Deadman's Lament (The Deadman Series Book 1)

by Linell Jeppsen

  Sam entered the encampment a couple of hours later. The lookouts were tense and surly; apparently, word had already arrived that Delaney and Skeeter were dead. He greeted the gang members and made his way to Top Hat’s tent.

  The boss was inside, surrounded by his most trusted men: Ike Nelson, his second-in-command; and Chollo Gonzales, one of his best shooters. As always, when he spent one-on-one time with the gang’s leader, Sam’s palms grew slick with nervous sweat. He had heard too many stories about the man’s past deeds to take him lightly.

  “Hi, Boss,” Sam said carefully.

  Sharpening his bowie knife, Top Hat stared up at him from his chair in the back of the tent. His long mustache covered most of his crooked, bucked teeth but his eyes were what struck fear into Sam’s soul. They were close together and small, glittering with hate. Those brown orbs looked straight into a man’s gullet and made a fellow feel very small.

  “So” Top Hat said in his girlish, high-pitched voice, “what happened last night?

  Sam felt a stealthy finger of fear run its clammy touch up and down his back. Is the boss mad at me? He wondered, nervously clearing his throat.

  “Well, I was doing my rounds and this Spokane County sheriff rode into town with a couple of his deputies. Before I knew what was happening, that same sheriff—a kid by the name of Matthew Wilcox—was serving a warrant on Delaney and then all hell broke loose.”

  Now the sweat ran freely down Sam’s nose as Top Hat’s eyes grew wide when the sheriff’s name was mentioned. The boss sprang to his feet and paced back and forth a few times, twice taking agitated swipes at his own possessions with the knife as he walked by. Then Top Hat took two long steps in Sam’s direction and placed the edge of the weapon against Winston’s throat.

  “Why didn’t you come in last night and let us know what was going on, huh?” Top Hat hissed. “Why is it that we had to hear about it from Tommy and Edward?”

  Sam swallowed, feeling the edge of the razor sharp knife nick his neck. “Boss, O’Brian asked me to settle the sheriff and his posse into the local boarding house. Also, I had to take the youngest one, the one that Tommy shot, to Doc Jones’ place to get sewn up and then on into town. I got here as soon as I could break away, I swear!”

  Top Hat’s sour breath filled Sam’s nostrils and he thought he saw something dark slither across the man’s pupils. Then he knew no more, except for the fact that he was on the ground and couldn’t breathe. He had a moment to realize his throat had been slit and that he was a dead man before he closed his eyes forever.

  Top Hat stared down at Sam Winston’s body with a half-smile on his face and then he frowned. “Shouldn’t have done that, I reckon,” he murmured.

  The other men looked between their boss and the murdered deputy. Chollo didn’t care in the slightest that the deputy was dead. He was just annoyed that the tips of his boots were getting soaked with blood. Ike, however, glared in resentment.

  Sam Winston had been the source of invaluable information for the last three years. He was the first to inform the gang when a rich stagecoach was scheduled to arrive in the area, or a barge loaded with furs and cash was due to sail up to the docks on the big lake. Winston was also instrumental in securing their best payroll ever when he told Top Hat that a group of wealthy industrialists was coming to the area to make an investment on the new rail system being built in the Spokane Falls area.

  Now that valuable source was nothing but a pile of offal on the floor. He leaned over and spat in disgust, making sure he spit on the dead body so the boss would assume his disgust was aimed at the two-timing deputy.

  Top Hat walked over to his chair and sat down. “Sorry about that, boys, but Winston was becoming a loose cannon,” he stated softly. “We do have trouble on our hands, though…”

  “Why’s that, Boss?” Ike asked.

  Top Hat scratched his ears for a moment, then replied, “That sheriff, Matthew Wilcox, I know him. We’ve had dealings together in the past and I reckon he’s out for revenge.”

  “What happened?” Chollo wanted to know.

  “That’s none of your fuckin’ beeswax, that’s what happened.” Suddenly, Top Hat was pacing across the floor again swishing at thin air with his bloody knife. He was muttering imprecations under his breath and stabbing at some invisible foe.

  Both Ike and Chollo knew better than to test Top Hat’s temper. They stayed as still as possible, letting their boss rant and rave until he finally sat down again with a sigh.

  “Thing is,” he muttered, “if that boy is wearing a star now like Winston claimed, then he is going to be a peck of trouble. He could appeal to the territorial legislation for funds and gather as big a posse as he needs to hunt us down.” He glared at both men in turn.

  “So do you see why we need to be sly about this?” he asked. “Before now, O’Brian was appeased by a little payoff here and there. Plus, we had Winston for info…” He paused, staring down at the dead body at his feet. “Goddamn it! I shouldn’t have lost my temper!” he exclaimed.

  Both men looked away, careful to neither agree nor disagree with Top Hat’s words.

  “But now there is a Washington Territory sheriff hunting us down,” he snarled. He studied Chollo’s scarred face, his black braids, and the silver Conchos that studded his boots and belt. Then he turned to Ike who could dress proper if he had a mind to do so.

  “I have a plan, though.” Top Hat’s little brown eyes jittered in their sockets as they always did when he got excited. “Ike, I want you to head into town and dress nice so you don’t scare the folks there. I want to find out where Matthew Wilcox calls home. Who his people are and anything else that gives us an edge.” He grinned with malevolent glee.

  “Meanwhile, I’m going to send a bunch of the boys east to wreak havoc on the surrounding countryside. That way, while Sheriff Wilcox is looking for us there, we three will circle around and pay a little visit on the sheriff’s hometown.”

  Chapter 18

  A Rescue Mission Aborted

  While the Mad Hatters buried Sam Winston deep in the ground then started packing up their camp in order to move further east into the mountains, Matthew Wilcox sat facing Bob Higgins on a straight-backed chair. He was shaking his head as the young man pleaded his case.

  “But, Boss…I’m good to go, see?” he said as beads of sweat popped up on his face.

  Matthew sighed. Bob would be fine—eventually—but, right now, he was not fit to travel much less participate in a posse. His left shoulder was a mass of red, purple and blue-black bruises. The bullet that had plowed through the young man’s shoulder cut a deep ridge in the muscles and weakened his left arm so much he could hardly raise his hand despite Bob’s efforts to prove otherwise.

  “Stop that, Bob! Right now!” Matthew said.

  Bob groaned and let the pistol in his hand drop onto the mattress. He was still weary with pain and wasn’t even aware of the tear that ran like an errant child down his cheek. Looking up at Matthew, he asked, “Can’t I talk you out of this, sir?”

  Matthew replied, “I’m sorry, Bob, but no. Jon has already sent a buggy to come and pick you up. Don’t think for a minute that Roy and I won’t miss you but Jon said he could use your help back home. As much as you are able, I want you to help my uncle out with paperwork and the like until we get back. Okay?”

  Roy stepped in and spoke to the young man as well. “Yeah. But you’re a game rooster, that’s for sure.”

  Bob stared back and forth between the two men and then he lay back down on the bed. “I reckon you’re right.” He sighed. “Don’t know if I could heave that LeMat gun up in the air if we got in a pinch.”

  Jon Wilcox had provided the posse with two 42-caliber, LeMat revolvers, a unique black ball pistol with secondary, smooth bore barrels capable of firing buckshot like a shotgun. Bob had never seen such a thing and he had been itching to try one out. Instead, he was heading back home.

  Matthew smiled and said, “Well, we aren’t leaving quite
yet and I’ll be back to see you off when the buggy gets here.” He added, “You are still my number one deputy, Bob. Roy and I will see you soon.”

  Turning to Bandit who had risen from an old fur on the floor when his master stood up, he said, “Bandit, you stay with Bob, you hear? Stay!”

  Roy leaned down and gave the younger man a playful tap on his right shoulder and then both men stepped outside into the fresh air. Off in the distance, snow-topped mountains loomed; closer, the beautiful waters of Lake Coeur d’Alene sparkled in the sun. The town was bustling with soldiers, traders, miners and business owners of every stripe.

  Matthew knew the real reason for the town’s growth spurt: GOLD! There were at least a half a dozen gold and silver mines within a 50-mile radius of this settlement so it was no surprise that a strong criminal element had taken up residence as well.

  The main road into town was fairly well-maintained despite the mud and, even as Matthew watched, he saw a group of men on a wagon stop about fifty feet down the road. They unloaded a pallet of fresh-cut lumber, buckets of nails, and started working on a new boardwalk.

  The town’s sheriff, Mellon O’Brian, walked up and said, “How’s young Bob doing this morning?”

  “He will recover, sir. Thanks for asking,” Matthew replied politely. “Have you heard anything from your deputy yet?”

  The previous evening—while he, Matthew and Roy ate dinner in one of the better restaurants in town—O’Brian had confessed that his deputy was missing.

  “That man has had a tough go of it lately,” he said. “His wife Irene took ill a few years back and I think he’s going broke keeping the poor gal in medicine. I always thought that Sam had a faraway look in his eyes…you know, the kind of look a man gets when he’s fixin’ to take off.” O’Brian heaved a sigh and reached into his back pocket for a handkerchief.

  “I know he’s got family down in Louisiana, I think.” Frowning, he added, “Just seems strange that he left without saying goodbye.”

  “What about his wife?” Matthew inquired.

  “Oh, Mrs. Winston should be alright. Our church folk will take her in, fer sure. Besides, the doc says she don’t have much time left before she needs to go to the hospital anyway. Sam did a pretty good job keeping her alive this long but her days are numbered.”

  Now, as the sheriff frowned into the early morning sunlight, he said, “I haven’t heard nothing yet. I suspect he up and left but, just in case, I am sending a couple of men out to look for him. You know how things go sometimes…a horse can spook on you, or a highwayman will decide to take all you have.” He looked down at his boots adding, “I just want to make sure before I give him up as gone.”

  Matthew kicked a pebble off the boardwalk. “Any word yet on the deputies who want to join my posse?”

  O’Brian brightened. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot! I just got word that a couple of men from the Silver Valley area are headed this way. I figure they’ll be here by late tonight or tomorrow morning.”

  Matthew nodded. “That’s good, Sheriff. Roy and I are anxious to be on our way.”

  O’Brian scratched a spot under his hat and asked, “When do you figure that buggy of your uncle’s is due to arrive?”

  Matthew thought for a moment and replied, “Probably not until late afternoon. Why?”

  “Well, Winston was probably my best deputy. He had experience and some pretty good tracking skills. My other two boys are willing but maybe not so able, if you know what I mean. So I was wondering if you would consider giving them a hand in looking for Sam for a few hours. I would be sure that your young deputy has some company and I would also be obliged to take your help as trade for the doctor’s bills.”

  Matthew gazed at Roy and when the deputy nodded in the affirmative, he turned back to O’Brian. “That would be fine, Sheriff. Roy and I both have some skill at tracking.”

  “That’s great!” O’Brian smiled. “I told my boys to be ready by ten o’clock.” Consulting his pocket watch, he said, “That’s in just under an hour. Can you be ready to go by then?”

  “Sure, we’ll be ready. Have your deputies meet us here.”

  O’Brian walked away down the boardwalk. Turning to Roy, Matthew said, “Let’s get a quick bite to eat before we fetch the horses.”

  As Matthew and Roy headed to one of the town’s two restaurants, Colonel Le’Bouff and a number of his soldiers trotted by from the opposite direction. Matthew tipped his hat but the colonel just glared.

  Matthew was forced to endure the man’s fury the day before when he confessed that it was him and his two deputies who trussed up the soldiers and adorned them with signage for all to see. Luckily for the soldiers, no one but Le’Bouff’s men saw the word RAPISTS on the white sheets of paper but it was a narrow escape as dawn was breaking when the commander’s troops liberated the captives and brought them back to the fort.

  According to Le’Bouff, however, each Indian delivered to the reservation earned the fort a bounty of ten dollars. Since those bounties had disappeared into the night, he figured that Sheriff Wilcox owed him $150.00. Matthew was loath to do it but he had asked his uncle to send the required cash along with the buggy.

  Yet, apparently, Colonel Le’Bouff was now entertaining doubts about whether the cash was on its way or not. Grinning, Matthew turned to Roy and murmured, “Guess that commander is still pissed at us.”

  “Fuck ‘em,” Roy replied.

  They stepped into a small wooden building and sat down at a long bench astride two barrels. A cheery, middle-aged woman turned away from her cook stove and blew a sweaty lock of hair off her forehead.

  “Howdy, boys!” she said. “We have biscuits and gravy this morning…or beans and bacon. What’ll it be?”

  They both ordered biscuits and sat back to wait for their breakfast to arrive.

  There were a couple of men and women in the restaurant. One man looked to be hung over; bleary-eyed, he winced at every loud noise. The two women were obviously prostitutes. Their heavy eye makeup and rouged cheeks looked garish in the stark sunlight streaming through the establishment’s one window but they giggled companionably as they studied the local newspaper.

  Another man sat quietly and stared at them openly like he was familiar with who they were. He was tall with long, gray hair and wore an old, shiny suit though his vest and boots were new. Matthew nodded his head courteously and then turned to Roy.

  “Did you happen to get a look at Sam Winston’s horse last night?” he asked.

  Roy shook his head. “I did but, to be honest, I’m not sure if it was a gelding or a mare. But it was a big piebald…I saw that much.”

  “Okay,” Matthew said. “That gives us something to work with anyway.” He looked up and smiled his thanks as the cook served them two plates piled high with biscuits and steaming hot sausage gravy.

  The men started eating their breakfast and then they heard the fellow with the handsome vest say, “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

  Matthew set down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Raising his eyebrows, he said, “Can we help you with something?”

  Ike Nelson shook his head. “No,” he replied. “But I thought maybe I could help you…name’s Clarence Dodson.” He stood up and walked over to shake hands. The sheriff and his deputy stood and introduced themselves, then sat down to their meal again.

  “Anyway,” Ike continued, “the reason I butted in on your meal was on account of hearing you were looking for a big piebald mare. Well, I saw one just this morning as I rode into town…kind of hard to miss such an ugly hoss!” Matthew and Roy watched as the man laughed at his own joke.

  “Did that horse have a rider?” Matthew asked.

  “Sure. Skinny guy…face like an old hound dog? He was heading west when I saw him. He was loaded up, too, like he was in for a long haul.

  Ike watched as the two lawmen exchanged a glance, then decided he had done all he could to divert attention away from Winston’s real
whereabouts. He also decided to have his boss, Top Hat, shoot that piebald as soon as possible. It was too damned showy and, if seen, would draw the attention of the two hard-faced men now sitting in front of him.

  Backing away, he said, “I hope that helps. It’s a big country and I figure it’s my Christian duty to help a sheriff out anytime I can.” Tipping his hat, Ike bowed a little and walked out of the restaurant.

  Roy said, “Well, I see no sense in wasting O’Brian’s time by searching for a runaway deputy, do you?”

  Matthew was silent for a moment, thinking. It sounded like Sam Winston had done just what O’Brian thought he did… skedaddled away from his sick wife and headed back home to Louisiana. But something smelled off to him and he didn’t know what.

  The man known as Clarence Dodson seemed, at first blush, like a humble man…a peddler maybe, or a traveling preacher. His eyes, however, told a different story. Those gray orbs were as cold as gun iron and seemed to slither away from direct contact like a snake in tall grass.

  Then again, as he’d said, it was a big country full of beasts—human and animal alike—and a man needed to be tough and, at least, a little cold to survive it.

  Finally, Matthew nodded. “I agree. We’ll tell Sheriff O’Brian what Dodson said and let him decide.”

  Chapter 19

  A Fox in the Henhouse

  “Do I know you?” O’Brian stared at Ike Nelson in confusion.

  Ike smiled. The last time he had clapped eyes on Sheriff O’Brian was five years ago after he and a few boys shook down a wagon train just outside of Orofino. Nelson knew his face was covered with a large kerchief then and his gray hair was brown, so he didn’t think there was any way the sheriff could recall his face.

  “Nah,” he said. “I’ve never been here before. I guess I just have one of those faces. Actually, I’ve just arrived from the D.C. area. The President made me and a few other fellas justices of the peace and sent us out to serve papers in some of these wilder territories. Like I said, my name is Clarence Dodson. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Ike took a step forward, extending his hand to shake.