Deadwood Dead Men

by Bill Markley

  “If it ain’t Old Bedlam itself!” said a begrimed Cornish miner as the noise level increased to mayhem.

  Johnny the Oyster ran to the door and looked out “Oh Emma!” he said and laughed. “Lookie at that, would ya!” Several others followed him to the door and began to laugh. Jack downed his whiskey, handed the bottle back to Tipple, and joined the others at the door.

  The sight meeting his eyes was probably one of the most unusual he had ever seen on the frontier. A spring wagon pulled by six mules stood in front of Saloon Number 10. Among other items on the wagon bed was a large wooden cage filled with cats. Dogs were leaping at the cage as cats hissed and howled at them. Other cats were clawing and fighting each other. The beaming, rotund driver stood in the driver’s box, trying to get the crowd to settle down so he could make an announcement.

  Jack stood by Johnny the Oyster and asked, “Do you know who that is?”

  Johnny the Oyster glanced over at Jack, “Oh it’s you, Captain Jones. Yes, that’s William Thompson, but he likes to go by Phatty, and being a reporter, ya should get it right. He spells it with a “Ph”, not an “F.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Jack said. A crowd was rapidly gathering. The working girls were racing up Main Street to reach the wagon.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Phatty announced. “Ladies and gentlemen! I have just arrived from Cheyenne with a cage full of feline friends. Those of you desiring a new friend may purchase one of these fine creatures for a mere thirty dollars for the large cats, ranging down to ten dollars for those that might be small and underweight. First come, first served!”

  Phatty whipped out a small scale to weigh gold dust and began selling right away. It was quite the process to observe and created lots of entertainment for the denizens of the surrounding saloons.

  A cat buyer would point out the cat he or she wished to purchase. Phatty had a young boy along as his assistant. The boy carefully opened the door and attempted to catch the cat being sold. Some were friendly, some were haters of humanity, and it was the haters that provided the greatest entertainment for the onlookers. Many of them were betting as the cats clawed and bit the boy in his attempts to capture the desired cats.

  “Phatty!” Johnny the Oyster called. “Where’d ya capture all those cats?”

  “Johnny the Oyster, is that you?” Phatty shouted. “I hired young boys in Cheyenne to catch them off the street for me. This here boy, Toby, did the best job and I hired him on to care for the cats.”

  “How many ya got?”

  “Fifty that survived the trip. We had a little accident in Hill City. The wagon turned over and the cage opened up. Toby and me had quite the job capturing these cats and putting them back in the cage.”

  The cats were selling fast. Phatty was busy weighing out gold dust and Toby had his hands full, grabbing squirming, screaming, clawing cats. Jack wandered over to the cage. A gray striped female came up to him, reached up, and placed her front paws on a wooden bar, and stared at him. Jack reached in and scratched her behind the ears. She began to purr and rubbed her head against his fingers.

  “Well, aren’t you the friendliest little critter. You will certainly make someone a good pet—a very good pet.” He continued to rub her head and then it hit him. “I bet Lil would like you. I bet she would like you very much!” The cat continued to purr.

  “I’ll take this gray, striped female right here!” Jack shouted to Phatty.

  “All right, sir,” Phatty responded.

  “How much?” Jack asked. Phatty looked over at the cat. “She’s midsized and looks to be in good shape. How about twenty dollars?”

  “Sounds good,” Jack said and handed Phatty a twenty-dollar gold piece.

  “Toby!” Phatty shouted. Grab the gray striped cat in front of this gentleman and give it to him.”

  “Yes sir!” Toby said and had no trouble grabbing the cat and handing her to Jack. She made no attempt to wiggle out of his arms and only purred the whole time. Other cats were not so kind to their benefactors, scratching and clawing until they made their escape, in no mood to be caught again. Some of these escapees led the dogs on a merry chase.

  Jack walked up the street to the Deadwood Theater, hoping he might find Lil and give her the cat. He was sure she would love the gift and he would have the opportunity to explain himself. Unfortunately, he was unable to find anyone associated with the theater. He saw Whitehead leaning against the theater and approached him.

  “Mr. Whitehead,” Jack said. “My name is Jack Jones, reporter for the Chicago Inter-Ocean.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones,” Whitehead said. “I’d shake your hand, but it looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

  “I do, sir,” Jack said. “I wonder if I could ask you a question. It has nothing to do with the trial, and I might add you did a masterful job today.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Jones. I guess we’ll see how good of a job I did when the verdict comes in. Still no word from inside the theater. It’s been over three hours now.”

  “I didn’t realize that,” Jack said. “I’ve lost track of time.”

  “What is your question, sir?’

  “Oh, yes,” Jack said. “Do you happen to know where the members of the Deadwood Theater may be, since they can’t be in the theater?”

  “I know some of them are waiting in the California Chop House.”

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Whitehead,” Jack said. “I need to track down one of them to give this little gift.” The cat was still purring.

  “My pleasure, sir,” Whitehead said. As Jack started to turn away, he saw Johnny Varnes sitting on a stump across the street, whittling on a stick. Varnes appeared to be staring at them. When he saw Jack look in his direction, he stood and ambled down the street.

  “Mr. Whitehead, may I ask you an additional question?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you know about Johnny Varnes?”

  “Johnny Varnes,” Whitehead said. “He’s an interesting character. As you know, he’s a gambler and a poor marksman. You are probably aware of his duel in the streets a few days ago.”

  “Right, I know about that.”

  “It’s interesting. People say Varnes had run-ins with Wild Bill Hickok in the past. Do you know about them?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “The two of them had been feuding for some time. It’s said that they had some sort of dispute in Denver months ago. Shortly before McCall shot Wild Bill to death, Varnes and Wild Bill had a confrontation in the Senate Saloon. Varnes and another man were playing poker and were disputing over the game. Wild Bill drew his pistols and covered Varnes with them while he umpired the game, until friends interfered and ended the encounter.”

  “So Varnes and Wild Bill had an ongoing feud.”

  “It would appear so.”

  “I’ve interviewed several people who believe Jack McCall was a paid assassin whose job was to kill Wild Bill, because the criminal element in town were worried Wild Bill would be hired by some of the Deadwood merchants to maintain law and order.”

  “That is a plausible story.”

  “Again, thank you for the information, Mr. Whitehead.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Jack turned and walked back down Main Street to the California Chop House.

  So Varnes would stand to benefit with Wild Bill Hickok out of the way, Jack thought. The California Chop House door stood wide open and Jack stepped in. Letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light, he saw Langrishe, his wife, Banjo Dick Brown, and a woman sitting at a table, but there was no sign of Lil or other members of the troupe.

  “Good afternoon, Captain Jones,” Langrishe called out.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Langrishe, ladies, sir,” Jack said.

  “Captain Jones, let me introduce you to my wife, Banjo Dick Brown, and his wife, the incomparable actress Fanny Garrettson.”

  “Pleased to meet you all. I attended your show last night, and I can say you all gave a first-rate p
erformance,” Jack said. All but Mrs. Langrishe smiled and said thank you.

  “So Captain Jones, may I ask why you grace our presences with this miniature tigress?” Langrishe asked.

  “Well sir, it might be better if we spoke in private.”

  “Is it about my niece?” Mrs. Langrishe asked.

  “Yes it is, ma’am.”

  “Well, we already know about your blunders, so you can stay here and tell us all,” Mrs. Langrishe said.

  “Go ahead, Captain,” Langrishe said.

  “Sir, have you had a chance to explain my story to Lil?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, I did. She was still very upset, but said she would ponder your message.”

  “Will she allow me to speak to her? Can you tell me where she is?”

  “I think she needs some time to think about all this. You can’t speak to her at this time because she and others in the troupe are on a picnic outside of town.”

  “Do you think that wise, sir, with the recent Indian trouble outside of town?”

  “Don’t worry, Captain. The men on the picnic are well armed.”

  The cat repositioned herself in Jack’s arms and purred loudly.

  “What a pretty cat,” Fanny Garrettson said.

  “Yes indeed,” Mrs. Langrishe agreed.

  “She is my gift to Lil,” Jack said.

  “You don’t say?” Mrs. Langrishe said. “Give her here.”

  Jack handed the cat over to Mrs. Langrishe, who settled the cat on her lap. It began to purr loudly.

  “Please tell Lil that I hope she will like this new little friend,” Jack said. “I want…”

  Bam! A loud report came from the street.

  “That could be the signal,” Banjo Dick said. A few seconds later, Bam!

  “It is!” he said. Banjo Dick and Langrishe stood to leave.

  “Captain Jones, I will make sure this darling cat is taken care of until Lil returns and I will make sure she gets it with your best regards.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Langrishe,” Jack said as he stepped out the door with the others.

  A mob of men was streaming into the theater. Fat Jack stood near the door trying to sell socks. Jack glanced down the street to the ponderosa pine across from Saloon Number 10. Expectant men prepared a rope for the hanging. Someone had already tossed one end over the pine tree’s overhanging limb.

  Upon entering the theater, Jack found his old seat. This time he beat Merrick and saved his seat for him. Merrick was out of breath when he took his place.

  “What do you think, Jones? Guilty or not?”

  “I say Harry is not guilty, but I am most certain the jury will find him guilty.”

  “I agree, only I think he is guilty and the jury will find him as such.”

  All the officers of the court returned well armed. Keithley placed a pistol on top of his law books, beside his Bible.

  The jury took their seats. There was not an empty seat in the audience. It was standing room only, and men lined the walls of the theater on three sides facing the stage. Keithley slammed the hammer down onto the wood block several times before the crowd settled down.

  “The court is now in session,” Keithley said. “Bring in the prisoner.”

  Old George and the other guard, each cradling a shotgun, led Harry Young onto the stage.

  “The prisoner may take his seat,” Keithley said. The other guard began to untie the rope around Young’s wrists.

  “Leave the prisoner bound until we hear the jury’s verdict,” Keithley said, then turning to the jury, “Members of the jury, who did you select as your foreman?”

  Henry Varnes stood and said, “The jury selected me, Henry Varnes as foreman.”

  “Very good, Mr. Varnes, and what is the verdict of the jury?”

  Henry Varnes paused for dramatic effect and said, “The jury finds Harry Young in the murder of Bummer Dan Myer not guilty!” The crowd began to erupt.

  “Order! Order in the court!” Keithley shouted, gaveling the hammer onto the wood block several times. The crowd noise subsided but did not die away. Varnes continued, “The jury finds Harry Young not guilty based on self-defense, and he did not shoot the man he intended to shoot.”

  “So say you all?” Keithley questioned the jurors.

  “Aye,” they all responded.

  “Very well, thank you, Mr. Varnes and thank you, members of the jury,” Keithley said. Then turning to the guards and Young he said, “You may release the prisoner. Mr. Young, you are found not guilty and are hereby set free.” Keithley faced the crowd and said, “This concludes this court, and I hereby adjourn it sine die.” and with that, he gaveled the wood block one last time.

  The crowd whooped and hollered. Everyone was talking at once. As the guards were untying Young’s wrists, his lawyers pounded him and each other on their backs.

  Jack and Merrick sat stunned.

  “I thought sure the jury had been rigged to declare Harry guilty,” Jack said. “So much for my ideas.”

  “Hum, well,” Merrick said. “After three and a half hours deliberation the jury returns with the usual verdict of not guilty! Bah!” He stood and left.

  Jack tried to piece together what had just happened. Young was surrounded by a knot of friends congratulating him. Some jurors were drifting away, others stopped to talk to friends. Henry Varnes was talking with his brother Johnny. Pete Adams continued to sit in his seat staring at Young.

  “Well, Mr. Reporter,” Texas Jack’s voice broke into Jack’s thoughts. “What do you think of the verdict?”

  Jack took a moment to control himself but felt his voice may have sounded shaky as he said, “Surprised. I’m surprised because I thought sure the verdict would be guilty.”

  Texas Jack’s face broke into its sneer as he said, “We listened to the reading of the law, the evidence, and all concluded it was self-defense. We are law-abiding citizens.”

  Again, Jack fought to control himself. Law-abiding! He thought. You stand before me and talk about law-abiding after murdering and robbing. Jack’s right hand moved toward where his pistol should be. Then he remembered it was in safekeeping at the Grand Central Hotel. All he could do was grunt, “Humph.”

  Texas Jack laughed as he sauntered by. Jack was disgusted that he could not think of an appropriate response. Pete was now walking up the aisle and saw Jack.

  “Jack!” he said. “Boy, am I glad to see you!”

  “I’m happy to see you too, Pete. How did it go on the jury?”

  “I wasn’t happy with the way things went.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s suppertime. How about we walk over to the Grand Central Hotel and eat our supper while you fill me in on what happened?”

  “That sounds good, Jack.”

  They stood and made their way through the dispersing crowd and into the hotel. They found an empty table as Stonewall leaped at Jack, whimpering in happiness.

  “And how was your day, Stonewall?” Jack said, scratching the hound behind his ears.

  “He did quite all right, Captain Jones,” Lou said, as she set two plates of ham, sweet potatoes, and carrots before them. “That dog has probably put on a pound or two today,” she continued. Stonewall was busy sniffing with interest Jack’s coat.

  “Must be the cat,” Jack said.

  “What cat?” Lou asked.

  “I bought Lil a cat as a present. I hope she likes it.”

  “You bought Lil a cat as a present without telling her?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I don’t know, I haven’t talked to her yet. I gave it to her aunt to give to her.”

  Lou scowled at Jack and said, “How do you know she likes cats? For all you know, cats might make her sneeze. Maybe she doesn’t want to take care of some old cat. Sometimes I wonder about the way you think, Captain,” Lou said as she walked away, shaking her head.

  Pete was grinning at Jack and said, “You
know, Aunt Lou is right.”

  Jack wore a troubled expression on his face. “She may be right,” he said. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “We better eat before this food gets cold,” Pete said. “Or Aunt Lou will have something else to scold you about.”

  They ate in silence and when finished stacked their plates at the end of the table.

  “Tell me about the jury,” Jack said.

  “The first thing we did was elect the foreman,” Pete began. “That Texas Jack fellow nominated Henry Varnes. There was a second. No one else was nominated and Mr. Varnes was elected jury foreman. We went over the testimony. Mr. Varnes and Texas Jack were emphatic that Harry Young should be let off since they believed he shot in self-defense. I myself believed Young could have been laying in wait to ambush Laughing Sam, but no one else did. We took several votes and finally it was only me holding out against acquittal.”

  Pete paused to sip his coffee and continued, “Texas Jack and Mr. Varnes were getting upset with me. I told them all maybe we should compromise, maybe we should say we don’t know if it was self-defense or not, and we don’t have the authority anyway to try Young. Maybe we should send him to the territorial capital in Yankton to have him tried there. A few of the other jurors liked that idea, but again Texas Jack and Mr. Varnes were against it. They said we need to make a decision here and now. They said we know more about the case than any government officials in Yankton do. I was again the only holdout. The entire jury was against me. I finally gave in, but I feel very bad about giving in. I don’t think the verdict is right.”

  “You did the best you could, Pete,” Jack said. “To be honest with you, I side with the jury’s decision. I was under the impression the jury was going to convict Harry Young and that he would now be hanging from a tree.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Several reasons. First, Henry Varnes and Texas Jack were the two men who originally put a rope around Harry Young’s neck to hang him. Second, I believe there is a criminal ring in town controlling most of the crime. I think Henry Varnes and Texas Jack may be a part of that ring, and finally Henry Varnes’s brother, Johnny, and a dancehall owner named Al Swearengen, were noticeably helping to select jurors. You were one of those they tried to have rejected, but the judge would not allow it. For some reason, they wanted jurors selected who would vote the way they wanted the outcome to go. I would have bet they wanted Harry convicted, but for some reason, now it seems they wanted Harry to get off.”