Brazos and Quiet Jim moseyed over to the telephone receiving equipment on the table against the south wall.
Todd sauntered up next to Sam. “Think I’ll go over and show Grass how he can ring Daddy and Quiet Jim,” he said.
Sam fixed his eyes on the older woman peeking in the front door. “Hard to imagine those old Texans usin’ a telephone.”
“Everything in Deadwood’s different,” Todd remarked. “Look at you and me, wearing store bought suits like prominent businessmen.”
“You and Daddy are prominent businessmen,” Sam said. “For the time being, I’m just a notorious businessman.” He ambled to the front of the store. “Mrs. Speaker, that’s a very charming hat you have on.”
The gray-haired woman’s hand went to her red-rouged cheek. “Oh, this old majorie with buttercup wreath? Well, yes, I do enjoy it, Samuel.”
Sam peered into the wicker basket looped over her arm. “Have you been shopping?”
“Just apples. A man has a wagon full, down in front of city hall. He had them shipped all the way to Miles City by train, then he freighted them in.” Thelma Speaker scooted past Sam and meandered over to Louise Edwards.
“Hello!” Grass shouted into the little, round, black receptacle. “Can you hear me?”
“I could hear you if you were up on Mount Moriah,” Brazos hollered into the other unit on the other side of the room.
“Talk softly!” Sam instructed. “Try whispering.” He pulled out a pocket watch and studied the gold hands. OK, Lord. It’s 11:00 A.M.
A triple-tandem freight wagon pulled by twelve mules was parked in the middle of Main Street. Mert Hart’s fancy, closed carriage trotted by, pulled by a matching pair of coal black horses. A man with silk top hat and cane scurried by Sam. On the distant side of the street, Sheriff Bullock tipped his hat, then pointed back to the west—and kept riding.
The top right drawer on Sam’s uncluttered desk was open several inches and he was leaning back in the oak chair when Burns and McDermitt burst through the door, fired a pistol toward the ceiling, and shouted, “You’re a dead man, Sam Fortune! We got the drop on you this time!”
Rebekah screamed.
Thelma Speaker dropped her basket of apples, which rolled across the floor like field mice scurrying for cover.
Louise Edwards fainted into the arms of her husband.
Brazos stalked toward his abandoned carbine.
Quiet Jim rolled his wheelchair back behind the telephone display.
Dacee June, seated in her chair when the two burst in, dove under her desk.
Todd slipped a hand inside his coat pocket.
“Don’t try it!” With a face pack-marked from splintered wood, McDermitt screamed at Todd. “We ain’t above shootin’ the women as well as the men, so keep your hands out where we can see them.” He spun around and pointed his gun at the approaching Brazos Fortune. “Stay right there, old man, or you’ll be the first Fortune to die today!”
Sam stood and inched his fingers toward the top drawer of his desk. “You two on a lunch break from jail?” he called out.
Burns’s round, gold earrings made his face look long. “Ain’t no Deadwood jail goin’ to keep us for long.” He kept his revolver pointed at Sam Fortune.
Sam leaned forward slowly so he could lower his hand into the drawer. “You boys are only makin’ it worse. You’ll get another five years for bustin’ out. I hear that prison over in Yankton is a sorry hole in the ground.”
“They got to catch us first, and ain’t no one will find us once we get back into the Indian Territory,” Burns screamed.
“Then why are you wastin’ time in this store?” Todd challenged. “Sheriff Bullock will stop you before you leave town. You’ll be carrying lead before you cross the deadline.”
“I don’t think so. He’ll be too busy investigatin’ a murder.” Burns rubbed his wide, flushed nose with the back of his free hand. He stalked toward Dacee June’s desk while pointing his revolver at Sam Fortune. “You are goin’ for a little walk out into the alley with us!”
“If you couldn’t pull it off when you planned it down at the Piedmont, you certainly can’t do it now. There are too many of us,” Sam challenged. “This is insane.” His hand slipped down into the drawer and surrounded the cold, polished walnut grip of the .44 revolver.
“Head to the alley, Fortune. That’s where you like to bushwhack people, and that’s where you’re goin’ to get what’s comin’ to you. But you’re goin’ to get an arm and a leg busted before you get a bullet in the brain.” McDermitt, still nursing a limp, faltered toward Brazos.
Just as Burns drew even with the desk, Dacee June leaped up and jammed a pistol into his ribs. “Drop it, mister!”
He spun around and grabbed her wrist. The gun she held exploded, ripping splinters in the flooring near his feet.
Sam pulled out the revolver and pointed it at Burns.
Thelma Speaker clutched her breast and sank to her knees, “My heart . . . it’s like a vise is squeezing it!”
Rebekah ran to her side.
McDermitt pointed his revolver at Todd.
Burns yanked Dacee June’s hair out of its combs and spun her around between him and the others, his revolver jammed into her temple.
“Put those guns down, or this girl is dead!” he screamed.
“Both of you are goin’ to die in this store unless you release li’l sis,” Sam hollered. “That’s a fact!”
“We won’t be the only ones dead, Sam Fortune!” Burns yanked her hair back and shoved the barrel into her ear.
Dacee June began to sob, “Don’t let them kill me, Sammy!”
“I mean it!” Burns hollered. “Put your guns down and back away.”
Quiet Jim rolled his wheelchair out from behind the telephone equipment. He lifted a short-nosed revolver at the gunman holding Dacee June. He didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
The bullet caught the brim of Burns’s hat, and sailed it to the floor. McDermitt spun around and fired at Quiet Jim. His crippled body was flung so violently against the back of the chair, it toppled backward. His motionless body sprawled out on the floor.
Rebekah screamed.
Thelma Speaker, still clutching her heart, fell facedown on the floor.
Dacee June bawled.
Brazos lunged at McDermitt, but the armed gunman stepped aside. He grabbed Brazos’s collar and shoved the barrel of his revolver into Brazos’s back.
Todd and Sam, guns still drawn, stalked the two hostage-holding gunmen.
“You’re both dead!” Sam yelled.
“There’s going to be a roomful of dead if you don’t put those guns down!” Burns screamed. “We ain’t got nothin’ to lose, Fortune. You do.”
“Shoot ’em, boys,” Brazos hollered. “Send them off to hades where they belong!”
“I don’t want to die,” Dacee June cried out. “I just got married. . . . I don’t want to die, Daddy!”
“Grass, you got a gun?” Sam called out, not taking his eyes off Burns.
“In my hand,” Edwards replied.
“If either of them is left standing after me and Todd pull our triggers, shoot them,” Sam insisted.
“This ain’t good, Burns,” McDermitt mumbled.
“Stay right there!” Burns cried. “If you don’t put those guns down, I swear the old man and the girl are dead. There ain’t no way we’re goin’ to miss from this distance!”
“They already killed Quiet Jim. Shoot them! I’m ready to meet my Maker,” Brazos prodded.
“I don’t want to die, Sammy!” Dacee June sobbed. “Please . . . please don’t let them shoot me!”
Sam Fortune glanced at Todd, then back at Dacee June. He dropped his revolver on the desk.
“What are you doin
’?” Todd hollered at him.
“Put it down, Todd . . . ,” Sam replied. “It’s not workin’ like I thought. Put it down.”
“I’m not going to let them shoot you,” Todd insisted.
“Better me than Daddy and Dacee June. It’s all my fault, anyway.”
“Shoot them, Todd,” Brazos screamed. “Shoot them!”
“No!” Dacee June cried.
Todd dropped his weapon.
“And the one in the yellow shirt, too!” McDermitt called out.
Grass Edwards slid his gun across the wooden floor.
“I’m here . . . unarmed,” Sam hollered. “Turn them loose, and shoot me.”
“We got a meetin’ in the alley!” Burns snarled. “You ain’t dyin’ until them bones is broken.”
“Turn them loose, and I’ll go,” Sam insisted.
“You ain’t got no say in it. Get goin’!” Burns pointed to the storeroom door.
“If you aren’t goin’ to turn loose of them, I might as well die right here!” Sam asserted.
“Then ‘li’l sis’ will die with you!”
Dacee June wailed.
“Wait!” Sam screamed. “I’m goin’. . . .”
Amber Gordon sprinted into the store and shouted, “Where’s my mother? Have you seen my mother?”
“Amber, get out of here!” Rebekah shrieked.
Amber raced toward Dacee June’s desk. “But I’ve got to find my mother!” she sobbed.
“Get her over by the wall,” Burns yelled.
Rebekah motioned with her arms. “Come on, honey. Come over here by me!”
“No!” Amber cried. “My mama’s in trouble. She drank a whole bunch of laudanum and said she was going to get even with that scoundrel, Sam Fortune.”
“Out the back door, Fortune!” Burns shouted.
Rebekah slowly crossed the room and knelt down by Amber. “What do you mean, ‘get even’ with Sam?”
“I’m goin’ out the door,” Sam said. “Are you two comin’, or are you goin’ to let me run down the alley?”
“Mama said he grabbed her in the middle of the night and beat her up and compromised her . . . ,” Amber sobbed. “What does compromise mean?”
Amber pulled away and started to run at Sam, but Rebekah lassoed her with her arms and held her as she kicked and screamed, “What did he do to my mother?”
“Don’t worry, kid. We’ll take care of him for you,” Burns hollered as he stalked to the back of the room, pushing Dacee June ahead of him.
“Sam Fortune!” a woman at the front door screamed.
All, including the gunmen, spun around to see a barefoot Abigail Gordon stagger into the room. Her hair was matted. The flower-print dress was ripped. Dried blood was smeared across her arm and neck.
“Abby!” Rebekah cried and struggled to her feet. “What happened?”
“Sam Fortune can tell you what happened!” Abigail Gordon grabbed the Sharps carbine by the door and marched straight toward Dacee June’s desk.
“Put down that gun, lady!” McDermitt demanded.
“Why? Are you going to shoot me? There are worse things. A lot worse things.” Abby threw the carbine to her shoulder and pointed it at Sam Fortune.
“Shoot her!” Burns ordered McDermitt.
“She ain’t pointin’ it at me,” McDermitt hollered.
“What’s this all about, Sammy?” Brazos demanded.
“She didn’t complain last night,” Sam mumbled.
“You dastardly rogue!” Abigail shrieked, then cocked the massive trigger.
“Wait, lady!” Burns screamed.
“Mama, don’t . . . ,” Amber cried, breaking free from Rebekah and running toward her mother.
The blast of the .50-aliber carbine rattled the front windows of the telephone exchange.
Abigail Gordon stumbled back toward the open doorway.
Sam Fortune tumbled back over his desk chair, landing with a thud at the base of the blood-splattered wall.
Dacee June pulled away and sprinted to her brother’s side, sobbing, “No! . . . No! . . . No!”
“She done killed him!” McDermitt released Brazos’s collar.
Abigail let the heavy, single-shot gun fall to the floor and collapsed to her knees and cried, “Shoot me . . . for mercy sake . . . somebody kill me!”
“This is crazy,” Burns shouted. “In ten minutes ever’one in the room will be dead!”
“I’m leavin’, Burns!” McDermitt bolted through the back door.
As he sprinted to catch up, the gold-earringed Burns pointed his revolver at Sam’s body. Dacee June dove out of the way, just as the shot exploded. “He’s dead now—that’s for sure!”
As if stunned into immobility, everyone in the room froze in place.
There was no movement.
No cries.
No moans.
Just the lingering cloud of gunsmoke.
Then, the stomp of boot heels at the door. Sheriff Seth Bullock poked his head into the building.
“Are you all done? I’ve got half the town lined up down the block wantin’ to know what’s goin’ on!”
Brazos picked up his carbine and helped Abby to her feet. “Are those two bushwhackers out of town?”
The sheriff pushed his hat back and rubbed his long drooping, gray mustache. “They ought to be halfway to Sturgis by now. We tied fast horses in the alley. Someone owes the Montana Livery one hundred and ten dollars for them nags and saddles.”
“It’s a bargain,” Brazos said.
Dacee June leaped up from Sam’s side. “How did I do, Abby? I think I did the screaming and crying very well. But, I got my new blouse dirty when I crawled under the desk.” She reached down her hand to her brother. “Did I do all right, Sammy?”
He sat up and studied the red substance on his hand and shirt. “What is this stuff, Abby? It sure makes a mess.”
She walked toward the back of the room. “It’s a combination of pureed tomatoes and beet juice. We used it often on the stage.”
“Would someone give me a hand!” Quiet Jim called out from the far wall.
Brazos began to applaud. The others laughed and joined in the clapping.
“Very funny! That’s not what I had in mind,” Quiet Jim mumbled as the roar died down. “Help me back up to my chair.”
“I do believe Quiet Jim’s expert shooting and his tumbling backward in the wheelchair was the premiere act!” Rebekah informed. “At that point, we had believers out of both of them.”
“You’ll never know how tempted I was to move that over a few inches,” Quiet Jim remarked.
“I wish I could have seen the first part,” Amber pouted. “I wanted to peek in the window, but Mother said we had to stay out of sight.”
“Some of us weren’t given very big parts,” Grass Edwards complained.
“And some, dear sister, added quite liberally to the script,” Louise Edwards scolded as she brushed off her long, black skirt.
Thelma began to retrieve her apples. “I thought the fruit rolling across the floor and the heart attack added a little extra flair. And I’ve always been quite good at heart attacks.”
“No one but intellectually deficit outlaws would have believed your performance,” Louise said.
“Now, now, dear sister,” Thelma soothed, “you and the professor did quite well. Remember, there are no small parts in a successful drama. I thought Abigail’s script was very good, very good indeed.”
“And I think your costume was a little much,” Sam complained as he walked over to Abby. “You were so convincing, I was ready to shoot myself for bein’ such a villain.”
Abby looked down at her ripped dress. “This was a little overboard, wasn’t it,” Abby
admitted. “I suppose I’ve done too many melodramas.”
“I think the whole thing was dangerous,” Sheriff Bullock surmised. “I don’t intend to let you do something this foolhardy again! What if they had checked those guns and put in real bullets instead of blanks?”
“Then plaster would have splattered from the ceiling on the first shot,” Brazos reported. “Those two were too dumb to even look up.”
“Well, Daddy Brazos’s Sharps kicks a wallop, even with a blank,” Abby complained, rubbing her shoulder. “I’ll have a bruise for a week.”
“Did I do all right, Mama?” Amber scooted over to her mother.
“You were wonderful, dear—but no, I’m not going to let you be an actress when you grow up.”
“Not even in Dacee June’s Christmas plays?”
“You can act in Dacee June’s plays again, but that’s all.”
“You really think this will work?” Sheriff Bullock challenged.
“Within two weeks ever’one in the Indian Territory will know that Sam Fortune was killed by a wronged woman in Deadwood,” Sam reported, then looked at the others in the room. “And I am ashamed to admit it; most folks down there will have a very easy time believing it.”
Louise Edwards emerged from the back room and handed Sam a wet towel. “I don’t know about the rest of you,” she announced, “but I’ve had quite a morning. I think I’ll adjourn to write in my journal.”
“I’ll be along shortly,” Grass informed her.
“Professor Edwards, I expect you to walk me home—now!” she insisted.
“Eh . . . yes ma’am.” Edwards adjusted his round hat and offered his arm.
“Listen, before ever’one leaves, I want to thank all of you. You put your safety in jeopardy for me, and I’m obliged to you,” Sam announced.
“Yes, you are!” Rebekah concurred.
“Remember, as a way of sayin’ thanks, I’m having a fancy dinner at 1:30 in the ballroom of the Merchant’s Hotel. It’s my treat . . . and I really would appreciate all of you bein’ there.”
“Oh, good,” Dacee June giggled, “a cast party!”
The Long Trail Home Page 22
