The fellow who’d grabbed Caleb’s arm had a dirty face and a rough beard. After touching the bloody corner of his mouth, he looked up at Caleb and snarled, “He’s a goddamn savage!”
“Aw, hell,” Caleb muttered.
Even though he rarely told anyone his last name was Wayfinder, Caleb didn’t have to say anything to announce his Indian ancestry. The dark hue of his skin and the coal-black tone of his hair was usually more than enough to let folks know where he’d come from.
“Damned savage killed these men!” the fellow with the bloodied mouth shouted. “That’s a goddamn hanging offense!”
Turning in his saddle, Caleb looked over to Johnson and said, “You’d best get out of here, Creek.”
“The hell I will,” Creek replied. “Not after what you done for me today.”
Caleb’s hand was on his gun, but he had yet to draw. As much as he wanted to get the familiar weight of iron in his hand, he knew that would be the spark to send this whole situation straight to hell. He looked around for the backup plan he’d already put into place, but couldn’t find Doc anywhere.
The crowd was getting wilder by the second, forcing Caleb to make the one play he knew would only cause more blood to be spilled. Since he preferred that blood not to be his own, Caleb started to draw his pistol and picked out his first target from all the faces glaring up at him.
“The Injun’s got a gun!” an old man shouted from a nearby storefront.
Those words set the entire crowd surging in toward Caleb. They swung their fists along with anything else they could get ahold of. Something solid knocked against Caleb’s side, forcing him to let go of his pistol. All Caleb had to do was climb down from his saddle before he was pulled down and then cover his head and face. After that, most of the swinging fists and weapons bounced off of other members of the crowd.
Folks yelled and swore at Caleb while the ones closer to him grabbed his arms and jacket to set him up for a flurry of wild punches. Caleb tried to get to the spot where his gun had landed, but he might as well have been trying to light a match in the middle of a whirlwind.
Suddenly, a voice cut through all the others like a hot iron through frozen soil. “Everyone back the hell away from those men!” it bellowed.
The man who’d spoken was lean yet wide through the shoulders. He strode through the crowd as if it wasn’t even there, while also fixing his eyes upon the locals as if daring any of them to get in his way. Even though he didn’t need any help in making his way to Caleb’s horse, the lean man wasn’t alone. There was another, younger fellow with him who had a similar gaze etched into a smoother face.
The older of the two was the one who’d silenced the crowd. He wore a gun on his hip, but didn’t make a move toward it. He didn’t need to. “Don’t you folks got anything better to do than form a mob?” he asked.
The man whose lip Caleb had bloodied shifted anxiously from one foot to another. “We heard there was a killer headed into town, so we decided to meet up with him.”
“Well, if you want to hold these men so they can answer to the proper authorities, then that’s one thing. If you’re just out to act like a pack of wild dogs, then I’ve got something to say against that.”
A few members of the crowd started to regain their composure and inch forward. One of them locked eyes with the younger man standing beside the fellow who’d calmed things down.
Without letting a moment pass after he’d been singled out, the man with the smoother face bowed out his chest and said, “I’ll let my brother do the talking, but I’ll sure as hell make you wish you hadn’t crossed our path.”
The man with the steely eyes looked up at Caleb. “What killed those men?”
“Yes,” a familiar voice cut in. “Why don’t you enlighten all of us?”
When he picked out Samuel’s face in the crowd, Caleb wanted to put a bullet through it. He would have done just that if his pistol hadn’t been swallowed up by the crowd.
That crowd kept surging forward until a gunshot blasted through the air and drew everyone’s eyes toward a man holding his pistol high over his head.
“Everyone stand back,” Bullock said. “Give me some room.”
Bullock slowly shifted his eyes as if he was glaring at each member of the crowd in turn. That glare was enough to move the crowd back like dust being cleared from the boardwalk by a stiff breeze. “This is official business,” Bullock said. “Everyone who ain’t a part of it, clear this street so I can sort it out!”
Reluctantly, the locals grumbled and moved away. Now that they weren’t clumped together so tightly, the crowd didn’t seem nearly as big. In fact, Caleb guessed there may have only been less than two dozen folks clogging up Main Street.
As Bullock approached Caleb, he took notice of the two men who had yet to move from their spots.
“You the law around here?” the steely-eyed man asked.
Bullock shrugged and gave half a nod as a reply. “More or less. I’m acting as sheriff for now, but it won’t be official for another month or two. Who are you two men?”
“I’m Wyatt Earp,” the steely-eyed man said. Hooking a thumb toward the man with the smoother face, he added, “This is my brother, Morgan.”
Letting out a sigh, Caleb said, “If you two’d like to get acquainted, I can be on my way.”
“Can’t allow that,” Bullock said. “This man here tells me you murdered his friends. And if those two bodies slung over that horse behind you are his friends, then that complicates things even more.”
Caleb looked around for a quick way out of the fire and back into the frying pan. Unfortunately, even the two Earp brothers were tipping their hats to Bullock and stepping back.
“Those men are my partners,” Creek Johnson said. “Any one of a dozen shopkeepers here in town will tell you that much. You should be one of them, Mr. Bullock.”
Bullock glanced at Creek just long enough to nod. “I recall you and that fellow with the long hair buying picks and shovels from my store not too long ago.”
“I also bought some dynamite, but that wasn’t from your place. I believe it was from a fella by the name of—”
“Never mind that,” Bullock cut in. “I believe you. You’ll still need to come along with me and cool your heels until I can get this sorted out.”
Samuel stepped forward again. “My friends are dead! Do something about it!”
Bullock didn’t move. When his eyes shifted to take in the sight of the bodies lying across the fat man’s horse, it seemed more like a trick of the light. “Some sort of trouble befall you men out there?”
Creek shrugged and replied, “You might say that, Sheriff. My partners tried to kill me.”
“Tried to kill you?”
“Well, tried to kill us both.”
Seeing the sheriff’s eyes move toward him, Caleb nodded. “I’ll vouch for that.”
“So this,” Bullock said while waving a finger at the two bodies, “was in self-defense?”
“Yes, sir,” Creek replied.
“They can’t just talk their way out of this,” Samuel whined.
When Bullock turned to look at Samuel, it was enough to force the smaller man back a few steps. “This isn’t the first time someone’s fallen upon a bad end in this camp, so we know how to take care of it. Since I’m the closest thing to a sheriff we have at the moment, I’ll take care of it. I sure as hell don’t need you nipping at my heels.”
“We sure appreciate that,” Caleb said. “Creek and I brought these men back to be buried. It’s awfully fortunate that you came along to shoo away these folks who got the wrong idea.”
“Don’t count yourselves as too lucky,” Bullock said. “Because you’re under arrest.”
7
What currently passed for Deadwood’s jailhouse was actually a shack that must have been one of the sturdier ones in camp. Judging by the dried-up husks in the corner and the scent that had soaked into every plank of the floor, the shack had formerly been used to store
corn or possibly smoked ham. Those scents had since mingled with the sweat and puke from Deadwood’s drunks and miscreants.
Caleb sat with his back against the farthest wall, which allowed him to watch the shack’s only door. When he saw the door move, he jumped to his feet.
Bullock opened the door a crack and leveled a finger at Creek, who sat in a corner. “You’re Johnson, right?”
Climbing to his feet, Creek nodded and replied, “That’s right.”
“And you were part owner of that claim?”
“Right again.”
“Some folks down at the Nuttall saw those two partners of yours meeting behind your back. The fat one got drunk and told one of the working girls down there that he was gonna be rich once you were out of the way, so that’s more than enough to establish self-defense for me. You’re free to go.”
Creek looked back at Caleb and smiled, but seemed reluctant to take a step toward the door. “Are you sure?”
Bullock nodded. “This is a mining camp, after all, and folks tend to keep their ears open for talk of jumping claims. There wasn’t any shortage of men stepping up to speak on your behalf.”
“What about me?” Caleb asked. “Did anyone speak up on my account?”
“A few. One asked to see you before you stand trial.”
“Trial, huh? This camp don’t even have a proper sheriff, but you’ve got a courthouse?”
“No courthouse. Justice of the peace will hear you out and decide what’s to become of you.”
“Why’s he to be put on trial?” Creek asked. “He was working with me. If I’m to go free, then so should he!”
Shrugging, Bullock replied, “That’s what was decided. There’s two dead men who were gunned down by a . . . well . . .”
“An Indian,” Caleb muttered. “I suppose it doesn’t even matter what sort of blood runs through me or where my family actually came from?”
Bullock shook his head. “Not really. There’s been plenty of trouble in these parts that had to do with Indians and the subject’s sore for plenty of folks.”
“What about the ones who spoke up for me?”
“It was only one and he ain’t a local,” Bullock replied grudgingly. “He’s also not quite as reputable as the bunch who spoke up for Mr. Johnson.”
Caleb gritted his teeth and nodded.
Looking Caleb straight in the eyes, Bullock told him, “I’d say your luck’s holding up pretty well. A lot worse has happened to folks around here for a lot less. I’ll see to it that you get tried for the case at hand just like anyone else would.”
“And after that I’ll hang?” Caleb asked.
After considering that for a moment, Bullock shook his head. “Under the circumstances, you might do some jail time. You could go free.”
Caleb laughed to himself and sat down on the dirty floor. “Guess I should get used to the smell in here.”
“If you’re to do jail time, it’ll probably be in Yankton.”
“Yankton?” Caleb asked. “Where the hell is that?”
“Not too far from here.”
Caleb was stunned. A tired laugh from the back of his throat felt more like a punch in the chest. “Great. That’s just great. Go on and leave, Creek. There’s nothing more for you to do in here.”
“You sure about that?”
Caleb nodded.
Slowly, Creek shuffled out of the shack. When he got to Bullock, Creek said, “I wanted to see about burying my partners. Is that all right?”
“Sure. You may want to stay close to camp, though, if you want to speak up for your friend when he gets his hearing.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Creek replied with a forced smile. To Caleb, he said, “Keep yer chin up. I won’t forget what you done for me.”
Although he genuinely appreciated hearing those words, Caleb wasn’t able to put much enthusiasm into his voice. “Thanks, Creek.”
Bullock stepped aside so Johnson could pass by and then stepped back so he once again filled up the doorway. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you’re a murderer.”
“Think you could say that at my trial?” Caleb asked.
“Sure.”
“Will it do any good?”
“No,” Bullock replied.
“Didn’t think so.”
“You still got a man out here who wants to have a word with you. He says he’s a friend of yours. If you want to talk to him, it’ll have to be through the window over there.”
Caleb looked to where Bullock was pointing and quickly realized that the man was being very generous when referring to the crooked hole cut in the wall as a window. It was more of a large crack between two boards and wasn’t even wide enough to slide an arm through. Without saying a word, Caleb hauled himself over to the window and looked outside.
“Seems like you’ve gotten yourself into another pickle,” Doc said with a grin.
Lowering his voice to a harsh whisper, Caleb asked, “How the hell is it that you’re not in here?”
“I made it back to town before the crowd was all riled up. That, and the fact that I wasn’t dragging along two dead bodies might have had something to do with it.”
“Well, you need to get me out of here. I don’t have much faith in whatever trial this camp intends on throwing together and I sure as hell know they’d be more than happy to string up someone who looks like me.”
Doc cocked his head to one side. “Isn’t ugliness just a misdemeanor?”
“You’re real lucky I can’t reach through this window,” Caleb snarled through gritted teeth.
Glancing to his left, Doc tipped his hat to someone outside of Caleb’s sight. “Sheriff or not, this Bullock person seems like a good fellow. I doubt he’ll let you get strung up before your duly appointed time.”
“What about those two who stepped in for me?” Caleb asked. “Those brothers?”
“Once the mob dispersed, they went back to minding their own business. I believe they’re selling firewood.”
“Selling firewood?”
“Considering the weather, I’d say it’s probably a lucrative business.”
“Well, see if you can get them to show up at my trial.”
Doc laughed and didn’t make any effort to hide it. “Oh, yes. The trial. That should be a fine display of . . . well . . . it should be a fine display. If it was anyone but you on the stand, I might want to buy a ticket.”
“But it is gonna be me up there, Doc.” Caleb stopped himself before he raised his voice any more. Pressing both hands against the wall and leaning as close to the window as he could, he whispered, “I need to get broke out of here. Fast.”
“Both of us have come such a long way,” Doc said wistfully. “Only a few short years ago, I was a dentist with real opportunities for advancement and you were the proud owner of a thriving Dallas saloon.”
Rather than say another word, Caleb glared at Doc with enough intensity to cut through solid granite. It wasn’t long before that stare had its desired effect.
“You shouldn’t be in there for more than a few days,” Doc said. “It’ll take at least that long for them to clear out the store they use for a courthouse and gather the usual bunch of locals who act as judge and jury.”
“And executioner?”
“It won’t come to that,” Doc said without any of the glibness that had been in his voice before.
“You’d better get going now,” Bullock said from a few paces away from Doc.
When Caleb craned his neck to get a look past Doc, he saw Bullock walking up to the dentist with his hand resting upon the grip of his holstered gun. He let Doc take his time in moving away from the shack. “Check back later and we should know when the hearing will be,” Bullock said.
Doc stepped back. The dim sunlight that seeped through the passing clouds made his face seem even paler. When he raised his hands, he also lifted a familiar walking stick. “I appreciate that, Sheriff,” he said with a wheeze.
Bullock winced at th
e title, but let it pass. Now that he knew the appointment wasn’t official just yet, Caleb realized that Bullock had winced that way every time the word “sheriff” had been aimed at him.
As Doc hobbled away, Caleb turned around and leaned back against the wall. He slid down until he was seated upon the floor and surrounded by the echo of his own movements. Since there wasn’t anyone else locked up inside the shack, Caleb guessed he’d have to get used to the thick, malodorous silence within those four dirty walls.
As the sun was dipping below the western horizon, Doc and Creek were on their way back to the claim Johnson had since inherited. Doc was still in a bad way, but didn’t need all of his strength since he was riding on a wagon instead of in a saddle. Creek sat beside him and in an easy grip held the reins of the two horses pulling the wagon.
“You sure you’re up to this?” Creek asked. “You don’t sound too good.”
Doc coughed a few times, but soon fell into a series of wheezing, hacking coughs that wracked his entire body. Dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief, Doc replied, “I’ll be just fine. Better than those two, anyhow.”
Creek looked behind him at the rest of the wagon. Apart from its driver and passenger, the only other things in that wagon were the two bodies wrapped in canvas and tied up like parcels awaiting delivery. “Yeah. I suppose so.”
“Is it imperative they accompany us?” Doc asked.
“Sure it is! They’re the whole reason we’re supposed to be out here.”
“Since there isn’t going to be a hanging today, it doesn’t seem as though anyone is too interested in following us.”
Creek shook his head and flicked the reins. “There’s always someone watching you in that damn camp. And if they ain’t watching you, they’re gossiping about you behind your damn back. Besides, it turned out that there won’t be a proper undertaker around until next week and nobody else was willing to bury these two.”
The Accomplice: The Silent Partner Page 7
