Deception Creek

by Ned Oaks

  The trees were blanketed in darkness. The shooter was up there, hiding and no doubt watching. He must have seen where Burton went after jumping off the falling horse. The moonlight illuminated the area where Burton crouched, but not the hillside opposite him. Burton remained motionless, waiting to see if the shooter would expose himself.

  And then he did.

  A shot rang out from the hillside, a little to Burton’s left. He saw the brief flicker from the end of the barrel as the shooter fired, revealing his position. The bullet hit the tree a few feet above Burton’s head, sending bark and woodchips raining down on his hat. He leapt suddenly to his right, raising his pistol and firing three rapid shots toward the location from which the bullet had come.

  He heard the sound of sudden, desperate scurrying in the trees where he had fired. The shooter was on the move. Burton knew he hadn’t hit him, but evidently he had scared him. The shooter hadn’t expected Burton to see the rifle flame and respond so quickly and accurately.

  Burton jumped up the embankment and ran past the body of his dead horse. He darted across the road into the trees below the spot where the shooter had launched his ambush. He paused for a moment, listening. He could still hear someone rushing through the foliage above him.

  The hunter was now the prey. Burton smiled thinly and continued his pursuit, ignoring the branches that slapped against his face and spectacles.

  The shooter had crested the hill and started to descend on the other side. Burton wasn’t far behind, but the shooter’s lead was sufficient. By the time Burton began making his way down the slope, his quarry had made it to his horse and mounted. Burton could hear the agitated animal’s hoofs somewhere below in the trees, moving quickly away on some forest trail. Almost breathless, Burton put his gun back in its holster and paused to lean against a tree. His pulse was pounding and sweat poured down his face.

  After a few minutes, he climbed back over the hill and unhitched the saddle on his dead horse. The thick, slippery mud enabled him to push the horse’s corpse over the edge of the road into the ravine below. He slung his saddle over his shoulder and began the long walk home.

  It was nearly two in the morning when Burton reached his house. A lantern glowed inside behind the curtains that had been pulled over every window. Annie had waited up for him, as he knew she would.

  He tapped on the door, which he knew would be locked. A curtain rustled briefly in a nearby window and then Annie opened the door. He could see a bulge in the pocket of her sweater and knew she was keeping his other Navy Colt close at hand. With the Phantom on the loose, she wasn’t going to be caught unawares. Fourteen years as a lawman’s wife had taught her that.

  ‘I didn’t hear you put your horse in the stable,’ she said, a look of concern crossing her face.

  ‘Someone shot my horse out from under me out near Deception Creek,’ he said, closing the door and lowering the plank across it. ‘Damn near crushed my leg when it fell.’

  It was warm in the cabin. He removed his sheepskin and hat and hung them up. He put his arm around Annie and they walked over to the couch. Burton sat down with a groan.

  ‘I’ve been walking damn near four hours,’ he said.

  ‘Who shot your horse?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I have no idea. But whoever it was, he was shooting to kill. I got off a few shots and must have come real close to his position, because he ran out of there in a hurry.’ He leaned forward and removed his boots.

  ‘What were you doing out at Deception Creek?’

  ‘Saw someone at the town meeting who made me suspicious.’ He turned toward her. ‘You remember Buck Dodge?’

  She nodded. ‘Haven’t seen him in years, though. He must be pretty old by now.’

  ‘He’s dead now. Died a little while before we moved back. Anyway, he left his property to his nephew. Kid name of Emerson. I didn’t know who he was until Maynard told me. He was standing at the back of the meeting tonight, looking at Maynard like he wanted to slit his throat.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t know. I asked Maynard if he knew why, and he didn’t know, either. This Emerson Dodge skipped out real quick at the end of the meeting. I decided to ride out to his property and look around. There was light in the cabin but I didn’t see anyone moving around in there. I left after a while and had only gone a mile or two when someone started shooting from the trees up on a hill.’

  ‘Was it this . . . Emerson Dodge?’

  ‘I think it’s a distinct possibility.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Burton was quiet for a moment, considering the question.

  ‘I’m going to meet with Maynard tomorrow morning,’ he said slowly. ‘We’re going to take a closer look at Emerson Dodge. Maybe even pay him a visit.’

  Burton’s exhaustion was such that Annie let him sleep in late the next morning. She was reading in the living room when she saw the rider burst out of the trees across the yard and move toward the house at a very rapid pace. She got a good look at him when he finally halted in front of the porch. He was a big man, rawboned and strong, somewhere in his late fifties. She recognized him as Hank Kirby, a local rancher, and opened the door.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Kirby,’ she said. She didn’t want to sound too cheerful because she could tell that it wasn’t good news that brought him to her front door.

  Kirby removed his hat. His lined face was somber.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Burton,’ he said quietly. ‘Is Mr Burton around?’

  ‘I was just getting ready to wake him up,’ she replied. ‘Would you like to come in and have a cup of coffee?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, ma’am. But I’m afraid it’s rather urgent.’

  ‘I’ll get Ed right away,’ she said. She moved aside to let Kirby in. ‘Please at least come in out of the cold.’

  Kirby stepped in and Annie closed the door. He stood awkwardly as she hurried down the hallway to the bedroom. Burton was snoring softly when she came in and shook him.

  ‘Ed,’ she said. ‘Wake up. Something’s happened.’

  Burton’s eyes were open almost instantly. He reached for his glasses on the night table and slipped them on.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Hank Kirby is here to see you.’

  ‘Hank Kirby?’

  ‘Yes. He looks real concerned. I think the Phantom might have struck again.’

  Burton was already sitting up and looking for his pants before she had finished her last sentence. She returned to the living room as he dressed.

  ‘Mr Kirby, he’ll be right out.’

  Kirby nodded in thanks. ‘Much obliged, ma’am.’

  Burton came out of the room about a minute later. He reached out and shook Kirby’s hand.

  ‘Hank, how can I help you?’ he asked.

  Kirby looked nervously toward Annie, as if he didn’t feel comfortable discussing the subject in front of a woman. Burton looked from Kirby to Annie, then back to Kirby.

  ‘You can speak in front of Annie. She’s heard about a lot of ugly cases.’

  ‘All right then,’ Kirby said. ‘The Phantom did it again last night. It’s real bad.’ Kirby’s eyes flicked toward Annie and then met Burton’s glance. ‘He killed them this time. Killed them both.’

  The blood drained from Ed Burton’s face. ‘Who was it?’ he asked.

  ‘Bob and Cindy Ballard.’

  Burton reached for his coat and hat. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. He walked over and gave Annie a kiss as he shrugged into his sheepskin. ‘Don’t know when I’ll be back.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ she said, sitting back down on the couch. ‘Just make sure to eat.’

  It was about a twenty-five minute ride from Burton’s front porch to the Ballard place. Burton saddled and rode one of the three horses he still owned, a large, powerful chestnut. Kirby filled Burton in on the way there.

  ‘Cindy’s ma came over this morning. The front door was open when she got there
. She found Bob and Cindy in their bed.’ Kirby swallowed, as if trying to get rid of an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Burton knew the rancher was seeing the image of the dead couple in his mind. ‘They both were tied up. Had their heads . . . bashed in.’ He shook his head slightly. ‘Never seen anything like it. Blood everywhere. I had to take Cindy’s ma back home, she was so hysterical. Hell, I practically was, too. On the inside anyway.’

  Burton’s mind turned to the night before. He was almost sure that it was Emerson Dodge who had taken those shots at him. Was Dodge the Phantom? Had he gone out later, after trying to kill Burton, and killed the Ballards?

  Burton put these questions in the back of his mind as he and Kirby rode into the Ballards’ yard.

  ‘I live right through those trees,’ Kirby said, gesturing behind the house. ‘I heard Cindy’s ma come out that house screaming like nobody’s business. After I saw what happened, I went and got Maynard. He asked me to fetch you.’

  They stopped near the front door and tied their horses to the hitching post. Maynard Blayloch stepped out of the house on to the porch. His face showed fatigue and depression.

  ‘Morning, Mr Burton. I guess Hank gave you the details.’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘Well, come on in. Let me tell you, though – it ain’t pretty.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Burton steadily.

  Blayloch led the way into the small cabin. Sunlight made the interior bright, but there was a dark, forbidding feeling in the air. Burton had encountered that feeling before on certain murder cases.

  They entered the bedroom and Burton was confronted with the bodies of Bob and Cindy Ballard. Blayloch stepped back to a corner of the room and let his colleague take in the scene.

  Undoubtedly, this was the work of the Phantom. The man and woman were tied extremely tightly with ropes at both their wrists and ankles. Burton stepped toward the bed and knelt to get a closer look. He had never seen a knot like that before – it was a fancy knot, and clearly a complicated one, in a diamond shape. The hands and feet of both the man and the woman were black from prolonged lack of circulation. Given the tightness of the knots, he guessed their hands had already turned dark purple by the time the killer ended their lives.

  Burton rose and stepped back. He had been so interested in the bindings that only now did he take in the full picture. Blood covered most of the wall over the headboard. The blood spatter was mixed with chunks of brain matter and small bits of bone and hair. On the floor near Burton were five or six small dishes, three of which were broken.

  He looked down at their heads. The back of both their skulls had been smashed horrifically. Their heads were literally caved in. Cindy Ballard was naked, her face obscured by her long, blood-soaked hair. Bob Ballard was in his underwear. His eyes were open, staring into oblivion.

  Blayloch sniffed loudly and gestured to the floor on the other side of the bed from Burton.

  ‘He used this to kill them,’ he explained.

  Burton stepped around the bed and looked to the floor. There he saw a large piece of chopped firewood, covered in blood and brains. His stomach turned.

  ‘He did it, just like you said he would,’ noted Blayloch.

  ‘What’s that?’ Burton asked, still distracted by the murder weapon.

  ‘He’s killing them now. He’s not satisfied with just rape anymore.’

  Burton let out a heavy sigh. ‘He knew that patrols were starting tonight.’ He gestured back down the hallway. ‘Let’s go out front and talk. I’ve seen enough.’

  The sun was in their eyes as they stepped out into the yard. Blayloch turned to Kirby.

  ‘Hank – do you think you could ride out to Bob’s brother’s place and let him know?’

  Without hesitating, Kirby put a boot in a stirrup and mounted his horse. ‘I’ll take care of that, Maynard.’ He rode across the yard and disappeared into the trees.

  Blayloch looked at Burton and said, ‘Good man, Hank Kirby.’

  Burton nodded sincerely. Blayloch took a deep breath and rubbed his hand down his unshaven face, pawing it out of shape. The bags under his eyes were pronounced.

  ‘Well, this is a hell of a thing, ain’t it?’ he asked Burton. He took off his hat and scratched at the back of his head.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Burton deliberately. ‘No question about that.’

  ‘I guess the only thing we can do right now is hope the nightly patrols either smoke him out or make him scared to try it again.’

  Burton was silent for a spell, looking off into the grass.

  ‘I reckon you’re right, Maynard,’ he said. ‘This feller is smart, but he’s also got a lot of sand. I don’t think he’s going to stop because of the patrols. If anything, that’ll probably provoke him – make him want to show how smart he is, and how stupid we are. That’s when he’ll make a mistake.’

  Blayloch looked up. ‘You think so?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fairly sure of it. This is some sort of strange obsession for him. He’s got something to prove now.’

  ‘To who?’

  Burton shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Maybe the law, maybe himself.’ He glanced at Blayloch. ‘I have to tell you what happened last night after the meeting.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Blayloch asked eagerly.

  ‘I went out and took a look at Buck Dodge’s old place.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yep. The lamp was lit and the chimney was smoking, but I didn’t see anybody in there, and I was watching the place for more than an hour.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘I ended up leaving Deception Creek and had gone a couple miles back toward Oakridge when some bushwhacker shot at me with a rifle. He killed my horse.’

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ Blayloch said, obviously alarmed.

  ‘He wasn’t out to scare me,’ Burton said. ‘He was out to kill me. I got some shots off at him and scared him away. Chased him up the hill but he had a head start on me and got to his horse before I could catch him, or get a look at him.’

  Blayloch’s eyes were wide. ‘You think it was Emerson Dodge?’ he asked.

  ‘Can’t say for sure, of course,’ Burton said. ‘But I can’t think of anyone else it could be.’

  ‘We can go have a word with him after Hank gets back. I’m going to talk to Bob’s brother and see that everything gets taken care of here.’ He glanced back toward the open front door of the house. ‘Damn shame,’ he said sadly. ‘Bob and Cindy were good people. Yeah, Bob was a bit of a loudmouth and drank too much, but he wasn’t a bad feller.’ He squinted in the sun. ‘You remember what he said at the town meeting last night?’

  Burton frowned. ‘What’s that? He was there?’

  ‘Yeah, sure he was,’ Blayloch said. ‘He’s the one who stood up and said he’d like to see the Phantom try to rape his wife. He said he’d kill him rather than submit.’

  The hair stood up on the back of Burton’s neck. ‘That was Bob Ballard?’

  ‘Sure was.’

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Burton said. ‘Didn’t recognize him in . . . that state. So he was there.’

  ‘Yeah, you put him in his place, remember?’

  ‘No, no,’ Burton said impatiently. ‘The Phantom. He was there, at the meeting.’

  Blayloch looked slightly surprised, as if he had thought the Ballards had been chosen randomly. ‘Hmmm,’ he said. ‘I guess he was.’

  ‘He took Bob Ballard’s big talk as a challenge,’ Burton remarked. ‘And he decided to take the challenge.’

  ‘I’ll be damned!’ Blayloch said again.

  They didn’t speak for a while, both lost in thought. When Ballard’s brother finally returned with Hank Kirby, Blayloch had the unpleasant task of explaining the situation to him. Mike Bonham took the information as stoically as Burton could imagine, although the strain and horror were etched across the young man’s face. Eventually other family members began to arrive, and then some neighbors came over to help as best they could.

  An
hour later, Burton and Blayloch rode out of the Ballards’ yard. They headed toward Emerson Dodge’s place.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When they reached Deception Creek, Ed Burton and Maynard Blayloch turned left off the main road and began riding toward the Dodge property.

  ‘My pa was friends with Buck Dodge,’ Burton said.

  ‘Mine, too.’

  The elder Dodge had been a fixture in the Oakridge area for decades before his death the year before.

  ‘They used to go hunting together in those hills there beyond the edge of the homestead,’ Blayloch noted. He pointed to the misty peaks in the distance. ‘Ever been out there?’

  Burton shook his head.

  ‘There are a couple of caves up there. A man could live in them. We used to stay three or four days up there.’

  When Burton and Blayloch halted in Emerson Dodge’s yard, they noticed the front door of his cabin was wide open. They dismounted and picketed their horses. They heard some kind of activity going on behind the house and were about to walk back and take a look when the sounds ceased and Dodge came around the corner.

  He was covered in blood, from head to toe. Burton and Blayloch stopped in their tracks, Blayloch’s hand reaching down toward the holster on his hip. Burton’s hand didn’t move.

  ‘You stop right there, Emerson,’ Blayloch said. ‘Put your hands up.’

  Dodge stopped and raised his hands. He glared at the two men standing before him.

  ‘You got a reason to be here?’ he snarled.

  ‘You got a reason for being covered in blood like that?’ Burton retorted.

  ‘What’s it to you?’ Dodge said.

  ‘We found two bodies in a cabin this morning,’ Burton said. ‘Their heads were crushed. It was pretty bloody, as you can imagine.’

  Dodge sneered. ‘And you think I did it?’ He snorted with contempt.

  ‘Answer the question,’ Blayloch said. ‘Why you got all that blood on you?’