Cotton's War Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  MOVING TARGETS

  The roar of gunfire brought them both to high alert. Cotton tossed Jack a rifle, pulled a shotgun from the rack, and they both started for the door. Cotton stopped before stepping outside.

  “That could be some of Cruz’s men. I’d say there are two of ’em. They may be trying to draw us out the front door so they can gun us down. We’ll go around back and down behind the livery,” Cotton said, grabbing Jack by the arm.

  Cotton opened the back door slowly. He was in no hurry to present a target to someone who might have guessed he’d come out the back and be ready for him. Seeing no one, they eased into the shadows behind the jail and moved quickly down the alley toward the livery. The way was clear and they sprinted for the safety of the next building. That’s when bullets rang out, tearing chunks of pine from the livery’s walls . . .

  “. . . Cotton’s War is an old-fashioned, barn-burning, gut-wrenching Western story that moves at a gallop over dangerous territory. Phil Dunlap’s sharp prose packs the punch of a Winchester rifle.”

  —Johnny D. Boggs, four-time Spur Award–winning author of Northfield and Hard Winter

  “Phil Dunlap’s latest novel, Cotton’s War, is a rip-roaring yarn that realizes the best traditions of the Western genre: strong, well-defined characters, the color of the West vivid and perfectly researched, and the writing entertaining and quick as a bronc set free to run wild. A surefire read for Western fiction fans.”

  —Larry D. Sweazy, Spur Award–winning author of The Badger’s Revenge

  “This is a well-crafted story with a good, clear writing style. It hits a good pace and keeps it up.”

  —John D. Nesbitt, Spur Award–winning author of Stranger in Thunder Basin

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  COTTON’S WAR

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY Berkley edition / June 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Phil Dunlap.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-51542-6

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  Chapter 1

  Emily Wagner stepped onto the porch when she heard riders approaching in the distance. As she squinted into the waning sun to find a reason for their arrival, something about them didn’t seem right. A sense of impending danger arose in her, and an unexpected chill skittered up her spine.

  As the riders got closer, she could make them out as complete strangers, scruffy and dirty. The one riding at the head of the bunch looked vaguely familiar. Feeling inexplicable alarm at their advance and rough appearance, Emily hurried inside the ranch house to locate her late husband’s double-barreled scattergun just in case these visitors did prove to be less than friendly.

  She had to use a stepstool to reach the shotgun that hung above the fireplace. When she freed it from the pegs where it rested, she snapped open the breech to make sure it was loaded. It wasn’t.

  Now, where did Otis keep those shells?

  As her eyes scanned the room, she remembered him saying something about a box in the desk drawer. She rushed across the room and tugged at the stubborn drawer pulls. There, in a wooden box, she found a handful of double-aught buckshot shells. With shaking hands, she gathered up two, then, with the shotgun breech still open, she fumbled with the shells, trying to insert them. She dropped one. It clattered to the floor and rolled under the table, out of reach. Get hold of yourself, Emily. She cursed under her breath before taking a second to gather her wits and calm her nerves. She wrestled with the box to extract another shell. She nervously took one out and slipped it into the breech. Snapping the barrel closed, she hurried out onto the porch.

  She was shocked to see the four tough-looking cowboys sitting quietly astride their horses less than ten feet from the railing. The one who had been at the head of the small column tipp
ed his hat and gave her an insincere smile, revealing a gold tooth, one of the few teeth he had left.

  “Why, howdy do, Miz Wagner. Lovely weather we’re havin’, ain’t it?” he said.

  “Fair to middlin’. What is it you’ve come about?” Emily said, holding the Greener tightly as she cocked both barrels. “And how do you know my name? I sure as shootin’ don’t know yours.”

  “Why, we was acquaintances of your dearly departed husband, ma’am. Sorry to hear of his misfortune. Just stoppin’ by to pay our respects.”

  “I don’t reckon that’s necessary. So, why don’t you boys just keep on riding? Go on about your business.”

  Emily raised the barrel of the Greener toward the leader, moving it as if it were a cattle prod. Just then, from behind, a strong arm reached around her and yanked the shotgun from her grip. One barrel discharged into the porch overhang as her fingers were yanked off the trigger. The pellets blew a hole clear through the shake shingles. Startled, she tried to back away but was quickly surrounded by the strong arms of someone twice her size who emitted the distinct odor of skunk.

  “What the . . . ? You let go of me this very instant or I’ll scream my head off. My boys will come pouring out of that bunkhouse any second now. You scoundrels will wish you’d never come by this ranch.” She started to scream but was struck on the head with such force her knees buckled and bright colors danced briefly before her searching eyes. Her world faded to black as she crumpled to the floor.

  A stabbing pain in the back of her head was the first thing Emily felt as she awoke. Still groggy, she tried to sit up but found that her hands had been bound behind her. Her ankles, too, were securely bound, and her shoes had been removed. She was lying on a bed, facedown on blankets that smelled musty and thick with dust. These aren’t my blankets and this sure isn’t my bed. Panic began to overcome her as she struggled to raise her throbbing head to get her bearings. But the room was pitch-black. She cried out.

  “Where am I? Is anybody there?”

  At her cry, a creaky door opened, and a shaft of sunlight shot into the room. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the brightness. She could make out that the room was sparse, with only a table and a couple of chairs near a cast iron stove. A few sticks of firewood sat nearby, and a coffeepot, a couple of tin plates, and an empty whiskey bottle sat on the table. In the doorway stood the man with the gold tooth, silhouetted by the waning sun behind him.

  “Welcome to my hacienda, Miz Wagner.”

  “What am I doin’ here? Why have you kidnapped me?” she screamed.

  “Ah, the little lady has so many questions for which I have no answers, at the present, anyway.”

  “Who the devil are you? I’ve never done you any harm, although the sheriff will when he gets here.”

  “We’ll worry about him when the time comes, lady, not that it’s likely. In fact, unless you settle down and be a proper guest, I might get mad enough to kill you instead of keeping you safe and sound until our mission is finished. Oh, and since you asked, my name is Virgil Cruz. I think you may have heard of my brother, Vanzano Cruz, eh?”

  Emily’s blood ran cold at the name. Vanzano Cruz was the polecat who had gunned down her husband, Otis Wagner, on the streets of Apache Springs less than a year back. Otis had just left the barbershop next door when the robbers came busting out of the National Bank’s front door. One man came face-to-face with Otis and shot him in the chest for no reason other than he was there, standing between the gunman and his horse. Otis died on the spot. Emily had seen it all from the window of the dry goods store.

  “What do you want with me?” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Well, I’ll tell you this, Miz Wagner, you are gonna help me get rich and get even with the man who shot my brother down like a dog,” Cruz said.

  “I wouldn’t help you climb out of a pit of vipers.”

  “Oh, you will help. I promise you that.”

  “As soon as Sheriff Cotton Burke finds out what you’ve done, he’ll be at your doorstep. Then you’ll wish you were someplace else.”

  “Don’t be countin’ on Cotton Burke for help. No, ma’am. We got that angle covered. He’ll not be ridin’ to your rescue, leastways not until after the sixteenth, not if he cares a whit for your safety,” said Cruz.

  Emily puzzled over what Cruz meant. Had something happened to the sheriff? A look of deep concern fell across her face.

  “Well, for sure my men will be out scouring the hills looking for me. They’ll come, sure as shootin’,” Emily said.

  “Them men of yours could scour the hills for a month and never think to look here. A posse of marshals with hound dogs couldn’t track us to this spot.”

  Emily struggled to hide her alarm at her situation. I must put on a brave face.

  “You don’t know my men. One of them is an Indian, pure Mescalero Apache. He’ll be lookin’ for certain. And he will find you.”

  “Gotta track me down first, and that ain’t gonna happen. So you might as well make it easy on yourself, settle back and enjoy your visit with us. It’ll all be over before you know it.” Cruz turned and went back outside, leaving the door ajar. Emily could hear him talking to one of his men.

  “You keep a keen eye on her. I don’t want anything to happen to her before the sixteenth. If she gets away, I swear I’ll gun you down myself. If there’s any questions, get ’em out now, Scat,” said Cruz.

  “No questions, Boss,” said the other man. “She ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  “See that she don’t. I’m on my way to deliver our invitation to the sheriff,” Cruz said.

  Emily could make out the squeak of leather as Cruz mounted up. Horse’s hooves striking a rocky trail echoed off nearby walls. Sounds like we might be in a canyon, she thought.

  A chill ran through Emily at the possibility of remaining captive to this band of scum until the sixteenth—a date nearly two weeks away. Where are you, Cotton? I need you.

  Tears dampened the filthy blanket as desperation overcame her.

  Chapter 2

  Henry Coyote stormed into the sheriff’s office with fire in his eyes. The door slammed against the wall, rattling the window, then stayed open. The sheriff looked up only with his eyes at the Indian’s abrupt entry. The short, wiry frame and stark black hair hanging to his shoulders beneath a red headband could make any person unaccustomed to coming face-to-face with an Apache very nervous. But Cotton had known Henry for some time and felt no threat from his fierce demeanor. Though it was looking like this time could be different.

  Henry was a full-blooded Mescalero with walnut skin, a deeply lined face, and a Bowie knife slipped through a woven belt. He was a man of few words and not a man to trifle with. It was clear to Cotton, however, that someone had done just that.

  “You’re here about Emily.” As Cotton Burke looked into those dark eyes, he saw more than just anger. A time for calm and reason needed to be arrived at, if the expression on Henry’s face was any indication. Now, if he could only get Henry to come to the same conclusion.

  “How you know?” Henry’s eyes echoed the question.

  “I’m the sheriff. I get paid to know things.”

  “I, too, know things.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I no see Miss Emily since sunup. When I go look for her, she nowhere to be found. House door open and shotgun on floor by door. I feel bad thing happen. What we do?”

  A grim expression clouded the sheriff’s face, as he scooted back in his chair and motioned for Henry to sit across from him. “Henry, we have a serious problem. I do know about Emily. Sit. We’ll talk.”

  “No time talk. Must find Miss Emily. You come, or I go alone.”

  “At the moment, neither one of those choices is goin’ to work,” Cotton said.

  Henry shook his head, obviously rejecting the sheriff’s vague words. He shuffled his feet and clenched his fists. He showed no intention of wasting more time jawing. Cotton knew if Henry thought something bad had
happened to Emily Wagner, he’d waste no time doing something about it. Cotton watched the Indian grip the hilt of his Bowie knife and set his jaw. His dark eyes narrowed at the words he was hearing.

  “Not good enough,” he said and turned to leave.

  “Hold on, Henry! You must hear me out. This piece of paper has to do with Miss Emily. And, for now, we must both make very careful moves, so as to keep her from harm.”

  “What words say?”

  “It says that she has been kidnapped by dangerous men. It warns against retaliation, or she will be killed. If we do as they say, they insist she will remain safe.”

  “What demands?”

  “The paper says that she will not be harmed and will be released after the sixteenth of this month. It says I am not to look for her or send anybody to look for her.”

  “Who send paper?”

  “I’m not certain, but I’d bet it came from Virgil Cruz.”

  “He very bad man. Work for Brennan outfit.”

  “That’s right. Now, I need your help to keep her safe. We must be careful not to push these men too far, or I am certain she will be harmed. They are a vicious bunch. I can’t let anything happen to Emily. You know how fond of her I am.”

  “I know she feel same. But how I not try save her?”

  “First of all, I have no idea where she is being held. If I start digging around, scouring the county for the hiding place, I would surely be spotted. It’s likely you would be, too. Cruz has men all over. If that happens, Emily will be killed.”

  Henry looked at his feet for a moment, then back at the sheriff. “I go alone. No one see me. I bring Miss Emily home safe.”

  “I need you to hold off for now, pardner. I do have a plan, but it will take a few days to put in place. You’ll have to trust me and be ready when the time is right. It could mean Emily’s life,” said the sheriff.