by Bill Markley
Jack could feel his blood boiling. “I agree he is a very bad man. Speaking of bad men, have you heard anything about Laughing Sam?”
“It is as if he has dropped off the face of the earth.”
“Thank you, Old Frenchy. I must be off.”
“Ah, I must also tell you that two mules will be here tomorrow for your use. You may want to stop by and examine them to see if they are suitable. And we will have two packs for you to start packing when you are ready.”
“Thank you.”
“You are most welcome, Monsieur Jack.”
Jack walked the short distance to the Black Hills Pioneer building. Merrick was closing and locking the front door.
“Good morning, Jones!” Merrick shouted. “Beautiful day, is it not?”
“That it is, A.W.”
“I deduce that you are coming to visit me, but I, like you, need to be walking toward the theater, where we will witness a real show, an extravaganza of life and death. Come join me on my walk.”
“That I will, A.W., but I thought this was not that big of a show for you. I thought you were more interested in the development of this town.”
“Right you are, Jones. This trial is important because it shows we are not savages here in Deadwood. It shows when right-minded men gather together justice prevails and that is progress. That is civilization!”
“Humph,” Jack grunted.
“Look at Tom Short and all the wonderful goods that Omahoss has brought with him from Omaha. Even a rocking chair! Now, that item smacks of civilization! I wish I could get my hands on it, but he won’t let anyone even sit in it!”
“A. W.,” Jack said.
“Huh?” Merrick appeared lost in thought. “What?”
“What do you think about the double murder of Carlos and Poncho last night?”
“What’s to think about? Those two yahoos shot and killed each other.”
“Maybe not.”
“How so?”
“What if someone murdered them for their poke and made it look like they killed each other over it.”
“Prove it,” Merrick said, stopping in the middle of Gold Street.
“What if I told you their poke was not on them?”
“So? Maybe they spent it before they killed each other. Maybe some bummer lifted it from their bleeding carcasses. Just because their poke is missing doesn’t mean someone killed them.”
“What if I told you Carlos used his left hand to shoot his pistol, and when I saw his body, the pistol was in his right hand?”
“Interesting,” Merrick said, stroking his chin, pondering. “But it is still not proof. Even if what you say is correct, that someone shot both men, making it look like they shot each other and then stealing their poke, you don’t know who the murderer is. No one saw it happen.”
“I think I know who did it,” Jack said.
“Who?”
“Texas Jack.”
“Why would he do that? What’s his motive?”
“To begin with, there appeared to be some competition between Texas Jack and the two Mexicans in the killing of Indians. Then Poncho wins Texas Jack’s bridle in the horse race. Texas Jack was furious about that. Earlier this morning, Texas Jack took possession of Carlos’s and Poncho’s horses, saddles, and tack, saying they belonged to him since he had paid for their burial.”
“Texas Jack sounds like a Good Samaritan.”
“I believe Texas Jack killed Carlos and Poncho.”
“I’m sure you do and you build a plausible case, but it’s all circumstantial. Until you find a witness, I don’t believe you have a case. Even if you did, could you convince the mob in this town to hold another trial? I think not.”
They resumed their walk in silence to Main Street and turned right toward the Deadwood Theater.
“I’ll need to find more evidence,” Jack said. “If I find that possible bag on Texas Jack, that could clinch the deal.”
“That just might do it,” Merrick said. “Look, here we are at the theater.”
They joined the line of men slowly moving through the door. Merrick and Jack took the same seats they had had yesterday. Jack scanned the inside of the building, hoping for a glimpse of Lil. His heart sank even further as he thought of the hurt he had caused her and realized she may never wish to speak to him again.
The members of the jury were straggling in with the crowd. They were directed to sit in two rows on the right, closest to the stage. Pete stood facing the crowd. When he spied Jack, he broke into a big grin and waved to Jack, who waved back.
“I take it you know that young fellow?” Merrick said.
“Yes, Pete Adams from Iowa. He’s a good kid who just arrived in town. Still a little wet behind the ears and honest as the day is long.”
Judge Keithley and the prosecution and defense lawyers assembled on stage. Keithley sat down and gaveled the hammer onto the already split board on top of the table.
“Take your seats, gentlemen! Silence! Silence in the court!” Keithley pronounced. Langrishe walked out with several spittoons, placing them at strategic positions to help save his stage floor from expectorants.
Jack scanned the crowd to spot Laughing Sam Hartman, but there still was no sign of him. With Laughing Sam not being there that confirmed to Jack that there was something amiss with Hartman’s involvement with the murder of Bummer Dan.
Keithley looked at the jury. His lips moved as he silently counted the jury’s members and then stated, “We seem to have a problem here. We are short one juror.”
Jack looked at the jurors and saw that the missing juror was Texas Jack. He saw Varnes was strategically sitting behind the jury, but there was no sign of Swearengen. Varnes turned around, scanning the audience, probably looking for Texas Jack. It was plain on his face he was visibly upset.
“Who is missing from the jury?” Keithley asked.
“It appears it’s that Texas Jack feller,” one of the jurors responded.
“Does anyone know the whereabouts of Mr. Percy Hollingberry?” Keithley asked.
“I’m here!” Texas Jack shouted from the back of the building as he strode down the aisle. “I just had a little matter to attend to with some horseflesh.”
“Very well, Mr. Hollingberry but in the future, please be on time, as you are holding up these proceedings.”
“Yes, your Honor,” a sneering Texas Jack replied. Varnes glared at Texas Jack as he found a seat at the end of the row.
“Bring in the prisoner,” Keithley said. Old George and the other guard from yesterday escorted a bound Harry Young onto the stage.
“Release the prisoner,” Keithley said.
“What?” Old George shouted.
“Release the prisoner!” Keithley shouted.
“Humph,” Old George grunted, then spat a stream of tobacco juice toward a spittoon, hitting it this time. The guards untied Young and left.
“The prisoner may be seated,” Keithley said. “Mr. Whitehead, what are the charges brought forth by the people?”
“Judge Keithley,” Whitehead said as he stood. “The people present the case that the prisoner, Harry Young, also known as Samuel Young, employed as a bartender by Messieurs Mann and Lewis at Saloon Number 10, did on the evening of August twenty-second in the year of our Lord 1876, shoot and murder Myer Baum, also known as Bummer Dan, and we on behalf of the people ask that if found guilty, Harry Young be executed by hanging.”
“Thank you, Mr. Whitehead,” Keithley said. “And what say you, Mr. Miller?”
Miller stood and placed his hand on Young’s shoulder. “Your Honor,” Miller began. “We do not deny that the defendant Harry Young did fire a pistol and kill Myer Baum, also known as Bummer Dan, but we will show that he shot in an act of self-defense, and we would ask that he be declared not guilty, as he did not kill the man he intended to shoot.”
The crowd broke out in a loud murmur. Keithley gaveled the hammer onto the wood. “Order! Order in the court!” The crowd settled down. “Ve
ry good, Mr. Miller, please be seated.”
“Mr. Whitehead, call your first witness.”
“Thank you, your Honor,” Whitehead said. “The people call E. B. Farnam as their first witness.”
Farnam rose from the audience and mounted the stairs to the stage. He stood facing Keithley.
“Raise your right hand, Mr. Farnam,” Keithley said and Farnam complied. “Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? So help you God?”
“I do,” Farnam said.
“Mr. Farnam, please be seated,” Keithley said.
Farnam sat on the witness stool beside the judge’s table.
“Mr. Whitehead, please proceed with your witness,” Keithley said.
Whitehead left his stool and stood before Farnam.
“Please state your name for the record,” Whitehead said.
“E. B. Farnam.”
“Mr. Farnam, how long have you resided in Deadwood?”
“Several months.”
“And what is your occupation?”
“I own a store on Main Street, next door to Saloon Number 10.”
“Tell us what you know of the events of Tuesday night, August 22, 1876, if you would please, sir.”
“Certainly,” Farnam said. “About ten o’clock, Tuesday, I was closing my store for the night when I heard two shots in succession. I ran out the door and heard a man say, ‘I am murdered.’ I then found Mr. Baum dying in the street. Along with Mr. Short and others, I entered Saloon Number 10, where we pursued the prisoner sitting over there. On confronting him with the fact that Mr. Baum had been shot, the prisoner said, ‘If I am the man you are looking for, I deliver myself up.’ The prisoner also said he had done the shooting and all he wanted was a fair trial.”
“Very good, Mr. Farnam,” Whitehead said. “Do you have anything else to add?”
“No sir.”
“Your Honor, I have no further questions.”
“Mr. Miller,” Keithley said. “Do you have any questions for Mr. Farnam?”
“Yes I do, your Honor,” Miller answered and rose from his stool. “Mr. Farnam, when you confronted Mr. Young about the shooting of Mr. Baum, did he say why he shot Mr. Baum?”
“The prisoner said nothing about shooting Mr. Baum.”
“In fact, is it not true that Mr. Young was surprised and shocked to learn that the dead man was Mr. Baum?”
Farnum looked toward the canvas ceiling and then slowly answered, “Yes, that is true. The prisoner showed surprise and shock that he had shot Mr. Baum.”
“Did Mr. Young tell you who he thought he had shot?”
“The prisoner said he thought he had shot Laughing Sam Hartman.”
“Thank you, Mr. Farnum. No further questions, your Honor.”
“The witness may step down,” Keithley said.
Farnum stood and began to leave the stage as Keithley said, “Mr. Whitehead, your next witness, please.”
“The people call Tom Short as our next witness,” Whitehead said. Short arrived on stage, took the oath, and sat down. Through the questioning, Short had no new information to provide, and so it was for the next few witnesses.
Jack’s pencil had stopped moving. The lead point rested on the notebook’s paper. Jack looked at Merrick, whose eyes were closed. Soft snoring came from his mouth. Jack’s mind wandered from the trial proceedings. Lil was all he thought about. Jack wondered how he could be so stupid? How could he convince Lil he was not with Dirty Em, that it was only to further his investigation into the murder? How could he restore Lil’s confidence in him and their happiness? Merrick snorted, waking himself and bringing Jack back to the business at hand.
“Judge Keithley, that concludes the witnesses for the prosecution,” Whitehead said.
“Very good, Mr. Whitehead,” Keithley said. “Mr. Miller, you may now call your witnesses.”
“Thank you, Judge Keithley,” Miller said as he stood. “We call Carl Mann as our first witness.”
Carl Mann arose from the audience, made his way to the stage, and Keithley swore him in as he had the others.
“Mr. Mann, please take the stool,” Keithley said.
“Thank you, W.R., I mean, your Honor,” Mann said as he sat down.
Miller approached Mann and started his questioning, “Mr. Mann, how long have you been in Deadwood?”
“Well, I’ve been here several months.”
“And what is your occupation?”
“I own Saloon Number 10 on Main Street, with my partner Jerry Lewis.”
“Do you know the defendant, Harry Young?”
“Yes, I employ Harry as bartender in the saloon.”
“What do you know of the events that led up to the shooting of Myer Baum?”
“As I understand it, Laughing Sam Hartman had for several days before the shooting been making threats against Harry Young.”
“What type of threats?”
“Hartman made threats that he was going to kill Harry.”
“Who did he make these threats to?”
“Several different people, including me.”
“Please explain further, Mr. Mann.”
“Three days before the shooting, Laughing Sam approached me and wanted to borrow a gun. I refused.”
“Why did Hartman want to borrow a gun from you?”
“He said he had no quarrel with me, but he was out to get Harry. He said, ‘That Harry Young, the son of a bitch, I will kill him.’”
“What happened the evening of the shooting?”
“Tuesday evening, things heated up between Harry and Hartman. Hartman baited Harry in the saloon and Harry threw him out, stating he would kill Hartman if he came back in Saloon Number 10. Matters had assumed a threatening aspect. I told Harry to continue to work in a dimly lit part of the bar, in case Hartman should return to do him harm. I then tracked down Hartman who had returned to that dancehall, the Senate Saloon. There I told Hartman ‘If you kill Harry, you will go up in a second.’”
“You mean hang?”
“Yes.”
“Please continue, Mr. Mann.”
“As I said, I told Hartman he would hang if he killed Harry. Hartman replied to me, ‘Young won’t speak to me. I have only a little while to live, and I will kill that Young and that whore. If they hang me tonight, so be it.’ I left the dancehall and ate a late supper. It was later that I learned about the shooting of Bummer Dan. That’s all I know.”
“Is there any reason that you know why Harry Young would have shot Bummer Dan?”
“No, Bummer Dan was Laughing Sam Hartman’s partner, but he was relatively harmless. Don’t forget what everyone knows, that Bummer Dan was wearing Laughing Sam’s hat and coat when he walked into Saloon Number 10, and I had sent Harry to a dim part of the saloon. It being dark and what with Bummer Dan wearing Laughing Sam’s clothes, I could see why Harry would think it was Laughing Sam come to do him harm and shoots him.”
“Your Honor!” Whitehead said, standing up. “I object! The witness’s statement is pure speculation, and I wish it stricken from the record.”
“Your objection is accepted, Mr. Whitehead. Jury, you are to disregard the last statement by Carl, I mean Mr. Mann. Proceed, Mr. Miller.”
“I have no further questions for the witness, your Honor.”
“Very well, thank you, Mr. Miller. Mr. Whitehead, you may cross-examine the witness,” Keithley said.
Whitehead, with hands clasped behind his back and staring at the floorboards, walked up to Mann. “Mr. Mann, how long have you known the prisoner, Harry Young?”
“I have known Harry for several months, ever since he arrived from Custer City.”
“You stated that the prisoner threatened to kill Laughing Sam. Is that not so?”
“Yes.”
“And is it not true that Bummer Dan was the partner of Laughing Sam, and that Harry Young knew they were partners?”
“Yes.”
“So, since Young was feuding with Hart
man, and knowing that Hartman and Baum were partners, Young sees Baum and shoots him because he knew Baum could be out to kill him, as well as Hartman.”
“No. I don’t know that to be the case.”
“Mr. Mann, Young was angry that night, and he was ready to kill anyone who he thought would be against him. Isn’t that right?”
“No. No,” Mann responded.
“I object to this badgering of the witness, your Honor!” Miller interjected.
“Objection overruled,” Keithley said. “I see no badgering going on here. Mr. Whitehead is only trying to get to the truth.”
“Thank you, your Honor,” Whitehead said. “Mr. Mann, you mentioned Laughing Sam said he was going to kill Young and ‘that whore.’ Why did he make that statement, and who is the whore he is talking about?”
“I have no idea. That is all he said.”
“Hum,” Whitehead said and paused for what seemed an eternity. “That is all the questions I have, your Honor.”
“Carl, I mean Mr. Mann, you may step down,” Keithley said. “Who is your next witness, Mr. Miller?”
“I call Anson Tipple to the witness stand,” Miller said. The Saloon Number 10 bartender walked to the stage, took the oath, and sat on the stool. He looked over at Young, nodded, and smiled.
“Mr. Tipple,” Miller said. “Do you work at Saloon Number 10?”
“I do, sir,” Tipple answered.
“Do you know the defendant?”
“I do, he’s Harry Young, who works with me in the saloon as a bartender.”
“How long have you known Mr. Young?”
“Oh, about three months.”
“Tell us about what went on Tuesday night at Saloon Number 10.”
“Well, to save time, I agree with everything Carl Mann said.”
“That’s the most sensible thing anyone has said so far!” Calamity Jane’s voice shouted from the back of the hall. Jack turned around and saw her standing in the back with her hands on her hips. The crowd roared with laughter as Keithley pounded the hammer on the board, shouting, “Order! Order in the court!” The crowd noise subsided as Keithley continued, “And you, young lady, any more outbursts from you and I’ll have you bound and gagged!”
Calamity Jane sat down without a word.
“Continue, Mr. Miller,” Keithley said.
