Читать книгу Moonshine Massacre - William W. Johnstone - Страница 8

She stepped forward, her blue eyes widening as she looked at the prisoners. “Dad, are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, thanks to these two young fellas,” Coleman replied. “They came along and pitched in on my side.”

The young woman hefted the rifle she held. “I was about to come help you. I heard the shooting and got here as fast as I could.”

It was Coleman’s turn to frown as he shook his head. “I’ve told you before, Hannah, you ain’t my deputy. You need to stay out of any law business. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Well, I don’t want you getting hurt,” she said right back at him. “And if the town council won’t let you hire a deputy, I’ll just have to volunteer.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” the marshal said with a weary shake of his head. “I got to lock these gents up.”

He prodded the prisoners past his daughter, who stepped aside to let them go into the office. Matt and Sam watched through the doorway as Coleman marched the three men across the room to the heavy wooden door that led into the cell block. That door had a small, barred window set into it. Before Coleman put them in cells, he had the man Sam had lassoed take the rope off and drop it on the floor.

Matt glanced over at his blood brother. Like Matt, Sam was keeping an eye on what happened inside, just in case the prisoners tried to escape, but he also shot quite a few quick, intent looks toward the young woman called Hannah.

She was well worth looking at. Probably in her early twenties, she had fair hair that fell in thick waves around her shoulders and framed a lovely face. The simple, dark blue dress she wore hugged a well-shaped body. Sam clearly appreciated her beauty. Matt did, too, but he thought his blood brother was a mite more thunderstruck by it than he was.

Sam cleared his throat and said, “You’re Marshal Coleman’s daughter?”

“That’s right. Hannah Coleman.”

“You’re not married, then.”

“No, I’m not, Mr….”

“Oh.” Sam gave a little shake of his head. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Sam Two Wolves.”

Hannah shifted the Winchester to her left hand and held out her right. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Two Wolves.”

“Make it Sam,” he told her as he took her hand.

“Thank you so much for helping my father. I always worry every time he leaves the house to come to the marshal’s office. You never know what’s going to happen.”

“No, you sure don’t,” Sam agreed, still holding her hand. He realized that and let go.

Matt leaned forward and said dryly, “I’m Matt Bodine, by the way.”

Hannah turned toward him. “Thank you, too, Mr. Bodine. Exactly what happened? There was so much commotion I couldn’t really tell what was going on.”

Coleman came out of the office coiling Sam’s rope. As he handed it over, he said, “I’ll tell you what happened. Those ornery varmints attacked old Pete Hilliard because he wouldn’t take their blasted Confederate money.” Coleman snorted. “I’ve got a hunch this is the first time they’ve ever been out of the mountains of Tennessee.”

“What are you going to do with them?” Hannah asked.

“That’ll be up to the judge. Attempted murder’s a pretty serious charge, though. It could be they’ll wind up in the state prison.” Coleman looked at Matt and Sam. “Again, I’m obliged to you boys. If there’s anything I can do to repay you for your help…”

“We just planned to pick up some supplies,” Matt said. “Reckon we’ll go on over to Mr. Hilliard’s store and see about doin’ that.”

“But we could stay a few days,” Sam added. “We’ve been on the trail for quite a while. Our horses could probably use the rest.”

Matt’s eyebrows lifted. “You think so?” He knew good and well why Sam was suddenly so interested in staying a spell in Cottonwood, and her name was Hannah Coleman.

That was all right with Matt, other than the fact that they couldn’t get a drink here.

Or could they? All they had to go by was the word of Calvin Bickford and Ambrose Porter. The two so-called “special marshals” hadn’t seemed to be lying, but despite his relative youth, Matt was old enough to know better than to take everything at face value.

“Say, Marshal,” he went on, “we heard there’s a new law here in Kansas that says no more liquor.”

Coleman nodded. “That’s right. Governor signed it into law a while back.”

“Does that just apply to whiskey, or—”

“Whiskey, beer, wine, anything with alcohol in it. It’s illegal to sell any of it or have it in your possession.”

“So there’s no place here in Cottonwood where a man can get a real drink?” Matt asked as if he couldn’t believe it.

“I’m afraid not. I reckon that means you fellas will be in even more of a hurry to move on—”

“Not at all,” Sam broke in. He smiled at Hannah. “It really doesn’t matter to us.”

Matt wanted to tell his blood brother to speak for himself, but instead he just shrugged and said, “I reckon we can take it or leave it.”

It was true that Sam wasn’t much of a drinker to start with. He had seen how badly liquor affected his father’s people. Matt was more inclined to tip an elbow, but he could live without it for a while, he supposed. Sam would get over being smitten with Hannah Coleman as soon as he realized that he would have to be ready to settle down in order to get anywhere with a girl like her.

Coleman sighed and said, “I’m glad to hear that somebody around here feels that way about booze. When the governor got the legislature to pass that law, I don’t reckon he knew just how much of a hornets’ nest he’d be stirring up.”

“Folks haven’t taken kindly to it?” Matt asked.

“That’s putting it mildly. Governor St. John had to send out special deputies to try to enforce the ban, and they’ve wound up getting in shoot-outs with saloon owners and people who try to smuggle in the stuff and just average folks who want to take a drink.”

Matt and Sam glanced at each other, but didn’t say anything about having witnessed one such gun battle earlier that very day.

“On top of that, local badge-toters like me have had to close down the saloons in our towns, and that’s caused a lot of hard feelings, too,” Coleman went on.

“Someone tried to shoot Dad from an alley a few nights ago,” Hannah said. “I’m sure it had something to do with that ban on liquor and the way he ordered all the saloons in town to close.”

“Now, we don’t know that,” Coleman said with a shake of his head.

“Why else would anyone try to bushwhack you like that?”

Coleman shrugged. “Lawmen always have enemies.”

“There hadn’t been any real trouble in town for months,” Hannah insisted. “Not until that new law went into effect.”

“Well, maybe not, but we still don’t need to jump to conclusions.” Coleman turned to Matt and Sam again. “But you young fellas don’t want to stand around listening to my problems. Tell you what. Since I can’t buy you a drink to thank you for helping me out, why don’t I feed you supper instead?” He looked at his daughter. “That is, if Hannah doesn’t mind me volunteering her to cook for you.”

“Not at all,” Hannah said quickly. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

“So do I,” Sam said without hesitation, which didn’t surprise Matt. “Thank you for the generous invitation. We accept.”

Matt didn’t mind Sam speaking on his behalf this time. After being on the trail for several weeks, a home-cooked meal sounded mighty fine.

“We live on Third Street,” Hannah told them. “Just go up one block and then turn left. It’s the fourth house.”

Sam nodded. “We’re much obliged, Miss Coleman.”

“Yeah,” Matt added. “Thanks. Now we’d better see about finding a stable for our horses and a place to stay.”

“Cottonwood Hotel’s across the street in the next block,” Coleman said. “Nice, clean place. And I’d recommend Loomis’s Stable, at the eastern end of the street. Ike Loomis will take good care of your animals.”

Matt and Sam nodded their thanks, then went to gather up their mounts while Coleman and Hannah went into the marshal’s office. The horses were well trained and hadn’t gone far. As the blood brothers led them toward the stable Coleman had recommended, Matt grinned and said, “You’ve got it bad.”

“What?” Sam said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t! I saw the way you were makin’ calf eyes at Miss Hannah.”

“You’re loco!” Sam protested. “She’s a pretty girl, I suppose, but I wasn’t…I didn’t…” His voice trailed off and he blew out an exasperated breath.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that you started talkin’ about stayin’ around these parts for a while.”

“The horses need a rest,” Sam insisted.

“I need a drink, too, but it looks like I’m not gonna get one here.”

“You can live without a drink for a few days.” Sam paused, then went on. “Did you hear what Hannah said about someone trying to bushwhack her father?”

“Of course I heard her. I was standin’ right there.” Matt frowned a little. “But that is a mite interestin’. Could be the marshal has more trouble on his hands than he realizes.”

“And the prospect of trouble always intrigues you, doesn’t it?” Sam asked.

Matt grinned in response but didn’t say anything.

They reached the livery stable. According to the sign painted on the front wall over its big double doors, it was LOOMIS’S LIVERY—ISAAC LOOMIS, PROP. When they led their horses inside, a short, barrel-shaped man in overalls and with a plug hat met them. He had a short, rusty beard, and a crooked black stogie was clenched between his teeth.

“Howdy, gents,” he said without removing the stogie. “He’p you?”

“We need a place to put up our horses,” Sam said.

“And a place that’ll sell us a drink,” Matt added jokingly.

The fat man leaned out to look both ways along the street, then slowly straightened and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone as he said, “Just could be I might can he’p you with both of them things.”