Cotton's Devil (9781101618523) (33 page)

He was puzzling how he might accomplish his goal when a voice interrupted the silence. He was brought back by the realization that Sanborn was yelling at him. Screaming. Just then he felt like an earthquake had opened up the ground and he'd been thrown, tumbling, into a deep chasm at light speed, racing toward the center of the earth—a hellish prospect. He couldn't believe he was hearing what was being said.

“Hogg, because of your foolish, drunken tirade, I have to move the plan to tomorrow morning! Now, sit down and listen real good! If you mess up one more time, and once again become an impediment to a successful conclusion of my desire to see Sheriff Burke dead, Mr. Bellwood has been instructed to solve my problem. You
do
understand, do you not?”

“Hell, Judge, I don't understand half them fancy words of yours. If you're sayin' I'm in trouble if you don't get what you want, don't worry about it. I'll make it look like I dusted Burke, as planned, so your sharpshooter can take him. You just be sure you got my money ready. I can bite, too, you know. Just ask that whore Lucy.” Hogg had gotten up to leave, when Sanborn made him understand who had the last word.

“Mr. Hogg, have you ever seen what a hunk of lead from a fifty-caliber Sharps can do to a man? It goes in about the size of your thumb. Coming out, and I assure you it will come out, the hole would be impossible to cover with a fist, even
your
big fat one.”

Hogg stared at him with hatred in his eyes. “I'm goin' down and get something to eat.”

“You most assuredly are not! Mr. Bellwood will bring food up here. Sit down, Mr. Hogg, and make yourself comfortable. I'll not say it again. You aren't going anywhere until I say so.” Sanborn was forceful. James Lee found it hard to believe such a powerful, commanding voice could come out of that shriveled, emaciated body.

As angry as he was, Hogg obeyed. He couldn't explain why, exactly. Lazarus left the room to bring back food. Sanborn smiled with devilish satisfaction.

The next morning, well before first light, Sanborn lit a lamp and nudged Lazarus, who responded instantly.

“It's time we make our preparations. I'll get Hogg up. You go down and bring back some coffee. We need to be ready by dawn. I plan to see this stinking town wake up with a rebel yell and an announcement that will shake it to its core. I'll teach these belly-crawling snakes to elect a murderer for a sheriff.” The look on Sanborn's face could have frightened a grizzly at that moment. The fury in his eyes was in full bloom as he prepared for his day of glory. Soon, his war would be over and he could sit in the shade of a big oak, sipping cider and reveling in his finest hour.

“On my way, Judge.” Lazarus slipped on his boots, pulled up his suspenders, and eased out of the room and down the hall.

When Lazarus was gone, the old man kicked James Lee to wake him up. Being but a splinter of a man, his kick was more like a gentle nudge to a man the size of Hogg. The gunman merely groaned, mumbled something incoherent, and rolled over. Sanborn took this to mean he was being ignored, and no one ignored the great Judge Arthur J. Sanborn.

He reached over to where Hogg had put his six-shooter when he took it off. Sanborn pulled the .45 from the holster and aimed it directly at Hogg's head. Not a man familiar with guns, Sanborn was unaware of the differences in
weight, balance, and trigger pulls of various models. His weak, palsied hands could do no better than bring the hammer back to half-cock. So he was surprised when he pulled the trigger and it failed to go off. He cursed so loudly that James Lee was at once awake, startled by the ferocity of the old man. As he opened his eyes and saw the .45 pointed his way, he nearly jumped out of bed.

He couldn't believe his eyes. Sanborn was prepared to kill him. Hogg jumped straight up with fire in his eyes, fists clenched, spluttering profanities and looking for someone to throttle. He charged the old man, grabbing him by the throat. Just as he was about to beat him senseless, Lazarus opened the door and barged in, rifle at the ready. He dropped the cups and coffeepot that he carried on a tray with a crash of steaming brew and shards of cheap chinaware.

“You lay one more hand on the judge and I'll blow you to hell, Hogg! Now, let him go and back off! Do it now or so help me the next bullet to exit this rifle will be the one that seals your doom.” For a man with a steely quiet presence, Bellwood had an incredible ability to rise to the occasion. His forceful defense of the judge rocked Hogg back on his heels. He was in a bad situation and was now awake enough to recognize it. Sanborn had one of his revolvers, and Lazarus was aiming the Sharps squarely at his head. His choices were limited to say the least. He sat down on the bed in an effort to shake the sleep from his muddled head.

Sanborn placed the revolver back in its holster and turned to Lazarus.

“Thank you, Mr. Bellwood. As usual, you are the soul of timeliness,” Sanborn said, then turned to Hogg. “Now, Mr. Hogg, shall we prepare for the opening of our little one-act play?”

Hogg was at the mercy of the old man calling the shots, as well as a man with a powerful weapon and an eagle eye. He nodded his acquiescence to Sanborn's request.

“You will start downstairs one hour after dawn, thus giving folks an opportunity to begin milling about, opening stores and such, and you will apprise the town's citizenry of
its greatest liability: Sheriff Cotton Burke. Once outside, you will shout loud enough for the whole town to hear. Your declaration of the unspeakable crimes of Sheriff Burke must be made clear. Do you have any questions, Mr. Hogg?”

“None. Uh, sorry about that mess lyin' there. Reckon I don't like to be woke up suddenly.”

“Mr. Lazarus will replenish the tray so you'll be refreshed and ready for your appearance on the street.” He nodded to Lazarus, who responded by picking up the tray and once again retreating down the hall. “One last time: any questions, Mr. Hogg? Now's the time to ask.”

“Uh, no sir, reckon I'm ready as I'm ever gonna be,” he grumped.

A
half hour before dawn, the door to Cotton's house opened and the sheriff stepped into the doorway, yawning and stretching. Henry, refusing to stay inside for the night, as usual, had insisted he remain there to keep watch. He gave the sheriff a nod. Cotton knew what that meant. Lazarus Bellwood, James Lee Hogg, and Arthur Sanborn were all still in the hotel.

“Well, old friend, if it turns out that today is Sanborn's choice, I reckon it could get mighty interesting before it's over. Want some coffee?”

“Coffee is good. You think three men ready to cause big trouble?”

“Come inside and we'll talk. I'd like your help.”

Cotton went into the kitchen, stuck some wrinkled newspapers, old wanted dodgers, and wood shavings into the belly of the iron stove, added a couple of split logs, and lit it all. He filled the coffeepot with water from the well, opened a bag of Arbuckles' coffee, and poured some in. He put the pot on the burner and went into the other room to
await the smell of the only thing that could wake him from his drowsiness, the result of lying awake half the night worrying whether he'd figured out Sanborn's scheme correctly. If he hadn't, Jack's life could be on the line. He was grateful to have Henry Coyote watching his friend's back.

The pot began to spew out the sweet smells of coffee brewing and then ready. He poured a cup for each of them. Cotton had to blow on his to cool it before sipping. For some reason, which the bewildered sheriff had never figured out, Henry simply lifted the tin cup to his lips and drank as if the steaming liquid was no more than a scoop of cool water from the stream. Cotton shook his head as Henry grinned in satisfaction. Finally, Henry put his cup down, as if to say, “Is there any more?” which, of course, there almost always was.

“How Henry help?”

Getting up to refill the Mescalero's cup, Cotton frowned as he said, “I think I know Sanborn well enough to have his scheme pretty well figured out. But as with most things where evil is concerned, something could go wrong. If he does what I expect, we'll be okay. If not, I'm going to need another pair of eyes ready to take action.”

“What you think he do?”

Cotton went on to spell out in detail his version of Sanborn's likely plan. Henry sat in silence, listening intently, waiting to see a flaw in the sheriff's way of thinking. He saw nothing.

“You have good plan. I still keep watch on back. Man with fancy rifle slippery, like snake. I be ready if needed. You no see me.”

“That's what I was hoping you'd say, my friend. The first thing I want you to do is cover me as I slip into the hotel from the alley entrance. Then stay and watch to make sure no one comes out that might present a danger to Jack. I fear more for him than myself. We don't need any back-shooters greasin' the wheels.”

Henry nodded. He might not always understand Cotton's words, but he clearly understood their intent.

At this point, all Cotton knew to do was bide his time
until Sanborn made his move, that is to say enabling Hogg's theatrical debut. It was exactly what Sanborn had done many times before in making sure his son would always be the last man standing. And he'd made certain the whole town was aware of the coming storm. From past experience, Cotton knew what was coming; he just had no way of knowing when.
That
was the unknown. He just knew he had to be ready. He had prepared Jack for
his
role in the drama and felt reasonably certain his deputy would pull it off correctly. As for Henry, there was no doubt he was the best man in the county to cover both of their backs. The remaining unknowns were simple: Would Sanborn or either of his cohorts change their well-practiced tactics at the last minute and try to pull off something completely unexpected? Would Jack stick religiously to the instructions Cotton had laid out or bow to Melody's demands that he put a bullet in Hogg as soon as he saw him? Were there any wild cards, as there had been so many times before, when a plan went awry?

Jack had gotten up well before dawn, trying his best to slip out of bed without Melody awakening. He came close, but not quite close enough. As he was pulling on his pants, he heard a small voice coming from beneath the covers, asking where he was going.

“Just to the outhouse,” he whispered. That turned out to be the wrong answer. Melody came out of bed like a shot.

“What's the matter with the chamber pot I sent all the way to New York for? All that hand-painted porcelain too damned delicate for your ass? And since when do you need to strap on your gun belt to go to the potty? What're you trying to pull?” Melody was wide awake at that point. She was stark naked as she stood, hands on hips, staring a hole in him. Although it was still dark out, enough light snuck beneath the door from the many lamps scattered all over the saloon—which was open for business twenty-four hours a
day—to allow her to see exactly what was going on, and she didn't like it one bit.

“I, uh, told Cotton I'd be in early to attend to the needs of our one prisoner. Last time I saw him he wasn't lookin' too good, and—”

“What prisoner? You didn't say one damned thing about a prisoner when you came in last night. Who is he? What'd he do to get himself hauled into your iron hotel?”

“Nothin' serious, just drunk and disorderly. At least, I figured he was drunk. Maybe he was sick, or somethin'. That's why I best look in on him.” Jack continued to buckle his gun belt. He figured Melody would understand and return to bed. He thought wrong.

“If the man's sick, I'll send Arlo to fetch the doc and check him over.” She started to holler for the bartender, but Jack clamped a hand over her mouth before she could let out a sound.

“
Mmfph
,” she mumbled, then grabbed his thumb and yanked down on it. He let out a yelp as she protested, “What's the big idea tryin' to shut me up? I'm only trying to help.”

“I-I know, but there's no need to bother the doctor over something this unimportant. I'll just check him myself, and if he's all right, which I'm sure he is, we would have just upset Doc Winters by rousting him out of a sound sleep. If I find there is a problem, I promise I'll get help. Now, go back to bed and let me take care of this.”

Melody narrowed her eyes and glared at him. Jack leaned over to pull on his boots. He could tell by the way she was moving her mouth from one side to another that she wasn't through with this. If she did something rash, Cotton's plan to take down James Lee Hogg and Judge Sanborn might be in jeopardy. His
own
life could be on the line, as well. He quickly slipped out of the room as she glared a hole in his back.