Deception Creek

by Ned Oaks

  A drizzling rain began to pour. Burton knelt and put his arms around Blayloch’s torso, taking care not to touch his wound. He lifted the man’s upper body and pulled him around the woodpile and through the back door into the kitchen of Dodge’s cabin. The rain was coming down hard by the time he laid him on the floor.

  Burton felt gently around the wound through the hole in Blayloch’s sheepskin coat. The blood seemed to have congealed to a certain extent. Perhaps the injury wasn’t as bad as it had first appeared, Burton thought. He leaned close to Blayloch’s left ear and spoke.

  ‘Maynard, can you hear me?’ he asked in a loud voice. ‘It’s Ed Burton. Can you hear what I’m saying?’ There was no response; the only sound was the raindrops hitting the cabin. They made dull thumping noises against the windows.

  Burton felt around on a shelf above the stove and found a lantern, which he lighted and placed on the table. He considered his options, quickly realizing they were limited. Emerson Dodge and his companion were both armed and dangerous, despite the latter’s wounds. They had ridden off toward the rugged and, in some places, impassable mountains to the south. Burton had never been in those mountains, unlike Dodge and, he remembered, Blayloch.

  Solitary pursuit was out of the question. He needed to get help for Blayloch and round up a posse to pursue the men in the mountains. Blayloch’s condition appeared to have stabilized, at least for the time being. His eyes were still closed, but his breathing was even and less shallow than it had been. Had Burton not seen the deputy’s wound, he would almost believe the man was sleeping peacefully rather than grievously injured. He would be safe here while Burton rode into Oakridge and summoned the doctor. There was no way Dodge and his companion would return to Deception Creek after what had just happened.

  Burton rode into Oakridge twenty minutes later. By this time, dawn was creeping across the sky. Burton rode directly to the home of the town’s only physician, whom he roused. It wasn’t long before the doctor was on the road toward Deception Creek and Emerson Dodge’s cabin, accompanied by his teenage son and a shotgun. Burton assured them that the gun wouldn’t be necessary, but he understood their desire to carry protection. Whether Emerson Dodge was the Phantom or not, he was clearly a dangerous and violent man, with no compunction about shooting at lawmen with the intent to kill.

  Burton rode to the telegrapher’s office down the street from the doctor’s home. It was owned and operated by an old man who slept on a cot at the back of the building. Burton woke him and had him send a telegram to Eugene, informing the sheriff there of the situation and of Burton’s intent to form a posse and pursue Dodge.

  The first person Burton considered for the posse was Hank Kirby. The man was tough, knew his way around a gun, and had seen the work of the Phantom first hand. He was respected by everyone in the community. Burton rode from the telegraph office to the Kirby property just outside Oakridge. He wasn’t surprised to find Hank Kirby awake already, sipping coffee and smoking a cigar in a chair on his front porch.

  Kirby rose when he spotted Burton emerge from the trees.

  ‘Morning, Mr Burton,’ he said with what Burton considered excessive deference. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘All hell just broke loose out at Emerson Dodge’s place,’ Burton explained, halting his horse near Kirby’s porch. ‘Maynard’s been shot. The doc’s on his way out there to fetch him. He’s still alive and he’s not bleeding too bad.’

  ‘By God,’ Kirby said. He set his cup down on the railing of the porch and shook his head. ‘Where’s Dodge?’

  ‘He and some other sidewinder blasted their way out of Deception Creek. They headed for the mountains just south of the property. You ever been there?’

  Kirby’s eyes narrowed and he nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ve been there. That’s not a place you want to head into if you don’t know your way around.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking, too,’ Burton said. ‘I’m putting a posse together right now.’

  Kirby raised a hand. ‘Give me a minute or two and I’ll be ready to ride with you.’

  ‘I am much obliged,’ Burton said with a tired grin. The bottoms of his feet were hurting badly and he was exhausted. He looked up to see Ethel Kirby, Hank’s kindly and soft-spoken wife, walk out of the cabin door carrying a cup of coffee. She reached out and offered it to Burton.

  ‘Thought you might be able to use this,’ she said.

  He accepted it with gratitude.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Boy, do I need it!’

  She smiled and turned back into the house. Burton sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping his coffee and trying to ignore the pain in his feet. The beverage had its intended effect very quickly.

  He was surer than ever that the Phantom was Emerson Dodge. Why else had Dodge chosen gunfire rather than talk to him and Blayloch? Dodge’s time in the Oakridge area happened to coincide precisely with last year’s Phantom attacks as well as those from five years before.

  Hank Kirby came out on the porch, buttoning his coat with one hand while he placed his hat firmly on his head with the other.

  ‘I’m going to get my horse and we’ll be on our way,’ he said.

  Burton nodded and finished the last few gulps of his coffee.

  Ten minutes later they rode into Oakridge. Burton was surprised to find three men waiting for them in front of Maynard Blayloch’s office. The largest of them, a huge redheaded fellow named Otis Thompson, waved at Burton and Kirby, although his face was somber.

  ‘Morning, Mr Kirby,’ Thompson said, then looked at Burton. ‘Mr Burton.’

  ‘Morning, gentlemen,’ Burton replied.

  ‘We’re ready to join your posse,’ Thompson explained. ‘My brother and I passed Doctor Rodgers when he was going out to Deception Creek. He told us what happened to Maynard. We got Tim Beach with us’ – he gestured toward the short blond-haired man behind him – ‘and Frank O’Rourke will be here in a few minutes. He’s bringing provisions in case we’re in the mountains for a couple days.’

  Burton was astonished; he had never had a posse materialize without having organized it himself.

  ‘Mr Burton is in charge here,’ Hank Kirby said.

  The three men nodded without hesitation. Otis Thompson met Burton’s eyes.

  ‘Cindy Ballard was my cousin,’ he said, anger in his face. Burton realized then that more than just two people in Oakridge suspected Emerson Dodge of being the Phantom.

  ‘Any of you men familiar with the mountains just south of the Dodge place?’ he queried.

  The Thompson brothers, who were practically twins, shook their heads. Tim Beach nodded.

  ‘Been there once, back when I was a kid. They got caves in those mountains, you know. He might be hiding in one of them.’

  Burton remembered Maynard Blayloch’s comment about the caves in the mountains. ‘Do you know where the caves are?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Beach said. ‘It’s been a long time since I been there.’

  ‘I do,’ Kirby interjected. ‘I know exactly where they are.’

  ‘Good,’ Burton said. He spotted a man riding toward them from the west end of town. The rider’s saddle-bags bulged.

  ‘There’s Frank,’ said Otis Thompson.

  Otis’ brother hadn’t said a word, but Burton thought he looked agreeable enough, and tough as well. He remembered the man’s name was Martin.

  O’Rourke pulled reins a few feet away and nodded in greeting.

  ‘Ready when y’all are,’ he said. ‘Morning, Hank. Morning, Mr Burton.’

  ‘Good morning, Frank,’ Burton said.

  O’Rourke patted one of his saddle-bags. ‘I got enough food in here to last us three or four days,’ he said.

  ‘I reckon that’ll cover it,’ Burton said. ‘Appreciate your help, men. Now let’s head out.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  They ran into Doctor Rodgers and his son about a mile west of Oakridge. The posse moved over to the side of the road to make way for the
wagon. Doctor Rodgers halted the wagon and Burton looked over the side at Maynard Blayloch. The deputy was covered with several blankets. He looked deathly pale and was sweating heavily as he opened his eyes and looked at Burton.

  ‘Maynard, you’re awake!’ Burton said.

  Blayloch attempted a smile. ‘Good to see you, Mr Burton.’

  ‘We got the posse together. You go back to town and we’ll see you again soon. Don’t worry – we’ll get him.’

  Blayloch lifted his head and looked at the men who were riding with Burton.

  ‘Sure wish I was going with you,’ he said plaintively.

  ‘Can’t be helped,’ Burton said. ‘Let the doc take care of you. We’re going to hit the trail.’ He waved at the physician and led the posse away from the wagon toward Deception Creek.

  It was nearly full daylight when they rode into Emerson Dodge’s yard. Although Burton had intended to proceed directly to the mountains, he felt compelled to stop for a moment when he saw that the back door had been left open. They halted between the barn and the cabin and Burton dismounted.

  ‘I want to take a look in the house,’ he said. He handed his reins to Hank Kirby. ‘Be right out.’

  He walked to the back door, trying not to let the men see the pain he was experiencing from his feet. The lantern was still burning brightly in the kitchen when Burton stepped into the house. Now that he had a moment to look around, he found that the place was filthy, with a musty odor in the air.

  Unwashed dishes were piled on the table. He saw some blood on the dirt floor that must have soaked through Maynard Blayloch’s coat. There was nothing else of interest in the kitchen. Burton proceeded into the short hallway and looked into the cabin’s sole bedroom. He stopped short and drew a sharp breath.

  ‘Lord Almighty,’ he said quietly.

  Beside a small, dingy looking bed was a wooden chair. On the seat of the chair was a burlap mask. Burton entered the room and picked up the mask. He noticed the eye holes – and he remembered those predatory eyes that had seemed to be staring at him from the trees outside his house. Now he knew whose eyes those had been. Emerson Dodge was the Phantom. He must have been so scared when Burton and Blayloch showed up at his cabin that he forgot to take his mask with him when he fled.

  Burton retraced his steps through the house and exited out of the back door. He closed it behind him and moved toward his horse, trying in vain to walk in a manner that wouldn’t send shooting pains through his feet. He took his reins from Hank Kirby and held up the mask. All the men looked at it.

  ‘This is the Phantom’s mask,’ Burton announced. He looked at each of the men in turn. ‘I just found it in the bedroom here. Emerson Dodge is the Phantom.’ He lowered the mask and examined it for a moment. ‘He tried to kill me and my wife last night. That’s why Maynard and I came out here.’ He put the mask in his left saddle-bag and mounted. Without another word, he touched spurs and led the men across the pasture toward the mountains.

  It took a little over an hour for the posse to reach the mountains. A merciless rain started to drench them soon after they left Emerson Dodge’s cabin. They removed their slickers from their saddle-bags and pulled their hats down low on their heads.

  A trail snaked up through the trees and disappeared from view around the side of a mountain. The men could see fresh hoof prints in the thick mud ahead of them. They halted at the beginning of the trail and Burton turned to Hank Kirby.

  ‘Hank, you know your way around here. How about you lead the way?’

  Kirby spurred his horse up to the front of the group and pulled reins beside Burton. His eyes followed the tracks up to where they vanished in the trees on the mountainside.

  ‘We’re going to have to be real careful when we get in there,’ he said. ‘The trail leads into a gully after about a quarter mile. They could be on either side of it, ready to ambush us, once we get in there. We’ll have to keep a good eye out.’

  Kirby spurred his horse gently and the animal began to move up the trail. Burton was just behind Kirby, followed by the Thompson brothers, Tim Beach, and Frank O’Rourke, all of whom had removed their rifles from their scabbards and laid them across their thighs in the event of an ambush.

  The rain continued to assault them as they left the level ground behind. The trail skirted the side of the small mountain, then turned south into a wide valley between two larger peaks. The men paused at the top of the trail before following it into the valley. From where they sat in their saddles they had a good view of the terrain below them.

  Burton removed his field glasses from a saddle-bag. The possibility of an ambush was distinct, but only if the two fugitives had decided not to make a run for it. If they were lying in wait somewhere up ahead in the trees, then Burton figured it must be because the injured partner was unable to travel any further.

  He scanned the tree-lined ridges up ahead, searching patiently for any sign of movement or perhaps the glint of sunlight on a rifle barrel. He found nothing after examining the valley for a few minutes.

  ‘All right, let’s get a move on,’ he said finally. ‘Keep those rifles handy.’

  Burton heeled his horse forward, this time taking the lead instead of Hank Kirby. As the leader of the posse, he wanted the men to know he would take all the risks with them. They moved down the narrow trail in a line, maintaining a slow but steady pace. Burton cursed the fog that had settled in the trees and seeped down into the gully. The rain, at least, had diminished, but there was still a persistent drizzle.

  Trees lined both sides of the trail. Burton could still see the tracks left by the fleeing pair. It took the posse nearly an hour to traverse the gully, and their vulnerability to attack made the tension high amongst the men. Burton was relieved when the trail began to twist up and around the side of another mountain, taking them out of the gully.

  He slowed down and let Hank Kirby come up alongside him as the posse began the ascent up the mountain trail.

  ‘They’re hoping to outrun us,’ Burton commented. ‘I don’t think they’ll try an ambush now. They would have had good cover back in that gully. They could have blasted us from both sides.’

  Kirby shifted in the saddle, his lean face reflecting a grim determination.

  ‘We’ll reach the caves in about an hour, maybe an hour and a half.’

  ‘Good,’ Burton said.

  ‘Do they have much in the way of provisions?’ Kirby asked.

  Burton adjusted his spectacles.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘They shot their way out of that cabin and lit out from the barn in a hurry. I don’t think they’d packed their saddle-bags before they ran for it. They weren’t expecting me and Maynard to show up.’

  ‘Well, they can run as hard as they want, but if they don’t have food, there’s no way they’ll make it out of these mountains. If they try to shoot a deer in here, we’ll hear their position. They may just have to surrender.’

  Burton shook his head. ‘That’d be a convenient turn of events, but those boys are desperate. They were out for blood last night.’

  ‘I wonder if that other feller with Emerson ain’t his brother.’

  ‘I wondered that myself. You know his brother?’

  ‘Not really. His name is Dalton. He’d sometimes come visit Buck Dodge along with Emerson and their pa. I think he lives up in Salem.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what we’d heard. Emerson Dodge hasn’t been seen around town for over a week. Maynard heard he was up visiting his brother.’

  ‘A shame things turned out this way. Their uncle wasn’t a bad man. Neither was their pa.’

  ‘You never know what people are capable of. I wonder how Dalton Dodge is mixed up in the Phantom case, if he is.’

  ‘They ever have two attackers when the Phantom struck?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Burton replied. ‘Whatever his involvement with the Phantom is, he was more than willing to come out shooting with his brother. I don’t know how Maynard isn’t dead. I thought he
was a goner for sure when I first saw him go down.’

  Kirby was silent for a minute, then said, ‘You said the Phantom tried to get into your place?’

  ‘Yep. He was lurking in the trees across the yard from the front room. If I hadn’t been stoking the fire, I wouldn’t have seen him. I was able to wake up Annie and get guns in both our hands without him knowing.’ Burton adjusted his hat against the rain. ‘He was coming in through the back door and I took him by surprise. He outran me and must’ve got back to his horse. That gave him plenty of time to get back to the Dodge place.’

  The trail had leveled off, and soon began another short descent into a canyon that was thick with timber. The forested mountainsides loomed above the posse on both sides. Kirby signaled to Burton.

  ‘First of the caves is up here on the right a little ways ahead,’ he said.

  Burton looked in the direction the homesteader had indicated. The fog was thinner there, he observed with some relief. On the far end of a ridge he saw the opening to a large hole in the side of the mountain, partially obscured by the trees around it. There was no sign of life near the opening of the cave.

  ‘The way that cave is situated we should be able to approach it without being shot at,’ Kirby added. ‘I’d be surprised if they was hiding out in that one, though, because there are more caves a few miles down the trail that would give them better cover if they’re expecting to trade fire with us.’

  ‘We’ll have to check it out anyway,’ Burton said.

  ‘That’s what I figured,’ Kirby said with a nod.

  Burton brought the posse to a halt. The men congregated around him, waiting for instructions. Although they had been riding for nearly five hours by now, none of them looked tired. This pleased Burton, who knew they likely had many more hours of riding ahead of them.

  ‘We’re coming up on the first cave,’ he said. ‘Hank, how do you suggest we make our approach?’