Moonshine Massacre

by William W. Johnstone

  Seward Stone didn’t have that much patience. When the bet came to him, he saw it and raised twenty, and when it came back around, he raised fifty. Matt kept his face expressionless and didn’t show his annoyance. Everybody else dropped out except for him, Stone, and Grady.

  He would just have to take more of the fat man’s money, he told himself.

  Or else Grady would. Matt couldn’t rule out the possibility that the brown-haired man had him beat. Either way, all he really had at stake was the twenty dollars he had brought to the table. Soon, though, that was in the pot, too, as he pushed everything he had left into the center of the table and said, “I’m all in, gents.”

  Stone smiled, but his mouth still looked like he was pouting. “In that case, I raise another fifty.”

  “I’ll see that,” Grady said as Matt felt a surge of disappointment. He couldn’t afford to stay in.

  But then Grady went on. “And so will Matt.” He tossed more bills into the pot.

  “Wait a minute,” Matt said, and at the same time, Stone exclaimed, “By God, you can’t do that!”

  “Of course I can,” Grady said calmly. “I can loan money to anyone I want to.”

  Stone pointed a sausagelike finger at Matt. “He was all in. He said so himself.”

  “He was mistaken.” Grady smiled at Matt. “I want to see your cards, amigo, so you’re calling the bet.”

  “You sure about that?” Matt asked.

  “Positive.”

  “It’s not the way things are done,” Stone sputtered.

  “This is a friendly game,” Grady said. “I don’t think we need to stand on ceremony too much.” He looked at the other men. “What do you gents say?”

  “I say this is between the three of y’all,” one man responded. “I dropped out a long time ago.”

  “So did I,” another man put in as he started to scrape his chair back. “But if there’s gonna be trouble, I think I’d just as soon mosey on.”

  “No trouble,” Grady said. “We’ll just lay our cards down, and that’ll be the end of it, one way or another. Right, gentlemen?”

  “Damn it, have it your own way,” Stone said. He slapped his cards faceup on the table. “You’re not going to beat that, anyway! Four jacks!”

  A sigh came from Grady as he laid down his hand. “You’re right,” he said. “That beats my four tens. Matt?”

  “I’ve got a flush,” Matt said.

  Stone chortled and reached out with pudgy hands to pull in the pot.

  “A straight flush,” Matt added.

  One by one, he laid down the three, four, five, six, and seven of spades.

  Linus Grady clapped his hands and laughed in delight. “Well played!”

  Seward Stone’s broad features began to turn a deeper and deeper scarlet as rage caused the blood to flow into his face. “That’s not possible,” he growled.

  “Oh, it’s possible, all right,” Grady said as he pushed the pot toward Matt. “Unlikely, maybe, but entirely possible.”

  “Not without help,” Stone blustered.

  The other three men had relaxed a little, but now they stiffened. Chairs scraped on the floor again as their occupants stood up in a hurry.

  Quietly, Grady said, “Seward, I don’t know you very well, so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and advise you that you had better not mean that the way it sounded.”

  Stone pointed a finger at Matt. “And how well do you know this man?” he demanded. “Did he cheat on his own, or are the two of you partners?”

  “Mister,” Matt drawled, “you’d better stand up and haul your freight out of here, because I’m really not in the mood to kill anybody today.”

  Stone looked so mad he was fit to burst, but he controlled himself with a visible effort and said, “I’m no gunman. I won’t draw on you.” He put his hands on the edge of the table and started to heave himself to his feet.

  As he came up, though, he suddenly gave the table a hard shove, ramming it into Matt and upending it. The move took Matt by surprise. He felt his chair going over backward as coins and greenbacks flew into the air. He crashed to the floor as a couple of the chair’s legs snapped off.

  Stone roared in rage and swung the table around. He might be fat, but a lot of his bulk was muscle, too, and he obviously had immense strength. Stone used the table as a battering ram to drive Linus Grady against the wall. He pinned the gambler there and leaned on the table, as if it were a giant thumb and he intended to crush Grady like a bug. Grady let out a groan of pain.

  Matt came up off the floor holding one of the broken chair legs. He brought it crashing down twice on Stone’s back. The blows forced Stone to let go of the table. He swung around and backhanded Matt with a thickly muscled arm. The blow sent Matt rolling across the floor, through the scattered money.

  Stone came after him and landed a painful kick in Matt’s side. As Matt curled up on the floor, gasping in pain and lack of breath, Stone turned and went after Grady again. The gambler had slumped half-senseless to the floor when Stone let go of the table. Now Stone grabbed the lapels of his coat and dragged him up again. He shook Grady like a terrier with a rat, then slammed him twice against the wall.

  Matt forced himself to his feet and drew his right-hand Colt. He leveled the gun at Stone and eared back the hammer. The sound of a gun being cocked would get through to almost any man, no matter how mad he was, but Stone ignored it.

  “Let him go, damn it!” Matt yelled. He would shoot Stone’s legs out from under him if he had to.

  He didn’t have to, though, because at that moment, Grady lifted his hand and pressed the barrel of the derringer he had shaken down from his sleeve against Stone’s forehead. Matt caught just a glimpse of the little pistol before Grady pulled the trigger.

  The derringer didn’t make much sound at all, just a quiet pop. The sides of Stone’s head seemed to bulge out a little, though, and blood welled from his ears. He let go of Grady and toppled over backward, landing with a huge crash like a redwood tree falling in the forest. A finger of crimson oozed from the black-rimmed hole in the center of his forehead. His dead eyes stared sightlessly toward the ceiling.

  Grady leaned against the wall. His right arm hung down at his side with the derringer held loosely in his hand. A little wisp of smoke curled from the muzzle.

  “You killed him,” Matt said. It wasn’t an exclamation of surprise, just a statement of fact.

  “He…he was damned lucky…I didn’t do it…as soon as he accused me…of cheating,” Grady said as he tried to catch his breath. He groaned again as he pressed his left hand to his side. “Feels like…the fat son of a bitch…might’ve cracked a rib or two.”

  The hotel clerk peeked nervously around the doorjamb. “Are you gentlemen all right?”

  Matt lowered the hammer on his gun and slid the iron back into leather. “I reckon we will be. You’re gonna need the undertaker here, though.”

  “Someone’s already run to fetch him. The marshal, too.”

  For the marshal of a nice, peaceful town, Marsh Coleman was having to deal with a lot of trouble today, Matt thought.

  Grady still looked shaken and disheveled, but he had caught his breath. “Let’s get this money picked up,” he suggested. “Several hundred dollars of it belong to you.”

  Matt was about to say that he didn’t care about the money, but then he remembered that he had won it fair and square. He started gathering it up, along with Grady.

  By the time Marshal Coleman came hurrying into the lobby, gun in hand, Matt and Grady had the money straightened out and sorted. Matt’s winnings were rolled up and tucked into his pocket.

  “Bodine!” Coleman exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were mixed up in this.”

  “And I should have known,” Sam said as he appeared behind the lawman. “Are you all right, Matt? I heard a commotion down here, but I didn’t know there had been a shooting.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Matt told his blood brother. “I’m sorry abou
t this, Marshal. That fella there on the floor took exception to losing.”

  Coleman grunted. “Violent exception, from the looks of it. Who shot him?”

  “I did,” Grady answered without hesitation. “It was self-defense, Marshal. He would have killed me.”

  Coleman looked at Matt. “Is that true?”

  “Yeah, Stone was doing his damnedest to bash Grady’s brains out against the wall.”

  “He had already almost crushed me with that table,” Grady added.

  Coleman nodded as he holstered his gun. “Well, then, from the sound of it there won’t be much doubt about the verdict at the inquest. There’ll have to be an inquest, though. Can’t just let a killing go.”

  “I understand,” Grady said. “Let me know when it is, Marshal, and I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks. You been around here for a while, Grady, and you seem like a law-abiding sort, for a gambler.”

  “I always try to abide by the law, Marshal. And for the record, I didn’t cheat, and neither did Mr. Bodine. Stone lost that hand fair and square.”

  “Yeah,” Coleman said with a look at the corpse on the floor. “I’d say he lost the biggest hand of all.”

  Chapter 7

  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 t
heir 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.