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Authors: William W. Johnstone

Blood Valley (18 page)

BOOK: Blood Valley
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“That's all right, Mister Baker. What do you mean, a most unlikely candidate?”
“The Reverend Sam Dolittle.”
“Say . . .
what?”
“Believe it or not, but it's true, the preacher was a Union cavalry officer during the war between the states. Don't sell him short on bravery, Cotton. But the problem is, the man is a fanatic.”
Then I recalled his words out at the shanty. It began to fit. “What's that fanatic-thing mean?”
“That the Reverend Dolittle is not a reasonable man on certain issues.”
“Oh! All right. You mean he might go off the deep end and do something real stupid?”
“Precisely, Cotton. Fanatics, on either side of an issue, can be quite cruel and savage. That's something I would not like to see in this valley.”
“Yeah, me neither.” As if I didn't have enough to worry about, now this. But I had to say, “In a way, I don't blame the people for formin' up like this. But I don't like it at all.”
We started towards the rock arena, walkin' slow. Since near'bouts the whole town was gonna be there, I had assigned the deputies to keep watch on the town.
We walked, me and Rolf in the front, Pepper and her ma behind us. Rolf said, “Cotton, what are your feelings on Matt Mills?”
Jeff had joined us. “I don't know, Mister Baker. Sometimes I get the feelin' that he don't want all this trouble. Then at other times, I'm thinkin' that he's a greedy, uppity man who wants to be king of the whole valley—and ever'body in it to be his slaves and bow down to him. A.J., well, he's just a bastard. Excuse me, ladies.”
Pepper laughed and her mother shook her head. “We came out here together, you know,” Rolf spoke softly. “Years ago. Three adventurous young men. We all left substantial wealth behind us. And our families virtually disowned us all. There were no white people in this valley when we came here.”
“Yes, sir. I know.”
“I hate to say this, Cotton. The three of us having been through so much together . . . but I don't believe Matt is sane. A.J. is, or has changed into, a vain, greedy, and ruthless man. But Matt . . .” He give out a long sigh. “Matt is . . . well, disturbed.”
“Nuts, you mean.”
Rolf, he smiled sort of thin-like. “Well, I suppose you could phrase it like that.”
I seen Brother Jack loungin' in front of the hotel. Haltin' the parade up the boardwalk, I said, “Y'all want to meet my brother, Jack Crow?”
“Are you serious?” Martha asked, lookin' all around her.
“Yes'um.” I waved to Jack, signaling him to come on and join us.
He walked slow toward us. I got to admit, he struck a handsome figure. But his walk was pure gunfighter. More of a stalk than a walk.
“Nice-looking chap,” Rolf observed.
“Yes,” his wife agreed. “And there is a strong family resemblance there, Cotton.”
“And it ends right there, ma'am. Jack is as crazy as a bessie-bug.”
Pepper stepped up and touched me on the arm. “Why is he here, Cotton? Your brother, I mean.”
“To kill me.”
She gasped and her pa said, “By the Lord, Cotton! You can't mean that! The man is your brother, after all.”
“That don't mean nothin' to Jack. I told you, he's plumb loco. When he gets closer, look in his eyes. That'll tell the whole story.”
By then, he was up to us. I introduced ever'body all around, endin' with, “Brother Jack, this is my fee-ancy, Miss Pepper.”
Jack, he eyeballed Pepper, an odd look in his cold, snakey eyes. Then he looked at me. “You done yourself proud, Brother Cotton. Pepper Pickens. Kind of a nice ring to it. I sure do hope the weddin' comes off without no hitches.”
“What do you mean, Jack?”
That cold smile from him. “Well, Brother, you're in a dangerous sort of job. Anythin' might happen up or down the line. Now, if you was to quit totin' that star around and take up ranchin' or farmin', well, that might change matters just a whole lot.” Without changin' expression, he added, “If you get my drift.”
I met him look for look. “Oh, I get it all right, Jack. But you know me . . . when I start a job of work, I tend to see it right through to the end. Remember?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. Pa could always count on you to do your chores like a good little boy. Well, I was in hopes you'd grown out of that. That don't make my job a bit easier. And I think you know it. Ladies.” He tipped his hat.
“Mister Crow,” they said in unison.
“Gentlemen,” Jack said to us, and then he walked away. He sure had him a fine-lookin' set of matched .45s. Fancy, pearl-handled guns.
“What was he trying to say to you, Cotton?” Pepper asked, her hands on her hips.
I sighed. “Well, I reckon you could say he was tellin' me to quit sheriffin' or he was gonna have to kill me. That's the way I took it.”
“Surely,
surely,”
Rolf said, “you have to be mistaken.”
“I don't think so, sir.”
“His eyes are frightening,” Martha said, her voice low.
“Yes'um.”
“Snake eyes,” Jeff spoke up. “It's like looking into the eyes of a rattler.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Just before he strikes.”
Chapter Two
“The situation in the valley has become intolerable,” the Reverend Sam Dolittle thundered, his voice booming and bouncing all around the natural amphitheater, touching all there. “If civilized behavior is ever to come to this little paradise on earth, we—the citizens—are going to have to take a stand against the forces of darkness. Those evil men who lurk about us, tails and horns hidden from mortal eyes, those men who wish to enslave us with their greed and ruthlessness and heathenistic behavior.”
Sermon time agin.
“I am but a simple peaceful man,” Dolittle lowered his head dramatically, “but even peaceful men sometimes reach a point where they must step out of the white robes of friendship and compassion and lay aside the plow for the sword.”
Buckle on and tie down and drag iron, I reckon he meant.
“Yes!” he thundered. “They must gird their loins for confrontation.”
I didn't have no idea what he just said, but it sounded plumb uncomfortable to me.
I looked around when the preacher paused to take him a long gulp of water and pull in some breath. I met the eyes of Johnny Bull, standin' across the pit from me. He smiled and touched the brim of his hat. I done the same. Like me, Johnny, he knowed the time for talk was just about up. From now on, it was down to the nut-cuttin'.
The Rev, he droned on and on, gettin' present-day troubles in the valley all mixed up with biblical quotations . . . and gettin' a good many folks all stirred up, too. Now, in the valley and in the arena, there was some folks who had formed up a different type of church than what most believed in. These folks claimed to sometimes get in the spirit so deep that they get to talkin' in tongues and communicatin' with the higher-up spirits . . . up yonder, in the sky. De Graff, he said his sister joined one of them churches and was a different person afterwards. And I figured that if the Reverend Dolittle got them folks stirred up, that would be a sight to behold. Right unforgettable.
And Lordy, Lordy, but there was some gunslicks ever'-where you was to look. I touched glances with Waldo Stamps and Tanner Smith. Then I met the eyes and the ugliness of Injun Tom Johnson. And right over there was Nimrod, standin' with Ike Burdette and Tulsa Jack. Not ten feet away from them was Miss Maggie and Miss Jean, with their hands with them. Little Jack Bagwell, he had climbed up on a flat rock so's he could see what was goin' on. Big Mike was there, with his eyes hardly ever leavin' Pepper.
“Wahooo!” someone shouted, and I like to have jumped out of my boots. “Praise the Lord and load up the guns, brothers and sisters!”
I figured right off the bat that he was about to get in the spirit.
The woman with him, she raised her arms up over her head and shouted, “I feel it! I feel it! It's touching me! Praise the Lord!”
I craned my neck to see just who was feelin' her. But I couldn't spot nothin'. Made me kinda eerie feelin'.
“We must band together and
fight!”
Dolittle hollered. “We must rise up and slay the dragon of evil and raise the banner of decency and righteousness. We must kill the many-headed dragon before his evil numbers drag us all down into the pits. And if in doing so the valley runs red with blood, then so be it!”
“Wahoo!” a woman screamed. “Ughum booum washin' clock-bock!”
“What the hell did she say?” I whispered to Pepper.
“Hush, Cotton!” she shushed me.
When I looked agin, that woman had passed out and was layin' on the ground, her man just a fannin' her with his hat to beat sixty.
“I have prayed mightily, friends. And I have fasted long. In my mind I have walked through the shadows of the valley of death, with evil all around me . . . and I have spoken with the Lord. He has instructed me to pick up the sword and smite my enemies, smite them both hip and thigh.”
Now, as for me, I had to draw the line at smitin' somebody on the hip and thigh. I never saw no sense in doin' that. I always found it best to just shoot them and be done with it. Damn a bunch of hip-smitin' and thigh-smackin'.
And right then, in the middle of a bunch of men and women gettin' in the spirit and shoutin' in tongues, the Reverend Sam Dolittle, he lit the fuse on the keg of powder.
He pointed a long finger straight at A.J. and Matt. “There is the evil,” he squalled. “There they stand, with all their smugness and conceit and plans for endless human suffering. Right there stand Satan's cohorts—the destroyers!”
Lawyer Stokes got to jumping' up and down and flappin' his arms. “On behalf of Misters Mills and Lawrence, I'll sue you for slander, Preacher!”
“Then sue and be damned!” Dolittle roared. “And damn your black heart to the burning, smoking pits of hell, you Godless heathen! You consort of the wicked, you cohort of the Prince of Darkness, you purveyor of wickedness and debaser of morals and truth and light.
Damn
you!”
Man, I was lovin' it! I stood there just grinning' like a fool. Damn, but this was gettin' better and better. I always did like a good hellfire and brimstone and hand-clappin', singin', shoutin' service. I looked over at Johnny Bull. He was grinnin' just as big as me and I seen him wink and laugh.
One kinda large lady, she all of a sudden got the spirit flung on her and she commenced to speakin' in tongues, doin' a pretty good buck-and-wing and two-step as she was shoutin' .
“Frickin' and frackin' and jukin' at the jim-jam!” she hollered.
That wasn't exactly what she said, but that's about as close as I can come to repeatin' any of it.
“Sister Lorene is in the spirit!” a man hollered. “Hallelujah, sister.”
My early churchgoin' got the better of me. “Yeah, sister, hallelujah!” I was clappin' my hands and pattin' my feet until Pepper gave me a good poke in the ribs and a dark look. I straightened right up and acted sheriffly again.
The Reverend Dolittle and A.J. Lawrence was still hollerin' and yellin' at each other, over the din of tongues and hand-clappin'.
“You can't say those kinds of things about me!” A.J. hollered. He waved his cigar in the air. “I'll see you in a court of law, preacher!”
“You cigar-suckin' sinner!” Dolittle fired back. “There is a stink in this place this evening; the smell of evil. And it is emanating from
you!”
He pointed.
I didn't know what emanatin' meant, but it sounded nasty to me.
Another lady got all up in the spirit and began dancin' and prancin' around, speakin' in strange tongues. “Froggie in the cloggin' bottom sittin' in the mud!”
Or something close to that.
Then she just passed plumb out, falling backwards and landin' on her ampleness, her dress all hiked up.
“Sister Abigail!” another lady admonished her. “Cover yourself!”
“Her drawers is showin',” a man yelled.
'Bout fifty people, mostly men, went rushin' over there. But they was too late for any sightseein'. Sister Abigail had done jerked her dresstail down. But her eyes was still all walled back in her head and she was stiff as a board.
Now, I got a little suspicious of that. If the good lady was all caught up in the spirit, seems like to me that it wouldn't make no difference what was showin' if she was passed out.
But I reckon that ain't for me to say.
'Bout a dozen sodbusters, they formed up a line and set to singin' and shoutin' and praisin' the Lord in song.
Dolittle was still rantin' and ravin'. “The good people of this valley shall form an army of the Lord and drive the evil to the brink, like lemmings to the sea.”
“To hell with you!” A.J. shouted.
Ol' Matt shouted, “Form your goddamned army.” He shook his fist at the preacher.
The voices overpowered him. “Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves . . .”
“Any of you bastards set foot on Rockinghorse land and I'll . . .”
“. . . we shall come rejoicing, bringing in the . . .”
“. . . see your butts hangin' from the nearest . . .”
“. . . sheaves.”
“. . . tree limb, you god . . .”
“. . . Bringing in the . . .”
“. . . damned nester trash!”
“. . . sheaves!”
Fistfights broke out, with men flailin' away at each other. With a sigh, I jerked iron and put two shots in the air. The arena went as silent as a grave. “That's it!” I shouted. “This meetin' is hereby con-cluded and over and done with, too. I ain't gonna have no killin' this afternoon.” I pointed a finger first at Johnny Bull, who rode for the Circle L, and than at Fox Breckenridge, who rode for the Rockinghorse. “By the authority I got as sheriff of this county, I hereby say that both of you are deputies and you will help me clear this mess out of here.”
“A deputy sheriff!” Fox squalled. “Cotton, you can't do this to me. I got my reputation to think of!”
“Stokes!” I hollered. “Give me a rulin' on what I just done.”
“He can do it,” the lawyer said, but it looked like it hurt his mouth to say it.
Johnny Bull, he thought it was funny.
“All right!” I yelled. “Break it up and clear on out of here, and I mean do it right damn now—move!”
The crowd, they didn't like it, but they commenced to move, anyways.
“Christian soldiers!” Dolittle hollered from the rock stage. “All of you to the House of God.” He glared at me. “And you have no jurisdiction in a church, Sheriff.”
“He's right on that,” Stokes said.
The crowd slowed down and turned around at that, mumblin' amongst themselves. I raised my voice to be heard. “I don't care where you go. But you bunch up and start any trouble, talkin' about hangin' and shootin' and killin' each other, and I'll put your butts in the pokey. And if any of you think I won't do it, you just, by God, try me.”
“Just who in the hell do you think you are, anyways?” a man hollered from out of the crowd, probably standin' behind his wife.
“The sheriff of this county. And I was swore to uphold the laws and that's what I'm doin'. I don't give a damn what brand you ride for, or what piece of ground you might plow. . . . I'm gonna keep the peace. Now clear on out of here!”
“Oh, doesn't his voice just fairly ring with firm authority,” Boardin' House Belle piped up. “I just love a strong man!” She looked at me. “I'm fearful of the mood of this crowd, Sheriff. Would you escort me home?”
“I'll have one of my deputies do it, ma'am.” I grinned at Fox.
He called me a terrible name!
 
 
It was full dark in the town and the Reverend Dolittle was still raisin' sand and holy hell at his church. The church was jam-packed full with a whole bunch more out on the lawn. I had closed down all the saloons and warned them not to reopen until the next day. They didn't like it, but they done it.
At least for this night, I had kept the lid on the boilin' pot.
Fox Breckenridge had just galloped by, headin' for the Rockinghorse. His hat was on backwards and he was barefoot, his shirttail hangin' out. “You son of a bitch!” he hollered at me. “I'll get you for this.”
Looked like Belle had found her a new man.
Probably wouldn't be seein' much of Fox in town no more. Which was all right with me.
Johnny Bull had ridden out right after we got the arena cleared out. Being a deputy wasn't nothin' new to Johnny. He'd been a damn good deputy some years back.
Burtell, he had taken him a stroll down to the church and had returned, takin' a seat with me and the others in front of the office.
“They got their army, all right, Sheriff,” Burtell reported. “And the Reverend Dolittle has been named a colonel of it. There's a hundred men, all told. Pete Taylor, the rancher owns the Diamond T, he's been named as a major. Two farmers, Bob Caldwell and Bill Noland, they been named captains. Sheriff, ain't it agin' the law to form up a private army?”
“Durned if I know. I don't think so. But Judge Barbeau will have to give us a rulin' on that, I reckon.”
From the church and the grounds around it, a couple of hundred voices was raised in song. “Onward Christian Soldiers.”
I didn't blame the people for gettin' together and formin' an army. But De Graff summed it all up for us.
“There's a bunch of people fixin' to get killed in this valley,” he said gruffly. “Don't them folks know all they're doin' is playin' right into the hands of Lawrence and Mills? This is what they want. They'll kill off a bunch and get the land for a song.”
BOOK: Blood Valley
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