by Bill Markley
A crash of thunder and the flash of lightning illumined the canvas roof for a brief second. The slow splat of raindrops on canvas began.
“I have seen him,” Lucy said. “He and Paul called at Madame Victorine’s.”
“Is your work over, Lucy, already?”
The raindrops were hitting the canvas harder.
“What we expected has arrived, mother. This dress is the last I shall receive from Madame Victorine—she is discharging her hands.”
The downpour hit the canvas and streams of water hit members of the audience. The actors had to shout above the torrent.
“More misfortunes—and Paul has not been able to obtain employment,” Mrs. Fairweather shouted.
The deluge did not last long and settled down into a slow steady rain. Most of the cast and audience were wet, but they did not care. The show must go on.
The situation was bad for the Fairweathers, as Bloodgood made life even more miserable for them. Lil never did look in Jack’s direction. It is almost as if Lil does not want to look at me, Jack thought.
The story deteriorates for the Fairweathers. They are destitute, with no income and nothing to eat. Mrs. Fairweather and Lucy decide to commit suicide from asphyxiation by gas fumes in their apartment, but at the last minute Mark Livingstone and Lucy’s brother, Paul, break into the apartment and begin to save them from their fate.
“Too late!” Paul said. “Too late! They have committed suicide!”
“They live still!” Mark Livingstone said. “Quick, bear them outside into the air.”
They pick up the two women to carry them out.
A loud hock and splat of spewing tobacco juice broke the silence of the audience.
“Oh hell!” Calamity Jane shouted. “That’s a put-up job!”
The audience was stunned, and then a few people started to laugh. It was contagious, and soon the whole theater was laughing, even the actors. The actors regained their composure, the audience settled down, and the play proceeded.
The rain had died down, but the edges of the canvas still dripped onto the muddy ground and onto the backs of the patrons. It was toward the end of the play. Badger had returned from his self-imposed exile from New York. He presented the receipt showing that Bloodgood had indeed absconded with Captain Fairweather’s money. The fortune was then restored to the Fairweather family. Lucy and her lover, Mark Livingstone, were reunited, and Bloodgood was led away to jail. In the final scene, the entire cast was on stage. Lil looked radiant.
“And now Lucy, I claim your hand,” Livingstone said. “All is ready for the ceremony.”
Two gunshots rang out outside the theater. The shots sounded like they had come from behind the theater. Must be someone celebrating, Jack thought. The audience must have thought the same as Jack. No one left to investigate.
“You have seen the dark side of life,” Badger said. “You can appreciate your fortune, for you have learned the value of wealth.”
“No,” Mrs. Fairweather said. “We have learned the value of poverty. It opens the heart.”
Paul Fairweather, the son, turned to the audience and said “Is this true? Have the sufferings we have depicted in this mimic scene touched your hearts, and caused a tear of sympathy to fill your eyes? If so, extend us your hands.”
“No, not to us,” Mrs. Fairweather said. “But when you leave this place, as you return to your homes, should you see some poor creatures, extend your hands to them, and the blessings that will follow you on your way will be the most grateful tribute you can pay to the Poor of New York—or in our case, the Poor of Deadwood!”
The crowd stood and applauded while the actors bowed and curtsied. Jack waved to get Lil’s attention, but she did not look in his direction. He made his way toward the stage against the flood of humanity leaving the theater. As Jack came near the stage, he saw Lil turn her back, heading for the dressing rooms. “Lil!” he shouted as he mounted the stage. “Lil!” She had to have heard him, but she continued to walk away from him. As Jack started to pursue her, John Langrishe stepped in front of him.
“Captain Jones,” Langrishe said. “May I have a word with you, sir?’
“Yes,” Jack said, looking beyond Langrishe as Lil disappeared into a dressing room. Langrishe grabbed Jack’s arm and led him to the side of the stage.
“Captain Jones, I must tell you that my niece is very distraught with you.”
“What!” Jack said in surprise. “I don’t understand.”
“It seems that word has gotten back to my niece about your liaisons today at Star and Bullocks and in the Cricket Saloon with the harlot, Dirty Em. Lil is very upset. And can you blame her? Here the man she loves is propositioning a courtesan and is seen cavorting with her, even up to right before our show this evening.”
Jack was stunned and felt that a mule had kicked him in the gut. “I-I don’t know what to say!”
“I think you need to contemplate your actions and what consequences they have led to. I don’t believe Lil wishes to see you again, and I can’t say that I desire to spend any more time with you. Good night, sir.”
“Wait!” Jack said, grasping Langrishe’s elbow. “Hear me out, sir, please!”
Langrishe stopped and turned, saying, “Very well, what have you to say for yourself?”
“Has Lil told you at all about my theories as to the murders of Wild Bill, Preacher Smith, and now Bummer Dan?”
“No, I don’t see what this has to do with your dealings with Dirty Em.”
“It has all the world to do with them.”
“I don’t understand, but go ahead. I’m listening.”
Jack looked around to see if there was anyone close by who could overhear what he had to say. Seeing no one close, Jack said, “I believe there is a criminal ring in town that has murdered several individuals to steal their money and gold. In order to gather more information I have been working with Dirty Em, who has been giving me vital information on my theory. These people have killed before and there is no reason why they would not kill again. In order to protect Dirty Em, we pretended in Star and Bullock’s that I had propositioned her, so she could pass information to me. At the Cricket Saloon, I escorted her to the privy so she could safely pass on more information to me. That is all that was going on.”
Langrishe had a thoughtful look on his face, then blew out some air from his mouth, and said, “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
“What?” Jack said.
“Oh, that’s Shakespeare from The Tempest, Act 1, Scene 2.”
“Will you pass my explanation on to Lil for me, please? Let her know there was nothing to my communications with Dirty Em. I was only getting information from her and trying to protect her at the same time. I love your niece, sir, and would do anything for her. I would never do anything to dishonor her.”
“Captain Jones, I believe you.” Langrishe reached out and took Jack’s hand. “I will tell Lil what you have told me and I hope she will understand and forgive you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jack said. “I greatly appreciate this.”
“See me tomorrow and I will let you know her reaction.”
They shook hands and Jack left the stage. The audience had cleared out of the theater except for several small groups still discussing the night’s performance.
Jack walked to the back of the theater and out the door onto Main Street. The air was cool and invigorating from the recent storm, but instead of enjoying it, he was miserable and dejected. How could he have been so stupid as to give observers the impression he was attempting to buy the favors of Dirty Em? He realized that he loved Lil so much that to lose her would crush any remaining joy he had.
“Hey! Over here!” a man shouted. “Help!” The voice seemed to be coming from back behind the Deadwood Theater. Jack and several other men ran in the direction of the voice. They saw a man holding a lantern back by the privy, near the exploration pit. “Hey! Here!” the man shouted. “They need help!”
“Who
?” shouted one of the men running towards the man holding the lantern.
“Why, these two fellas lying over here!” shouted the man with the lantern. As Jack and the others ran up to him, the man raised his lantern and pointed. Lying on the ground faces up were two men. They were not moving. The small group of men crowded around the two prone men. Jack bent over the closest one. The lantern illuminated his face. It was Poncho. A bullet hole oozed blood from his chest. The man with the lantern shone it over the other person, revealing that it was Carlos. Both were dead. The crowd grew as the news raced through the street that two men had been shot and killed. More men arrived with lanterns to illuminate the bodies.
“Look!” said a smooth-shaven man. “They both hold pistols in their hands!”
“I bet Poncho and Carlos shot each other over their bounty money that they received today for that Injun head,” an old-timer said.
“Makes sense,” another man said. Jack saw that they both did have their pistols in their hands. Wait a minute, Jack thought. There is a lot that does not seem right.
“Yes!” someone else said. “They must have quarreled over the money and shot each other dead! Why else would they have their pistols drawn?”
Jack examined Carlos’s body. He searched for but did not find Carlos’s beaded possible bag. Jack thought that was strange. Carlos would have kept that possible bag with him so no one could steal it. He squatted down by Poncho’s body. The possible bag was not on his body. He looked up at the man with the lantern. Could he have taken it? Jack thought. The man wore only a shirt, pants, and hat. Hardly anything that could conceal the possible bag.
“Do you mind if I borrow your lantern for a few minutes?” Jack said to the man.
“Go right ahead,” the man answered. As Jack took the lantern, he examined the man closer just to see if he might have overlooked the possible bag stashed under the man’s shirt or down his pants. But Jack could not detect that it was hidden anywhere on the man’s person. Jack then walked around the bodies, shining the lantern on the ground to see if the possible bag might have been flung from the grasp of one of the men. I cannot believe Carlos and Poncho would have drawn their pistols and shot each other, Jack thought. They seemed too good of friends.
By the time he handed the lantern back to its owner, the crowd had come to its own conclusion, that Carlos and Poncho had fought a duel over their payment for the Indian chieftain’s head and had simultaneously killed each other.
There was still something wrong with this that Jack could not figure out. He looked closely at the bodies again. As he studied Carlos for the third time, he saw it. Carlos’s pistol was in his right hand. Nothing out of the ordinary with that. Then Jack remembered his conversation with the bewhiskered miner during yesterday’s horserace. The miner had said that Carlos shot with his left hand. Then it dawned on Jack. Carlos and Poncho had not killed each other in a duel. Someone had shot them for their money, then placed the guns in their hands to make it look like they had killed each other. The killer did not know that Carlos did not use his right hand to shoot his pistol. The killer had placed the gun in the wrong hand, the right hand. Carlos shot with his left hand.
CHAPTER TEN
Friday Morning, August 25, 1876—Jack was in a foul mood. He dabbled at eating his pancakes and bacon. The coffee mug was poised halfway to his lips.
How dumb I am, he told himself. His only hope was if Langrishe would convince Lil of his sincerity that his conversations with Dirty Em were only a ruse to protect Dirty Em from members of Deadwood’s criminal ring.
“Captain Jones!” Lou spoke standing beside him. “Captain Jones, you have hardly touched your food. Are you sick?”
Jack looked up at her. “In a way, I suppose I am.”
Lou looked around to see if any customers needed help that her waitresses were not handling. Seeing no one was in need at that moment, she sat down across from Jack.
“Captain, do you want to tell me what is going on?”
Jack stared at his coffee mug for a moment then said, “I did some stupid things that hurt Lil. She is upset and refuses to see me.”
“Hum,” was all Lou said.
“As you know,” Jack said in a low voice. “I have been investigating the possibility of a criminal ring in Deadwood. I am now convinced there is one. Dirty Em passed sensitive information to me at Star and Bullock’s and to provide cover for her, we pretended I was negotiating her services.”
“Um hum,” Lou said.
“That evening at the Cricket Saloon, I escorted Dirty Em to the privy as she divulged more information to me. The telling of those two meetings made their way to Lil. She believes my dalliances with Dirty Em were real, and now she will not even look at me.”
“I see,” Lou said.
“So you asked, and that’s why I’m despondent.”
Lou stared at Jack for a moment, then said, “Captain Jones, I know you are an honorable man. When I see Miss Lil again, I’ll let her know your story. I know she will believe you. I can see the way she looks at you. She loves you. This little incident will pass, and you’ll get back together. You’ll see. Now buck up! Eat your food. You’ve got work to do. You have a trial to cover today.” She smiled, stood, and patted him on the shoulder.
“Come on, Mr. Stonewall Jackson, let’s find you a nice bone out in the kitchen,” Lou said to the hound, and he followed her out. Jack finished his breakfast. Stonewall did not come back from the kitchen. Jack knew he was in good hands.
As Jack walked into the lobby, Charlie Wagner greeted him, “Good morning, Captain Jones.”
“Good morning, Charlie,” Jack said as he pulled out his Elgin pocket watch. He checked it against the regulator clock, which indicated the time was ten minutes before eight o’clock. “I need to make sure I’m on time for meals.”
Wagner chuckled and along with a shake of his head he changed the topic. “That’s a sorry business what happened to those two Mexican fellas last night. They appeared to be such good friends. It’s hard to believe they would go and shoot each other over their poke.”
“It is hard to believe,” Jack said. “You haven’t heard any mention of Laughing Sam, by chance, have you?”
“Nary a word on him.”
“Thanks. If anyone is looking for me, I think I’ll check in at the Montana Livery on my missing horse, and then stop by the Black Hills Pioneer before I head over to the Deadwood Theater for the trial.”
“I’ll be sure to let them know,” Wagner said.
Jack had a little time to kill before the trial started again at nine a.m. As he stepped out onto the front porch, the sun peeked over the top of Hebrew Hill, blinding him for an instant. The town was bustling with the same sights, sounds, and smells of yesterday, with one exception. Looking left down Main Street to the north, Jack saw a horseback rider trotting up the street, leading two other saddled horses. The rider was Texas Jack. His jinglebobs chimed in rhythm with the steps of his horse, which was wearing the silver inlaid bridle Poncho had won from Texas Jack at the end of the race two days before. Jack recognized the two saddled horses as those belonging to Poncho and Carlos.
“Whoa!” Texas Jack said, reining his horse to a stop in front of Jack and stopping the two other horses. The smirk seemed permanently plastered on his face.
“Good morning to you, Mister Reporter,” Texas Jack said. “Just for the record, since I know you keep a record, I figure these here horses, the saddles and tack, and my bridle that Poncho won only because my horse slipped, they all belong to me now!”
Jack could not help but glare at him.
“You see, Poncho and Carlos have no next of kin here in Deadwood to claim their animals and gear,” Texas Jack continued. “So I figure I’m the closest thing they got for family. I paid for their carcasses to be buried at the cemetery and so in payment for my good deed, I’m claiming their critters and gear. You got a problem with that?” he said, resting his right hand on the butt of one of his pistols and breaking into a w
ide grin.
“Does that go for their possible bag too?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Texas Jack snarled. “There weren’t no possible bag with their gear. They must have spent all their take on their spree.”
“Humph,” was all Jack responded.
Texas Jack clicked his tongue to the horses and continued riding to the south. “See you at the trial!” he said as he clicked again and spurred his horse into a trot. Jack followed him with his eyes until he disappeared.
Jack figured that Texas Jack had something to do with Poncho’s and Carlos’s murders and had their possible bag. But he didn’t know how to prove it, or if he did, would anyone in town care?
Jack walked down Main Street and stopped in at the Lee & Brown Store, where Colorado Charlie Utter had his office. Charlie was not there, but the clerk behind the counter told Jack that Charlie had sent off his dispatch rider to Cheyenne. The clock was now ticking for Jack. He would have to leave town by Sunday to chase after Crook.
Jack walked to the Montana Livery. Old Frenchy was working on the books. Pacho was not in his stall.
“Good morning, Old Frenchy,” Jack said.
“Ah Monsieur Jack, bonjour!” Old Frenchy responded.
“I see Pacho is not in his stall.”
“Yes, he was rented this morning for the day and earns his keep.”
“Any news on my horse?”
“I am afraid he is still listed among the missing,” Old Frenchy said, with a negative shake of his head.
“I saw Texas Jack this morning leading Carlos’s and Poncho’s saddled horses.”
“Oui, he came in here this morning demanding their horses, saddles, and tack. He said they belonged to him now because he paid for their burial. I said I would have to wait until the livery owners told me I could release them. He struck me with his quirt and shouted, ‘Don’t talk back to me. Get those horses now and saddle them pronto!’ Then he pulled a pistol on me, so I saddled them for him. He is a very bad man.”
