Читать книгу Moonshine Massacre - William W. Johnstone - Страница 11

The undertaker arrived a few minutes later, along with a couple of his helpers. It took all three of them, along with some volunteers, to lift Stone’s body onto a door from a back room in the hotel that was taken off its hinges. Then, with much grunting and groaning and straining, they carried the corpse out to the undertaker’s wagon.

“I believe I’ll go see the doctor,” Linus Grady said. “He might need to tape up these ribs of mine. I’m pretty sure none of them are broken, but a couple might be cracked.”

When the gambler was gone, Marshal Coleman said to Matt and Sam, “You boys try to stay out of trouble the rest of the day. Hannah would be mighty disappointed if you didn’t make it for supper tonight.”

“We’ll be there, don’t worry about that,” Sam said quickly. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Coleman nodded. “All right. See you then.” He paused, looked back over his shoulder, and added, “I’ll let you know about the inquest, Matt. You’ll probably have to testify, too.”

“Whatever you need, Marshal,” Matt assured him.

As the blood brothers went upstairs, Sam asked, “What happened?”

Matt explained, then said, “I was gonna try to make Stone settle down without killin’ him, but I don’t reckon I can blame Grady for doin’ what he did. It wasn’t me that Stone had hold of.”

“It would be nice to ride into a town without all hell breaking loose.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, then added with a grin, “You reckon that’ll ever happen to us?”

Sam didn’t reply.

It was past the middle of the afternoon by now, so they didn’t have to wait too awfully long before heading over to the marshal’s house for supper. Matt took advantage of the opportunity to wash up a little and put on a clean shirt. When he went downstairs to meet Sam in the lobby, though, he frowned at his blood brother and said, “You look different somehow.”

Sam frowned and said, “No reason for me to look different.”

“You do, though,” Matt insisted. Suddenly he leaned closer and sniffed. “No, I’m wrong. You don’t look different. You smell different. You took a bath!”

“No, I didn’t,” Sam protested.

“Yeah, you did. I smell lye soap and lilac water!” When Sam shook his head, Matt went on. “I can go ask the clerk if you had a tub and some hot water sent up.”

“Oh, all right, all right,” Sam said. “So I took a bath. So what? We’ve been on the trail for a long time. You don’t exactly smell like a rose.”

“I don’t stink…but I don’t smell flowerdy, neither.”

Sam jerked his hat brim down over his eyes. “Shut up,” he muttered. “Let’s just go. And you don’t have to say anything about this to Hannah and her father.”

“I don’t intend to. It’s downright embarrassin’.”

Sam glared at him and then stalked out. Matt chuckled and followed.

Dusk was beginning to settle over Cottonwood as they walked along Main Street and then turned onto Third. There were houses on only one side of the street, so they didn’t have any trouble finding the neat, white frame structure belonging to Marshal Coleman. It had a nice, well-cared-for yard, and a porch with a couple of rocking chairs on it that looked out at the seemingly endless prairie rolling away across the street. They walked past a small flower bed and went up the steps onto the porch.

A small, shaggy, gray and brown dog that had been lying there stood up and barked in greeting, his stub of a tail wagging frantically. Coleman appeared at the open front door and pushed back the screen door.

“Howdy, boys,” he said. “Come on in.” To the dog, he added, “Hush there, Lobo.”

Matt looked down at the appealingly ugly mutt and said, “Lobo?”

“He thinks he’s a wolf,” Coleman said in apparent seriousness.

Matt and Sam went inside, and both young men immediately noticed the wonderful smells in the air, a mingling of savory roast beef, fresh-baked bread, and—

“Is that apple pie I smell?” Matt asked with a hopeful expression on his face.

“Sure is,” Coleman replied. “You won’t find a better apple pie in the whole state of Kansas than the one Hannah makes.”

Matt licked his lips. “I can’t wait to sample it.”

“You’ll have to save a little room for it, then.”

“You’re a wise man, Marshal.”

Coleman took their hats and ushered them into the living room. The house was simply but comfortably furnished. There were woven rugs on the floor and lace doilies on the tables. Framed photographs stood on the mantle above the fireplace. In one of them, a much younger Marsh Coleman stood behind a woman with her fair hair pulled back in a bun. He had one hand on her shoulder, and both of them wore solemn expressions and their Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes.

“Your wife?” Sam asked with a nod toward the photograph.

“That’s right. That’s my Elsa, God rest her soul. A fever took her when Hannah weren’t but a little tyke.”

“We’re sorry,” Matt murmured.

“It was a hard thing, but life’s that way. You got to take the bad with the good, or not have any of it at all.”

“And that’s Hannah a few years ago,” Sam said, pointing at a portrait of the lovely young woman.

“Yep. One of those traveling photography fellas came through here with his wagon and set up for a few days to take everybody’s picture who wanted it took. I reckon she was sixteen or seventeen then.”

Hannah came into the room and said, “Dad, don’t bore our guests with a lot of family history. We asked them here for supper, remember?”

“We’re not the least bit bored, Miss Hannah,” Sam said. “And that’s a beautiful picture of you.”

She blushed a little. “Thank you.”

“But I think you’re even lovelier now,” Sam added.

“Oh, go on with you.” She wore a white apron over a blue dress dotted with yellow flowers. She took off the apron and went on. “Come in the dining room. Supper’s ready.”

The delicious aromas grew even stronger as they went into the dining room and sat down at a table covered with a cloth of snowy white linen. From the looks of the place settings, Hannah had brought out the fine china and silver. In the center of the table sat a serving platter with a roast on it, surrounded by bowls of potatoes, peas, and carrots. Steam rose from a basket of fresh rolls nestled in a cloth. Everything looked almost as good as it smelled.

“Sit down and dig in, boys,” Coleman said.

“Not until we say grace,” Hannah corrected.

“Oh, yeah.” Coleman bowed his head. The blood brothers followed suit. Coleman went on. “Thank you, Lord, for the bounty we are about to receive, and for the visitors you have brought to grace our house with their presence. Amen.”

“Amen,” Hannah murmured. She reached for a chair, but Sam beat her to it, pulling it out and holding it for her as she sat down.

The food was the best that Matt and Sam had had for a long time, and the company was certainly pleasant. Matt asked Coleman to tell them about Cottonwood.

“Place got started because there were quite a few big cattle spreads around here. They needed someplace to buy supplies, so Pete Hilliard and his brother Bob sunk their life savings in some wagons and the goods to fill them and drove out here about ten years ago to set up a trading post. All they had at first was a big tent. But that grew into a regular store, and when folks heard about it, they came to start other businesses, and in a few years the place had turned into a real town. Bob Hilliard’s ticker went bad on him, so he had to move back east. He sold out to his brother Pete, who was the first mayor of Cottonwood. Folks decided to call it that because of the trees growing along the creek bank.”

“Seems like a nice town,” Sam commented.

“Oh, it is, it is. Since it’s not on the railroad, it’ll never be as big as, say, Abilene or Dodge City, but that’s just fine with the folks who live here.”

“It’s big enough to have some troublemakers, though,” Matt said.

Coleman frowned. “Yeah, I reckon you’re right about that. Still, two bad ruckuses in one day, like we had today, ain’t all that usual. Seward Stone always was sort of a hothead, though.”

“What did he do for a living?” Matt asked.

“Owned part of the stagecoach line that comes through here. His partner did most of the work, so I reckon that won’t change much.”

“What about those three hombres you arrested earlier?”

“You mean the ones you fellas nabbed for me?” Coleman shook his head. “Once I found out their last name, I wasn’t surprised they started a ruckus as soon as they came into town. They’re some more of Cimarron Kane’s shirttail relatives.”

“Who’s Cimarron Kane?” Sam asked.

“Seems like I’ve heard the name before,” Matt added.

“Cimarron Kane’s an owlhoot,” Coleman said. “He grew up around here, but went off when he was younger to raise hell in Colorado and New Mexico and Arizona. I don’t know what-all he did, but I wouldn’t put much of anything past him. Heard he killed at least three men in gunfights. Reckon when the law made it too hot for him in those other places, he came back here to Kansas. He’s not wanted for anything in this state, so I can’t arrest him. The old Kane homestead is about five miles northwest of here, and for the past year or so, his relatives have been showing up to stay with him. Most of them are just like those three you tangled with today: right out of the mountains in Tennessee and rough as a cob.”

“How do they get by?” Sam asked. “Farming?”

Coleman shook his head. “They run a few cattle, but if you ask me, they’re up to something no good out there. Those few scrubby cows wouldn’t make ’em much money.”

“And the three men you arrested are part of the clan?”

“Yep. Dudley, Nelse, and Wiley Kane. Claim they’re cousins to Cimarron and said that if I’d send word to him, he’d come in and pay their fines.”

Hannah said, “But you’re not going to let them off with just fines, are you, Dad? They tried to kill you. They deserve to go to jail!”

“That ain’t up to me,” Coleman said with a shake of his head. “I’ll abide by whatever the judge says.”

“Would’ve simplified matters if we’d just killed ’em,” Matt said. Then as Sam turned to frown at him, he said, “What?”

“You’re a barbarian, you know that?”

“Heard a fella say once that barbarism is the natural state of mankind,” Matt replied with a grin. “Pass me another roll, would you?”