Deadwood Dead Men

by Bill Markley

  “They certainly were forceful about it,” Pete said, then changing the subject. “What time is it?”

  Jack looked at his Elgin pocket watch, “It’s ten minutes past eight o’clock.”

  “It’s Friday night. I need to see a little of what Deadwood has to offer,” Pete said as he pulled back his coat, removed his wallet from an inside pocket, and began to remove a greenback.

  “Pete, put your bills away,” Jack said. “Supper is on me. And by the way, didn’t I say you should put those greenbacks in the bank?”

  ‘Oh I will, I just haven’t gotten around to it and remember, I told you I don’t trust banks. I trust my own pistol.”

  “Just be careful. Don’t go flashing those bills about.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Pete said as he stood to leave. “Thanks again for supper.”

  “You’re welcome, Pete.”

  As Pete was leaving, Lou stopped by the table to clear the plates.

  “Another cup of coffee, Captain Jones?”

  “Yes, thanks, Aunt Lou, and if you could bring my satchel of writing material, I’d appreciate it. I better write my story concerning this trial.”

  Jack spent the next two hours writing his account of the murder and trial for the paper. It took longer than usual, as his mind wandered to Lil, and then wandered to the string of murders, and then back to why the criminal element in town would want Young to go free. Then he remembered he needed to be riding out of town Sunday. He had lots to do tomorrow to prepare for his search for General Crook.

  It was after ten p.m.. Jack had finished the piece for the paper. His mind was still racing back and forth from Lil to the murders to the acquittal.

  Deciding he should write down what facts he knew about these murders, Jack took out a blank piece of paper and wrote:

  Wild Bill Hickok:

  Jack McCall shot Hickok the day after losing to him in a card game. McCall claimed Hickok had shot his brother. The jury let McCall off. Some businessmen in town wanted to hire Hickok as a peace officer. Varnes and Hickok had one or more confrontations. Colorado Charlie and California Joe believe others used McCall to assassinate Hickok.

  Preacher Smith:

  He had over two hundred dollars in gold dust, etc., on him. Someone shot him in the heart at close range. The claim was Indians killed him, but whoever did it did not scalp or otherwise mutilate him. The only thing missing was his money. An Indian was killed near the site of the preacher’s murder, but he was making the sign of peace and no evidence of money or anything else from Preacher Smith was found on his body. The man responsible for finding Preacher Smith’s body and killing the Indian was Texas Jack, a known killer (known to me).

  Bummer Dan:

  Harry Young shoots Bummer Dan by mistake thinking he is shooting Laughing Sam. Johnny Varnes and Al Swearengen want Harry Young declared not guilty. Bummer Dan’s haversack, with its gold and possibly even more gold from his shanty, which someone ransacked, is missing. Laughing Sam Hartman, who could shed light on all this, is missing.

  Poncho and Carlos

  Clearly murdered by Texas Jack and he makes the murders look like the mrn killed each other. Their possible bag, with its gold, is missing.

  The Criminal Ring:

  If there is a criminal ring in Deadwood, the known members are Al Swearengen, Johnny Burns, Johnny Varnes, Henry Varnes, and Texas Jack. There may be others.

  Jack reviewed what he had written. It helped him clarify in his mind all the information. He could see how all the murders except the Bummer Dan murder could be attributed to a ring. The only ring connection to Bummer Dan was that ring members worked to get Harry Young off, but why?

  Jack was tired. It had been a long day. He closed his books, filed the papers in his satchel, and looked down at Stonewall, who was wagging his tail. “Maybe I’ll be able to piece it together better tomorrow, Stonewall.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Saturday Morning, August 26, 1876—Jack slept later than normal. It’s Saturday, he reasoned. After breakfast, he and Stonewall stepped out of the hotel into the bright morning sunshine. It was another typical Deadwood Gulch morning. The sights, the sounds, the smells were the same, but one thing was different—people were running toward Lee Street.

  Jack called out to one of the runners, “What’s going on? Why is everyone running?”

  “A body was found in Whitewood Creek under the Lee Street Bridge!” the runner shouted.

  Jack joined running with the others. A crowd gathered around the creek as three men stood in the water and pulled a body out from under the bridge. They then carried the body out of the creek and laid it on the bank. As Jack pushed his way through the crowd, one of the men who had recovered the body said, “Anyone know who this young fellow was?”

  Jack looked down at the body. His head swam. This is not happening. This must be some mistake, Jack’s mind roared. The body was Pete Adams.

  Jack dropped to his knees alongside the body. Pete’s opened, glazed eyes stared at nothing. Tears welled in Jack’s eyes. “I know this kid, his name’s Pete Adams,” he said softly.

  “Look there,” a second man who had pulled the body from the creek, said. “Look at the back of his head. It looks like he was hit

  hard.” A bad, blood-caked gash ran above Pete’s right ear. Jack just stared at the body. Some people began to drift away as others arrived to see what all the commotion was.

  “Hey mister,” the first man said. “Since you know this fellow, how about you take care of his body from here on out? We got to get back to our claim.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said, “I will take care of him.” The three men who had recovered the body stood and left. Jack didn’t distinguish what any of the voices around him were saying. He only heard the creek continuing its flow—a false sense of merriment—laughing, tinkling, booming, gurgling.

  “Captain Jones!” It was a female voice. “Captain Jones!” It was a female voice he recognized. He looked up. Calamity Jane stood beside him. “Captain Jones, was this here boy a friend?”

  “Yes, Calamity, he was.”

  “All right, me and the girls, we’ll take care of him for ya. Get him washed up and presentable for burial.”

  “Thanks, Calamity, I appreciate that.”

  Jack stood and began to dig in his pants pocket for some coins. “Put your money away, Captain, we’ll settle up some other time.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jack decided to check Pete for his money and figure out how to send it to his family. He stooped down to the body and looked at the inside coat pockets. Pete’s wallet was missing. He checked all the pockets, but there was no wallet, nothing in any of the pockets. Pete’s old pistol was missing too.

  Jack stood up and said in a loud voice, “Has anyone seen a leather wallet? It had this man’s greenbacks in it. And also has anyone seen an old pistol?”

  “I found a pistol along the stream,” a mud-splattered miner said and showed Jack the pistol. “That was Pete’s,” Jack said.

  “Do you want it, mister?” the miner asked.

  “No, go ahead and keep it.”

  “A couple of you fellers here help a gal with this body,” Calamity ordered. They picked up Pete.

  “Where to, Calamity?” one of them asked.

  “Take him into the General Custer House Hotel, that’s the closest. I’ll wash him up in there. If they give ya any guff, tell them they’ll have to deal with me!” Turning to Jack, she said, “Captain Jones, what was his name again for the headboard?”

  “Pete Adams.”

  “Any idea what happened here?”

  “Pete had a wallet full of greenbacks that’s missing. It could have been washed downstream, or someone might have picked it up. But my thinking is based on the blow to his head and the fact that the money is missing—he was killed and robbed. But of course, I can’t prove that. We have no witnesses, and we have no idea who did it. Nothing that would hold up in a court of law.”

&
nbsp; “Sometimes ya have to go beyond the law,” Calamity said. “When ya know ya’re right, ya got to do the right thing, even if the law won’t go there with ya.”

  “And what law do we really have here in town?”

  “I’d say the law is the God-given sense of right and wrong ya have here,” as she pointed to her head, “and here,” as she pointed to her heart.

  “You might be right, Calamity.”

  “I know I’m right!”

  By now the crowd had dissipated. Men carried Pete’s body, followed by Calamity, to the nearby General Custer House. Jack walked along the banks of Whitewood Creek looking for the missing wallet but saw nothing.

  Jack didn’t think it was likely, but maybe, just maybe, Pete put some of his money in the bank. He decided to check it out.

  He turned his back on Whitewood Creek and walked to Main Street. It was a short walk south to the small log building with the large sign proclaiming Miners’ & Merchants’ Bank, Jason M. Woods, Cashier. Jack entered the building. Behind the rough-hewn counter stood Jason M. Woods, Cashier.

  “Good morning, Captain Jones,” he said.

  “Good morning, Jason.”

  “What can I do for you this fine Saturday morning, sir?”

  “The morning is not fine. A friend was murdered last night.”

  “Goodness! I had not heard!”

  “The murder is why I am here. The man’s name was Pete Adams. He had a quantity of greenbacks on him and I had suggested to him that he place them here in your bank for safekeeping. Do you know if he did that?”

  “I don’t recall that name, but let me double-check the books.” Woods spent a minute reviewing his ledger book.

  “No, no one by that name has deposited anything with us.”

  “Thank you, Jason, I thought as much, but I wanted to check.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your friend, Captain Jones.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jack turned and walked out the door. Stoop-shouldered, he stared at the ground. Sensing a presence in front of him, he looked up and saw standing before him a Chinese man, holding a staff in his right hand. He was one of the Cantonese bodyguards who carried Di Lee. The man took two steps forward, tucked the staff under his arm, and bowed. Jack awkwardly followed suit. The man produced an envelope and held it out before him with two hands for Jack to take. Jack took the envelope, the man bowed again, Jack did likewise, and without saying a word, the man grasped his staff and walked down Main Street. Jack watched him leave and then looked at the envelope. There was no writing on it. He tore it open, revealing inside a folded piece of writing paper with a message printed by hand. Jack read the message and then a second time, as his sorrow burned into anger.

  Captain Jones,

  We are sorry your friend Pete Adams is dead. One of our people saw the murder and robbery. The men who killed Pete Adams are Texas Jack and Johnny Varnes. We are sorry for you.

  Your Friends

  “Texas Jack and Varnes! You bastards!” Jack spit the words through clenched teeth. “This is it. It’s over.”

  Jack strode up the street to the Grand Central Hotel. He burst through the door. Charlie Wagner was working behind the counter.

  “Good morning, Captain…”

  “Charlie, get me my pistol and my ammunition!” Jack ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” a shocked Wagner said. He vanished into the storeroom and quickly returned with Jack’s Army Colt, holster and waist belt, and box of cartridges.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask about that holster,” Wagner said. “I’ve not seen one like it.”

  “A fellow just started making a few of these in Cheyenne, I like the way it holds my pistol,” Jack coolly spoke as he checked the Army Colt’s cylinders and bore to make sure the pistol was still clean and well oiled. Wagner handed him a rag to wipe it down. Jack loaded five rounds, leaving one chamber open and set at the firing position. He checked the loops on the waist belt to make sure there was a cartridge in every loop.

  “May I ask what’s going on?” Wagner said.

  “Yes, I’m mad as hell. The young fellow, Pete Adams, who I befriended the other day, is dead and robbed. I know who did it. I’m going to get them. I’m going to do to them what they did to a defenseless kid.”

  “Who was it? Don’t you think we should put a court together and let them decide?”

  “Ha!” Jack spat. “The courts in this town are a joke! Where was the justice with Wild Bill? Where was the justice with Bummer Dan? Not to mention Preacher Smith. Indians? I don’t think so! Look at Poncho and Carlos, that was a put up job. No, I know who did this and they will pay!”

  Jack turned his back on Wagner and stomped out of the hotel, Stonewall trailing behind. His first stop was the Senate Saloon. No one had seen either Varnes or Texas Jack. He then entered the Cricket Saloon. No one he knew was in there except Johnny Burns behind the bar. Before Burns could say a word Jack grabbed the front of Burns’s shirt with his left hand and poked the muzzle of his pistol into Burns’s left temple.

  “Where’s Texas Jack and Johnny Varnes!” Jack growled.

  Burns’s eyes bulged as he blurted and stammered, “I-I don’t know. I-I ain’t seen them for some time!”

  Jack pulled the pistol hammer back to full cock. Burns began to cry. “I’m-I’m tellin’ the truth.”

  Jack slammed him back against the wall and said, “You see them, you tell them I’ll kill them for what they did to Pete Adams. You hear?”

  “Ye-yes!”

  “And don’t you try anything or so help me I’ll shoot you down like the dog you are.”

  Jack backed out of the saloon and onto the street. He eased the hammer back from full cock, holstered his Army Colt revolver, and strode over to Saloon Number 10. Several customers stood at the bar. Both Young and Tipple were behind it. Before anyone could say a word or Stonewall could growl at Young, Jack shouted, “Where’s Varnes and Texas Jack?”

  Everyone stared at him in surprise. “I said, where’s those sons of bitches, Varnes and Texas Jack?” Jack repeated.

  “No one’s seen them since last night,” Tipple said. The rest agreed.

  “You see them, you tell them I know what they did and I’m coming after them.”

  The men nodded as Jack left the saloon and headed back up the street. Walking towards Jack was Fat Jack. Jack intercepted him and said, “Fat Jack, I need to buy socks.”

  “S-Sure thing, C-Captain,” Fat Jack said as Jack and Fat Jack exchanged coins for socks.

  “Fat Jack, whereabouts in town can I find Johnny Varnes and Texas Jack?”

  “You c-can’t find them in t-town.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Th-they’re gone.”

  “What!”

  “I h-heard they g-got business in Ch-Cheyenne, and left e-early this m-morning.”

  “Do you know which trail?”

  “I h-heard they were traveling s-straight south through Hill City t-to Custer City. T-That way.”

  “Thank you, Fat Jack!”

  “Y-You’re welcome, C-Captain,” Fat Jack said as he ran off to find the nearest faro game.

  The rage boiled within Jack. They can’t get away. I’ve got to stop them. But how? he asked himself. Then it came to him. He could borrow a horse from the livery and ride after them.

  He strode up the street, oblivious to his surroundings. He had one goal in mind—to catch and kill Varnes and Texas Jack. He turned right on Gold Street and made his way to the livery stable. Paco nickered as Jack shouted, “Halloo, Old Frenchy!”

  Jack spied Old Frenchy in the back of the building. He stopped his work repairing a damaged wheelbarrow and walked toward Jack.

  “Good morning, Captain Jones, how may I help you?”

  “I need to borrow a horse right away. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “Is there a problem, Captain? You look upset.”

  “Old Frenchy, a good young man was murdered last night by Johnny Varnes and
Texas Jack. They have left town. I plan to go after them.”

  “And then what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What will you do when you find them?”

  “What will I do? I’m going to kill them.”

  “Think, my friend, if you do this, do you then become like them?”

  “I don’t care. I’ll think about it later. Right now, I need a horse.”

  “Take someone with you. Someone who can help you.”

  “No time, Old Frenchy, every moment I waste gives them more time to get away!”

  “If you insist, Captain. The only horse I have available right now is Paco. He is a good horse, but as we all do, he has a few flaws. His big problem is he does not like loud noises, such as guns firing, so if you must shoot, make sure you are not on top of him, or you will be on the ground.”

  “Thank you for the advice.”

  Jack waited while Old Frenchy haltered Paco, led him out of the stall, and tied him to a post. He laid a saddle blanket on Paco’s back as Jack checked Paco’s saddle’s stirrup lengths to make sure they were the right length for his legs. The men placed the saddle on Paco’s back and cinched him up. Then Old Frenchy picked out Paco’s bridle and placed the bit in his mouth and the headstall over his head. Jack checked the cinch again and tightened it. He led Paco around and rechecked the cinch, further tightening it. Jack rubbed Paco’s forehead and said, “I need your help, Paco. Let’s be partners on this trip. All right?” Jack held the reins and grabbed a bit of mane as he swung up into the saddle and adjusted his seat.

  “Old Frenchy, thank you for the advice. I will be careful. I’ll think about what you said. These men need to be brought to justice. I’m still bent on killing them, but I will think about your words.”

  “Captain Jones, here is a canteen full of water and saddle bags with bread in them. Who knows, you may need it if your travels take you longer than you think.”