Moonshine Massacre

Chapter 21

“Sam!” Marshal Coleman bellowed. “Put away that gun! That’s an order!”

“Marshal, you don’t understand—” Sam began.

“I understand that you pinned on that badge, and that means you do what I tell you, damn it! We’re all lawmen here. We don’t need to go around killin’ each other.”

Porter was so tightly strung that he quivered a little as he said, “That man is under arrest. I’m within my rights to kill him for assaulting a special officer and interfering with the performance of our duties.”

“Nobody’s gonna arrest anybody,” Coleman said, still trying to be the voice of reason. “I’m tellin’ you, this is all just a plain ol’ misunderstanding. Sam, holster that hogleg—now!”

Sam took a deep breath and lowered the Colt. He didn’t holster it, though. Instead, he held it down at his side, ready to use it. He wasn’t convinced that gunplay had been averted here.

Coleman moved so that he was between Sam and Porter. “Now, let’s try to get this straightened out,” he said.

“There’s nothing to straighten out.” Porter’s voice was as cold and hard as a glacier. “That man is under arrest. We’ll be taking him back to Wichita with us to face trial.”

“How about if I give you my word that he won’t bother you or any of your folks again while you’re here in Cottonwood? That I’ll keep him away from you?”

Sam felt a surge of anger at Coleman’s words, but he knew the marshal was just trying to head off more trouble. He clamped his jaw tightly shut so he wouldn’t say anything and just make the situation worse.

“You want me to close my eyes to a violation of the law?” Porter demanded. “You know I can’t do that. My God, man, my deputy was attacked!”

That so-called deputy was nothing but a hardcase, a hired gunman, Sam thought, and he couldn’t hold his anger in check any longer. “Doesn’t anybody want to know what actually happened here?” he asked.

Coleman glanced over his shoulder at Sam. “I sort of would, now that you mention it.”

Sam used his free hand to point at the deputy he had knocked senseless. “That man right there attacked one of the prisoners. A man inside this wagon had hold of the bars in the window and had pulled himself up so he could look out.”

“That’s a violation of the rules, right there,” Porter snapped. “Prisoners are to stay away from the windows. All those men know that.”

This time it was Sam’s turn to ignore Porter and act like the special marshal hadn’t said anything. “The guard slammed the barrel of his rifle against the bars and probably broke that hombre’s fingers.” Sam looked at the little, goateed man in the dark suit who had followed Coleman and Porter from town. “That’ll be something else for you to take a look at, Doc,” he said. Sam was sure of the man’s identity now, having spotted the black bag he was carrying.

“You can’t blame my deputy for enforcing the rules—” Porter began.

“But those are just your rules,” Coleman pointed out. “That’s not the same as a law. Sounds to me like your deputy assaulted the prisoner by whackin’ his hands that way, and my deputy was within his rights to stop an assault from going on in town.” Coleman paused. “The town limits go all the way to the creek, you know. This is still my jurisdiction, Marshal.”

“My authority supersedes yours,” Porter said, tight-lipped with rage.

“Actually, I’m not sure that it does,” Sam said. “It could be argued in court that your authority only pertains to the enforcement of the specific statue forbidding the brewing, sale, possession, or consumption of liquor and that you have no jurisdiction whatsoever over other crimes, such as the sort of simple assault that was carried out here by your deputy. In other words, Marshal Porter, it seems to me that Marshal Coleman could arrest your deputy and hold him on charges of assault and disturbing the peace until the circuit judge arrives in a couple of weeks to sort everything out.”

If Porter got any more red-faced, he was liable to bust a vein, Sam thought. Coleman turned all the way around to frown at his new deputy and ask, “Do you have any legal training, Sam? You sound a mite like a lawyer.”

Sam smiled faintly and shook his head. “I’ve done quite a bit of reading, that’s all.”

Porter growled in anger, literally growled like a dog. Then he said savagely, “The hell with this! Coleman, take your deputy and get out of here. If either one of you come around these wagons again, I won’t be held responsible for what happens.”

“Oh, I reckon you will,” Coleman said firmly. “You’ll be held accountable for your actions just like any other citizen would be, Marshal.”

Sam said, “I think we should stay while the doctor takes a look at those prisoners, just to make sure nothing else happens.”

Coleman shook his head. “No, I think it’ll be all right. Pouch that iron, Sam, and come with me.”

Sam hesitated. He didn’t trust Porter or the other special deputies. On the other hand, it was doubtful that they would try anything with the doctor around.

“A good lawman knows that he’s got to choose his battles, Sam,” Coleman said quietly.

Sam blew out a breath and nodded. He slid the Colt into leather and moved away from the wagon. Porter continued to glare murderously at him. Sam didn’t turn his back on the man until he and Coleman were well away from the wagons.

Then he said in an undertone, “You don’t know the whole story yet, Marshal. You don’t know what that prisoner was saying.”

“I know that we came damned close to having a really messy situation back there,” Coleman said.

“The prisoner claimed that Porter was going to murder all of them.”

Coleman glanced over sharply at him. “You sure about that? He said murder?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Well…that don’t hardly seem likely.” Coleman rubbed his jaw in thought. “Porter and those other hombres are lawmen, after all.”

“They’re more like regulators. Hired killers. Matt and I saw them blow up a cabin with a bomb yesterday, and they came mighty close to blowing up the men inside it, too. And it’s a long way to Wichita. Who knows what might happen between here and there, once they start in with the prisoners?”

Coleman shook his head stubbornly. “Nope, I just don’t believe it. Those boys in the wagons are facin’ prison terms, Sam. Of course they’ll say anything to try to get out of them. You can’t put too much stock in any claims they make.”

Coleman had a point there, Sam supposed. The prisoners were outlaws, at least in the eyes of the state of Kansas. And outlaws, generally, couldn’t be trusted.

There had been something in that man’s voice as he called from inside the wagon, though. Something that Sam had heard often enough to recognize.

Fear.

No, it was more than that, he decided as he remembered what the prisoner had sounded like. It was sheer terror, Sam thought, the sound a man makes when he knows that he’s going to die and his time is running out.

There was something more going on here, but Marshal Coleman either couldn’t or wouldn’t allow himself to see it. Coleman wanted to keep the peace in Cottonwood, and Sam couldn’t blame him for feeling that way. It was the marshal’s job, and Coleman had devoted his life to it.

But Sam knew he couldn’t just stand by and let all those prisoners be killed in cold blood. Even if they had been real outlaws instead of men who had just run afoul of an ill-advised law that was bound to be overturned sooner or later, he couldn’t countenance murder.

He didn’t want to put Marshal Coleman in a bad position, though, so anything he did, he would do on his own, without Coleman’s knowledge. Once he had reached that decision, Sam felt a little better.

When they got back to the marshal’s office, Coleman suggested, “Why don’t you stay here for a while, Sam? Coffee on the stove, help yourself. I’ll take a turn around town. I like for folks to be able to see that the law’s lookin’ out for ’em.”

What Coleman really wanted was for him to stay here and cool off after the confrontation with Porter, Sam knew, but he supposed that wasn’t really a bad idea. He nodded and said, “All right, Marshal.”

Anyway, this would give him a chance to think about what he was going to do about the situation. He knew how Matt would approach the problem: head on, with fists and even guns if necessary.

Sam wondered if a little subtlety might be more effective.

Coleman left the office. Sam poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the desk to ponder matters as he sipped the strong black brew.

He had been there maybe half an hour when the door opened and Hannah came in.

“Oh,” she said as she stopped just inside the door. “I was looking for my father—” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Is that a deputy’s badge you’re wearing, Sam?”

“Yep. Your father offered me the job this morning, and I said yes.”

“But…I didn’t think the town council was willing to hire any deputies.”

“He offered to pay me out of his own pocket.” Sam held up a hand as a concerned expression appeared on Hannah’s face. “Don’t worry. I told him he didn’t need to do that. I’m working for room and board only.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door to the storage room. “The room is a cot back there, and I’m afraid the board is you, Miss Coleman.”

Hannah smiled. “I thought we were past that. My name is Hannah, Sam. So Dad promised you three square meals a day, did he?”

“His exact words, as a matter of fact,” Sam said with a grin. “I hope that won’t be too much trouble for you.”

“No trouble at all. I usually bring his lunch down here to the office. I’ll just bring enough for two. And you can eat breakfast and supper at the house with us.”

“I’m much obliged.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Hannah said. “Don’t tell him I said this, but the job has gotten to be too much for one man, especially one who’s getting on in years like Dad. The town is too big, and what with this new liquor law…” She shook her head. “There’s going to be real trouble one of these days, and I’d like to think there’ll be a good man siding him when it comes.”

Sam warned, “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay on here.”

Hannah shook her head. “You know how the air feels when there’s a thunderstorm brewing?”

Sam nodded. He knew exactly what she meant.

“Well, there’s a storm brewing here in Cottonwood,” she went on, “and I don’t think it’s going to be long before it breaks.”