by Bill Markley
“Yes, you would think so,” Jack agreed. “One good piece of information—I learned where Bummer Dan lived. I was actually on my way to visit his shanty to see if his haversack is there when I ran into your performance.”
Lil stopped dead in the street, turned and stared at Jack. “What is so important with this haversack? You are obsessed with it. What has it got to do with anything?”
Jack looked up in the sky, then looked around them, and grabbed her arm, continuing to walk on.
“All right, I’ll tell you, but don’t say anything to anyone until I get this figured out. Do you agree?”
“Agreed.”
“Last night after you left Saloon Number 10, Bummer Dan stopped by where I was playing cards. He showed me a large gold nugget he had come by and kept it wrapped up in his haversack. That’s why I’m interested in the haversack. I want to find the gold nugget and send it or a note with the value of the nugget to his next of kin, if I can figure out who that would be. The other tantalizing part of this story is that Bummer Dan said he had more gold stashed away. That’s why I want to talk to Laughing Sam, to see if he knows what happened to the haversack, since Bummer Dan was wearing Laughing Sam’s clothes last night. I also want to look through Bummer Dan’s shanty. Maybe the haversack is there and just maybe that’s where Bummer Dan kept his additional wealth.”
“I see, it all makes sense,” Lil said. “Last night, Aunt Lou said she had heard that Laughing Sam had done some underhanded things to one of the working girls. If she is correct, then maybe Laughing Sam took Bummer Dan’s gold from the haversack when he saw that his friend was dead. He took the gold and left town, not caring that there would be justice served for his murdered friend. That’s why no one’s seen him.”
“Maybe so, Lil.”
“Jack, I need to get back to the theater. We have practice for the play later this afternoon.”
“Certainly,” Jack said and they turned to retrace their steps to the theater. “There’s something else I need to tell you, Lil,” Jack said.
“What, Jack?” She said, turning towards him with a soft smile on her lips. He blushed and looked toward his feet.
“I…Well, I need to tell you I am very fond of you, Lil,” Jack said.
“Jack, I am very fond of you. I want to be with you all the time.”
“I know, Lil, it’s just that I have some things I need to work out. It has nothing to do with you and all to do with me,” Jack said.
“Can you talk to me about it?”
“I don’t think so. No, not now.”
They walked on in silence. He had a firm grip on her arm.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Jack said, releasing his grip as she again stopped.
“What is it, Jack?”
“I have to leave in a few days. My editor is sending me out to find General Crook and his army.”
Lil frowned and her face turned white as she stared into Jack’s eyes.
“You have to leave in a few days? You have to find General Crook? But it’s dangerous out there. The Indians are still on the warpath. How do you even know where to find Crook? Will you be coming back if and when you do find him?”
“All good points and questions. First, I am coming back and I do want to find you here when I come back. Second, I know it’s dangerous. I want to contact a man who might be able to help me locate Crook and keep the Sioux from locating me. The man’s name is California Joe. I need to find and hire him, but I haven’t seen him yet.”
They continued to walk down the street. Lil placed her hand in the crook of Jack’s arm.
“All right, Captain,” she said. “I suppose I can wait until you come back. But, you better do so. Who is going to look after that mangy hound of yours?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Jack said. “I suppose he could tag along. He made it this far with me.”
“Think about it. I would be willing to take care of him, if you think it would be dangerous for him on your trip,” she said. “And it would be another reason for you to return,” she continued with a smile.
“I’ll think about it,” Jack said.
They had returned to the front of the theater. The musicians and their crowd had left. The street was teeming with people. Lil and Jack were close, gazing into each other’s eyes. “I had best be getting back to practice,” Lil said. A commotion further out in the street drew their attention away from each other.
“I says that horse of yours can’t outrun a three-legged donkey!” shouted a man with a Texan drawl who was mounted on horseback. He hurled his verbal challenge at a Mexican, also on horseback. A little further behind him was another Mexican, also mounted.
“Ah, Señor, I have seen you ride, and if your horse reached a fast trot he would shake you off,” the first Mexican said.
“Hooh, ha, hah!” the second Mexican laughed. The taunts drew a crowd of interested bystanders.
“I wonder who those men are?” Lil asked.
“I don’t know,” Jack answered, then realized he had seen the man doing the challenging before, but where?
A bewhiskered miner standing near Lil and Jack said, “Why, that feller on the horse with the fancy silver bridle is Texas Jack. He’s the one who kilt that Injun that kilt Lou Mason and Preacher Smith, and then chopped off the Injun’s head. Didn’t ya see him when he galloped into town with that there head tied by the hair to his saddle, just a floppin’ along? It was quite the sight.”
“Who are the other two fellows?” Jack asked the miner.
“The feller in the front doin’ most of the talkin’, that’s Poncho Mores. The feller behind him laughin’, that’s his partner Carlos. Them’s the two what kilt that Injun and galloped through town waving that Injun’s head about when the crowd was going to hang that young feller what kilt Wild Bill. Seems to me there’s developin’ a little competition betwixt them fellers! I’m surprised them two Mexicans are in town. They’re supposed to be out patrollin’ with old California Joe.”
“Thank you, sir, this information is most useful!” Jack said. I’ll have to ask them if California Joe is in town, Jack thought, and then realized, I know where I’ve seen Texas Jack before. He was the other man with Varnes’s brother who had the rope around Harry Young’s neck last night!
The bantering back and forth between Texas Jack and Carlos and Poncho continued.
“Let us put it to a test,” Poncho said.
“You mean a race?” Texas Jack asked.
“Si! A race!” shouted Carlos from the rear.
“There’s going to be a race!” shouted someone from the crowd.
“Who’s racing?” another shouted. The buzz in the crowd increased.
“All right!” Texas Jack said. “We’ll race here in Main Street. We can start down past the Cricket Saloon and right here between the Deadwood Theater and Grand Central Hotel can be the finish line. What are the stakes?”
“Oh, Señor Texas Jack, I must have that beautiful silver inlaid bridle with the silver conches, if you please,” Poncho said.
Texas Jack was silent.
“Come on, Texas Jack!” a voice from the crowd shouted. “It’s a sure bet you will win!”
“All right!” Texas Jack said. “What are you putting up against my bridle?”
“Ah, Señor Texas Jack, I will put up fifty Yankee dollars in gold that Carlos and I have saved when we collected it on that poor, unfortunate Indian’s head two weeks ago.”
“Carlos, show the man our money,” Poncho said. Carlos produced a possible bag decorated with black, white, red, and yellow beads, forming beautiful patterns in the Lakota tradition. He dug into the bag and produced two twenty-dollar and one ten-dollar gold coins, holding them high for all to see.
Texas Jack took a minute to ponder the wager. “It’s a deal,” he said, reaching across the saddle and shaking Poncho’s outstretched hand. The crowd laughed and shouted. Men were frantically making and taking bets with each other on who would win the ma
tch. Carlos began to put the coins back into his possible bag.
“Hold it right there, Carlos!” Texas Jack shouted over the crowd noise. “Not that I don’t trust you, but I think a disinterested third party should be holding those coins.”
“What about the silver bridle?” Poncho said.
“You can see where it is at all times since it will be in front of you the entire race,” Texas Jack said. “If you win the race—which you won’t—you can take it off my horse right then and there.”
“Si, I agree! I will take it off your horse when I win,” Poncho answered. “Now let me find someone to hold the Yankee dollars.”
“I’ll h-hold them for y-you!” Fat Jack shouted.
“No thank you, Señor Fat Jack,” Poncho shouted back. “You would only lose my money at the nearest faro game!” The crowd roared with laughter and Fat Jack grinned in agreement. It did not take Poncho long to scan the crowd and find the one he wanted to hold the coins. He backed his horse and stopped alongside Carlos, who handed him the three coins. He clicked to his horse, who moved forward until they came to Lil. Poncho spoke a gentle “Whoa,” and his horse stopped in front of Lil.
“My beautiful señorita,” Poncho said, sweeping his sombrero from his head and holding it over his heart. “Would you be so gracious as to hold these gambling stakes for me until I redeem them from you at the end of the race against this poor, miserable Texas Jack?”
Lil smiled and gave a short curtsey. “I would indeed be honored to hold your golden coins for you, sir,” she replied in her best theatrical voice. Poncho deposited the coins into her upturned palm, replaced his sombrero on top of this head, clicked to his horse, and returned to Texas Jack.
“Amigo,” he said to Texas Jack. “Let us clear the street and begin our race!” The two of them, followed by Carlos, began to walk their horses down the street to clear the humanity away. The crowds needed little encouragement. Men were always looking for something new to entertain them or some event to wager upon. Three bull trains were in the street, but the bullwhackers drove their oxen closer to the buildings to help create a wider lane. It was almost as if an invisible force swept the men out of the center of the street and onto the sidelines as the three riders made their way down the street, far beyond the Cricket Saloon.
“Oh, this is so exciting, Jack!” Lil said.
“It surely is,” Jack said as he watched the two distant riders and their mounts line up for the start of the race. Carlos and his horse were off to the side. Carlos held a pistol in his left hand, pointed straight up over his head.
“That’s interesting,” Jack said to himself aloud.
“What’s interesting?” Lil asked.
“Just that Carlos is left-handed. See, he holds his pistol in his left hand.”
“He ain’t left-handed,” the bewhiskered miner who was still standing near the couple interjected. “Carlos told me he injured his right hand years ago. His fingers are too stiff and weak to pull a trigger, so he learned to shoot left handed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jack said.
The man spat and said, “You’re welcome.”
Jack saw smoke spew from Carlos’s pistol and the delayed report of the pistol shot reached Jack’s ears. The two riders took off at a full gallop. The entire town of Deadwood erupted in cheers and shouts. Texas Jack was jabbing his large Chihuahua spurs into his horse as he whipped him on the rump with his quirt. Poncho was leaning forward giving his horse his head. The horses and riders were neck and neck. Poncho’s horse appeared to enjoy the challenge and began to pick up the pace, pulling slightly ahead of Texas Jack’s horse. Texas Jack spurred harder, furiously whipping with the quirt. Poncho leaned further forward and spoke to his horse, who leapt ahead of Texas Jack’s horse. The rapid pounding of the hooves grew louder and louder as the two charging animals raced at breakneck speed toward the finish line. Poncho’s horse stretched a full length ahead of Texas Jack’s horse as they flew across the finish line.
The crowd erupted in a roar. Individual reactions were mixed. The winners shouted their happiness, while the losers grumbled as they handed over their money and gold dust. A laughing Carlos astride his horse trotted up behind the contestants as the crowd surged forward, surrounding the three riders. Poncho, smiling from ear to ear, reached out his hand to shake hands with Texas Jack, who only sneered, “My horse stumbled at the start, otherwise I would have won.”
“That may be so, amigo, however, I am the winner today!” Poncho said as he dismounted and took the bridle off his horse. Then, turning to Texas Jack’s horse, he removed the silver bridle, replacing it with his bridle and adjusting and placing the silver one on his own horse. The crowd shouted, hooted, and laughed. Once Poncho had mounted his horse, he laughed, pulled out a pistol, and shot into the air. Swinging around, he rode up to Lil and stopped.
“Señorita, gracias for watching our money,” he said as she handed him the coins.
“It was my pleasure, sir!”
Poncho tipped his sombrero.
“Carlos! Amigo! Let us ride!” With their spurs jangling, the two of them trotted their horses back down Main Street to the shouted approval of the crowd. The street took some time to return to normal, as men retold the race they had just watched to each other.
“How exciting, Jack!” Lil said.
“It surely was,” Jack said, as he noticed a scowling Texas Jack watching the jubilant Mexicans trot down the street. Texas Jack swore to himself, reined his horse in the opposite direction, and left at a slow lope, scattering the onlookers in his way. Someone lit off a string of firecrackers, creating a staccato of small, popping explosions.
“I best be getting back to play practice,” Lil said. “Don’t forget, the play is at half-past ten tonight.”
“I won’t forget. I’ll be there,” Jack promised. They embraced and kissed to the hoots and catcalls of onlookers. Lil and Jack broke away from each other, smiling. Lil waved to the surrounding men and said in a loud voice, “You can see more of that type of action on stage tonight, boys!” To which they all hooted and hollered again. Lil vanished into the theater.
Jack looked at his pocket watch. It was now 4:00 p.m. Time was getting away from him. He headed up the street, with Stonewall by his side. He didn’t have far to walk until he came to Lee Street, where he turned left at the General Custer House Hotel. At the rear of the hotel was the newly constructed Lee Street Bridge, which crossed Whitewood Creek. Some well-meaning citizens of Deadwood had taken it upon themselves to construct the bridge, making it easier for people to cross over the creek without getting wet.
Jack stopped in the middle of the bridge to gaze at Whitewood Creek as it flowed north. Hundreds of men were in the water and on the banks, shoveling and sifting sands and gravel, diverting water into sluice boxes and rockers, and panning. The pools and riffles were gone. Men had channelized the stream and diverted its flow for their purposes. Humanity in motion, relentless in its pursuit of gold, and water in motion, relentless in its pursuit of the sea. Both man and nature creating a constant murmur in their quest.
Jack turned back to the business at hand, crossing the bridge into the camps that many in town called home. The camps were laid out in a haphazard way. Since there was no town government, people set up camp wherever they felt inclined to do so. There was some semblance of streets out of necessity, so people could pass through to get to their tents or shanties. There were a few log cabins and no clapboard houses. Those who could afford it lived in tents. Those who could not lived in shanties or shebangs made of scraps of wood, canvas, and boughs. Men stood guard at their dwelling places while their partners were at the creek, panning and sluicing. The camps held a hodgepodge of men from every walk of life, every race, and most religions—some without religion. Jack turned to the left, proceeding north as Fat Jack had told him. Some of the men had campfires stoked, and cast-iron pots and skillets hung over the fires in preparation for their evening suppers. A smoky haze hung over the camps. The sou
nds of chopping wood and the low hum of countless voices filled the air.
Jack slowly made his way through the tents and hovels for about one hundred yards, as Fat Jack had directed. He did not see the Bummer Dan sign at first, but on his second scan, he saw it—a cockeyed shingle with Bummer Dan painted in white. The lower portion of the one-room building was constructed of logs. The top part was a canvas tent. The surrounding dwellings were of similar construction, nothing of permanence.
No one was visible in this part of the camp. Bummer Dan’s tent flap was untied. Jack pulled it back and looked within. The only items resembling furniture were a few blankets, strewn on top of a bed of pine boughs, and a crate for a table. Bummer Dan’s few possessions were strewn about haphazardly. “Humph,” Jack grunted. “Either Bummer Dan lived like a pig or someone has ransacked this place.” Stonewall entered and sniffed about. Jack followed him in, dropping the tent flap behind him. He noted a few items of clothing hanging on a wooden peg, as well as pots and pans, a box of hard bread, but other than that, nothing. The haversack and its gold were nowhere to be seen. “Bummer Dan said he had more gold stashed somewhere. His shanty would be the logical place to hide it, since he lives right here and could keep an eye on it better,” Jack said aloud. He began looking through the clothes on the peg to see if there was anything in the pockets. Some items of clothing were scattered on the floor. He searched those and found nothing. Not only was he looking for the haversack and gold, but he was hoping to find information on Bummer Dan’s family so he could at least inform them of his death, if not send them the gold.
Jack looked through the blankets. It appeared that someone had scattered the pine boughs, looking to see if there was anything there, or if there was disturbed earth, where Bummer Dan might have buried his gold. Jack looked in the cracker box. It was empty. He moved the crate and saw disturbed earth. He picked up an old, battered tin cup. Dropping to his knees with his back to the tent flap, he began scooping out the disturbed dirt, using the cup. Stonewall enthusiastically joined in the action, sending dirt flying behind him.
