Moonshine Massacre. William W. Johnstone
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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?”
“The buckboard was empty. What could they do to her?”
“If they suspect her and her family of making moonshine, who knows what they might do?” Matt shook his head grimly. “You saw how quick they were to blow up that shack.”
“They’re not going to throw a bomb at a girl driving an empty buckboard, no matter what they might suspect her of,” Sam said tolerantly.
“Maybe not, but something else bad could happen,” Matt insisted, “especially if she drew that gun and started shooting at them. You think that bunch would put up with that?”
Sam frowned and rubbed at his chin in thought.