“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?”
Chapter 8
The rest of the meal went smoothly, and after they had finished eating—including healthy servings of the deep-dish apple pie Coleman had advised the blood brothers to save room for—Sam offered to help Hannah clean up.
“That’s not necessary,” she told him.
“I really don’t mind.”
She shooed him out of the dining room. “No, you go with Dad and Mr. Bodine. Dad usually sits out on the porch in the evening after supper, and I’m sure he’d be glad for the company.”
Coleman took one of the rockers on the porch, Matt the other. Sam sat on the steps and rubbed the ears of the shaggy little mutt Lobo, who seemed to revel in the attention.
As Coleman took out a tobacco pouch and started packing his pipe, Matt asked, “Is that Cimarron Kane hombre liable to make any trouble because you arrested his cousins?”
Coleman scratched a match into life on the sole of his boot and held the flame to the pipe’s bowl. When he had puffed on it until the tobacco was burning good, he shook the match out and said, “Probably not. Like I said, there are no reward dodgers out on Kane here in Kansas, and I reckon he’d like to keep it that way. He’s always on his best behavior when he’s in town, and he tries to keep the rest of the clan in line, too.” The lawman smoked for a moment, then added, “I don’t know what he’ll do, though, if he thinks those fellas are going to prison. He might not stand for that.”
Matt and Sam exchanged a glance in the light that spilled onto the porch through the open door. Sam had already started making noises about hanging around Cottonwood for a while to give Marshal Coleman a hand. There might be even more reason to do that if Coleman found himself facing potential gun trouble from a hardcase like this Cimarron Kane.
They already planned to stay here for a few days, though, to rest their horses, so maybe by the time that interval had passed, they would know more about whether or not Kane represented a real threat.
“Don’t you boys worry about any of that,” Coleman went on. “I’ve been the law here for five years, and I packed a badge for more’n twenty years in other places before that. So I know how to handle trouble.”
“I’m sure you do, Marshal,” Sam said. “If you need any help while we’re here, though, don’t hesitate to call on us.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Coleman promised.
They chatted about more pleasant subjects for a while. Like most Westerners, Coleman obviously didn’t believe in prying into a man’s past, so he didn’t ask Matt and Sam to tell him about themselves. They volunteered some information anyway, talking about how they had grown up as friends in Montana and telling the marshal about some of the adventures they’d had since going on the drift several years earlier.
When Hannah joined them on the porch a little later, Matt hopped up to give her his chair. She smiled and sat down, then asked, “Has Dad been talking your ears off?”
“Not at all,” Sam said. “In fact, I think Matt and I have been doing most of the talking.”
“Well, I’m sorry I missed that. Maybe you can join us again some other time while you’re in town.”
Sam nodded. “I’d like that. I mean, we’d like that. Wouldn’t we, Matt?”
“Do you know how to make any other kind of pie?” Matt asked.
Hannah laughed. “Oh, yes, all kinds. I bake cakes sometimes, too.”
“Then we’ll come back any time you want,” Matt said.
After they had visited a while longer, Matt practically had to drag Sam away from the house. They said their good nights, Hannah brought them their hats, they said good night again, rubbed Lobo’s ears, and finally the blood brothers were strolling back toward Main Street.
“Those are mighty nice people,” Sam said. “Sitting down with them was almost like being home again.”
“Salt of the earth,” Matt agreed. “I don’t much like the sound of that Cimarron Kane fella, either.”
“So you think we should stay and lend Marshal Coleman a hand, too?”
“We’ll see how the next few days play out,” Matt said. “He may be a good lawman, but I don’t think he’d be any match for a real gun-wolf.”
“That’s what I thought,” Sam said.
“I also think we should mosey on down to that old abandoned livery barn Ike Loomis told us about and see what’s going on there,” Matt added.
Sam frowned. “You mean that secret saloon?”
“Yeah.”
“We’d be breaking the law.”
“A damn crazy law that nobody except the governor and those hired-gun marshals of his believes in.”
“Well…” Sam hesitated. “I don’t suppose it would hurt anything to go have a look.”
A grin spread across Matt’s face. “That’s what I was hopin’ you’d say.”
When they reached Main Street, they turned left instead of right and headed for the western end of town. Matt vaguely recalled seeing the big, apparently abandoned barn when they rode in, but he hadn’t really paid any attention to it.
Cottonwood was quiet and peaceful, and from the looks of it a lot of its citizens had already turned in for the night, although lights still burned at the hotel, of course, and several of the other businesses that stayed open late, including Pete Hilliard’s store. The old livery barn was dark as Matt and Sam approached it, though, but Matt noticed one thing that was odd.
He nudged Sam in the side with an elbow and said quietly, “Lots of horses tied up at this end of town. Where are all the hombres who rode in on them?”
“Yeah, I saw that, too,” Sam said. “I reckon you know the answer as well as I do.”
They walked around the barn and found a narrow door at the back. No light came through the cracks around it, and they couldn’t hear any noises coming from inside the structure.
“You think maybe that old liveryman was just joshin’ us?” Matt asked with a frown.
“I don’t know. You sure can’t tell from out here that there’s anybody inside.”
Matt lifted a hand. “Let’s find out.” He rapped sharply on the rear door.
For a long moment, there was no response. Then the blood brothers heard somebody fumbling with a latch inside the d
oor. The panel swung back a couple of inches.
“Yeah?” a man’s gruff voice asked.
“Ike Loomis from the livery stable at the other end of town told us we could get a drink here,” Matt said bluntly.
“He did, did he?” The door swung open farther. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Come on in!”
Darkness loomed inside the barn. Matt and Sam glanced at each other, then warily stepped forward into the shadows. If this was some sort of trick, whoever was trying to pull it was going to be mighty sorry.
The door whispered shut behind them. Then another door opened, and as light flooded in, Matt and Sam realized that they had been admitted to some sort of small anteroom. When both doors were closed at the same time, they wouldn’t let any light out. The little chamber probably hadn’t been in the barn when it was being used as a livery stable. It must have been added on later.
As Matt and Sam walked into the barn, they looked around in surprise. Even though Ike Loomis had told them they could get a drink here, they hadn’t really expected to find a full-fledged saloon in operation, complete with a hardwood bar with a brass foot rail, tables and chairs, including a poker table, and shelves full of liquor bottles behind the bar. There was even a tasteful painting of a nude hung on the wall, much like the one in the hotel’s card room, only the gal in this one had blond hair and if anything was even more lushly built than the other. More than a dozen men stood at the bar, drinking, and several of the tables were occupied, as well.
The only real differences between this establishment and a real saloon were that the floor was dirt here, instead of wood, there were big sections of black cloth hung up over the front doors like curtains to prevent any light from seeping around them, there was no piano player or music of any sort, and the customers were talking quietly, without any loud, raucous conversation or laughter.
The man who had let them in was huge, with brawny arms, massive shoulders, a pugnacious jaw, and a red handlebar mustache to go with a shock of rusty hair. He told Matt and Sam, “You fellas go on in and have a good time. Just be quiet about it. We can’t afford to have any ruckuses in here. My pa and Marshal Coleman are old friends, and it’d be mighty awkward if the marshal had to arrest Pa and me for runnin’ an illegal saloon.”
“Ike Loomis is your father?” Matt asked.
The big young man nodded. “Yep. My name’s Mike. Red Mike, they sometimes call me, on account of my hair. I take care of this place for Pa.”
“Well, we won’t cause any trouble,” Sam assured him. “My friend here just wants to get a drink.”
“What about you?” Mike Loomis asked.
“I don’t use the stuff that much.”
“Good. You look like a half-breed to me, and Injuns don’t handle booze too well.”
Sam stiffened in anger, but Matt put a hand on his arm and said, “Come on, Sam.”
“Wait a minute,” Mike Loomis said. “I recognize you fellas now. You’re the hombres who helped Marshal Coleman arrest those troublemakers who attacked old Pete Hilliard.” He held a hand out to Sam. “I’m sorry about what I just said, mister. I didn’t mean no offense.”
Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to be that quick to accept the man’s apology, but his natural grace came to the fore and he gripped Mike Loomis’s hand. “That’s fine.”
“Enjoy yourselves, and if there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
The blood brothers went over to the bar, where Matt ordered a shot of whiskey and a beer from the apron-clad bartender. He threw back the whiskey the man placed in front of him and licked his lips appreciatively.
“That’s good stuff.”
“It ought to be,” the man said. “The boss pays plenty for it. It’s the best that’s brewed in these parts.”
“That whiskey’s made around here, not brought in from some other state?” Sam asked.
“Shoot, the boss couldn’t afford to do that, and anyway, those special marshals would make it too hard to transport that far without gettin’ caught. It’s hard enough just gettin’ the home-brewed stuff into town without anybody findin’ out about it.”
Matt pushed the empty glass across the hardwood. “I’ll have another. Who brews those fine corn squeezin’s, anyway?”
The bartender tipped the unlabeled bottle in his hand and splashed more whiskey into Matt’s glass. Then, as he corked the bottle, he looked over Matt’s shoulder and nodded.
“There she is right now. That girl.”
Chapter 9
“Girl?” Matt and Sam exclaimed at the same time, both of them surprised by the bartender’s statement. They turned to look in the direction he had indicated.
The person he was talking about was a girl, all right. Or a young woman, rather. There was no doubt about that, despite the fact that she wore boots, jeans, and a man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up over tanned, smoothly rounded forearms. Her hat hung behind her head by its chin strap, allowing thick masses of curly brown hair to fall free around her shoulders. She moved with an easy grace across the room, nodding and speaking to several of the men she passed. Then she said something to Red Mike Loomis and went out through the rear door.
Matt let out a low whistle of surprise and admiration, then turned to the bartender and said, “She’s a moonshiner?”
“Well, her family is,” the man replied. “I don’t know for sure who does what. I just sell the stuff she brings into town for us. There’s a bunch of those Harlows. The pa, the girl, and four or five brothers.”
“I notice that she packs iron,” Sam commented.
“Yeah,” the bartender said. “I reckon that’s in case she runs into trouble while she’s making her deliveries.”
Matt had seen the ivory-handled revolver holstered on the young woman’s trim hip, but the fact that it was there hadn’t really penetrated his brain until now. He had been too taken in by her beauty. He turned to the bartender and repeated, “Deliveries?”
The drink juggler nodded. “Yeah, from what I hear, the Harlow family supplies most of the county with booze. Them who want it have to pay a pretty price these days, too, what with those special marshals roaming around and all.”
Matt supposed that was true. And it meant that the young woman and her family would be in danger from the governor’s gun-toting special agents. He recalled the bomb blast he and Sam had witnessed earlier that day, and a little shiver went through him at the thought of the young woman getting caught in an explosion like that. Somebody as pretty as she was shouldn’t be running such risks, he thought.
“Hello, Matt.”
The man’s voice came from behind Matt. He turned and saw Linus Grady, the gambler who’d killed Seward Stone in the hotel. Grady smiled and went on. “I see you found the other place where folks can play a hand of poker in Cottonwood.”
“Yeah, we heard about it from Ike Loomis,” Matt replied. He inclined his head toward his blood brother. “This is Sam Two Wolves, by the way. I don’t recall if you fellas were ever introduced this afternoon or not.”
Grady nodded. “I’m pleased to meet you, Sam. Care to sit in on a game?”
“Thanks, but I don’t play poker that often,” Sam said. “That’s Matt’s game.”
Grady turned back to Matt and asked, “How about it? I don’t think we’ll have the same problems here that we did earlier. Red Mike makes sure everyone stays in line.”
Matt thought it over for a second, then shook his head. “No, thanks. It’s been a long day, and I’m a mite tired. Reckon we’ll go back to the hotel and turn in.”
“Maybe another time,” Grady said with a nod. He turned and strolled toward one of the felt-covered tables, where a game was starting.
“Seems like a nice fella,” Sam commented.
“Yeah, but you don’t want to back him into a corner,” Matt said, thinking about how Grady had reacted with deadly, lightning-quick reflexes when Stone attacked him.
“Do you really intend to call it a night?”
Matt picked up his mug of beer and took a long swallow. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Well, I suppose so.” Sam smiled and patted his stomach. “And still full from that wonderful supper Miss Hannah prepared.”
“Still moonin’ over her, that’s what you mean,” Matt said with a grin. He drank down the rest of the beer, tossed a coin on the bar, and nodded. “Let’s go.”
Mike Loomis stood beside the door to the anteroom, arms crossed over his chest. He nodded to Matt and Sam as they approached and asked, “Takin’ your leave, gents?”
“For now,” Matt said. “We’ll probably be back while we’re still in town.”
“You’re welcome anytime.” Loomis opened the door. “Just go on out once this door is closed. Be sure to shut the outside door behind you. The latch will lock when you do.”
They did as instructed and a moment later stepped out into the warm night. Matt couldn’t get the young woman they had seen in the saloon out of his mind as they walked back up the street toward the hotel.
Maybe because he was thinking of her, he noticed her more readily when she drove past in a buckboard, handling the reins attached to the four-horse hitch with practiced ease. Matt stopped short on the boardwalk and turned to look after the vehicle.
“What is it?” Sam asked as he came to a stop, too.
Matt nodded toward the buckboard as it rolled along the street toward the west end of town. “That Harlow girl who was down at the saloon,” he said. “That was her on the buckboard that just passed us.”
“Are you sure? I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, I guess she was going home. She must have finished her business here in town.”
Matt frowned. “A girl like that doesn’t have any business driving around by herself in the middle of the night.”
“She looked to me like she could take care of herself,” Sam said. “She was carrying a gun, after all.”
“How much good do you reckon that gun would do her if she ran into Bickford and Porter and that gang of bloodthirsty special marshals?”
Moonshine Massacre Page 5
