Cotton's Devil (9781101618523) (13 page)

“Delilah, how did the three bodies make their way into the barn? I don't see Thorn being much help, and from your description of Mrs. Hardin's state of mind, she probably wasn't up to the task, either. That leaves you.”

“You're right, Sheriff. I couldn't leave them lying out there in the blistering sun. Besides, at night there're wild animals roaming around. Hungry, wild animals. So I dragged them one at a time to the barn and closed the door. Didn't have any idea when you'd be back, so—”

“Never mind. I understand. You did the right thing, although you maybe should have put the horses in the corral.”

“I-I'm sorry, that never occurred to me. Are they all right?”

“Horses don't like bein' around the smell of death, but other than that, I figure they'll survive.” He turned to Jimmy. “Jimmy, see if you can find a couple shovels so we can put the deceased in the ground, quick and proper-like.”

Jimmy went back outside with a hint of reluctance. He clearly didn't care for the aroma of the first signs of rotting flesh any more than the horses did. But he went, nevertheless. Cotton turned back to Delilah, who had gone over to stand next to Thorn's chair. She put her hand lightly on his shoulder and gave him a weak smile.

“I brought a buckboard to take you and Thorn into Apache Springs. Didn't figure he'd be up to climbin' aboard a saddle just yet. But I didn't figure on Mrs. Hardin, either. We sure as shootin' can't leave her here alone.”

“You're right, but I don't see talking her into leaving here as being easy. She's a feisty lady, and this has been her home for a good long time. She'll fight the notion of abandoning her dearly departed.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. Think you could sweet-talk her into seein' the facts as they are? This isn't the place for a woman all by herself. The stage line will be back to runnin' a full schedule soon enough, and it'll require someone who can take care of several teams, feedin', waterin', and makin' food for the passengers while they wait for an exchange of horses. She'd be expected to do that, too.”

Delilah looked to Thorn. He shook his head. “Cotton's right. Mrs. Hardin can't be left alone to manage the place.”

“But what if she refuses?”

Thorn looked away. “I don't know. I feel powerful bad for the lady. She saved my life, the way I figure it. But I don't allow as how we could force her to do something against her will.”

Delilah stared at the curtained doorway to the bedroom.
“I will try my best to get her to see things your way, Sheriff. But I can't guarantee she will.”

“I found us two shovels, Sheriff. Where do you figure on plantin' them?” Jimmy shouted, clomping onto the front porch.

“Jimmy, I hope someday you'll gain enough smarts to know better'n to shout such stuff where a grievin' widow can hear you,” Cotton said, as he eased outside to keep Mrs. Hardin from overhearing any more.

“Uh, yessir, sorry. I wasn't thinkin'.”

Jimmy followed Cotton to the barn to start the most disagreeable task the young man had ever undertaken. The look on his face revealed reluctance to even approach the barn, but he dared not show it in front of the sheriff.

S
everal times each day since Cotton left, Emily went to the bedroom to see if Henry was resting comfortably. He hadn't moved one inch from the spot she and Jack had put him in. He kept staring at the ceiling when she asked if he would like some water. It was as if he were in a trance. She wasn't certain if he even heard her. She decided she'd bring a cup from the well anyway. If he didn't feel up to it, she'd try again later.

She had drawn aside the curtain at the bedroom door, her attention somewhere else, when she looked up to see a grinning monster standing in the middle of the front room. It was the man who'd tried to gun her down. It was the one Cotton had called James Lee Hogg. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream. His expression indicated he liked seeing the fear on her face.

“Wha-what do you want here! Get the hell out! Now! You murderin' piece of trash!”

“Now, now, little lady, callin' folks names don't make for much of a budding friendship,” Hogg said.

“Friendship? Why, you pig, who'd have you for a friend?”

“Hmmm. I see your point. I reckon I'm really not all that likable. Oh well–”

“I'll ask one more time before I yell for the sheriff. What do you want here?”

“Well, you see it's like this. Since we're both standin' here jawin', it looks like I've failed in that part of my mission that said you'd be better off dead.”

“Why? What did I ever do to you?”

“Oh, little lady, this ain't about me, or you for that matter. It's about that murderin' sheriff you seem to have taken a likin' to. He and I got business.”

“You don't know what you're talking about. Cotton Burke never murdered anyone.”

“Not the way I heard it. You mean he hasn't taken you into his confidence about his shady past? Ha! That figures. Those kinds of secrets
should
be kept locked away, I reckon. Now, if I was to have found favor with a right smart-lookin' woman like yourself, well, I'd be tempted to keep her as far away from my dark past as I could, too.”

“No woman worth her salt would
ever
take up with an animal like you.”

“That's not kind. You should watch what you say to me. I take offense awful easy.”

Emily took a step sideways, giving consideration to what her chances might be if she tried bolting for the front door. That's when she noticed him following her every movement with his narrowed, hate-filled eyes. She saw him break into a wry smile. She wanted to retch.

“Not a chance. You couldn't get within three feet of that door before I'd plug you.” He sniggered.

She could see he was probably right. And it was obvious he wouldn't have any qualms about taking another shot at her, whether he attracted any attention or not.

“Now, let's get down to some palaverin' about whether you live or die. Where is your precious sheriff? When will he be back? I know damned well he can't stay away from you very long. Can't say I could, either.”

“You don't know anything about him, or me either for that matter.”

“I know more'n you can conjure. For instance, I get a right keen remembrance of the last time the sheriff and I met with every step I take.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I got this limp. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. I got it from that bastard sheriff of yours. He shot my big toe off over a damned dog. What do you have to say about that? A damned dog!”

“I'd say you likely deserved that and more. He should have aimed higher.”

“Lady, you seem to be full of unfriendly talk today. And that ain't makin' me take kindly to any idea of lettin' you live when I leave this stinkin' town with the sheriff's head in a gunnysack.”

Emily's eyes grew wide when she heard his description of what he had planned for Cotton. She was facing pure evil, and there seemed to be absolutely nothing she could do or say to prevent whatever Hogg had in mind. She felt near to fainting as she placed a hand on the arm of a nearby chair to keep from collapsing.

“Go ahead, sit yourself. I know women don't take well to men's realities sometimes.”

“Y-you can't really be serious about shooting a man down just because you lost a toe,” Emily said. “Y-you're sick.”

“Yep, could be, but there's sicker ones out there than me. Why, I do believe I know one that's near to a ravin' maniac.”

“What! What're you saying? You'd do a thing like this for money—”

“Oh, yeah. You don't figure I'd come all the way from Texas over the loss of a toe suffered at some son of a bitch's hands, do you? Nah, there's two thousand dollars reward money comin' to me when I kill him. Wouldn't doubt there'd be more if I gun down someone close to him, too. You, for instance.” James Lee seemed to be enjoying the psychological pain he was inflicting on Emily. “Yep, that's the kind of money can easy make a man forget losin' a toe.”

“Who would pay a man like you all that money? And for what?”

“Why, Judge Sanborn, that's who. He's the one that put up the reward money. Hasn't the sheriff told you about ‘Lucky Bill' Sanborn? Particularly how he bit the dust?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. I've never heard of anyone named Sanborn.”

“I reckon you two aren't as close as I figured. That's somethin' I'd sure as hell tell my woman. If I had a woman, that is,” James Lee said. “Course, if you was to get a bit friendlier with me, maybe I'd soften my thinkin' toward killin' you, too.”

“I'd rather get friendly with a pig in slop than let a bounty hunting piece of scum like you touch me.”

“I've heard them same words told to me before, believe it or not. Can't rightly figure why, though.”

“Go on with your lies about who it was that Cotton Burke was supposed to have murdered. I can't wait to hear them.”

“Ain't no lie, lady. He killed that poor boy sure as I'm standin' here. Didn't even give him a chance to defend himself. Poor lad.” James Lee faked a sniffle as he wiped away a phantom tear. “Leastways, that's what his poor grievin' papa says.”

“Then his
poor grieving papa
spews forth an untruth as well.”

“Now, I figure the judge would not take kindly to your accusin' him of a falsehood, ma'am, he—”

Emily turned away. She could no longer stand the sight of him. She buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

When Jack left the jail for a trip to the saloon, where he was certain a shot of brandy was awaiting him, he looked down the street and noticed a horse tied up in front of Cotton's house. He didn't recall ever seeing it before and wondered who it belonged to. If Cotton had returned, he would
have stopped by the jail to let his deputy know. Cotton was a man of habit, if he was anything. Jack felt an urge to investigate.

He went back inside to pull a shotgun off the rack, load it, and snap the barrel back in place. He carried the gun casually hanging by his side so as not to alarm any of the citizenry that might anticipate trouble brewing. He kept to the buildings and plank sidewalks as far down the street as he could so as not to draw undue attention to himself.

When he got near the small, clapboard-sided house, he stepped gingerly up on the porch from the side so he could peek through the window before knocking on the door. The window was open to allow any cooling breeze that might happen to drift by to refresh stale air inside. A curtain hung at the window, barely wafting from the slight current. Squinting, he could see Emily sitting on one of the few seating choices afforded the place by a stingy town council, and she appeared to be crying. He could make out the figure of a man with his hand on the butt of his holstered revolver, as well. The red bandana and flat-brimmed hat gave no doubt that James Lee Hogg had returned. Jack was instantly fearful for Emily's safety.

With limited choices as to his best chance to catch the man off guard, he decided to try the doorknob. With as much stealth as he could muster, he had started to touch the knob when he discovered that it stood slightly ajar. Hogg had obviously not wanted to make a noise when he entered by letting the door close behind him. Jack wasted no time. He kicked the door as hard as he could, thrusting the shotgun out in front of him. James Lee spun around to face two barrels of potential death staring him in the face.

James Lee's expression turned from one of pleasure at the pain he was inflicting on Emily to an angry growl. Giving it no more than an instant's thought, he eased his hand away from his revolver.

“Good choice, Mr. Hogg. You couldn't have even got that smoke wagon cocked before I blew you to hell. Now
just unbuckle your gun belt and let it drop. You and me are going to get you situated in the town's best accommodations for a rattler like you.”

James Lee complied, as Emily wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I'll be back soon's I lock this varmint up, Emily.” She could only give a tearful nod.