Authors: William W. Johnstone
Blood Valley (21 page)
“Yeah,” I said wearily, suddenly tired of the whole stinkin' mess. “I reckon you had, at that . . . pa.” Goddamn, that last word made my mouth ache to say it.
Rolf, he grinned like an egg-suckin' dog and Jeff grinned right along with him.
“Welcome to the family, Cotton!” Jeff blurted out. “Damn, but it's good to have you back home. Ain't it, Father. I mean, isn't it?”
“Yes. Don't overdo it, son. Time for celebrating will come later. After,” he looked at me, “Cotton and I have a little chat. Right . . . son?”
“Right.” I just couldn't call him pa. I just flat could not do it.
“I'll get some hands to help with the body, Father.” Jeff left us.
“I'll personally see that he gets a good Christian burial, Cotton. That would be the Christian thing to do, wouldn't it?”
I swung back into the saddle. This rotten son of a bitch wouldn't know a Christian act if Jesus was to come up and shake his hand. “I want you to be sure to give him a . . . good Christian burial.”
I rode out, deliberately putting my back to Rolf. But I'm gonna tell you what, the center of my back was some kind of itchy until I got out of rifle range.
Chapter Five
Back in town, I called the boys in and swore them all to silence. Then I told them all that I'd learned about the Big Three.
The three of them, they just sat real still for a long moment, looks of shock and disbelief on their faces. Finally, De Graff stood up and began pacin' around the room.
“It begins to figure, now that you've dug up the bones, Marshal. A.J. and Matt, they got greedy. And Rolf, he knew that too much attention might bring them all down, like a house built of cards. Then you come along and got yourself the sheriff's job. Rolf seen a way out and pushed you and Pepper towards each other, not knowin' that you two would really get sweet on each other. Then, when you took the Marshal's job, he seen it might all come apart, or he thought it would, and he jumped the gun, sendin' Haufman out to kill you. That about tie it all up?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Now what, Marshal?” Rusty asked. “Are we gonna go after the Big Three and try to nail them on the New York City charges?”
I'd been givin' that some serious thought. On some charges, so I'd read up on, there was a time period; after that, the charges wasn't so good. Wouldn't stick in a court of law. On the murder charges against them? Well, all that happened more than twenty-five years ago, and two thousand miles away. And really, all any of them had to do was to claim they was born in some rural area back east, and their parents was dead. Meanin' that there wasn't no real way to prove Mills and Lawrence and Baker was guilty of anything.
I put all that into words and let the boys ruminate on it.
Burtell finally said, “Personal, I think it would be a waste of time, you ask me. I don't think nothin' could ever be proved agin' any of them. People change in twenty-five years; lots of witnesses, if there ever was any, would be dead. Others would be moved away and gone. All right, so them three ain't nothin' but blackhearted scoundrels, not fit for no human bein' to associate with . . . but you might be able to strike some sort of deal with them.” He looked at me.
“Yeah. A way to end the valley war.”
“Right,” Rusty agreed. “If the Big Three would agree to pull back to their legal range lines, and let the nesters and smaller spreads alone, we just kinda put those old charges on the shelf and let them gather dust. It'd be worth a try, you ask me.”
“If it ain't too late,” De Graff's remark was sour-given.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You're all forgettin' Colonel Dolittle and his Irregulars. You can't tell nobody about the charges, and the odds of them believin' Mills and Lawrence is gonna be good boys from now on is slim to none.”
He was right. That was something to think on.
I stood up. “Well, I'll just go over and have a talk with Dolittle. Sound him out on it.”
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“No!” Dolittle thundered. “Absolutely not. No way would I ever believe anything from the mouths of Mills or Lawrence.”
“You wouldn't even give it a try, Preacher?”
“No! I have spoken with God, and God has ordered me to wage a Christian war against the evil that prevails in this valley.”
I stared at him. “God . . . spoke to you, Preacher? He told you that?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
The preacher's jaw was still a little poked-out from when I'd popped him. All right, I'd tried a reasonable way, now I'd try something else. “Preacher, I'm a U-nited States Marshal, and I am orderin' you to disband this here army of yours. If you refuse, I will call in other Marshals and have warrants swore out agin you and ever' man in your Irregulars.”
He swelled up and puffed out his chest. “You wouldn't dare do that to me. You don't have the authority to do anything like that!”
“You better not try me, Preacher. I'm gonna bring peace to this valley . . . one way or the other. Now, I've showed you a peaceful way. I suggest you take it.”
“The Lord does not respond well to threats, young man.”
“That's sure true, Preacher. But I ain't talkin' to the Lord; I'm jawin' with you. And you're a mortal man, just like me.” But I had me a feelin' that the preacher had got hisself and the Lord all mixed up together.
Dolittle got to walkin' around his little office and wavin' his arms and shoutin'. “I'll pray for your lost soul, Marshal Pickens. For it is indeed obvious to me that you have shifted your allegiance from the path of the righteousness to the dark ways of sin and sinners.”
Right then and there, I knowed what Preacher Dolittle really was: a big windbag. But there's one thing about windbags that the preacher didn't seem to realize. When he led his army of irregulars agin' a hundred or more gunfighters, he'd discover, probably too late, that a .44 slug can punch a mighty big hole in a windbag.
I stood up and stared at him. “I done all that a man could do, Preacher. But I'll add this: you're fixin' to get a lot of pretty good men killed in this valley if you don't back off this stupid plan of yours and break up this so-called army.”
“Nonsense! I shall lead my Christian army into the valley of death, and we shall emerge victorious, waving the banner of Christ.”
More than likely, what they was gonna do was come out with their tails tucked between their legs . . . them that come out at all, that is.
But I didn't say no more. There just wasn't no point to it.
I walked out of the preacher's office and went straight to George Waller's store.
“Yes, Marshal?”
“Gimme that watch right there.” I pointed to the fanciest watch in his showcase. “And wind it up and set it proper for me.”
“Certainly. And how about a nice fob for it, too?”
“Yeah. That'll be right nice. And I want two hundred rounds of .44s while you're rootin' around back there.”
He blinked. “Two hundred rounds?”
“Yeah. All hell is fixin' to bust loose in the valley, George. So you just best get ready for it.”
With the watch tucked secure by a chain into my vest pocket, I walked over to Doc Harrison's office and caught him in and not busy. “Doc, how are you fixed for medical supplies?”
“Why . . . very well, thank you. I just this week received a shipment. What a strange question, Marshal. Why do you ask?”
“ 'Cause you fixin' to get real busy, Doc. Your wife's a nurse, ain't she?”
“Why, yes, she is. And a very good one, I might add.”
“Anybody else in this town know anything about doctorin'?”
“Ah . . . there are a couple of good ladies who have some nursin' experience.”
“You gonna be needin' 'em, Doc. You got a good supply of leeches?”
He smiled. “The medical profession stopped using them some years back, Marshal.”
“Just checkin'.”
I left him starin' at my back, a funny look on his face.
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The next mornin', as I was saddlin' up, I noticed a whole bunch of horses in the corral, with brands that I didn't recognize. I asked the stable boy about them.
“They rode in last night, Marshal. Them six horses there,” he pointed, “belongs to some men that look Mexican. Or at least half of them does. I don't know what them others does look like. They're kinda, well, funny-lookin'.”
“Yeah, I know.” Lobo, Pedro, Salvador, Fergus, and his goofy-actin' sons, Tyrone and Udell.
“Where are they?”
“Over to the hotel. It's plumb jammed up full, so I heard.”
“Boy, when the shootin' starts, and it might pop at any time, you hunt you a hole and get in it, you understand me?”
“Yes, sir!”
Me and Pronto, we set out for the Quartermoon. Pepper was out for a ride and she galloped up to me, leanin' over and givin' me a wet smack right on the lips. I was gonna have to admonish her for bein' so brazen, I reckon.
She sat her sidesaddle and grinned at me. “Your ears are all red, Cotton.”
“Are not!”
She laughed and we rode on. My ears did feel like they was burnin' some. But damned if I was gonna admit it.
“Cotton, what in the world is going on? The other night, my father ordered me into mother's room. I didn't want to go, and then he hit me, and forbade me to ever see you again.” She turned her head and I could see a faint bruise on the side of her face. Pissed me off.
She said, “Now, all of a sudden, he says he made a terrible mistake and it's all right for us to go ahead and plan our wedding.”
“Well, me and your pa had us a disagreement, Pepper. Man stuff.” Damn, I didn't know what else to say. I just couldn't bring myself to tell her about her parents' past, as dark and checkered as it was.
“Uh-huh,” she said, and I knowed she didn't believe a word I'd said.
I underestimated her intelligence; men have a bad habit of doin' that with women. Seems like we'd learn after awhile.
As we rode, she said, “Father is not as nice a person as he has led people to believe, is he, Cotton? And please don't try to lie to me. You can't. You get all flustered up when you try.”
I thought on it some. “Ever' man has a dark trail behind him, Pepper,” I finally said. “If he don't, then that man ain't lived very much. I been on the hoot-owl trail myself.” I had been, yeah, but like I said, it was just to see how it was like.
Piss-poor, was what it was like.
“And my father's dark trail . . . ?”
“He . . . well, he got into some jams as a young man. A boy, really. Lots of boys do that.”
Her smile was sort of sad to look at, and it hurt me way down deep. “Did he get into trouble back in New York City, Cotton?”
That shook me clear to my boots. Just how much did she know about her pa? “I really don't know where it happened, Pepper.”
She glanced at me. “Your ears are as red as fire, Cotton.”
“Are not!”
“Are too! Cotton, two years ago, a man came to the ranch to see my father. Said he was an old friend from New York City. My father was not very happy to see him.”
I just bet he wasn't glad to see him. I waited for her to continue.
When she didn't, I said, “Well, what happened?”
“The man went riding with father. He was not a very good rider. Jeff tagged along despite father's requests that he not. The man had an accident; fell off his horse and his neck was broken. Not many months after that, the man who was sheriff of the county was mysteriously killed.”
The man who had pointed out the right trail for me to take by leavin' them papers tucked 'way back in the safe.
“I became very interested in my family tree, Cotton. So unbeknownst to mother or father, I began some discreet inquiries. I had everything posted to Doctor Harrison's address in town. Cotton, my mother is not from New Hampshire. Everything came back a dead end.”
I didn't say nothin' . Let her talk it all out in her own way.
“By that time, I had noticed that Jeff and my father were becoming very secretive. I still don't know what about. When I asked mother, she pretended that she didn't know what I was talking about, that I was making it all up.”
She went on. “None of the New England Bakers that I could contact ever heard of any Rolf Baker. Finally, a doctor friend of Doctor Harrison interceded and wrote him. He advised him to tell me not to pursue the matter any further. I elected to heed the rather ominous missive.”
I knew most of what she just said. But that interceded ominous missive bit went plumb over my head. Sounded like to me she was talkin' about cannonfire.
I made up my mind right there and then to start readin' more ever' day.
“My father, and probably A.J. and Matt as well, are wanted by the law back east, aren't they, Cotton? Probably back in the city.”
“Pepper . . . don't make me say no more on it. I was you, I'd ask my daddy to tell you about it.”
But she wasn't gonna be put off that easy. “What note were you and father talking about?”
So she'd heard it all. With a sigh, I reined up and handed her the note I'd taken off of Haufman's body.
“I reckon you'd better read this yourself.”
She read it, then reread it, turnin' white as a ghost. She folded the note and give it back to me. Then she swung down and walked towards a little stand of willows by a crick. I got the feelin' she wanted to be let alone, so I loosened the cinches and let the horses blow some.
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