by Bill Markley
Jack saw a man stand, and as he stood Jack realized it was Pete.
Pete climbed the steps to the stage and sat on the empty stool.
“State your name, young fellow,” Whitehead said.
“Pete. Pete Adams, sir.”
“Well, Mr. Adams, do you know the defendant?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know the deceased? Myer Baum, alias Bummer Dan?’
“No, sir.”
“How long have you been in Deadwood, son?”
“Since Tuesday evening, sir. I was a bullwhacker on a bull train from Fort Pierre.”
“I see, and where are you from, Mr. Adams?”
“A small farm in Iowa.”
“Um-hum, all right, Mr. Adams, if it came down to it, and Mr. Young was found guilty of murdering Mr. Baum, could you vote for the death penalty?”
Pete glanced at Young, who stared steely-eyed back at him. “Yes I can, sir,” Pete said, as he locked in and matched Young’s stare.
“We qualify this man for seating on the jury,” Whitehead said.
“Very well, Mr. Whitehead,” Keithley said. “Mr. Miller, do you have questions for Mr. Adams?”
Jack was watching Varnes and Swearengen. Varnes gave a brief negative shake of his head, Swearengen gave a similar brief shake of his head, and Miller saw the signal to reject Pete Adams.
“I do have questions for Mr. Adams.”
“Proceed, Mr. Miller.”
“Mr. Adams, how old are you?”
“I’m twenty-one, sir.”
“Thank you. So you are old enough to sit on the jury,” Miller said in more of a statement than a question.
“Yes, sir.”
“Pete, if I may call you Pete…”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pete, you know this man’s life is in the balance. Do you think you could make a decision that may end this man’s life and then live with that decision? A decision that may affect you for the rest of your life?”
“Yes sir, I am prepared.”
Miller slowly shook his head negatively from side to side. “Pete. Pete, I wish you would reconsider. I wish you would voluntarily step down for your own good.”
“Sir, I am ready to do my duty.”
“Judge Keithley, I request that you dismiss Pete Adams. Even though he is of age, I believe he is not wise in the ways of the world and would not make an informed decision.”
Keithley looked at his pocket watch and frowned. “Mr. Miller, you have asked for the dismissal of many well-qualified candidates this afternoon, and the court has graciously complied with all your requests. It is late in the day, and the theater must be prepared for this evening’s performance. I see absolutely nothing wrong with this young man. Therefore, I overrule your request. Mr. Pete Adams will be seated as the twelfth juror.”
“But, your Honor…” Miller began.
“It is over, Mr. Miller,” Keithley said.
“Hallelujah,” Merrick muttered.
“Jurors, attorneys, and people,” Keithley announced. “This court will reconvene tomorrow morning, nine a.m. sharp. Do not be late. Court is adjourned!” And with that, he brought the hammer down hard on the slab of wood, cracking it. The theater erupted into a cacophony of conversations.
“I need to return to my shop!” Merrick said as he stood to leave. “I’ve wasted too much of my time here today. Good day, messieurs!”
Jack turned to Bullock. “Well, what do you think?” he asked.
“You may be on to something here,” Bullock said. “There were clearly signals between Varnes, Swearengen, and Miller.”
“I fear, whether right or wrong, they have unduly stacked the jury so that the verdict will be against Young and he will pay the ultimate penalty for it.”
“We will have to wait and see how this plays out,” Bullock said.
“Should we go to Keithley and let him know of our concerns?” Jack asked.
Bullock thought for a moment. “I don’t know him. Do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“What’s our proof? That we thought we saw signals between two men in the audience and one of the attorneys for the defendant. That we think at least one of the attorneys for the defendant wants to see Young lose and then swing for it. Does that sound logical or a little farfetched?”
“I agree it sounds farfetched, but I think it’s worth a try.”
“All right, let’s see if we can talk to him alone for a few moments.”
“Good.”
Bullock and Jack made their way against the flow of the crowd and then climbed the steps onto the stage. Keithley and Langrishe were finishing discussing the setup for the next day’s court proceedings. They shook hands and Langrishe walked away.
“Judge Keithley,” Bullock spoke, “may we have a moment of your time, please?”
Keithley looked at the two men and said, “Yes, briefly. We need to clear out of the theater.”
“Judge, my name is Seth Bullock of Star and Bullock and late of Montana, where I was a lawman,” Bullock said, shaking Keithley’s hand.
“And I am Jack Jones, reporter for the Chicago Inter-Ocean,” Jack said.
“Nice to meet both you gentlemen,” Keithley said.
Bullock looked around to ensure no one was close enough to overhear. “Sir, to cut to the heart of the situation,” Bullock began. “Mr. Jones and I have reason to suspect there may be collusion to rig the jury so that there is a verdict of guilty, with the death sentence then being pronounced for Mr. Young.”
“So you think the prosecutors have somehow weighted the jury in their favor, even though the defense were the ones who kept throwing out the potential jurors?”
“Not the prosecution,” Jack said. “The defense.”
“The defense? That’s absurd, gentlemen.”
“Hear us out, sir,” Bullock said.
“All right, but you must make it quick.”
“Mr. Jones and I saw Johnny Varnes and Al Swearengen passing signals to Mr. Miller to reject certain potential jurors. Also, we think it is very strange that two jurors, Henry Varnes and Texas Jack, were the very men who placed the hangman’s noose around Young’s neck. The defense had no opposition whatsoever to those two men. We think the signals to Miller and the placement of Henry Varnes and Texas Jack indicate that the defense is going to allow Young to be convicted of murder and hanged.”
Keithley stared at the stage floorboards, stroking his salt and pepper beard. “That may be, gentlemen, but we are too far along in the process to do anything about it. I will be on my guard to watch for any indication the defense, or for that matter, the prosecution may be doing something to rig the court proceedings or the jury’s verdict. I thank you, gentlemen. Now we must be gone. I see Mr. Langrishe approaching, and I know he is going to shoo us out of here. Again, I thank you for your vigilance and concern.”
With that, Keithley left the stage, followed by Bullock and Jack. As they reached the rear of the building, Jack noticed Texas Jack sitting on a bench in the shadows. How much, if anything, had he heard of their conversation? Texas Jack was using his Bowie knife to whittle away at the back of the bench in front of him. He smirked and tipped his hat to Jack and Bullock as they passed. When they reached the street, they stopped at a position where there were few people.
“What do you think?” Jack asked.
“I think the judge probably believes something is unusual but he wants the case to proceed. Think about it, the evidence is fairly flimsy. He would have to use our testimony that we saw collusion and he would also have to throw out two jurors who the defense had already accepted. I don’t think he will do anything, but I believe he will keep a close eye on things.”
“You’re probably right,” Jack said. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see how it turns out tomorrow.”
Two horseback riders trotted down Main Street—Poncho and Carlos again. They reined in their horses in the middle of the street, pulled their pistols from their holsters,
and each shot once straight up into the sky. “Citizens of Deadwood!” Poncho shouted. “Carlos and me, we thank you again for your generosity in giving us fifty more dollars in gold dust for another poor Indian who lost his head! Ha! Ha!” Carlos held up their possible bag and shook it. The two Mexicans spurred their horses, continuing north at a fast trot, firing their pistols into the sky and laughing. Bullock was shaking his head. “It’s a damn shame the merchants are paying for these killings, it only leads to more problems,” he said. “I must get back to the store and help out old Sol. He’s probably run ragged by now.”
“And I need to visit Fee Lee Wong. He has invited me for tea this afternoon.”
They shook hands and parted, Bullock heading north on Main Street and Jack south.
CHAPTER NINE
Thursday Late Afternoon, August 24, 1876—Jack continued to dwell on what had taken place that afternoon. Stonewall trotted behind him as he crossed over the Lee Street Bridge and into the camps. Jack paid little attention to his surroundings, as he was deep in thought. He was startled out of his musings when someone set off several strings of firecrackers, sounding like the massed, rapid-fire musketry he had experienced during the war. Jack arrived at Fee Lee Wong’s simple but neat dwelling and shouted “Halloo, anyone home?”
“Yes!” Wong’s voice rang out from within. “Is that you, Jack?”
“It is, Fee Lee.”
Wong emerged from the house and bowed to Jack, which Jack attempted to copy. Wong laughed and held out his hand to shake.
“Please enter my humble abode,” Wong said. Jack, followed by Stonewall, entered the home.
“Have a seat.” Wong pointed to where Jack had sat yesterday. Wong went through the same ritual of pouring tea for both of them and then sat down to join Jack.
“Have you learned anything new about the murder of Bummer Dan?” Wong asked.
“No, not much more than yesterday,” Jack said. “Have you seen Laughing Sam Hartman?”
“No one in camp has seen him. It looks like he has not returned to his home.”
They both sipped and enjoyed the tea in silence.
“Fee Lee, have you ever heard of a ring in Deadwood?”
“A ring? I am not sure what you mean by ring?”
“A group of organized criminals who may do some legitimate business but may also be involved in criminal activities.”
“Oh, that would be similar to our tongs. Chinese formed these organizations when they came to America. Tongs help the individual Chinese become more familiar with America and help him stay in touch with his family back home. The tongs will ensure that if the man dies, his body is returned to China for burial, but some tongs are involved in the opium trade, attempting to enslave the minds and souls of our people. Some tongs control prostitution and practice extortion and murder. So yes, I am familiar with criminal rings.”
“I believe there may be a criminal ring in Deadwood,” Jack said.
“Why do you believe this?” Wong asked.
“There have been a series of murders that may be connected. I learned from two different sources who believe that Jack McCall was paid to kill Wild Bill Hickok. Indians may not have killed Preacher Smith, but white men may have killed him for his gold and made it look like Indians did it. Then there is the murder of Bummer Dan. I’m not sure his murder is tied to the ring, but maybe the removal of the gold from his shanty might somehow be connected to it. Finally, I sat in on the jury selection for the trial of Harry Young, and it appeared that some of the men who might be in this criminal ring were trying to rig the jury selection so Young is convicted of murder and then hanged.”
“Who are these men?” Wong asked.
“Al Swearengen, owner of the Cricket Saloon, and Johnny Varnes, a professional gambler.”
“I see,” Wong said, then thoughtfully sipped his tea. “I do not know these men, but I will ask friends and see if they know anything about them.”
“Thanks, Fee Lee,” Jack said. “Let’s change subjects. Tell me about your family. Are you married?”
“Ah, not yet, but here is my plan. I am betrothed to a beautiful girl back in Guangdong. When I have made enough money to begin an emporium, I will marry her and bring her back here.”
“That is commendable. I wish you luck, my friend.”
“And what of you, Jack?”
“I was married to the love of my life. She died in childbirth. I have a daughter, who my sister is raising as her own. My daughter knows me only as her uncle.”
“I see. Will you tell her someday who you are?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said as he stared at his teacup. “But there is now new joy in my life. I have met someone who has rekindled love in my heart.”
“Ah, tell me about her.”
“Her name is Lillian Rochelle. She is an actress at the Deadwood Theater. We have expressed our love for each other. I’ll have to see where this leads.”
“I am very happy for you, my friend.”
“I hate to leave you, but I must return to Main Street to prepare to attend the show at the theater tonight. I missed it last night and disappointed Lil by not showing up.”
“Let me not detain you. If you have time tomorrow, stop by again. We can further discuss rings and tongs.”
“I’ll do that, Fee Lee. Thank you for your hospitality.”
They bowed to each other and Jack, followed by Stonewall, retraced his steps through the camps. The sky was cloudy, casting a gloom over the landscape. A single rifle shot rang out from the slopes of Hebrew Hill. No other shots followed. Someone must have been shooting at a critter for tonight’s supper or maybe shooting at a varmint, Jack thought.
Jack crossed the bridge over Whitewood Creek and entered the Grand Central Hotel. No one was present behind the counter. The regulator clock showed the time to be seven p.m. Jack walked into the dining room, and the fragrance of this evening’s meal made him realize just how hungry he was.
“There you are, Captain Jones!” Lou scolded. “You have been keeping irregular hours,” she said, leading him to an empty table and bringing out his writing paraphernalia.
“Come along, Stonewall,” she said. “Let me see what I can find for you in the kitchen.”
Lou returned with a plate of steaming ham, potatoes, and cornbread. Jack wolfed down the food. Lou saw how quickly he had eaten and brought him a second helping. One of Lou’s helpers cleared his empty plate and Jack began writing as he sipped his coffee. Most of the diners had finished their meals and were leaving as he finished his notes for the day. Jack saw Lou emerge from the kitchen.
“Aunt Lou, do you have a few spare minutes to talk?” Jack asked.
“Not really, but I’ll make an exception,” she said and sat down.
“This has been a long day. It started out eventful for you, didn’t it, with those crazy Mexicans.”
“I have never in my life, ever had something remotely akin to that happen to me and in a regular folks’ dining room! Those boys must have had some bad liquor to make them behave as savages.”
“You were certainly brave to chase them out of here the way you did.”
“That wasn’t bravery—that was pure excitability. After I chased them out, I started to shake like a leaf.”
Jack looked around to see if anyone was sitting close enough to overhear their conversation and saw that there was no one. He lowered his voice as he said, “Can I ask you a few questions that might be considered dangerous?”
“Go ahead, Captain, I’m not afraid to discuss whatever it is you are about to say.”
“Very well, I have a theory that there is a criminal ring here in Deadwood that had Wild Bill assassinated, killed Preacher Smith for his collection, and possibly had Bummer Dan murdered, or if not murdered, made sure they stole his gold.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Two people told me they think Wild Bill was assassinated. Preacher Smith was shot but not mutilated, and Bummer Dan had gold on his person and in
his shanty that is now missing.”
“That all may be true, but how do you know there is actually a criminal ring behind all this?”
“I had one person tell me it was so, and today I saw two people who I think may be members of this ring in action at the jury selection. I believe they have rigged the jury so Harry Young will be convicted of murder and hang.”
“But again, it might be all the actions of individuals and not an organization of criminals.”
“That’s true. So I take it you have never heard of a criminal ring in town?”
Lou leaned forward and whispered, “I didn’t say there was no such thing in town. I’m only saying it would be hard for you to prove it. Even if you did prove it, what good would it do you? It would only get you crosswise with the bad element in town and who knows what they would try to do to you and any of your friends? After all, there is no one in town to protect you from them. There are no police.”
“Well, right you are again,” Jack said. “I’ll be more discreet.”
“I better get back to work,” Lou said and stood. “Please be careful.”
“Thank you, Aunt Lou, I’ll try.”
Jack stood and walked out of the dining room. He washed up and then changed into clean clothes. I had better not be late this time, he mused.
Walking past the hotel’s regulator clock, Jack noted that the time was 8:45 pm. He checked his Elgin pocket watch, which indicated the same time. Lou had agreed to take care of Stonewall for the evening, which was just fine with the hound.
As Jack stepped out into Main Street he decided he had time to check with Dirty Em and see if she had learned anything new since the afternoon. The night was darker than normal, and the stars were not visible. A cool breeze blew down from higher elevations. Men crowded the street, picking their way around the stumps and rocks. Lights flared in front of saloons, enticing men as moths to flames.
Jack reached the Cricket Saloon and walked into its well-lit interior. A banjo plucker was playing a rousing rendition of “Kingdom Coming.” Shouts and raucous laughter came from groups of liquored-up men. A few sporting girls laughed with them.
