Cotton's Law (9781101553848) (23 page)

“So what? There’s nothing he can do about it. He’s already signed it.”

“He seems to think there
is
something he can do about it. He’s got a shotgun.”

“And where was you headed, gal?”

“I was going to get the sheriff.”

“Never mind. I’ll handle this.”

“But, wh-­what are you going to do?”

“Reckon I better save Mr. Havens from being murdered by a bloodthirsty rancher.”

“No, wait, I don’t think Mr. Blanchard would really . . .”

Sleeve paid her no mind and pushed past her. He drew one of his Schofields as he entered the bank, stalking straight for the back. He heard arguing coming from Havens’s office. Since the door was already open, he stood just out of sight for a moment.

“Here’s what I propose, Havens. You tear up my contract and I’ll walk out of here, and you’ll live to cheat someone else, just not me.”

“Mr. Blanchard, I assure you that the contract was made in good faith.”

“Then, I have no choice but to—­”

The roar of Sleeve’s Schofield threw the skinny rancher to the floor in front of Havens’s desk. Blanchard gasped for air as blood burbled from his back.

Havens sat back with a rush of air, pulling his handkerchief. He mopped his brow. “I do believe you came just in time, Mr. Jackson. That crazy old coot was fixin’ to kill me.”

“I do believe he was, at that, Mr. Havens. Now, I wonder why.” Sleeve’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on Havens, who gave him a scowl.

Cotton burst through the front door, followed closely by Delilah Jones. His Colt was drawn.

“What the hell happened here, Havens?”

“Old man Blanchard was about to blow my brains out. Fortunately, Mr. Jackson was nearby to witness the whole affair. And of course, the fair Ms. Delilah also saw my imminent danger. She’s likely the reason you got here so fast.”

“No, it was the blast of this man’s revolver that brought me. I don’t allow gunfire in my town, except on the rare occasion that someone
needs
killin’.”

“You don’t intend to arrest Mr. Jackson, do you?”

“No, not as long as it was self-­defense, as you claim. I’d better not find out to the contrary. Too bad the wrong man got shot, though.” Cotton leaned down to the dead man. He frowned, visibly angered by this turn of events. When he stood, he shot Havens a look of disgust, then turned and strode out.

“W
hat happened?” Jack shouted, as he came at a dead run down the middle of the street toward where the gunfire had come from.

“One of Havens’s killers shot down Donald Blanchard. Your lady friend said the old man confronted our crooked banker about the rotten deal he got on his loan and wanted to have the contract torn up. Havens didn’t see it that way. Blanchard had a shotgun and Sleeve Jackson pulled down on him. The wrong man went down, shot in the back. And now I got to go talk to a widow.”

“You
do
have to tell her what happened, I suppose, but . . .”

“More than that. I’m sure she knew what he was comin’ to town for when he hauled out his shotgun. My fear is that we’ve just seen the first volley in what could quickly erupt into a general uprising against Havens.”

For the next three days, both Cotton and Jack overheard grumblings from various citizens, all lamenting the lack of
an arrest over Blanchard’s killing. The town was growing increasingly uneasy about the gunslingers and about the rumors of Havens’s mistreatment of some who’d taken out loans from his bank.

“Cotton, you can’t just sit there and do nothin’. What do you aim to do about Blanchard’s murder? You know it can’t rightly be called nothin’ else,” Jack said. He had grown weary of Cotton’s disagreeable silence and of keeping his thoughts on the subject to himself.

Cotton slapped the desk with both hands and stood up.

“First, I’m goin’ to have a whiskey. Join me?”

“Try to stop me. I can’t remember the last time you bought. This I do with pleasure,” Jack said, keeping stride with the long-­legged sheriff, a broad grin across his face.

Cotton strode to a table at the rear of Melody’s saloon and sat. Jack followed suit. When Arlo asked what they would like, Jack jumped in with, “Couple of whiskeys, the good stuff this time. And put it on the town’s tab.” Cotton gave Jack a frown, but sidestepped making a comment. He put his elbows on the table, folded his hands, and leaned forward as if a secret was about to be shared. Jack waited until Arlo served them before he spoke.

“Now, since you aren’t overly generous with sharin’ whiskey, which by the way, I’ve almost never known you to drink, what’s on your mind?” Jack said.

“As soon as other ranchers who’ve signed up for one of Bart’s interest-­free loans find out about Blanchard, they’re goin’ to start askin’ questions. Why did he go after Havens? They’ll ask his widow what happened. She’ll tell ’em they were all cheated, and that Havens had her husband murdered. Then all hell’s goin’ to break loose. Most of the farmers and ranchers either don’t read at all or have so little book learnin’ they for sure never read what they were signin’. I’ll bet some of those loan contracts have only an ‘X’ for a signature.”

“And you figure as soon as they find out they’ve been hornswaggled, they’ll do the same thing Blanchard did.”

“Worse. I wouldn’t put it past a couple of those early settlers to set things right with a rope or a torch. Either way, the town comes out the loser. I have to stop that. But I’m goin’ to need your help.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jack’s eyes showed wariness Cotton hadn’t seen since he tricked Jack into coming to Apache Springs in the first place.

“Since I’m the main target of Havens’s gunslingers and you’re a better talker than I am, I’d like you to go out to Blanchard’s ranch, talk to his wife, and try to keep the lid on things.”

“Who’s goin’ to watch your back while I’m gone?”

“Reckon that’s a chance I’ll have to take on my own. Just watch yourself. We don’t know yet how those ranchers are going to take the news of Blanchard’s bein’ killed by one of Havens’s men.”

“You’ll be here with that Plink Granville and Sleeve Jackson and Black Duck Slater. Even if what you say is true about Comanche Dan, which I’m damned well gonna need proof of, those aren’t good odds. How about gettin’ Henry Coyote to hang around with that Spencer of his while I’m gone?”

“Now you’re thinkin’ like a true lawman. I’ll ride out and fetch him and you can leave as soon as I return.”

Jack’s ride out to the Blanchard place took him the better part of three hours. The small ranch lay between two hilly ranges in a high, green valley. Good grass, sufficient water, and easy to defend if the need arose. Why Blanchard needed money was anyone’s guess. Maybe he wanted to increase his herd before winter sets in. Jack reckoned it wouldn’t be a bad investment. But why didn’t he read the fine print before signing such a contract? Didn’t Darnell Givins warn him about Havens beforehand?

Jack’s silent questions weren’t going to supply any answers until he had a chance to talk to Blanchard’s widow. It was a task he didn’t relish. When he rounded the bend in the road that led directly down to the ranch house, he was
met with a sight he hadn’t counted on. There, gathered in the yard front of the house were about twenty men, and they didn’t appear to be in a celebratory mood. One was even carrying a coiled rope. The shouts and grumblings didn’t bode well for him having much success talking them out of a hasty reaction to the tragedy. He rode up slowly and dismounted. He hadn’t been spotted through the commotion until he reached the outer ring of men.

“Well, well, if it ain’t the deputy. Come callin’ for a reason,
Deputy
Stump?” Mrs. Blanchard said bitterly.

Jack understood her anger, but it was misdirected. Neither he nor Cotton had had any way of knowing that Blanchard would do something so foolish as to threaten Havens in front of his own gunman. But now it looked to be
his
job to defuse the situation before it got out of hand. Way out of hand by the looks of the crowd.

Jack removed his hat as he addressed the lady. “Yes, ma’am, I have come for a reason.”

“And what might that be? You come to say it was all a mistake and that my poor Henry wasn’t shot down in cold blood by that snake Sleeve Jackson?”

“Wish I could, ma’am, but the truth of it is, Henry didn’t give Jackson no choice. Henry was fixin’ to pull the trigger on that scattergun and blow Havens into the next world. By the time we heard the shot, it was too late to do anything. Henry was already dead.”

“So, why
are
you here, Deputy?” asked the man holding the rope.

“I’m here at the behest of the sheriff to keep a whole lot more of you folks from bein’ killed. If you all go stormin’ into town with revenge on your minds, sure as blazes there’ll be a lot of bloodshed. Havens has some stone cold killers that would love to earn their keep by brute force. In fact, that’s just what Havens hired them for.”

“You got a better idea? We can’t just let that son of a bitch Havens steal our land over some piddlin’ little printin’ at the bottom of a piece of paper. Ain’t none of us could understand it, anyways,” said Mrs. Blanchard.

“I understand. And so does the sheriff. That’s why he sent
me
out here instead of comin’ himself. He’s cookin’ up a plan to get rid of Havens
and
his schemin’ ways. But you gotta give us a little time. That’s all I’m askin’ for. A little time. Believe me, we want rid of Havens as bad as you do, along with those snakes he bought and paid to cover his ass—­uh, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.” Jack chewed on his lip as he awaited an answer.

Considerable grumbling rumbled through the crowd as Jack waited to see which way the wind would blow the rope. He noticed that most of the men were armed with either rifles or shotguns. There wasn’t a man among them that had a chance in a close-­in fight with revolvers, which is exactly what would ensue if they tried to take Havens on his terms.

“Besides, just look at you. You’re plannin’ on goin’ up against hired killers with rifles and shotguns. It’d be a turkey shoot, with you bein’ the turkeys.”

After several minutes, one man nodded to Jack and said, “All right, Mister Deputy, you got until the end of the week to come up with a way to get rid of that thievin’ owlhoot, or toss him in jail to wait for a judge. If there ain’t nothin’ changed by Friday, you can count on us and about a dozen more to come ridin’ in with one thing on our minds: a necktie party.”

A chill came over Jack as he rode away. He knew there were many eyes on his back, and that brought with it an uncomfortable realization. The end of the week was but four days away. Four days until one sheriff and one deputy might have to fend off a mob of men with blood on their minds.

W
hen Jack reined his horse in at the front of the jail and dismounted, the door was open. He could see Cotton sitting at his desk, apparently jawing with someone across the room. Jack looked around to see if any of Havens’s men were hanging around. Seeing none of them, he eased inside, to find Henry Coyote grinning over a cup of coffee.

“Ah, Jack,” Cotton said. “Good to see you made it without any holes in that nice shirt. I told you I wasn’t the talker, you are. Did you get anywhere with Mrs. Blanchard?”

“Uh-­huh. Well, I
can
say there’s a passel of folks hoppin’ mad at Blanchard’s death. I came upon a mess of ’em. They were well on their way to comin’ to town for a party.”

Henry got a quizzical frown on his face. “What is
party
?”

“Well, Henry, in this particular case, it was goin’ to be a necktie party in honor of Bart Havens. Jack seems to have talked them out of the festivities. Right?”

“Uh, yes and no. They gave us four days to solve the
Havens problem or they’re on their way to town in force. I’d say about twenty or so were gathered at the Blanchard place. The leader, whoever the hell he was, made it sound like they could gather up an army if necessary. I’d say it wasn’t a bluff.”

“Four days, huh? Well, I reckon that’s some better than four hours. Thanks for doin’ your best, Jack.”

“Cotton, you mind if I go meet Melody at the hotel? Told her if I got back in time we could eat together.”