Deception Creek

by Ned Oaks

‘I’ll do that,’ Burton said. Annie brought him his other pair of boots and he slipped them on. ‘I’ll be heading out now. You should be getting some food and a visit from the doc real soon.’

  ‘Much obliged,’ Winstan said with a good-natured wave.

  They shook hands again and Burton followed Annie out on to the boardwalk.

  ‘You heading home?’ he asked.

  ‘Not right away. I have to get some things at the store. I’ll be home in a couple hours, I figure.’

  He kissed her on the cheek and helped her up into the buggy.

  ‘I’ll probably be home before you are, then,’ he said. He buttoned his coat. The misty air was the coldest it had been all year, he thought. ‘I’ll get a good fire going.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Get some alcohol and clean up those feet.’

  He promised to do so as they parted ways. He stopped in at the café and arranged to have food sent over for Matt Winstan and Emerson Dodge. When he visited Doctor Rodgers, he learned that Maynard Blayloch was sleeping in the back room and unable to see anyone at the moment.

  ‘He doing all right?’ Burton asked.

  ‘He could be worse,’ said Rodgers. ‘I wasn’t sure he’d survive the first twenty-four hours, but he did. He’s a tough young man.’

  ‘Well, thank you for all you’ve done. We’ve got the man responsible for shooting him. Maynard will be able to see justice served.’

  ‘I heard you found the Phantom’s mask out at Dodge’s cabin.’

  Burton chuckled. ‘Word travels fast here in Oakridge, don’t it?’

  ‘So it’s true?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘I’m just glad y’all found the man responsible,’ Rodgers said. ‘I’ve got two daughters myself, as you know. I wasn’t happy knowing this Phantom character was prowling around at night.’

  ‘I don’t think you have to worry about that anymore,’ Burton said, pushing his hat down on his head and rising to leave. He wanted to ride home and maybe get an hour of sleep before Annie returned.

  Burton asked the doctor to check out Dodge’s wound, then mounted his horse and rode west out of town toward home.

  The next day Maynard Blayloch felt well enough for Burton to visit him. The deputy sheriff was in a bed in the back room of Doctor Rodgers’ house. He sat propped up on some pillows when Burton came into the room.

  Blayloch was much thinner than his usual weight, and his skin looked dry like parchment. But he was alive.

  ‘Maynard, how’re you feeling?’ Burton asked. He patted the lawman on the arm and sat down in a chair near the bed.

  ‘I’ve felt better, I must admit,’ Blayloch said. ‘I’m just glad I’m still alive and kicking. That’s thanks to you, Mr Burton. I won’t forget it.’

  ‘You’d have done the same for me, Maynard.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Blayloch. ‘But that’s not how it played out.’ He exhaled slowly, shaking his head at the memory of that night out at Emerson Dodge’s place. ‘I’m happy you got the bastard. You hear about the bank robberies up in Salem and Portland?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s made quite a name for himself. Left a lot of dead bodies behind, too.’

  ‘Quite a pair, those Dodge boys.’

  ‘You got Dalton pretty good out at the cabin the other night. He didn’t make it very far into the mountains. His brother left him in a cave.’

  ‘Well, I guess it saves us the time and cost of a trial for him. One less person we got to hang.’

  ‘They should have a judge out here within a few days to hold the trial. If Emerson gets sentenced to hang they’ll probably forgo a separate trial for the bank robberies and killings up north.’

  Blayloch’s face assumed a grave cast. ‘Doctor Rodgers told me you found something out at the Dodge cabin.’

  Burton nodded and unbuttoned his sheepskin. He pulled out the Phantom’s mask and tossed it over on to Blayloch’s lap. The mask itself seemed to have a malevolent aura about it, as if it embodied all the rage and violence of the Phantom in an inanimate form.

  The deputy picked it up and looked it over, poking his fingers through the eye holes. He dropped it back on to his lap.

  ‘Evidence don’t get much more conclusive than that,’ he said.

  ‘He killed Tim Beach, too,’ Burton said. ‘I’m sure Frank O’Rourke told you that.’

  ‘Yeah, he did. Damn sorry to hear that.’

  ‘It’s a shame, that’s for sure.’

  Burton put his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. ‘Well, Maynard, I’d better head along. You get some more rest. Let me know if I can help you with anything, or if Annie can.’

  Blayloch raised a hand and smiled.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Burton. I’ll be talking to you soon.’

  Minutes later, Burton rode out of town beneath darkening skies.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Judge George G. Gilman arrived from Eugene five days after the posse returned. Maynard Blayloch, who was on his feet at last, met the judge as the latter dismounted in the street outside the deputy’s office. Gilman was a short, thin man, meticulously dressed despite his muddy boots. He had thick white hair and a bushy white beard that came down to a point beneath his gaunt features. Blayloch figured he was somewhere around seventy years old.

  The old man had chosen to ride alone from Eugene, a few hours to the west, in the cold morning air, but he seemed as fresh as a daisy to Blayloch’s eyes. There was a no-nonsense intensity about the man.

  ‘You must be Deputy Blayloch,’ Gilman said briskly. He didn’t smile.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Blayloch said.

  He put out his hand, and the judge shook it firmly and quickly before releasing it.

  ‘I want to see the prisoner first thing,’ Gilman said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Blayloch answered.

  People tended to use those two words a lot around Judge Gilman.

  Blayloch opened the door to his office and admitted him, then opened the door to the cell block and stepped aside.

  Gilman removed his hat and walked into the passageway, where he stopped before Emerson Dodge’s cell. The prisoner had been dozing, but he awakened and sat up on his cot when he heard the door open.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Gilman demanded.

  ‘Emerson Dodge.’

  ‘You been getting regular meals?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Gilman’s nostrils flared. ‘What?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘Um – yes, sir. Regular meals.’

  ‘You seen your attorney?’

  ‘Yes, sir. This morning.’

  Gilman nodded, satisfied. ‘Fine. Your trial will start as soon as both counselors are prepared to present their cases.’

  Dodge’s mouth opened and he started to say something, but Judge Gilman turned and walked out of the cell block, slamming the door shut behind him.

  A few hours after the judge got to Oakridge, an assistant district attorney arrived on a stage coach. He alighted in front of the café and took his luggage from the driver.

  Oakridge’s sole local attorney had agreed to serve as defense counsel for Emerson Dodge. The two lawyers took several days assembling their cases, taking statements from witnesses, and occasionally visiting a crime scene.

  Five days after the prosecutor’s arrival, all parties were ready to move forward with the trial, which Judge Gilman convened at eight o’clock on a drizzling Monday morning in the large room upstairs from Maynard Blayloch’s office and the jail. A staircase on the side of the building led up to the door of the makeshift court room. A table had been placed at the front of the room for the judge; two small desks faced the table, one for the prosecution and one for the defense. Behind these desks were several rows of chairs that the judge had ordered placed in the room for any locals who wanted to observe the trial. From the first day, all the chairs were filled with spectators.

  Judge Gilman banged his gavel commandingly on the table and swept a flinty glare around the room. The excite
d chatter of the spectators ceased immediately. After bringing the court to order, Gilman briefly outlined the essentials of the case, which, he noted pointedly, was concerned only with the crimes that had been committed in Lane County. This precluded the crimes that the Dodge brothers had allegedly committed in Salem and Portland.

  Gilman noted also that Emerson Dodge had waived his right to a jury trial and had chosen instead to have the judge himself hand down the decision. Gilman didn’t explain that Dodge was convinced that a jury comprised of Oakridge residents would be hopelessly prejudiced against him, not only for the Phantom attacks (which he still denied) but also for the death of Tim Beach, a popular man around those parts. Gilman had been a judge in the county for more than thirty years, and even Dodge was aware of his reputation for scrupulous fairness before the law.

  Gilman announced that the trial would begin with the evidence in the death of Tim Beach before addressing the rapes and murders committed by the Phantom.

  The prosecutor’s name was Tyler Hatch. He was a young man, no older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, Burton thought. He was short and somewhat stout, with slicked-back black hair and a pink, clean-shaven baby face. Despite his youthful appearance, he had a remarkable command of the courtroom, with a courteous but determined manner that had already proven very effective in the man’s relatively short career. Burton enjoyed watching him work.

  Hatch laid out the case against Dodge in the murder of Tim Beach. The judge swore in all the members of the posse, who recounted how the defendant had shot Beach on the mountainside south of Deception Creek. The testimony was straightforward and Dodge’s lawyer, an elderly man named Arthur Nickson who hadn’t tried a case in over twenty years, only bothered to ask a few perfunctory questions, none of which implied that the members of the posse were lying. Rather, he suggested that Dodge could have been disoriented when he woke up and discovered the posse surrounding him. The shooting of Tim Beach, Nickson hinted mildly, may have been more instinctual and accidental than intentional.

  The line of reasoning was a weak one in Burton’s view. He was pleased when he saw Nickson sit back down without attempting to push the argument further.

  Throughout the proceedings, Emerson Dodge sat with his wrists and ankles bound at the defense’s desk. He said nothing, his jaw set with defiance, a sullen expression on his face. Occasionally he rolled his eyes or shook his head at something the prosecutor or one of the witnesses said. His disdain for the entire process was unalloyed.

  The portion of the trial devoted to the murder of Tim Beach was concluded by lunchtime on the first day. Judge Gilman called a recess and promptly descended the stairs outside before crossing the muddy street to the café. Maynard Blayloch and Matt Winstan, who had decided to stay in town for the trial, took Dodge downstairs and locked him back in his cell.

  The trial resumed exactly one hour later. The judge was nothing if not efficient.

  There wasn’t an empty seat in the room, and more than a dozen other locals were crowded into the corners and behind the chairs at the back. The trial of Emerson Dodge was the most exciting thing to hit Oakridge since a US senator had delivered a speech there a few years before.

  Gilman banged his gavel and gave a few instructions to the attorneys. Then Tyler Hatch laid out the state’s evidence against Dodge in the Phantom attacks.

  ‘The record will show that the first Phantom attacks took place six years ago now,’ Hatch said in his smooth voice. ‘Interestingly enough, Emerson Dodge happened to be living in Oakridge at the very same time that these nefarious crimes began, in the summer of 1874. The record will also show that the crimes mysteriously stopped a few months later – precisely when the defendant left the area.’

  Hatch paced slowly back and forth before the judge’s table as he spoke, his right forefinger pressed thoughtfully against his chin.

  ‘Your Honor, I would like to observe that at no time between 1874 and 1879 did the Phantom strike,’ he continued. ‘During this period, Emerson Dodge was living elsewhere, mostly in Salem with his brother. But when Buck Dodge, his uncle and a widely respected man in these parts for many decades, died last year, he left his property to his oldest nephew. Emerson Dodge moved back to Deception Creek, into his uncle’s old cabin. And what happened shortly thereafter? The Phantom struck again, after years of inactivity.’

  Hatch stopped pacing and stood up straight, his fingers laced across his bulging belly. ‘I would submit, Your Honor, that this is no mere coincidence. I would also submit that there is no conspiracy afoot among the fine, moral, God-fearing citizens of this town to place the blame for these crimes on an innocent man.’ The prosecutor removed a silk handkerchief from the inside pocket of his coat and wiped the thick layer of sweat from his brow and upper lip. ‘Nay, Your Honor. Emerson Dodge is not the victim here, but rather the transgressor. He is the Phantom.’

  Hatch called several witnesses, including Pete Dexter, Everett Bickham, and Mike Sheed. Burton was surprised that all three men had agreed to testify, although he realized they ultimately had no choice. Neither Judge Gilman nor Tyler Hatch thought it necessary for any of the women who had been raped by the Phantom to testify, and Arthur Nickson was too old, too tired, and too dejected by the force of the evidence against his client to argue otherwise.

  The witnesses all agreed that the Phantom was approximately the same height and weight as Emerson Dodge, who also shared the predator’s blue eyes.

  Judge Gilman brought the day’s proceedings to an end at precisely five o’clock that afternoon.

  ‘We will continue in the morning, picking up where we left off today. Mr Hatch, you will be calling witnesses in the morning?’

  Hatch nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I will be calling Deputy Sheriff Maynard Blayloch and Mr Edward Burton.’

  ‘Fair enough. I expect those men to be ready to testify first thing, then. This court is adjourned.’ He banged his gavel resoundingly and left the room without any further ado. The spectators could hear his boots thumping down the wooden steps outside.

  The next morning, Burton got up early. He let Annie sleep while he made some coffee for them both. She awakened and sipped her coffee while he made some eggs and bacon. After serving her and eating, he cleaned up, dressed, and rode into Oakridge.

  Maynard Blayloch’s office door was open as Burton hitched his horse out front. Spectators were already streaming up the steps to get a seat.

  ‘Good morning, Maynard,’ Burton said, leaning in the door.

  Blayloch waved and got up. He walked out of the office and locked the door behind him. Matt Winstan had already taken Emerson Dodge upstairs.

  ‘All ready?’ Blayloch asked.

  Burton nodded. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

  They climbed up the stairs and took their places in the front row of chairs. Burton removed his watch from his pocket and checked the time. It was exactly eight o’clock. The door opened and Judge Gilman strode in. He removed his hat, sat down, and hammered the court to order.

  ‘Call your first witness for the day, Mr Hatch,’ the judge ordered.

  ‘Your Honor, the state calls Deputy Maynard Blayloch.’

  The deputy crossed to the chair beside the judge’s table and Gilman swore him in.

  ‘Deputy Blayloch, can you tell us about your involvement in the attempt to capture the Phantom, and how you came to believe that Emerson Dodge and the Phantom are one and the same?’

  Blayloch sniffed and ran a hand over his neatly combed hair.

  ‘Well, I’ve been a deputy sheriff here in Oakridge for . . . I guess five years now. I was born and raised around here, so I remember the first round of attacks by the Phantom, although I was not an officer of the law at that time. I did not become involved in trying to apprehend him until about a year ago, when he began to break into homes and rape women again.’

  There was a tense silence in the room. Burton shifted his eyes to Emerson Dodge. The prisoner sat glaring at Blayloch, his fists clenched so hard that his knuc
kles were white. Ed Burton wasn’t a man who spooked easily, but something about the manner in which Dodge was looking at Maynard Blayloch made the hair on the back of his neck bristle.

  ‘So you have been leading the investigation ever since the Phantom reappeared last year?’

  ‘Yes,’ confirmed Blayloch. Then, flustered slightly, he corrected himself. ‘Well – apart from when Ed Burton led the posse after the Dodge brothers out past Deception Creek.’

  Tyler Hatch started pacing again, as was his wont, and his finger once more found its way to his chin as he formulated his thoughts.

  ‘How did you start to focus on the Dodges?’

  ‘We didn’t really focus on both of the Dodge brothers, sir. We were only investigating Emerson. We ran into Dalton after the Phantom tried to attack the Burtons. He and Emerson came out of that cabin shooting.’ He examined a spot on his pants for a few seconds, recalling his brush with death. ‘We started looking into Emerson when he showed up at that community meeting at the church last year. He was acting real strange. Mr Burton noticed it, and I noticed it, too.’

  ‘At that juncture, you had no inkling that Mr Dodge might be involved in other criminal activity, including murder?’ Hatch asked.

  Arthur Nickson began to rise slowly to his feet.

  Before Nickson could object, Blayloch said, ‘No, sir. Didn’t know about that.’

  Dodge’s lawyer sat back down.

  ‘What else implicated Emerson Dodge, in your opinion?’

  ‘He’s pretty much the same size as the Phantom, according to witnesses,’ Blayloch said. ‘He lived here at the time of both series of attacks. And he’s got blue eyes. Also, he was real hostile to me and Mr Burton whenever we tried to talk to him.’

  ‘Tell us about the night you were shot, please.’

  ‘It started with the Phantom trying to get into Ed Burton’s house. He chased him away and then came and got me. We went out to the Dodge place just to see what was going on out there. Emerson Dodge had been gone a spell, supposedly up at his brother’s spread in Salem, but when we got there, the brothers came out shooting. I got shot, and then Mr Burton put a posse together and gave chase. He found the mask in a bedroom in the Dodge cabin.’