a-brewin', and I figure it's gonna be somethin' I won't take kindly to. Am I close?”

“Jack, you're the most suspicious man I've ever known. In fact, you're going to be as excited as I am when you see the deal I've put together.”

“Uh, deal?”

“Yep. Remember I told you I was going to buy Pick Wheeler out? Well, by ten o'clock this morning, I'll be the sole owner of one of the richest silver mines in the territory. Why, there's silver just pouring out of the walls.” She sighed with pleasure at the remembrance of the sparkling traces of silver she'd seen reflected in Pick's lamplight.

“You have to be joking. I can't believe Pick Wheeler's mine is worth two cents. Why, that old goat is nothing but an insufferable braggart. You'd do well to steer clear of him.”

Melody ignored his comment, continuing to run the boar's-hair brush through her luscious locks. She rubbed some rouge on her cheeks, then dabbed perfume on her throat. She stood a look at herself in the mirror, turning left then right, just to make sure she was radiant from every angle. Jack fell back on the pillows.

“Please, Melody, give this some more thought. Let an expert go into the mine and confirm Pick's claim. He's a crafty ol' goat, and I don't trust him one bit.”

“No need to. I've seen the silver for myself. And you can trust that I know silver when I see it. That mine is absolutely full of the real thing, all right.” She closed the door behind her, leaving Jack fuming. She could be heard humming all the way down the stairs.