Deadwood Dead Men

by Bill Markley

  Jack spied Madame Mustache running a faro spread near the front of the building. A sizable crowd gathered round her table, laying down bets. She was busy, and Jack thought not to disturb her, so he began to walk by. But Madame Mustache saw him and shouted above the loud-talking punters and the side-bet takers, “Captain Jones! Captain Jones! If you are looking for Dirty Em, she is running her faro game at the back of the saloon!”

  “Thank you, Madame Mustache!” Jack said, tipping his hat. He slowly made his way through the crowded saloon. He had to squeeze through and excuse himself several times until he found Dirty Em at her faro layout. She had left several buttons of her burgundy-colored bodice unbuttoned at the top. She appeared radiant as she controlled a crowd of mesmerized men.

  Excited punters were making their bets, and men behind them were making their side bets. Jack saw it was coming down to the end of the hand. The case keeper sitting opposite Dirty Em held the abacus-like case showing that Dirty Em had played most of the cards in the deck. Looking up, Dirty Em spied Jack.

  “Care to buck the tiger, Captain Jones?” Dirty Em said, raising an eyebrow and flashing a smile.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “One dollar for a check,” Dirty Em responded. Jack handed her a ten-dollar gold piece and she handed him ten ivory checks.

  “Place your bets, gentlemen,” she announced. Jack looked at the complete suite of Spades pasted and lacquered on the layout table. He placed five of his checks on the Jack of Spades as the other punters let their checks ride on the layout cards or changed to new ones.

  “Anyone care to copper the bet?” Dirty Em said as she held up an Indian-head penny.

  “I will,” said one of the punters. “I’ll bet to lose!” She handed him the penny and he placed it on top of his ivory checks.

  “Betting is now over, gentlemen!” Dirty Em announced.

  She pressed the dealing box and out sprang the top card, the dealer’s card. It was a Ten of Hearts. Any player who had a check on the dealer’s card in the layout would lose. She pressed the box again and out sprang the player’s card. It was a Three of Diamonds. Any player who had a check on the player’s card in the layout would win. One of the punters had two checks on the Ten and Dirty Em swept them to her. No one had a check on the Three.

  “Place your bets, gentlemen,” Dirty Em announced again. Jack decided to let his ride on the Jack of Spades. The other punters made their bets.

  “Betting is over, gentlemen,” Dirty Em announced as again she pressed the box. The dealer’s card was an Ace of Hearts, and the player’s card was the Jack of Diamonds. She swept the checks from the Ace and doubled Jack’s pile. “Captain Lucky-Jack Jones!” she said.

  “Dirty Em, we are down to the last three cards,” the case keeper announced, showing the case to the punters. “The cards are Queen of Diamonds, Five of Clubs, and Nine of Hearts.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. “Gentlemen, as you know, with the last three cards I can call the turn, which I do so now. Place your bets, and if you call the turn correctly by calling the correct sequence of the cards, you can win four to one.” Several punters called the turn and placed their bets, including Jack who said “Queen, Five, Nine.” Dirty Em hit the box and out came in sequence Nine, Five, Queen. No one had the correct sequence, and she raked in the checks from the layout.

  “Thank you, boys!” she said. “I need to take a little break. We’ll reconvene this faro game in fifteen minutes.”

  The men on stools pushed back from the table and stood. Some headed to the bar to refill their cups and glasses. The banjo plucker began playing “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” and a prospector brought out his bones to keep time.

  “Captain Jones,” Dirty Em said, “Will you escort a lady outback to the privy?”

  “I would be honored, Ma’am,” Jack said. He held out his arm and she took it. He had to part the sea of men as she followed behind in his wake. At times, he felt her body press up against his. They reached the saloon’s backdoor and stepped out in the cool of the night. The privy was several paces beyond the rear of the building.

  “How chivalrous of you, Captain, to escort me to the necessary house,” Dirty Em said loudly, then in a low voice that was almost a whisper, she continued, “I’ll tell you quickly, Al returned to the Cricket after the jury selection. I overheard him telling Johnny Burns that he and Johnny Varnes were pleased with the jury selection. They were happy that brother Henry and Texas Jack were on the jury and that they could count on most of the other jurors voting their way. The only juror they are worried about was some kid new to town. They have no idea which way he will vote. That’s all I know. I couldn’t overhear anymore.”

  “Thank you, Em,” Jack whispered.

  “And now, Captain,” she said in a loud voice. “If you would be so kind as to wait for me, I will be only a few minutes.”

  She took a small lantern hanging by the privy and entered, closing the door behind her.

  A few other men joined Jack as they waited in line for Dirty Em to emerge from the privy. He had time to think.

  Jack saw that Swearengen and Varnes were happy that Henry and Texas Jack are on the jury. They seemed satisfied with all the other members of the jury except for the new kid, which had to be Pete. They were looking to convicting Harry Young for murder, but why? Why would they need to have him found guilty?

  The privy door opened and Dirty Em handed the lantern to the first man in line. She took Jack’s arm.

  “Captain Jones, may I speak to you in private for a moment?”

  “Certainly, Em.”

  They walked away from the men and the lantern light. Dirty Em swiveled, facing Jack. She circled her arms around his shoulders. She leaned into him softly pressing her body against his. Her eyelids half closed as she seemed to study his mouth. Her perfume mixing with her perspiration created a scent, a desire, overwhelming Jack’s senses. His arms circled her slim waist, drawing her even closer. He felt her body yield to his. “Captain Jones, thank you,” she whispered. Her body pressed hard against his. Her breath was sweet as her lips brushed his. She then pressed them gently to his. He responded harder. She opened her mouth. He was losing control. He wanted her.

  “I’m yours tonight,” she murmured.

  He stopped himself. He backed away and gently held her at arms’ length.

  “Thank you, Em. Thank you. But I’m in love for the first time in a very long time, I’m in love and I’m going to be true to her. But I sincerely thank you.”

  “You are an honorable man, Captain Jones. She’s a fortunate woman,” Dirty Em said, then smiled.

  He escorted her back into the Cricket Saloon. The constant roar of men’s voices filled the barroom. The banjo plucker had moved on to the next piece, “Lost Indian,” the bones adding to the tune.

  They reached the faro table. Dirty Em turned and kissed Jack on the cheek.

  “Thank you, Captain.” she said, flashing him her smile.

  “Good evening, Em, and thank you—for everything.” Jack smiled and tipped his hat.

  The banjo plucker finished “Lost Indian.” Over the roar of the crowd, someone shouted to the banjo plucker “Why don’t you play a piece for the old Confederacy! Most of what you’ve been playin’ tonight have been Yankee tunes.”

  “Play Dixie!” another man shouted. The banjo plucker thought a moment and shouted, “Here’s a little song for all you Southern boys!” This announcement generated rebel yells and applause. The banjo plucker started with a fast little picking introduction and then broke into the Union anthem of “Marching Through Georgia.” Some of the Unionists in the crowd who could sing—and many who could not—joined in shouting the words as the banjo plucker shouted out:

  Ring the good ol’ bugle, boys, we’ll sing another song,

  Sing it with the spirit that will start the world along,

  Sing it as we used to sing it 50,000 strong

  While we were marching through Georgia.

  Hurrah,
hurrah, we bring the jubilee!

  Hurrah, hurrah, the flag that makes you free!

  So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea

  While we were marching through Georgia!

  The banjo plucker didn’t make it to the next verse. A Southerner punched him in the mouth as another grabbed his banjo and smashed it on the stage. A Unionist grabbed the banjo-smasher and threw him to the floor. Fists started flying right and left. Some of the bystanders jumped into the fight and started swinging, not knowing if they were hitting friend or foe. Some entered the fight not caring who they hit. They just wanted to hit someone.

  Jack hung back. It seemed to him a stupid reason for fighting. He looked for Swearengen but did not see him in the crowd. However, his henchman, Johnny Burns, weighed into the melee, knocking heads together and shouting “Enough! Stop this! Drinks half price if you stop this now!” After five minutes of punching and wrestling, the men participating in the fight wore themselves down to the point where they wanted to get back to drinking and gambling. The fight fizzled out and the men drifted back to what they had been doing before, all, that is, except for the banjo plucker, who stood at the bar consoling himself over the loss of his banjo with a large glass of whiskey.

  Jack walked out of the Cricket and into Main Street. The wind was coming up and felt cooler. He crossed over to Saloon Number 10 and entered.

  Anson Tipple was one of the two bartenders working the bar. Tipple saw Jack and reached under the counter for Jack’s bottle, which he handed him along with a glass.

  “Anything of interest happen since I last visited?’ Jack asked as he poured himself a drink.

  “Nothing newsworthy,” Tipple replied. Jack scanned the room but did not see Johnny Varnes.

  “Where’s Johnny Varnes?”

  “Haven’t seen him since you talked with him this morning.”

  “Humph, that’s unusual.”

  Tipple shrugged his shoulders and moved on to the next customer. Jack checked his Elgin pocket watch and found the time to be 10:30 pm. He downed the Old Crow and handed the bottle back to Tipple.

  Jack left the saloon and walked quickly up Main Street. He saw there was no longer a line in front of the Deadwood Theater. The same old curmudgeon stood at the door.

  “You again!” the ticket taker said. “Jones, right?”

  “Yes,” Jack said. The roar of laughter from inside interrupted them.

  “You need to be more punctual, sir,” the man growled. “But Mr. Langrishe gave me strict instructions I was to let you in no matter how late you arrived. Enjoy the show, but don’t disturb those guests who know how to get here on time!”

  With that admonition, the man stepped out of the way and let Jack enter. He heard the muffled voice of a speaker on stage and again the crowd roared in laugher. As he entered the main hall, he saw it was a packed house. John Langrishe stood on stage entertaining the audience. Jack spied an empty place on a bench in the last row and had to cross in front of several people to reach it. As Jack sat between two men he did not know, Langrishe continued with his comedy act.

  He was wearing a long frock coat and a tall stovepipe hat that accentuated his length. His nose looked longer than it should be, and then Jack realized that Langrishe wore a false, elongated nose. Langrishe’s facial expressions were so exaggerated and comical that Jack could see them clearly, even from the back of the hall. Jack settled in and listened to Langrishe’s performance.

  “I told my wife, let’s be happy, and live within our means,” Langrishe said. “Even if we have to borrow the money to do it.” The crowd howled with laughter. He waited until the volume died down then said, “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to my beautiful wife, Mrs. John Langrishe!” Mrs. Langrishe walked on stage. She was a stunning redhead and was dressed in a green, sleeveless, low-cut dress, most likely one of the latest New York fashions. The audience erupted in applause as she curtseyed to them.

  Ladies? Jack thought. He looked around the theater and there in one of the middle rows sat Calamity Jane, Kitty Arnold, and Tid Bit. A few rows back sat Mr. and Mrs. Al Swearengen. Jack looked in the other direction and saw no women, but he did see Johnny and Henry Varnes sitting side by side. He concluded that that was why he had not seen either Swearengen or Varnes. They had decided to experience some wholesome entertainment for a change.

  When the applause died down Langrishe asked his Mrs. a question. “My dear, why is a dog like a tree?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” she answered. “Why is a dog like a tree?”

  “Because they both lose their bark once they’re dead!” he responded. The audience groaned.

  “What kind of customers do pawnbrokers prefer?” Langrishe asked.

  “I don’t know. What kind of customers do pawnbrokers prefer?”

  “Pawnbrokers prefer customers without any redeeming qualities.” The audience laughed and groaned.

  “You loved me before we were married!” Mrs. Langrishe said.

  “Well, now it’s your turn!” Langrishe replied. The crowd roared.

  “I’m a millionaire,” Langrishe said. “Haven’t I got money enough for both of us?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Langrishe responded. “If you are moderate in your tastes.” The audience again laughed.

  “Give Mrs. Langrishe a hand again, ladies and gentlemen!” Langrishe shouted over their applause, as she curtsied and left the stage.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, while we prepare for tonight’s performance of that classic drama, The Streets of New York, enjoy Banjo Dick Brown and his fellow musicians in their rendition of ‘New York Girls!’” Banjo Dick, followed by his fellow banjo player, and the fiddler Lil called Professor, walked on stage with their instruments and sat on stools that were waiting for them. The Professor ran his bow over the fiddle’s catgut strings and the banjos joined in as both the banjo players sang:

  As I walked down the Broadway

  One evening in July

  I met a maid who asked me trade

  And a sailor John says I.

  And away, you Santee

  My Dear Annie

  Oh, you New York girls

  Can’t you dance the polka?

  As they continued on to sing of the sailor who is drugged and waylaid by the maid and her mother and left with not even a stitch of clothing, Jack’s thoughts were of Lil and how happy he had been with her the last twenty-four hours. Just to be in her presence made him feel complete, made him feel happy. He could not wait to see her on stage and then spend time with her after the show. The performers were on the last verse when Jack broke away from his thoughts.

  I joined a Yankee blood-boat

  And sailed away next morn

  Don’t ever fool around with gals

  You’re safer off Cape Horn

  And away, you Santee

  My Dear Annie

  Oh, you New York girls

  Can’t you dance the polka?

  The crowd applauded. The musicians stood, bowed, and filed off stage. The crowd grew quiet. A strong gust of wind shook the canvas roof. The booms of distant thunder foretold the possibility of rain. The theater’s canvas roof was notorious for its leaks during rainstorms.

  An actor Jack did not know walked on stage. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, tonight Langrishe’s Theater Troupe brings you The Streets of New York a remake of Dion Boucicault’s classic The Poor of New York a drama in five acts. Act 1 takes place during the Panic of 1837, and then Act 2 and the rest of the acts take place during the Panic of 1857. Scene 1 begins in the private office of Gideon Bloodgood’s banking house in New York. And now let us transport you to The Streets of New York!” The actor walked off the stage to the applause of the audience.

  The curtain opened. Another actor Jack did not know was playing Gideon Bloodgood. He sat behind a roughly cobbled-together desk, reading some papers. Edwards, a bank officer, entered with a sheet of paper.

  “The stock list, sir,” Edwards said.

 
; “Let me see it,” Bloodgood said. “Tell the cashier to close the bank on the stroke of three, and dismiss the clerks.” Edwards left the stage as Bloodgood read the sheet of paper.

  “So—as I expected,” Bloodgood soliloquized. “Every stock is down further still, and my last effort to retrieve my fortune has plunged me into utter ruin!” He crushed the paper and threw it on the floor. “Tomorrow, my drafts to the amount of eighty thousand dollars will be protested. Tomorrow yonder street, now so still, will be filled with a howling multitude, for the house of Bloodgood the Banker will fall, and in its fall will crush hundreds, thousands, who have their fortunes laid up here.”

  Jack had seen the play before and knew the story well. Fairweather, an old sea captain, arrives to deposit his lifesavings, one-hundred thousand dollars. This saves the day for Bloodgood. Fairweather learns within minutes of giving Bloodgood his money that Bloodgood is insolvent and is about to flee the country. Fairweather tries to recover his money from Bloodgood, but Bloodgood will not give it back. Fairweather has a heart attack and dies. Bloodgood, with the help of Badger, played by Langrishe, keeps Fairweather’s money for his own. He tells Badger to destroy Fairweather’s receipt, but Badger saves it in case he might need it in the future. Then Badger leaves New York.

  Twenty years later, it is the Panic of 1857. Fairweather’s wife and daughter are destitute, while Bloodgood and his family live the life of luxury. Mrs. Langrishe was playing the part of the widow Mrs. Fairweather and Lil was playing the part of Lucy, Mrs. Fairweather’s daughter. Mrs. Langrishe made her first appearance in Act II, Scene 1. Jack had to wait for quite awhile until Lil would be on stage.

  The wind whipped the canvas and the thunder sounded closer. Finally, Lil appeared on stage in Act II, Scene 3. Mrs. Fairweather was arranging dinner on a table in a poor, but neat, rented apartment. Lil as Lucy entered. Jack felt his heart race when he saw her. He hoped she would look in his direction and see him, but she was intent on the acting.

  “My dear mother,” Lucy said.

  “My darling Lucy,” Mrs. Fairweather said. “Ah, your eye is bright again. The thought of seeing Mark Livingstone has revived your smile.”