As Maggie had exclaimed, Hattie was moved to express her surprise at seeing the broad-shouldered scout. “I swear, I never thought I’d see you again, Jordan. You’re riskin’ your neck for sure comin’ back here.”
“I know,” Jordan replied. “But I just couldn’t stand being away from you and Hattie any longer.” He grinned mischievously.
“Bite your lyin’ tongue,” Maggie replied, giving him a playful look of disapproval. In the next second, however, she returned to serious thought. “Jokin’ aside, there’s still some around here that think you’re the man who raided the claims and killed them prospectors.”
“I’m not aimin’ to stay long. I’m leavin’ before sunup,” he assured her.
Still amazed that he had taken the risk of getting shot in order to escort Polly, Maggie commented to the young lady, “It’s a lucky thing for you that you found Jordan to bring you here. There’s a lot of men who’d just as soon cut your throat, and leave you back in the mountains somewhere.”
Polly then went on to relate the unfortunate circumstances that led to her contract with Jordan, and the frightening experience suffered at the hands of Jim Eagle. Maggie and Hattie listened to her story with obvious concern. Polly stopped short of admitting the rape.
“I reckon that explains the bruises on your face,” Hattie commented. “I was gonna ask you about ’em.”
“Say,” Maggie interrupted, “you folks must be hungry. I’ll go to the kitchen and put on some coffee—won’t take but a minute to heat up the stove. There might be a cold biscuit or two left from supper.”
“I expect I’d better head on back outta town before it gets daylight,” Jordan said. “I wouldn’t want to cause Ben Thompson to have to call out the vigilance committee.” He grinned at Maggie. “I guess he’s still the top dog around here.”
“Hell,” Maggie responded, “he’s callin’ himself the sheriff now.”
“We’ve even got us a jail now,” Hattie added. “Ben spends most of the day settin’ around there lookin’ important.”
“A jail,” Jordan commented. “Deadwood’s gettin’ downright civilized. Keep on, and you’ll be the capital of Dakota Territory.”
“It ain’t that civilized,” Maggie replied. “You sure you don’t want some coffee before you go off in the woods?” She glanced at Polly and grinned. “Jordan Gray wouldn’t know how to sleep under a roof, anyway.”
Polly smiled and turned to face Jordan. “I guess I owe you some money for guiding me here. I won’t ever have enough to pay you for saving my life, though. For that, you have my eternal gratitude.” She extended her hand to him.
Jordan took her hand for a brief handshake before releasing it. “You don’t owe me anything. You’d best keep that money. You’ll need it to get yourself set up here in Deadwood.” He broke out a wide grin. “Besides, after a few days livin’ with Hattie and Maggie, you’ll probably spend it on a stagecoach outta here.”
“Don’t pay him no mind, honey,” Hattie said. “Besides, there ain’t no stagecoach comes to Deadwood.”
Jordan laughed. From outside, the sound of Sweet Pea snorting carried through the rough board wall. “See,” Jordan said, “even my horse is tellin’ me it’s time to go.” Never comfortable with drawn-out good-byes, he abruptly turned to leave. With his hand on the doorknob, he looked back and said, “Take care of her, Hattie.”
“I will,” Hattie replied. “You take care of yourself.”
Polly stepped quickly up to him and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Jordan,” she whispered and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Slightly embarrassed then, he mumbled, “You’re welcome.” Then he opened the door, anxious to be out in the open air.
The full moon that had flooded the valley with light was dropping lower in the sky, almost resting on the ridge above the town, and casting long shadows behind the buildings. Jordan looked at Sweet Pea. “What’s ailin’ you, girl?” The ornery mare was stamping nervously. He realized too late that she was trying to warn him.
“Just hold it right there and don’t move a muscle, or I’ll shoot you down right where you stand.”
The voice came from the shadows at the corner of the kitchen shack. Jordan immediately tensed, but he did as he was ordered. In the next second, two men emerged from positions behind the rear corners of Maggie and Hattie’s living quarters. With three rifles on him, he had little choice but to give in. He wasn’t even wearing his pistol.
“Well, now, if it ain’t Mr. Jordan Gray. I didn’t believe it when Whitey came to get me, but here you are. I’ll tell you the truth, Jordan, I figured you for better sense than to show your murderin’ face around here again.”
It had been more than a year, but Jordan easily recognized the voice of Ben Thompson. He turned to face the new sheriff of Deadwood, and immediately heard the sound of three rifles being cocked. “I’m not wearin’ a gun,” he said.
“Step out more in the moonlight, so I can see for myself,” Thompson ordered. When he saw that Jordan was, indeed, unarmed, he lowered his rifle, but kept it trained on his captive. “Get his rifle outta the sling, Whitey,” he said to one of the men. “And watch yourself around that horse. That mangy-lookin’ coyote’ll take a nip outta your hide if you ain’t careful.”
Jordan stood passive while Whitey confiscated his rifle and lifted his pistol belt from the saddle horn. “So now what, Ben? Another hangin’ like you and your boys did with Ned Booth?”
“Jordan ain’t no more guilty of murderin’ anybody than poor Ned was.” It was Maggie Hogg’s voice that made the statement.
Ben turned to glance at the three women, who had filed out the door when they heard the commotion in the alley. “Maggie, this ain’t no business of yours. Why don’t you women go on back inside?”
“Why don’t you go to hell?” Maggie retorted angrily. “I’ll go where I damn well please.”
Ben turned his attention back to his prisoner, ignoring Maggie’s remark. “Why, no, we ain’t gonna hang you. We’re a lot more progressive in Deadwood now. We’re gonna give you a trial, and then we’re gonna hang you.” He motioned with his rifle. “Let’s go. I’d like to get to bed sometime tonight.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Ben,” Jordan said. “Just like you did when you and your mob murdered Ned.”
“Oh, have I?” Ben retorted. “Well, I guess I’d better just let you go, then. Boys, Mr. Gray here didn’t shoot them poor fellers in the posse. I guess our eyes were just playin’ tricks on us.”
“I only killed those who came to kill me. I had no choice in the matter. It was me or them. Any man would have done the same.” He knew he was wasting his breath. The question in his mind at this time was whether he should make an attempt to escape now, with the odds of success probably not even fifty-fifty, or wait for a chance later on. With three rifles still pointed at him, he decided it would be foolish to make a move now.
“Get movin’,” Ben ordered with a wave of his rifle. “I got a cell waitin’ just for you in our new jail.”
“What about the horses?” Whitey asked. “Want me to take ’em to the stable?”
Maggie was quick to jump in. “I’ll take care of the horses. I can put ’em in with our mules. They ain’t both his, anyway. One of ’em belongs to Polly here.” She stepped forward and took Sweet Pea’s reins.
Whitey stopped and looked to Ben for directions, not sure what to do. Ben thought about it for a long moment, then shrugged and said, “I don’t care. If that’s what you wanna do, then you take care of ’em.” The three men then walked their prisoner off to the jailhouse.
The women watched until the sheriff and his deputies disappeared from sight. Then Polly turned to her aunt. “This is all my fault. The first time I met him, he told me he didn’t want to go to Deadwood.”
“Don’t blame yourself, honey.” Hattie was quick to reassure her. “From what you told me, I believe it was him that come after you. He made up his own mind to bring you here.” She glanced at her partner for confirmati
on as she remarked, “Jordan Gray don’t do nothin’ he don’t wanna do. Right, Maggie?”
“I expect that’s so,” Maggie replied. “No need to blame yourself, Polly.”
Hattie gently patted her niece on the shoulder, then turned back to Maggie. “What are we gonna do, Maggie?”
“I’m thinkin’ on it,” Maggie replied. “I know one thing for sure. I don’t intend to stand by and let that bunch of jackasses string up another innocent man.”
Chapter 6
“I’ve been in bigger jails,” Jordan commented dryly as Ben Thompson held the cell door open for him.
“I’ll bet you have,” Ben replied, slamming the door and bolting it as soon as Jordan was inside. Holding a lantern, he watched Jordan through the small opening in the heavy plank door as his prisoner took inventory of his cell. One of only two, the room was barely eight feet by ten feet, with a small window opposite the door. A heavy odor of pine from the still-green lumber filled the space. Jordan went directly to the window to stare out at the dark alley behind the building.
Watching him intently, Ben found it hard to believe that he actually had Jordan Gray in his jail. Jordan Gray, the midnight panther, whose very name had brought terror to the miners around Deadwood a year ago. His thoughts were momentarily interrupted when Whitey spoke. “If you don’t think you need us no more, me and Andy are goin’ home.”
“Yeah,” Ben replied. “You and Andy go on. I don’t think Mr. Gray, here, is gonna go anywhere.” He turned away from the cell door to watch his deputies depart. “Much obliged. You boys done a good job. I’m goin’ myself in a few minutes, soon as Pete gets here.”
When they had gone, Ben turned his attention back to his prisoner. Picking up Jordan’s rifle, he looked it over carefully. “Seventy-three model Winchester,” he said. “Is this the same rifle you killed them prospectors up above Hard Luck Creek with?”
Jordan continued to stare out into the darkness, not bothering to turn around. “I told you,” he insisted, “I didn’t kill any prospectors—on Hard Luck Creek or anywhere else.”
“You didn’t, huh? Well you damn sure killed Barney Lipscomb, and Bob Wooten, and Tom Bowers. I was with ’em when you done it.” His ire rising at the thought, he cocked Jordan’s rifle several times for emphasis, pumping the live rounds out on the floor.
Still calm, Jordan turned then to face the door. “Those men died because you came after me with blood in your eye. You didn’t take time for talk then, just started shootin’. You didn’t leave me much choice, did you?”
Flustered for a moment, Ben calmed down when he reminded himself. “Well, I reckon we took time to talk this time, didn’t we? We’re gonna have a trial for the citizens of Deadwood to see we take law and order serious around here. Then we’re gonna swing your murderin’ ass from a pole right in the middle of town.”
Jordan didn’t reply, but he thought about the prospect of ending his life at the end of a rope, and he didn’t particularly care for the idea. More likely, he thought, you’ll end up shooting me. He was not inclined to go peacefully to the gallows.
Jordan heard the front door open when Pete Blankenship entered the jail. Listening to the conversation that passed between them, he learned that Pete slept on the cot Jordan had seen in the office. Ben filled Pete in on the arrest, and advised him to practice extreme caution when dealing with the prisoner. Before leaving for the night, Ben came back to the cell door.
“I wouldn’t want you to get lonesome during the night, so Pete here will be right outside this door. I wouldn’t advise you to cause him any trouble. Pete’s got a short fuse when people aggravate him. If you behave yourself, I might let Maggie and Hattie send you some breakfast in the mornin’.” He waited a moment in case there was a reply. When there was none, he chuckled to himself and told Pete good night.
As soon as Ben left, Pete came to the door. A large man, he had to stoop over to see through the small opening. “You heard what Ben said about behavin’ yourself, I reckon. Just so’s we have an understandin’. If I hear a peep outta you, I’m liable to come in there and break your back for you.” Like Ben before him, he waited to see if there was any response from the prisoner. There was none. Jordan never bothered to waste words.
Jordan lay down on the cot in his cell and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. His brain was too busy thinking through all that had happened, and trying to come up with an escape plan that had some chance of success. There aren’t many options, he thought, and that’s a fact. In less than an hour’s time, the deep drone of Pete’s snoring rattled through the tiny jail. Jordan closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the sound. Although he thought sleep impossible, he nevertheless drifted off sometime after midnight.
At first, he thought he was dreaming. “Jordan.” A voice softly whispered his name. He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. “Jordan.” This time he realized that he was not dreaming. He quickly got up from the cot and went to the window. He was not prepared for what he saw. On the other side of the window, he saw Hattie Moon’s face. At first, he thought the bars threw shadows across her features. Then, as the sleep left his eyes, he realized they were not shadows. She had painted dark streaks vertically on her face. “Hattie,” he blurted out. “What tha hell—?” He never finished because it occurred to him then that Hattie would have to be ten feet tall to look through the window.
“Here,” she whispered, and passed a heavy rope through the bars. “Tie this good and tight around the bars.” She looked down then. “Hand me the other one, Maggie.”
Jordan couldn’t believe it. “Is Maggie out there?”
Hattie giggled. “I’m standing on her. Here, tie this one on one of the other bars. We’re breakin’ you outta here.”
“Hurry up,” Maggie whispered impatiently. “You ain’t exactly no feather.”
“Are you two crazy?” Jordan demanded. “Anybody see you and you’ll be in here with me.” He took the two ropes, paused a moment to make sure Pete was still snoring, then tied them securely to the bars. As he worked feverishly with the knots, he glanced back at Hattie’s grinning face. “What are those streaks on your face?”
Hattie’s expression turned to one of surprise, disappointed that he had to ask. “War paint,” she crowed. “Me and Maggie dressed up like Injuns, in case somebody saw us.”
“Dammit.” Maggie’s voice came up from beneath the window. “Hurry up with them knots. I can’t hold you much longer.”
In the next instant, Hattie began to waver back and forth. Then suddenly, she dropped out of sight, and Jordan could hear the sounds of hushed giggling from the ground behind the jail. “Are you all right?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Yeah, we’re all right,” came back to him. He couldn’t tell if it was Hattie or Maggie who answered. “Did you get those ropes tied?” When he replied that he had, Maggie called out quietly, “All right, Polly, let ’em go.”
The ropes went taut as Maggie’s team of mules braced against the load. Jordan stepped back from the window. There was no sign of anything giving for a few seconds. He could plainly hear the women ordering the mules to pull, and he marveled that Pete could sleep through the noise. The only indication that the window was under stress was a steady creaking of the green pine lumber. Outside, Maggie exhorted her mules to work harder. The window resisted for a full five minutes before surrendering to Maggie’s determined team. Suddenly, there was a loud crack like that of a bullwhip, followed by the helpless protests of cracking wood. Amid a clamor of snapping, creaking pine, and the reluctant shriek of nails pulled from the planks, the window frame was finally torn free. It was a racket Jordan was certain could be heard halfway up the street. It was certainly enough to arouse Pete Blankenship from his slumber.
Jordan could hear Pete’s confused mumbling on the other side of his cell door, and knew there would be brief seconds before the big deputy came to investigate. He went quickly to the gaping hole where the window had been, and urged the women to
flee. “I’ll catch up,” he promised.
“By the crick, back of the house,” Maggie whispered hurriedly as the three jail breakers disappeared in the shadows of the alley.
Jordan moved back to flatten himself against the wall beside the door just as Pete lifted the heavy bar that secured it. Even in his confusion, Pete was cautious. He opened the cell door wide, and paused to take a look before rushing in. His eye immediately settled upon the open hole where a window should have been, and he charged into the cell. Jordan stuck his foot out and tripped him, sending the charging brute sprawling headlong onto the plank floor. The rifle he held went sliding across the planks. Jordan was quick to retrieve it. Pete scrambled to get up, but Jordan had the rifle trained on him by the time he was on his feet.
“All right, Pete, you do like I tell you, and you won’t get a bullet in your gut.”
The huge bully growled in reply, “You won’t git away with this, you son of a bitch. Who helped you tear out that window?”
“I don’t need any help breakin’ outta this chicken coop,” Jordan replied with a thin smile. “Now, I’d love to stand around here and discuss it, but I’ve got to be on my way.” He motioned toward the door with the rifle. “Now move. I want you in that other cell.”
Pete was not a man to be easily cowed. “To hell with you,” he snapped defiantly. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He stood his ground.
“Have it your way,” Jordan replied indifferently. “It’s easier for me this way.” He raised the rifle, taking dead aim at Pete’s head.
“All right, dammit!” Pete blurted out, his bluff called. “I’m goin’.” It wasn’t worth the gamble. Jordan Gray had killed before, and Pete knew it. He turned and walked out the door into the office, then went obediently to the other cell.
Jordan followed cautiously, the rifle held ready. He was not willing to believe Pete was completely subdued. The man was an obvious bully, and was bound to make an attempt before meekly submitting. Just as Jordan had anticipated, Pete was not ready to admit defeat. As he started to pass through the doorway to the cell, he made his move. Suddenly whirling around, he aimed a huge fist at Jordan’s head, but the big man was not quick enough. Jordan easily avoided the wild haymaker, and rewarded Pete with a solid thump of the rifle barrel against the side of his head. Stunned, but still on his feet, Pete wobbled drunkenly as Jordan shoved him into the cell and closed the door. While he inserted the timber that served as a bar for the door, he reminded Pete, “I could just as easily have killed you if I was the murderer you people think I am. Remember that.”
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