Moonshine Massacre

Chapter 32

For once that prediction proved to be accurate, and not a jinx. The rest of the night passed quietly with no sign of Cimarron Kane and his troublesome relatives returning to Cottonwood, or of Calvin Bickford, either, for that matter.

Belatedly, Matt thought about the deputy he had left underneath the wagon, but when he went to check, the man had already been found. One of the bullets that had been fired by the man’s crooked compadres at Matt had struck the hombre smack-dab between the eyes instead, killing him instantly.

The deputy Matt had tied up in the alley had been found, too, and locked up in Marshal Coleman’s jail, along with the two Sam had captured down at the creek. That made it a clean sweep of the crooked lawmen, except for Bickford.

Out of gratitude to Matt and Sam, Ike Loomis offered to take care of their horses for free as long as they remained in Cottonwood, and he told Matt that he could sleep in the livery stable’s hayloft if he wanted to, as well. Matt declined that offer as graciously as he could and chose to spend the night at the hotel instead. He wanted to get back out to the Harlow place as soon as possible—Frankie and her pa and brothers didn’t know yet about Cimarron Kane’s raid on the town—but morning would be soon enough for that, Matt decided.

Sam slept on the cot in the jail’s back room, and was up early the next morning. He went outside as the approach of dawn grayed the eastern sky and was struck by how hot and still the air was. Usually, there was a hint of coolness in the early morning like this, even in the middle of summer, but not today. The atmosphere had a heavy, uncomfortable feeling to it, and at times like this, Sam longed for the clean coolness of the Montana high country, the homeland of his father’s people.

He spotted Matt leading the saddled gray stallion out of the livery barn and walked over to meet him. With a smile on his face, Sam held out the thing he had found and picked up just a few moments earlier as he was making his rounds.

“My hat!” Matt exclaimed. “You found it.”

“Yes, and it doesn’t look like it’s been shot up and trampled on too much,” Sam said.

Matt took the Stetson, beat it against his leg to get the dirt off it, poked it back into shape, and settled it on his head. “How’s it look?” he asked his blood brother.

“No more disreputable than usual.”

“No more…Hey, what do you mean by that? This is a fine hat!”

“Of course it is,” Sam said. “Where are you going this early in the morning?”

“Back out to the Harlow place.”

Sam frowned. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about that.”

“Why would I?” Matt asked. “Those folks still need help. Cimarron Kane’s determined to put ’em out of the whiskey business, even if it means killin’ all of them.”

“Seems to me like Kane’s more concerned with getting his cousins out of jail.”

Matt shook his head. “Not yesterday mornin’, he wasn’t. He raided the Harlow farm and tried to blow up their still. Even wounded one of Frankie’s brothers a little bit.”

“You’re sure it was Cimarron Kane and his bunch?” Sam asked with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve never seen Kane, or if I have, I didn’t know which one he was. What does he look like?”

Quickly, Sam described Cimarron Kane’s appearance. He had gotten a good look at the outlaw gunman the day before when Kane rode into town with some of his kinfolks, so he was able to paint a vivid word picture for Matt.

As Sam concluded the description, Matt shook his head. “No, I didn’t see anybody who looked like that in the bunch that attacked the Harlow place. But who else could it have been? It sure as hell wasn’t Porter and Bickford and their deputies, and they’re the only other hell-raisers in these parts right now!” Matt paused, then added, “At least they were until last night. Now I don’t reckon they fall into that category anymore, with Porter locked up, Bickford on the run, and the only other survivors either behind bars or shot up.”

“That reminds me,” Sam said. “I need to go down to Dr. Berger’s and see how Mike Loomis is doing this morning.”

“I’ll come with you,” Matt said, lifting his reins to lead his horse rather than mounting up.

As they walked toward the doctor’s house, Sam said, “Tell me more about the attack on the Harlows.”

“Nothin’ more to tell,” Matt insisted. “They tried to shoot up the place, kill everybody, and blow up the still. Cimarron Kane might not have been there himself, but I’m sure they were his relatives and that he sent them.”

“You’re probably right.”

“What about those prison wagons down by the creek?” Matt asked as he jerked a thumb in that direction. “What are you gonna do with all those fellas Porter and Bickford locked up?”

“Well, first of all, we’ll take the men who are in the worst shape physically to Dr. Berger’s house and let him look after them. We’ll also need to question everyone and find out which ones were actually brewing or selling whiskey and which ones were just unfortunate enough to fall victim to their scheme.”

Matt frowned. “You mean you’re gonna keep the ones who broke that stupid whiskey law locked up?”

“What other choice does Marshal Coleman have? They broke the law.”

“But not here in Cottonwood,” Matt pointed out. “And the marshal’s jurisdiction only covers the town limits.”

Sam rubbed his jaw and frowned in thought. “You’ve got a point there.”

“Not to mention the fact that you’ve been keepin’ the secret about Ike Loomis’s saloon.” Matt chuckled. “Reckon that makes you a—what do they call it—accessory after the fact to a crime. You know about it, but you’re not doin’ anything about it.”

Sam looked down at the badge pinned to his shirt and sighed. “I never should have put on this tin star. It just complicates things.”

“Yeah, especially when the real reason you did it was to be around a gal.”

“Hey, the only reason you got mixed up with the Harlows was because of that girl Frankie!”

“You don’t know that. Her pa’s a real likable fella, and I suspect her brothers would be, too, if I could ever figure out which one of ’em is which.”

Sam snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s the reason you’re willing to risk your neck for them. Frankie’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Now, I never said that…”

A man’s voice hailed them from behind, saying, “Mr. Bodine, Mr. Two Wolves, good morning!”

The blood brothers stopped and turned to see the gambler, Linus Grady, strolling after them. His expensive suit looked a little wrinkled, but his straw planter’s hat was cocked at a rakish angle. He patted a hand over a yawn as he came up to them.

“You’re up early,” Matt commented.

That brought a grin from Grady. “No, I’m up late,” he corrected. “The poker game at Loomis’s went all night. Of course, it was rather late getting started because no one could concentrate on cards with all the shooting going on in town. It sounded like the battle of the Little Big Horn all over again.”

Matt and Sam exchanged a quick glance. As it happened, they both knew exactly what the battle of the Little Big Horn had sounded like, because they had been in the Montana hills on that fateful day several years earlier, not far from the site of the epic clash. The sound of the shots had come clearly to them.

Grady didn’t seem to notice that reaction, though. He went on. “Then Red Mike rushed out to see what was going on, and when he didn’t come back, everyone was worried. It was quite a while before someone came in and told us that he’d been wounded but that the doctor thought he would be all right.”

“We were just on our way to see him now,” Sam said.

Grady looked interested. “Mind if I come along?”

Matt shrugged and said, “That’s fine. You must know him pretty well. Bein’ a gambler, you probably spend quite a bit of time in that saloon his pa owns.”

“That’s right.” Grady nodded. “He’s a fine young man.”

The three of them walked on to Dr. Berger’s house. Despite the early hour, lights burned in several of the windows, which came as no surprise. Doctoring usually went on around the clock.

A severe-looking, middle-aged woman with gray hair answered Sam’s knock on the front door. “If you’re not hurt, the doctor doesn’t have time for you,” she said without preamble.

“We just came to visit a patient,” Sam explained. “Mike Loomis.”

The woman’s expression softened slightly. “Mike’s sleeping, and he doesn’t need to be disturbed. If you’re friends of his, though, I can tell you that he spent a fairly peaceful night and is making acceptable progress.”

“You’re Dr. Berger’s nurse?” Matt asked.

“His nurse and his sister, Prudence,” the woman introduced herself.

“What about the other man who was brought here last night?” Sam asked.

“That outlaw?” Prudence Berger sniffed. “He’s doing all right, too, I suppose.” She looked at the badge on Sam’s shirt. “Tell Marsh Coleman that he can’t just leave a prisoner down here. My brother and I are medical people, not jailers.”

“When can he be moved?” Sam asked.

“Later today, I imagine. You’ll have to talk to the doctor to find out for sure.”

“I’ll pass along the message to Marshal Coleman,” Sam promised. “Has the prisoner regained consciousness?”

“Yes, but he lost so much blood that he’s weak as a kitten, like poor Mike Loomis. He’s no real danger to us, I suppose, but we still don’t want him here.”

“I’ll see that it’s tended to,” Sam told her. He tugged on the brim of his black hat. “Good morning, ma’am.”

As the three men turned and went back down the walk to the street, Grady yawned again and said, “I think I’m going to get some breakfast and turn in.”

“Breakfast sounds good before I hit the trail,” Matt said. “Where’s the best place to get some flapjacks and bacon and strong black coffee in this town?”

Grady smiled. “Probably the hotel. Why don’t we go down there together?”

Matt nodded. “All right.”

“Leaving town, are you?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d ride back out to the Harlow place.” Matt glanced at the gambler. “I don’t reckon you’ve heard about what happened out there yesterday.”

Grady’s eyebrows rose in interest. “More trouble? Tell me about it. I know the Harlows fairly well. Good people. And that girl Frankie is beautiful, even if she is a bit of a hellion.”

“You’re right about that,” Matt agreed, “both parts of it. And as for the trouble, some of Cimarron Kane’s bunch attacked the place. I happened to be there, and I helped the Harlows send ’em packin’.”

“Well, that was a stroke of luck.”

“Yeah. You’ve had some of those corn squeezin’s the Harlows brew?”

Grady licked his lips like he was tasting something good. “Yes, indeed.”

“Kane wants to take over the moonshining business around here,” Matt went on. “He knows he can’t ever do that unless he gets rid of the Harlows first.”

“Definitely not.”

“I plan on helping them deal with Kane.”

“I’m sure they’re grateful for that.” Grady looked over at Sam, who hadn’t said anything for a couple of minutes. “Wait a minute. You’re a deputy now, Mr. Two Wolves, and yet you know about the Harlows and their moonshine business. In fact, you know about Ike Loomis’s secret saloon.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah. And it’s a dilemma, too. Not the way the Harlows are brewing that stuff, so much, because that happens outside the town limits and Marshal Coleman doesn’t have any authority over it. But they sell the whiskey to Ike Loomis, and he turns around and sells it in his saloon, which is in town…”

“And you don’t know whether to tell the marshal about it or not,” Grady guessed.

“That’s the problem I’m wrestling with, all right,” Sam admitted. “I like Mr. Loomis, and his son may have saved my life last night, and I think that liquor law is a foolish one…but it’s still the law, which I swore to uphold.”

Grady frowned as he thought it over, then said, “You know, Sam—can I call you Sam?—if I was you, I think I’d turn in my badge, resign that deputy’s job, and ride out of Cottonwood. Just put it all behind you.” He looked over at Matt. “You should go, too, Matt. There’s just going to be more trouble if the two of you stay around here.”

“You mean run out on the Harlows and let Cimarron Kane wipe out their business, and maybe them, too?” Matt shook his head without hesitation. “No, sir. That’s not gonna happen.”

“And I can’t abandon Marshal Coleman, either,” Sam said. “I’ll stay here and figure it all out…somehow.”

Grady shrugged. “I was just thinking about what might be best for you gents, not for everybody else. To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re staying around here.” He grinned again. “You make life interesting.”

“Maybe so,” Matt said, “if you count gettin’ shot at way too often as interestin’.”