“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.”