Deadman's Revenge (The Deadman Series Book 3)

by Linell Jeppsen

  He sighed. The wound stung like hell but it was not serious. He applied ointment on the wound and used water from his canteen to wipe away most of the blood. Taking a moment to let his still jangled nerves settle, Matthew stared out over the valley. It’s too bad, he thought, that I’m so far away from a town. I need to get Lincoln to a vet and let him recuperate, but getting there…

  He grimaced in frustration. Even now, Lincoln stood still, legs splayed and head hanging, despite the tall grass within easy reach. The horse never missed an opportunity to grab a mouthful of anything tasty. The fact that he was not interested in a treat spoke volumes to his master.

  Matthew climbed to his feet and walked over to where the ruined cougar lay stretched out on the ground. It was an old female, Matthew saw, slat-ribbed and almost blind with cataracts. No wonder he had not become the cats primary focus… Matthew doubted whether the starving animal even saw him when it decided to attack.

  Looking back from where he and Lincoln came, Matthew thought about the farmhouse he had seen about fifteen miles back. He had thought that it might be a pig farm/whore house and had steered clear. Now though, remembering the horses, cows and pigs that wandered about the place and the rather tidy loafing sheds and paddocks, Matthew thought his bet best for assistance might come from there.

  It might not be a whorehouse at all and besides, not all brothels were places of ill-repute. Older whores often ended up there or girls that were either too frail or homely were taken in—sometimes in charity, and sometimes as slaves. Knowing he was in no position to be choosy, Matthew walked back to where Lincoln stood swaying slowly on his feet.

  Matthew removed Lincoln’s bridle and applied a little more salve to the wounds on his neck. Then he pulled all the grass he could find in the area and placed it in a pile as close to the horse as possible. He also took three of his remaining canteens and filled his cook pot with water. He dug a little hole to place the bucket in, in case Lincoln decided to kick at it, which he was wont to do.

  Matthew thought about hobbling the gelding and then changed his mind. If something were to happen, Matthew wanted Lincoln to be free to find water and sustenance… or escape, without having to hurt himself trying to break free of restraints.

  It was turning cold and the bleak autumn sky dimmed with the gray and lavender colors of dusk. Not caring to hike too long in total darkness, Matthew stowed most of his gear under a shelf of rock, shouldered his saddlebags and took off walking toward the pig farm.

  ~

  A little over four hours later, Matthew saw faint, dim lights on the horizon. It was almost 8:o0 in the evening, and Matthew was cursing his slow progress. A heavy cloud cover filled the sky overhead and twice he had stumbled, once over a rock in the road and once into a shallow ditch. Now, his right ankle throbbed, and the big toe on his left foot had swollen and seemed to be butting heads against the front of his boot.

  He stopped and pulled a tiny lantern out of his bag. Holding a scant half-cup of oil, the lantern had three clear glass sides but the back had been tinted red. It was meant to signal an emergency or distress signal to those who spied it in the dark. Matthew had no way of knowing if the occupants of yonder farm knew the lantern’s meaning but at least he wouldn’t be caught lurking in the shadows.

  Just then, he heard the excited yip, yip of the farm’s watchdog and he held his lantern up in the air. Walking down the long drive leading to the farm he saw the lights in the windows and the front door open. A large silhouette darkened the doorway and Matthew heard a man shout, “Who’s out there?”

  “Hello! My name’s Matthew Wilcox. I have a stricken horse, up the road about fourteen miles. I was hoping I could get some hay and medicine for him… and maybe some extra water while I tend to his wounds. I’ve got money!”

  Here is the proof of the pudding, Matthew thought. If this place was filled with bad people, they could easily murder him where he stood, take all his belongings and ride ahead to seize his horse while they were at it. He fingered the grip of his pistol, wondering which way the wind was going to blow, and then he heard the hammer cock on a pistol, not ten feet away from where he stood in a sudden gleam of moonlight.

  “Drop yer pistol, Mr…” a feminine voice called out from behind a tall tree.

  Matthew shoulders drooped, setting off the pain he had kept at bay for most of the over-land trek. The cat scratch seemed to be festering, probably ripe with infection from whatever that old cougar carried in its mangy, broken claws. He reached down with his right hand and unbuckled his gun belt, letting the equipment drop on the ground behind him.

  Then he called out, “As you can see, I have a shotgun as well. Let me put it down, along with my saddlebags, okay? Don’t shoot me!” Keeping his right hand up, Matthew shrugged his saddlebags and the shotgun off his left shoulder and then stood straight, with both hands in the air. “There,” he shouted. “I’m unarmed. Will you help me out or not?”

  A moment or two passed, and Matthew heard whispering coming from behind the tree. Then, a woman and a young girl stepped out and walked slowly toward where he stood waiting. The woman was well past her prime but Matthew could tell by the moonlight that streamed down from the heavens that she must have once been beautiful.

  Now, though, she was quite heavy and her large breasts swayed ponderously beneath the nightgown she wore under her coat. Her long gray hair fell in a plait down her back and she wore huge, knee-high leather boots. She also held her pistol with authority.

  Her companion was heavy as well, although quite young. She had small and slightly slanted eyes and the heavy brow of a retarded person. She stared at Matthew with moonstruck eyes as though she had never before seen such a spectacle and she said, “Hi!”

  “You hush, Hildy and get behind that tree!” the woman snapped.

  The girl jumped and scooted backwards out of sight. The woman said, “What did yer say yer name was again?”

  Matthew, who stood sweating, slightly, under his duster despite the chill in the air answered, “My name is Matthew Wilcox, Ma’am. I’m not here to cause you and yours any trouble. I just need a little assistance with an injured horse up the road a few miles. I have money to pay for whatever you might have that will help.”

  The woman dropped her pistol and placed it in her coat pocket. She had studied Matthew’s face carefully while he approached and decided, apparently, that he was no threat. Walking forward a few feet, she extended her hand to shake and said, “My name’s Patricia Hanson… you can call me Patty. This is my place, but we’re closed to business except fer weekends, which, you know is three days off, yet. Still, I have some supplies and a wagon if’n you want to go back and fetch yer horse.”

  Reluctant to leave Lincoln out all night on his own, Matthew nodded gratefully. “That would be much appreciated Ma’am. I could leave all of my gear here for assurance, and pay you, up front, for any costs incurred…”

  Patty shook her head. “Tell you what. My son’s will accompany you on yer way—and they will hold yer firearms while you fetch that hoss back here… fair enough?” She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  Although the thought of turning his firearms over made him feel queasy, he nodded and said, “Fair enough.”

  Turning around, Patty put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. In short order, two young men came running up. They were both big, like their mother, but they had open, cheerful expressions on their faces and they seemed excited to be taking an unplanned outing.

  Patty said, “You two get the wagon ready. You’ll be escorting this gentleman up the road a ways to his horse. Put the medical kit in back and bring a bale of hay and a bucket of oats along as well. GO!”

  At this, the teenagers sprang to life and disappeared into the darkness. Turning back to face Matthew she said, “Bring yer pony back here and we’ll nurse him back to health, if possible. If he’s real bad off, the traveling doc should be here day after tomorrow. He’ll know what to do.”

  Matthew reached into his pocket
and pulled out a couple of bills. Handing them to her he said, “A down-payment, Ma’am, for your kindness.”

  She took the money and dropped it down the front of her nightgown with a grin. “Won’t say no to that, Mr. Wilcox. Here are the boys now.”

  An old wagon and two draft horses approached from around the back of the house. Matthew saw that a number of people, mainly women, were standing on the front porch watching and he gave them a polite, little wave.

  He heard a few girlish titters and Patty yelled, “You girls get back in the house!”

  Turning to the old madam, Matthew saw that the little retarded girl was standing by her side again, despite earlier orders. She stared up at him with wide eyes and grinned when he smiled at her. “Hi!” she said, and he replied, “Hi, yourself!”

  Beaming, she turned to Patty and exclaimed, “Mamma, he’s nice!”

  Patty rolled her eyes, but wrapped the girl in one beefy arm. “This is my youngest, Hildy. She ain’t no genius, but she’s a good girl and a marvel with horseflesh.”

  Matthew tipped his hat and said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Hildy.” To which the girl clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled.

  “Okay boys, be on yer way, and come back slow if that horse is stove up. Don’t want him getting too stove-up on the way back!”

  As the wagon headed back down the road from whence he came, Matthew Wilcox had no way of knowing that Patty Hanson would eventually become one of his most cherished friends.

  Chapter 9

  The New Boss

  Allen O’Donnell (aka Earl Dickson) and Josh stepped off the coach three weeks later, in Billings, Montana. Earl had spoken to Spiles, at length, about their final destination and found out that there were two towns situated along the Yellowstone River—the original settlement of Coulson and the newer and apparently booming town of Billings, named for the railroad baron, Frederick Billings.

  According to Spiles, the money… and the men who wielded it were in the newer section of town and if it were him starting out fresh with cash in his pocket, he would settle on the north side, in Billings.

  Dave jumped off the bench and went to grab the horse’s bits, while his passengers stared about in pleasure. This place certainly is a going affair, Earl thought. A man can be anything he wants to be, here, without anyone the wiser! (Back in Orofino, Idaho, a certain notary by the name of Stapleton, and the only true witness to Dickson’s change in identity, was buried by now, another sad victim of suicide by hanging… at least according to Josh, who had strung the man up, himself.)

  Turning to Josh, Earl murmured, “Remember Josh, from now on, I am Mr. O’Donnell, Allen or Sir, okay?”

  Josh nodded with a grin and replied, “Yes, sir!”

  Earl stared at the side of Josh’ face and thought, I wish the kid didn’t act like my name change is some sort of inside joke. I wonder, after all, if it’s such a good idea bringing him in on the game. Knowing, though, that he would need muscle a-plenty in his future schemes, Earl settled for snapping, “Bring those bags down off the back of the coach.”

  Josh cut his eyes sideways at Earl in hurt surprise but moved quickly enough to carry out Earl’s orders. While the driver and Josh were otherwise occupied, Earl stared over at the front façade of an elegant building calling itself, The Grand Hotel. Stately carriages moved in and out of the front entrance and he saw finely dressed men and women milling about by the large double doors. Servants dashed back and forth, lugging carpetbags and trunks and a stern-looking maître d loomed over everything and everyone like an angry, black hawk.

  Glancing down at his worn and dirty clothes, Earl knew that even though he had enough money to buy his way into that fine establishment, he would, immediately, be pegged as a low-sort of man… and that was the last thing he wanted at this point. Deciding the first order of business was to outfit himself as a wealthy man, he called out to Josh, “Meet me at that milliners store in two hours, Josh, and when you do show up, I expect you to be as clean as a whistle!”

  Josh nodded with a grimace of distaste and Earl walked up to Dave Spiles. He asked, “How much is the fare?”

  Spiles grinned. “Well… how does thirty bucks grab ya?”

  Earl studied the man’s face and wondered, for the tenth time, if just killing him would be the better way to go. He hated to, though. Spiles seemed like a game bird, and one whose services might come in handy in his future endeavors. Thinking hard for a moment, he stared into the man’s eyes and said, “Dave, how would you like to work for me?”

  Spiles frowned in consternation and answered, “Well, I got my coach here and the two nags… and they’re paid off! What would I do with them and… well, what would I be doing fer ya and how much would it pay?”

  “I want you to be my driver and maybe help run one of the liveries here in town. I will buy this coach from you and the horses too. If you accept my proposition, I’ll buy you a few sets of good clothes and some good livery. Then you will go and purchase a fancy coach and four… and I mean high-end. I’ll pay you two dollars a day, plus room and board. Interested?”

  Spiles had started to grin halfway through Earl’s pitch, and said, “Done! And, I know just where to go for a good outfit. It’s down the road a ways… Cothron and Todd. They have some real nice coaches and buggies, and a line on the best horseflesh.”

  Earl nodded. “Okay, but first, I want you to clean up. I am going to be running a first-call outfit, here in town, and first impressions are everything! I want you to take a bath and get a shave and a haircut. Go over to that bathhouse, and I’ll send Josh by with some new duds.” Earl stuck his hand out to shake and when Spiles reciprocated, he pulled the older man forward, whispering, “Do right by me and I’ll make you a wealthy man. Do wrong… well, I think you know what will happen…”

  Dave Spiles stared down into Earl’s eyes and swore, “Don’t worry… sir. I’ll do right by ya.”

  Earl released Spile’s hand and walked toward the nicest of the three bathhouses on the busy street. He had brought his best suit along, and emerged an hour later, clean and wearing a respectable outfit. Then, he moseyed toward the milliner’s shop he had pointed out to Josh earlier. Sure enough, Josh was standing in front of the business, clean but still wearing his old, stinky clothes.

  Earl took one whiff and said, “Stay here—I’ll be out in a little while.”

  He sailed into the clothing store, and was met at the front door by a fussy, little man who claimed to be the owner. Earl stared at a number of male mannequins toward the rear wall that sported, according to the small hand-printed signs on each, the “season’s” latest fashions. There were seersucker suits and wool, herringbone and tweed, embroidered vests, chaps, knee-high stockings with tiny garters, velvet collars and silk ties.

  Wicker heads showcased the latest in headwear. Top hats, derbies, straw boaters and the latest in cowboy hats… giant, ten-gallon hats, low-brimmed sombreros and even some slouchy-looking horsemen hats from far-off Australia.

  Making up his mind, to buy one of every outfit for himself, Earl smiled at the shop-owner and said, “Good afternoon, Sir. I will be making a number of purchases today, but first, I would like two simple wool suits… one extra-large and one large, extra-long for my men. Unfortunately, we had to ford a river on our way here and most of our luggage was lost to water damage.”

  The little shop-owner smiled and picked out two inexpensive suits, shoes and coats for his new customer. Packaging them separately, he handed the suits to Earl, who took them outside to where Josh waited on the front stoop. “Okay, Josh. I want you to go and find Davey, who is working with us now… he should be over there at the bathhouse. Give him this outfit and the two of you go up the street to that hotel… see it?”

  Josh stared down the street to where Earl pointed and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  Earl grinned and handed over some clink. “Okay, you and Dave go and buy a room for the night. Get some rest, and eat dinner in your room. Wear these suits a
nd, for God’s sake, stay clean! Tomorrow… say, 8:00, I’ll meet you outside the hotel.”

  Josh couldn’t help himself. “What are we doing, Ear…, uh, Sir?”

  Earl glared. “Never you mind that for now! Just go, and be ready to meet me at eight o’ clock, sharp!”

  Josh scurried away with his packages, and Earl saw Dave step out of the bathhouse just as Josh reached the boardwalk. Satisfied, he walked back inside the men’s store and commenced to reinventing himself.

  ~

  The next morning dawned bright and cold. Earl sat outside the Grand Hotel sipping a cup of strong, black coffee and smoking a pipe. He stared at the surrounding horizon and saw a number of mountains—large and small. He would later find out that Billings was situated in a large valley ringed by the Bighorn and Cloud Peak mountains, with vast tracks of land stretching as far as the eye could see that once was home to the Crow and Blackfoot Indians.

  He was dressed in a fine, gray wool suit, and he wore a purple silk scarf tied around his neck. He sported a white carnation boutonniere in his coat’s lapel, and wore his new Australian hat. He looked like a gentleman, and (testing his theory) he nodded graciously to the men and woman who passed him on the outdoor veranda. Each, and every one of them smiled pleasantly—even some stuffy-looking gents who passed by his table looking like a well-dressed gaggle of turkeys with their round, glassy monocles and red, wattled necks.

  Finished with his breakfast, Earl tipped his waiter and strode down the boardwalk to where his men waited patiently in front of a shabby hotel. Springing to their feet, he saw both of them stare at him in shock. Josh even took his winter cap off in nervous respect. By the looks on their faces, he knew that he had succeeded in changing his appearance.

  Josh hardly knew what to think as he gazed at his mentor. Earl had gotten a bath and a shave, but that was only part of it. He had also shaved the rather thin, stringy hair on his head, and he was now as bald as an egg. His beard was gone as well. In its place, thick black mutton-chop sideburns were groomed to perfection and met up with lush, handlebar mustaches on either side of Earl’s thin lips.