Deception Creek

by Ned Oaks

  Kirby sat back in the saddle and looked at the trees on the incline leading up to the cave.

  ‘If we send a few men up from the side here, the others can cover them from a little further down the trail.’ He pointed to the cave and the heads of all the posse members turned to look with him. ‘If someone’s in the cave and tries to get a shot off at us, they’d be exposed to gunfire. That’s why I said I don’t think they’ll choose to hide in this one – the Dodge boys know this terrain and they know which caves will work in a shootout and which won’t. We have to make sure, though.’

  Burton chose Kirby and the Thompson brothers to make the approach up the incline. They waited while Burton, Tim Beach, and Frank O’Rourke moved into position to give them cover.

  Beach and O’Rourke rode past Burton. All three men dismounted and moved into the trees below the cave. Rifles in hand, they each had an unobstructed view of the cave opening. Burton was closest to Kirby and the Thompsons. He signaled to Kirby to proceed.

  The men by the trail watched as their three fellow posse members picketed their horses in the trees and began to climb the incline to the mouth of the cave. O’Rourke had his Winchester fixed on the entrance, while Beach and Burton stood by alertly, their rifles at the ready.

  Kirby and the Thompson brothers reached the rock wall to the right of the cave. All three had their pistols in their hands, ready for the worst. They crept closer to the edge of the entrance and paused, listening intently. Apart from the steady but light rain and the wind moving through the trees, there was only silence for several seconds.

  Then Kirby stiffened and held up a hand. He had heard something from inside the cave. Burton’s eyes moved to Otis and Martin Thompson. Their faces were tense. Burton knew they had heard something in the cave, too.

  Kirby communicated something to the brothers with his eyes and the Thompsons nodded. After another brief pause, Kirby suddenly pivoted around to the opening of the cave and dropped down into a crouching position, his pistol extended toward the shadows. Burton was prepared to hear gunfire. He looked to the other men on the trail with him and realized that they, too, were expecting a shootout.

  Had the Dodge brothers really taken refuge in the one cave that, according to Hank Kirby, offered them the least protection in the event of an attack? Burton watched the crouching form of Hank Kirby. After a moment, Kirby rose, muttered something to the Thompson brothers, and then stepped into the cave.

  ‘What in the hell?’ Burton asked quietly.

  Seconds later, Kirby emerged, leading a horse by its reins. He called down to Burton: ‘I think you better come up here. I found Dalton Dodge.’

  Burton looked at O’Rourke and Beach. ‘You men stay in position.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Beach. O’Rourke nodded, his rifle still gripped firmly in his hands although no longer pointed toward the cave. His eyes were scanning the ridges further along the trail.

  Burton climbed up the incline through the trees. When he reached the ledge, he approached Kirby and looked into the cave. Although there was only a little illumination inside from the limited sunlight, he could see well enough. Inside he espied a young man whom he didn’t recognize lying on the floor of the cave. The man’s head rested on a roll of blankets, and another blanket covered his body. A pistol lay on the ground not far from his hand, but he made no attempt to reach for it. His eyes were closed and he almost appeared to be dead, with skin so pale it seemed as if all the blood had been drained from his body. But Burton could see that the man’s chest was moving ever so slightly. He was alive – at least for now.

  ‘That’s Dalton Dodge,’ said Kirby. He handed the reins of the horse off to Martin Thompson, who led the animal down to the trees and picketed it there.

  Burton leaned his rifle against the wall of the cave. He pulled his Navy Colt from its holster and walked over to where Dalton Dodge lay. He leaned over quickly and picked up the man’s pistol from the blanket. He put it in his waistband and slipped his own gun back into the holster, then nudged Dodge with the toe of his boot.

  ‘Dodge,’ he said, loudly and firmly. He nudged him again. ‘Dalton Dodge!’

  The wounded man coughed hideously and opened his eyes, which took in both Burton and Kirby without seeming to focus. He coughed again. Sweat had broken out on his forehead.

  ‘You Dalton Dodge?’ Burton asked.

  The man on the ground flicked his eyes up to Burton’s face.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That’s my name.’

  ‘You’re under arrest for attempting to murder the deputy sheriff of Oakridge,’ Burton informed him. ‘Where’s your brother?’

  ‘How the hell would I know?’ Dodge asked. ‘If you look hard enough, maybe you’ll find him.’

  Burton leaned over and ripped the blanket off him. Blood from two bullet wounds had seeped through his shirt and was beginning to puddle on the ground beside him.

  ‘You’re going to die soon,’ said Burton, with no trace of pity in his voice. ‘If you want your brother to have a fair trial for his crimes, then you need to tell us what we want to know.’

  Dodge blinked and a disdainful smirk formed on his lips. ‘Hell, I don’t care what you do with Emerson,’ he said. ‘He left me here.’ He glanced at Kirby. ‘His own brother! Can you believe that?’

  He laughed bitterly. Burton suspected that, had the situation been reversed, Dalton would have done the same thing to Emerson. He had tangled with a lot of bad men in his life, and he knew a killer when he saw one. Dalton Dodge was a killer, Burton thought. Just like his brother.

  ‘Is he coming back?’ Burton asked.

  ‘Highly doubtful,’ sneered Dodge. ‘Let’s put it that way.’ He had possessed an innate dislike for lawmen his entire life, and finding himself perched on the threshold of death only intensified that sentiment.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Burton concluded. He clearly wasn’t going to acquire any useful information from the dying man. He turned to Kirby. ‘Get the rest of the men ready. We’ll head out presently.’

  Kirby nodded and exited the cave.

  Burton took a deep breath and looked back at Dalton Dodge.

  ‘We’re going to catch your brother,’ he said flatly. ‘If you’re still alive when we come back this way then we’ll take you to Oakridge and you can stand trial.’ He shot a sharp glance at the blood stains on Dodge’s shirt. ‘I don’t think you’ll be around for that, though.’ He turned back to the cave entrance.

  ‘Hey!’ screamed the man on the ground. ‘You can’t leave me like this! I’m entitled to a fair trial! I’ll bleed to death in here!’

  Burton looked at Dodge with a thin smile. ‘I suspect that’s a more peaceful death than you deserve,’ he said, then turned and walked out of the cave. He heard Dalton Dodge yelling for help as he descended the incline and mounted his horse.

  ‘Emerson Dodge left his brother behind,’ he told the posse. ‘He’s got quite a head start, so we’re going to have to ride hard.’

  He touched spurs to his horse’s flanks and started back down the trail, the other men following closely behind.

  Apart from hoof tracks that disappeared as the mud gave way to rockier ground, the posse saw no sign of Emerson Dodge for the rest of the day. They checked the caves further down the valley, approaching cautiously in each case, but he was nowhere to be found.

  ‘He’s trying to make his way south, out of the mountains,’ Burton ventured.

  Hank Kirby agreed. ‘If he was going to try to hold us off, the caves would have been the best place to do it. Without food, though, he won’t get far.’

  Burton called a halt to the pursuit not long after dusk. The men and their animals were fatigued. They had had only a quick meal of jerky and hard tack in the saddle since that morning. They moved into the brush off the side of the trail and made camp for the night beneath a ledge of rock. O’Rourke got a fire going and, removing a bag of coffee from his saddle-bag, started boiling water. After the coffee was ready, he got out a skillet and
began cooking bacon and beans.

  In the firelight, Burton looked around at the faces of the other men. He was grateful that the overhanging outcropping of rock sheltered them from the rain. The smell of hot food was already raising his spirits, and he knew it would raise the spirits of the rest of the posse, too.

  O’Rourke distributed tin cups among the men and poured the coffee. It was hot and bitter, but Burton didn’t mind. He watched the men as they removed their horses’ saddles and brushed the animals down.

  Tim Beach was standing nearby, fashioning a cigarette. He licked it and poked it between his lips, then snapped a match alight with his thumb, held it to the cigarette, and inhaled deeply. Smoke slithered out of his nostrils as he stared into the fire.

  ‘I can take first watch tonight, Mr Burton,’ he said. ‘I always have a hard time falling asleep at night as it is.’

  ‘That works for me,’ Burton confirmed.

  After a few minutes, O’Rourke removed tin plates and forks from a bulging saddle-bag. He had made a lot of food and doled out generous portions to the men, who accepted their plates eagerly. Several minutes passed without anyone uttering a word.

  O’Rourke finished his meal and reached into his jacket, from which he removed a flask.

  ‘Anyone in the mood for some libations?’ he asked.

  With the exception of Burton and Kirby, the men partook, and did so enthusiastically. Because the flask wasn’t very large, Burton wasn’t worried about the men imbibing to excess. They passed it around, some pouring the whiskey into their coffee, some taking a slug directly from the flask. The alcohol lifted the collective mood nearly as much as the food had.

  Maybe more, Burton thought with a quiet chuckle. He decided to divide up the watches now so that the men could go to sleep as soon as possible. They would all be rising early in the morning and Burton had no doubt that tomorrow would be a long day, whether they caught up with Emerson Dodge or not.

  ‘We’ll do two-hour watches tonight,’ he announced.

  The men followed his words carefully.

  ‘Tim Beach here has volunteered to take the first watch. Anyone want to volunteer for the second?’

  Otis Thompson held up his hand and Burton nodded in acknowledgement.

  ‘How about the third watch?’

  Martin Thompson put his hand up at the same time as O’Rourke. Burton chose Thompson to relieve his brother.

  ‘I’ll take the first watch tomorrow night,’ said Burton. ‘Hank and Frank can take the other two. I encourage y’all to get to sleep as soon you can. We’re going to need it.’

  There was no argument from the tired horsemen. They untied their bed rolls from behind their saddles and soon were sleeping deeply in various places around the fire. Beach periodically checked the fire, which he maintained at a low burn. He spent the rest of his watch perched atop a nearby boulder that afforded him an expansive view of the surrounding area. Anyone who attempted to sneak up on the sleeping posse would be spotted.

  A little over two hours later, Beach awakened Otis Thompson, who took his place on the boulder. The rain began to fall steadily shortly after Thompson assumed the watch. He walked back to the camp and put his slicker on. Nothing stirred in the shadowy mountain forests around him. This isolated area had only rarely been traversed by humans.

  Martin Thompson was already wide awake when his brother went to shake him. He assumed the watch and kept a keen eye out until dawn spread its varied hues across the sky. It wasn’t long before O’Rourke rolled out of his blankets and began boiling coffee. The aroma roused the other men and they quickly got out of their bedrolls and stood around the fire. Soon they were drinking coffee again.

  Martin Thompson climbed down off the boulder and rejoined the rest of the posse. He accepted a tin cup filled with coffee and took a large gulp from it, seemingly oblivious to the liquid’s scalding heat.

  They broke camp shortly thereafter and continued up the trail. They soon found Dodge’s tracks as the ground became muddy; in his haste to outrun the posse he had made no attempt to hide his trail. For Burton, this only confirmed Kirby’s earlier observation that Dodge’s plan now was to escape through the mountains to the south.

  ‘Hank, how easy will it be for him to get through those mountains south of here?’ Burton asked.

  Kirby’s face indicated that Dodge’s task was all but impossible.

  ‘From here to the southern edge of the range, there’s nothing but dead-end gullies and mountain passes that lead nowhere. He might have more familiarity with these mountains than most of the people in Oakridge, but I doubt he’s spent much time all the way down here. He and his pa used to stay in those caves and use that as a base for their hunting. They didn’t come all the way out here. He very well could get lost if he’s not careful, particularly since he’s not prepared for an extended stay in the wilderness. If he strays from the trail here and makes one wrong turn up in the mountains, he might never find his way out.’

  Burton wouldn’t have lost any sleep at the thought of Dodge getting lost in the hills and dying a lonely death, but he desperately wanted to capture the man alive and take him back to Oakridge for trial.

  These were his thoughts as he led the posse down a small rise and around a cluster of trees. Suddenly he yanked his horse’s reins and brought the animal to a halt. The other men followed suit almost instantly. Kirby heeled his horse forward and came up beside Burton.

  ‘What is it, Mr Burton?’ he asked.

  Burton raised a hand and pointed down to the edge of the timber, roughly fifty yards from where his men sat in their saddles. Kirby’s face tightened when he saw what Burton had indicated.

  Standing on a small grassy embankment between the trail and the rim of the trees was Emerson Dodge’s horse.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Burton turned and waved the men off the trail into the trees. They moved several yards into the firs and dismounted, holding their horses by the reins.

  ‘Dodge’s horse is just up ahead,’ said Burton quietly as he stepped down from the saddle.

  ‘Is he on it?’ asked Beach.

  Burton shook his head. ‘You men stand by here,’ he said. ‘Hank, come with me.’

  Burton and Kirby drew their weapons and moved cautiously through the trees until they were able to see Dodge’s horse again. It hadn’t moved, and was munching the wet grass on the embankment.

  The men watched the horse for a few minutes. Only when it took a stumbling step forward toward the trees did they see why it had been left alone on the trail. It was holding its front left leg at an awkward, unnatural angle, and its limp when it attempted to walk was painful to watch. The horse had hurt itself, and badly. That much was evident to both Burton and Kirby.

  ‘He rode it hard, that’s for sure,’ Kirby said. ‘Someone needs to put it out of its misery.’

  ‘He didn’t want to give away his position with a gunshot,’ Burton suggested. ‘Either that, or he doesn’t care if his horse suffers.’

  ‘Probably both,’ Kirby said.

  Burton’s eyes scanned the trees up ahead near where the horse was standing. He saw no sign of Emerson Dodge. He looked across the trail into the trees on the left, but again he saw nothing.

  ‘He might be hiding in the forest somewhere down the trail,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he’s around here. He wants to stay on the move.’ He looked toward Dodge’s horse. ‘I’m going to take care of that.’

  He moved quickly out of the trees and walked toward the horse until he was five feet from it. The animal was too tired and in too much pain to try to run from Burton. It was standing still, its lame leg held aloft, when Burton removed his Navy Colt from its holster and fired one shot through its right eye. The sound of the shot reverberated through the trees and up the side of the surrounding mountains. The animal fell dead where it stood.

  Burton walked back to where the men were standing and divided the posse in two, sending the Thompson brothers and O’Rourke into the trees across
the trail. They were to spread out and move to the south, searching for Dodge in the forest, while Burton, Kirby, and Beach searched the east side of the trail. Burton stayed close to the edge of the trees, while Kirby moved into the forest about fifty yards to Burton’s right. Beach moved a few dozen yards to the right of Kirby. They moved forward at a slow but steady pace, leading their horses by the reins as they did so.

  The posse had advanced several hundred feet when O’Rourke called for them to halt. They stopped in place, silently watching him approach a downed tree. There was ample room for someone to hide behind it. Martin Thompson moved forward and took cover behind a large maple; from where he stood, he could cover O’Rourke. O’Rourke hesitated for a moment and then sprang from behind the gnarled roots, his pistol extended. He found nothing and signaled to Thompson. The posse resumed their dogged southward tracking.

  They had gone about a mile when a shot rang out. The men froze at first, confused about the direction from which the shot had come, then quickly dropped their horses’ reins and took cover. The horses darted away through the woods, the sound of the shot echoing behind them for several seconds.

  ‘That’s far enough!’ a voice bellowed.

  Burton instantly recognized it as that of Emerson Dodge. It came from somewhere in the trees, up ahead to the right.

  ‘I have all of you sons of bitches covered! Don’t try anything funny.’

  Burton’s pulse pounded in his ears. Dodge was making his last stand; he wouldn’t ever be more dangerous than he was at this moment. Burton had hoped they might be able to take him by surprise, but that was out of the question now.

  So be it, Burton thought. He examined his surroundings and concluded that Dodge was probably lying about having the entire posse covered from his vantage point. They were spread out too far in the trees on both sides of the trail for Dodge to have them all pinned down.

  He looked toward Hank Kirby, who had taken cover behind a giant fir tree over to Burton’s right and was hidden from view. Burton looked across the trail and had a clear view of Otis Thompson sitting with his back against a tree, his rifle resting in the crook of his arm.