Moonshine Massacre

Chapter 9

“Girl?” Matt and Sam exclaimed at the same time, both of them surprised by the bartender’s statement. They turned to look in the direction he had indicated.

The person he was talking about was a girl, all right. Or a young woman, rather. There was no doubt about that, despite the fact that she wore boots, jeans, and a man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up over tanned, smoothly rounded forearms. Her hat hung behind her head by its chin strap, allowing thick masses of curly brown hair to fall free around her shoulders. She moved with an easy grace across the room, nodding and speaking to several of the men she passed. Then she said something to Red Mike Loomis and went out through the rear door.

Matt let out a low whistle of surprise and admiration, then turned to the bartender and said, “She’s a moonshiner?”

“Well, her family is,” the man replied. “I don’t know for sure who does what. I just sell the stuff she brings into town for us. There’s a bunch of those Harlows. The pa, the girl, and four or five brothers.”

“I notice that she packs iron,” Sam commented.

“Yeah,” the bartender said. “I reckon that’s in case she runs into trouble while she’s making her deliveries.”

Matt had seen the ivory-handled revolver holstered on the young woman’s trim hip, but the fact that it was there hadn’t really penetrated his brain until now. He had been too taken in by her beauty. He turned to the bartender and repeated, “Deliveries?”

The drink juggler nodded. “Yeah, from what I hear, the Harlow family supplies most of the county with booze. Them who want it have to pay a pretty price these days, too, what with those special marshals roaming around and all.”

Matt supposed that was true. And it meant that the young woman and her family would be in danger from the governor’s gun-toting special agents. He recalled the bomb blast he and Sam had witnessed earlier that day, and a little shiver went through him at the thought of the young woman getting caught in an explosion like that. Somebody as pretty as she was shouldn’t be running such risks, he thought.

“Hello, Matt.”

The man’s voice came from behind Matt. He turned and saw Linus Grady, the gambler who’d killed Seward Stone in the hotel. Grady smiled and went on. “I see you found the other place where folks can play a hand of poker in Cottonwood.”

“Yeah, we heard about it from Ike Loomis,” Matt replied. He inclined his head toward his blood brother. “This is Sam Two Wolves, by the way. I don’t recall if you fellas were ever introduced this afternoon or not.”

Grady nodded. “I’m pleased to meet you, Sam. Care to sit in on a game?”

“Thanks, but I don’t play poker that often,” Sam said. “That’s Matt’s game.”

Grady turned back to Matt and asked, “How about it? I don’t think we’ll have the same problems here that we did earlier. Red Mike makes sure everyone stays in line.”

Matt thought it over for a second, then shook his head. “No, thanks. It’s been a long day, and I’m a mite tired. Reckon we’ll go back to the hotel and turn in.”

“Maybe another time,” Grady said with a nod. He turned and strolled toward one of the felt-covered tables, where a game was starting.

“Seems like a nice fella,” Sam commented.

“Yeah, but you don’t want to back him into a corner,” Matt said, thinking about how Grady had reacted with deadly, lightning-quick reflexes when Stone attacked him.

“Do you really intend to call it a night?”

Matt picked up his mug of beer and took a long swallow. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Well, I suppose so.” Sam smiled and patted his stomach. “And still full from that wonderful supper Miss Hannah prepared.”

“Still moonin’ over her, that’s what you mean,” Matt said with a grin. He drank down the rest of the beer, tossed a coin on the bar, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Mike Loomis stood beside the door to the anteroom, arms crossed over his chest. He nodded to Matt and Sam as they approached and asked, “Takin’ your leave, gents?”

“For now,” Matt said. “We’ll probably be back while we’re still in town.”

“You’re welcome anytime.” Loomis opened the door. “Just go on out once this door is closed. Be sure to shut the outside door behind you. The latch will lock when you do.”

They did as instructed and a moment later stepped out into the warm night. Matt couldn’t get the young woman they had seen in the saloon out of his mind as they walked back up the street toward the hotel.

Maybe because he was thinking of her, he noticed her more readily when she drove past in a buckboard, handling the reins attached to the four-horse hitch with practiced ease. Matt stopped short on the boardwalk and turned to look after the vehicle.

“What is it?” Sam asked as he came to a stop, too.

Matt nodded toward the buckboard as it rolled along the street toward the west end of town. “That Harlow girl who was down at the saloon,” he said. “That was her on the buckboard that just passed us.”

“Are you sure? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, I guess she was going home. She must have finished her business here in town.”

Matt frowned. “A girl like that doesn’t have any business driving around by herself in the middle of the night.”

“She looked to me like she could take care of herself,” Sam said. “She was carrying a gun, after all.”

“How much good do you reckon that gun would do her if she ran into Bickford and Porter and that gang of bloodthirsty special marshals?”

“The buckboard was empty. What could they do to her?”

“If they suspect her and her family of making moonshine, who knows what they might do?” Matt shook his head grimly. “You saw how quick they were to blow up that shack.”

“They’re not going to throw a bomb at a girl driving an empty buckboard, no matter what they might suspect her of,” Sam said tolerantly.

“Maybe not, but something else bad could happen,” Matt insisted, “especially if she drew that gun and started shooting at them. You think that bunch would put up with that?”

Sam frowned and rubbed at his chin in thought. “Probably not,” he admitted. “What have you got in mind, Matt?”

“I think we should follow her,” Matt replied without hesitation. “Just to make sure she gets home safely, you understand.”

“We don’t know where she lives, and she’s already driven out of town. By the time we could get our horses ready to ride, she’d have a good lead on us.”

“Well, then, time’s a-wastin’, isn’t it? Come on.”

With that, Matt turned away from the hotel and strode determinedly toward the livery stable where they had left their mounts. Sam lingered on the boardwalk just for a second, staring after his blood brother. Then with a sigh and a shake of his head, he started after Matt.

The lamp in the livery stable office was turned low. Through the window they could see Ike Loomis bent over a ledger book. Matt rapped sharply on the glass. Loomis jumped a little, as if the noise startled him, then stood up and motioned toward the big front doors. When he had opened one of them slightly, he peered out owlishly and asked, “What do you boys want? It’s after dark.”

“We need our horses,” Matt said.

Loomis opened the door wider. “All right, come in, come in. If there’s one thing a liveryman gets used to, it’s folks bringin’ their animals in or takin’ ’em out at all hours of the day or night.”

“We’re sorry to bother you,” Sam said as he and Matt entered the stable.

“What’re you fellas up to, not that it’s any o’ my business?”

“Can you tell us how to find the Harlow place?” Matt asked.

Loomis blinked in surprise. “Thurman Harlow’s farm? What do you want out there?” The man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’ve heard about that booze he makes, haven’t you? If you want a taste of it, you can go right down to my saloon—”

“That’s where we just were,” Matt said. “And that home brew is mighty fine. That’s not what we’re after, though.” Matt realized he had to lay his cards on the table, or Loomis might refuse to cooperate with them. “We just saw Miss Harlow drive out of town, and we’re a mite worried about her. We’d like to make sure she gets home all right without running into any trouble.”

“What Matt means is that he’s worried,” Sam said, “but I’m willing to go along with him.”

Loomis gave a bark of laughter. “If it’s Frankie Harlow you’re worryin’ about, there ain’t no reason.”

“No, it was the Harlow girl,” Matt said.

“That’s who I’m talkin’ about. Frankie Harlow. That’s what she goes by. I don’t know what her real handle is. But she can shoot the wings off’n a gnat at a hundred yards, and she’s got the disposition of a surly ol’ badger. Ever’body around these parts knows not to take no liberties with her. They’d be riskin’ gettin’ a hole in their hide if they did.”

“Maybe so,” Matt said. “But what about those special marshals the governor sent out?”

Loomis frowned, scratched at his beard, and said, “You know, I never thought about that.”

“Those fellas are dangerous, especially for anybody who’s got anything to do with the whiskey trade. Now, will you tell us where to find the Harlow place?”

Loomis nodded. “Sure. I don’t reckon it’d hurt anything to make sure Frankie gets home all right. I’d plumb hate to see anything happen to that gal.”

While Matt and Sam were putting their saddles on their horses, Loomis explained that the Harlow farm was about five miles west of town, then a mile south of the main trail.

“It was just a hardscrabble homestead at first, but when Thurman and his boys couldn’t make a go of it, they started brewin’ whiskey. Their corn crop might not’ve been good enough to support ’em, but it was fine for makin’ corn squeezin’s.”

As Matt drew his cinches tight, he said, “I think if we hurry, we can catch up to Frankie before she gets to the turnoff. We can follow her and make sure she gets home all right.”

“Best do your followin’ at a distance,” Loomis advised. “If’n you come up on her too suddenlike and spook her, she’s liable to start shootin’.”

“We’ll be careful,” Sam promised. He still thought Matt was probably worrying a little too much about Frankie Harlow, but he was willing to go along with this idea if it made his blood brother happy.

A few minutes later, they swung up into their saddles as Loomis opened one of the doors enough for them to ride out. “If the light in the office is out when you get back, I’ve turned in. I’ll leave the doors unlocked, though, so you can bring your hosses in. You boys seem trustworthy to me.”

“Thanks, Mr. Loomis,” Matt told him.

“You might be doin’ me a favor. I don’t want anything happenin’ to any of the Harlows. Without them, I might not be able to keep my saloon open. Folks come from miles around for that Who-hit-John they cook up.”

The blood brothers lifted their hands in farewell and then rode out, heading west from Cottonwood.