Deadman's Revenge (The Deadman Series Book 3)

by Linell Jeppsen

  Talbot stood up and stared down at Josh. “Tell me, Josh, did you and Earl Dickson hurt the marshal’s wife? Tell the truth, now!”

  Josh glanced over at where the marshal sat, studying him with those chilly green eyes. He hadn’t wanted to hurt the pretty lady but after what Earl had done and once she grabbed that gun… he didn’t have a choice! Surely, the marshal could see that… right?

  Matthew was studying Josh’s face and saw the guilt running through his eyes like fish in a transparent stream. Then the marshal pulled his pistol out of its holster and pointed it at Josh’s face, watching as his eyes got as big and round as silver dollars. “N…N…N!!!” he grunted while trying to back away.

  “Josh, listen to me, now,” he said softly. “Dr. Talbot is going to remove your gag. If you scream, I’ll shoot you in the face. If you try to run, I’ll shoot you in the face. Got it?”

  The mouth of the marshal’s pistol looked like the black, open maw of Hell and Josh nodded, fearfully. The doctor bent over and removed the gag, even as Marshal Wilcox cocked his pistol. Staring into Josh’s eyes, Matthew said, “I want you to tell me, right now, what happened to my wife.”

  Tears spilled from the terrified man’s eyes. “I didn’t mean fer it to happen! I didn’t want to at all, but after Earl done to her what he did and that goddamn wolf attacked, the lady grabbed at the rifle… I didn’t have no choice! I shot her twice and she died. I’m sorry!” Then, Josh started bawling like a baby as Matthew sat still in triumph… and defeat.

  Then, Josh forgot all about the marshal as the Billing’s Sheriff and three of his deputies swarmed into the stall. “You may go now, gentlemen. We’ll take it from here.” Sheriff Bob Parker said.

  The sheriff, who had about had it with Allen O’Donnell and his crew smiled with relief. Now, thanks to this US Marshal, he had solid proof to rid his town of the Little Haymaker Saloon and its owner for good!

  Earlier this morning a new doctor in town had come to his jailhouse and told him an interesting tale about Allen O’Donnell and his partner. The man’s name was apparently Earl Dickson, and he was wanted for the murder of Marshal Wilcox’ wife, Iris.

  The doctor had pleaded with Parker to come to Spile’s Livery because there was a hit out on the marshal (Dickson’s orders) and Wilcox was afraid to set foot outside for fear of an assassin’s bullet. Once he and his deputies arrived, they had visited with the marshal for a while, and then hunkered down in a nearby stall and listened as the crook’s partner, confessed to the crimes.

  The whole thing was as neat as a pin and the sheriff grinned in triumph. Now, all he and his deputies needed to do was go to the saloon and haul Dickson (and most of his men) out in irons. A good ending, for sure, and maybe now the uppity-ups in town would stop pestering him with vague rumors and accusations they couldn’t prove!

  “Take him to the jailhouse, boys!” the sheriff said. Then he turned to Matthew. “Listen, if you want, I could let you in on the arrest. It’s unusual, grant you, but I guess you got a good reason for being there.”

  Matthew smiled. “That’s okay, Sheriff. I’ll just stay outside and let you and your men sort out the criminals, alright?”

  Relieved, Parker nodded. “That’s fine. Don’t go leaving town, though, for a while, okay? The man will surely hang, but it would be best if his principal accuser was around, in case the judge who tries the case has any question.”

  The marshal, who understood the many rules and regulations involved in an arrest of this magnitude, smiled and murmured, “Don’t worry—I’m not going anywhere. What time do you think you’ll be heading over to the Little Haymaker to arrest Dickson?”

  The sheriff stepped aside to let the deputies, with their prisoner in tow, walk past. Josh stared at Matthew and his eyes were truly sad as he whispered, “Your pretty wife was real nice to me, Marshal… I’m sorry, really I am!”

  Matthew’s throat closed on his grief and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Feeling tears of sorrow fill his eyes he looked away lest he unman himself.

  Martha saw the expression on his face, though. Her heart filled with rage… both at the grief in Matthew’s eyes, and at the constant abuse, she had received from most men, her whole livelong life. Growling, she ran up behind Josh and sunk the toe of her boot into the prisoner’s butt so hard, he grunted in agony and sank in a dead faint between the two deputies who held his arms.

  “Gawd-dammit, Jane!” Parker howled. “Get the hell outta here!”

  Martha picked up her hat, tipped her bottle and winked at Matthew before heading out the double doors of the livery.

  Turning back to Matthew, the sheriff said, “I reckon we’ll be heading over to the saloon about 1:00. I should have enough men gathered up by then.

  The marshal smiled and tipped his hat. “I’ll see you then, sir.”

  Pausing, Parker added, “I understand how you must be feeling, Marshal. Just remember, I don’t want no vigilantes in on this deal. If you think you can keep your hands off your gun, you are welcome in on the arrest. But, if Dickson is assassinated today, I’ll be tossing you into jail along with the rest of the crooks, understand?”

  Matthew answered, “Completely, Sheriff.”

  Then Parker walked out the door. Matthew walked into the livery office and pulled the window shade closed. Dr. Talbot was nursing a whiskey and he asked the marshal if he wanted one too. Matthew nodded and said, “Just a finger is all… there’s still a lot of work to do in the next couple of hours.”

  Talbot brought Matthew his drink and sat down on one of the chairs. “You gonna shoot him, Marshal?”

  Matthew felt as if all the blood in his body had drained away while he wasn’t looking. His muscles felt weak and rubbery and his heart ached in his chest. He had thought that getting to the bottom, of his wife’s murder would set him free but it only served to weigh him down more.

  He knew that filling Dickson’s body full of holes would probably help, a little, to heal his pain, but he also didn’t want to waste any more time away from his family than he absolutely had to… which would happen if he landed himself in jail—again. The fact that the sheriff had just served a warning to him about undue interference, Matthew also understood that the lawman’s threats were not idle.

  He shook his head. “No. I don’t mean to, Doctor. But I don’t intend to let him sneak away, either. Are you still on board with my plan?”

  Talbot grinned. “Oh yeah, Marshal. We all are!”

  Chapter 30

  Touch and Go

  At 1:34 pm on a lovely Sunday afternoon, Sheriff Parker and ten sworn deputies walked down the boardwalk and filed into The Little Haymaker saloon. The streets were unusually quiet, a fact that the sheriff appreciated. Many of the more solid citizens in town lingered at church socials and potlucks and the fine weather had lured other folks out of town into the verdant fields and new green forests for picnics or games of darts and baseball.

  At any rate, Parker thought, we couldn’t have picked a better time than right now to roust the saloon.

  The deputies swarmed in the front door and fanned out along the back walls. They held rifles, shotguns and pistols and all of them shouted, “Put your hands in the air, and get down on your knees!”

  Sheriff Parker, meanwhile, had gone straight for the weapons locker. The saloon was fairly quiet—he counted twenty men sitting at the bar and the tables closest to it. All of the men, and four whores fell to their knees, holding their hands in the air. “Search ‘em!” he hollered.

  Five of the deputies set to searching the men and women and, besides a small knife hidden in one of the prostitute’s corsets, the new prisoners were unarmed. “Cuff ‘em and take ‘em to the jailhouse!”

  The men and women set to wailing and shouting out about their innocence and the sheriff knew that, indeed, some of the men in the group were just drunks and gamblers. Oh well, he shrugged, we’ll sort the wheat from the chaff down at the jail.

  Joey Landriath stood behind the bar and quiv
ered with anxiety. Damn it, he thought in disgust. And here I thought I might be finally be catching a break!

  The sheriff approached. “Go easy on this one, boys. He’s my cousin’s boy.” Most of the deputies closest to Sheriff Parker knew that, and they also knew that Joey wouldn’t hurt a fly. He just had more ambition than common sense, sometimes, and had always loathed the idea of taking over his daddy’s sheep farm. Now, some of them smirked, unless he wanted to spend time in jail, he had better high tail it back home!

  Earl Dickson heard the ruckus downstairs and scowled. Goddammit! he snarled under his breath, wondering which one of his hired men had brought the law down on his doorstep. It never occurred to him that he was the main fish on the line… not until one of the whores tapped on his door and stuck her head inside.

  He automatically started to berate the tart for entering his office without asking for permission first, but the woman said, “Shut up, Allen! That is, if you want to escape the sheriff and his men!”

  Earl closed his mouth with a snap. His blood ran cold… what had happened? Then, Josh’ tardiness began to make sense. He had no idea what might have stirred the sheriff’s suspicions, but if they had seized his right hand man, and Josh spilled his guts… Why, he could hang!

  “Get out of here, Janie, unless you want to spend the rest of the day in the slammer!”

  The whore nodded and pulled the door shut. Instantly, Earl took his valise (that already had two changes of clothing in it) out of the wardrobe and put a handful of money in, along with his shaving kit. He stood for a moment, gazing longingly at all of his fine clothes and hats but he could already hear the heavy tread of many boots marching up the stairs.

  Earl ran to the window and opened the sash. Then he threw the bag out on the little balcony. He had often judged the height from the balcony to the street below and knew he could make the eight-foot jump. There came a pounding at the door and the words, “Earl Dickson open this door and come out with your hands up!” rang in his ears.

  My, God! They know who I am! Earl thought, and he understood that the only way the sheriff could have gotten the drop on him was if that danged Marshal had whispered in his ear! Cursing Matthew, and Josh, and every other person who had ever crossed his path, Earl grabbed his valise by the handles and leapt over the railing to the street.

  A few people were standing on the opposite side of the street and he saw them point, and holler, “Hey Sheriff! O’Donnell’s getting away! Sheriff Parker!”

  Earl turned and dashed around the corner and down the street. The road ran the distance of the building with two, separate offshoots to the next street. He jinked left into one of the alleys and ran as fast as he could. He was starting to grin in triumph when he saw a buckskin-clad woman and a tall, skinny gray-haired man move to the front of the alley, blocking his way. Both of them lifted their firearms and sighted down their barrels at him.

  Stopping, he stared. Who in the hell… is that Calamity Jane and that doctor… what’s his name? he wondered, and then he ran backwards a few feet and cut right down an adjacent alley.

  He had only run about thirty yards when another figure darkened the foot of the narrow, rubbish-strewn street. This shadowy form was very tall and slender, and as he approached, Earl saw that the man wore a low-brimmed hat pulled at a slant over his eyes. Marshal Wilcox had not left town after all, and Earl sprang a sweat.

  Turning around, he saw Martha Jane Canary and the doctor walking up behind him, even as the marshal drew closer with every step. There was one more side road, just about six feet to his right. He started to turn into it, wishing that the sheriff would show up and call a halt to this god-awful chase.

  “Stop right there, Dickson!” Marshal Wilcox shouted and started running in Earl’s direction. Earl took one more step, and then gave up. Wilcox was practically on top of him now and Earl could hear Jane and the doctor practically breathing down his neck.

  The marshal stopped three feet in front of Dickson. His face was as white as a sheet, and he held a trembling hand over his chest. He studied his quarry’s face—saw the blunt bit of nose tissue left over from Bandit’s attack and the small and dirty hands that had murdered his beautiful wife.

  A rage filled his heart then… a bitter anger so large and profound he could hardly catch his breath. Gasping, he said, “Doctor… Martha, I’ve got this. You’d better make yourselves scarce.”

  The doctor wasted no time in disappearing, now that the marshal had Dickson well in hand. Jane hesitated a moment longer, though. “I wouldn’t blame you, Marshal, for dropping this dirty dog where he stands, but the sheriff isn’t going to take kindly to it.”

  “I know, Martha. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay, then. Bye!” She started to walk away, but then turned around and spat on Dickson’s back. Then she laughed out-loud and disappeared down the street.

  Matthew held his pistol on Dickson, and tried to relieve the pressure on his chest but he felt like a horse had kicked him. Lifting the pistol and putting it between Earl’s eyes, he murmured, “Why? Why did you kill my wife?”

  Dickson grinned. “Cuz I felt like it, that’s why. Men like you with your pretty wives and pretty houses—you’re all the same. You have had everything… EVERYTHING handed to you on a silver platter. Well, I am sick of it! Thought it was high time someone took away from you!”

  Even as he talked, Earl saw that something was wrong with the marshal. His face was pale, and he seemed to be swaying on his feet and gasping for air. “Well… you gonna shoot me with that gun of yours or are you just feelin’ me up?” he smirked.

  Matthew gulped and thought, Of all worst times to get sick… “You need to turn around and put your hands in the air. I’m taking you to the sheriff.”

  Earl grinned and turned slightly to his right. Then he fingered a button on his wrist and felt his little 22.caliber pistol hideaway slide into his right palm. Turning around, he realized that Marshal Wilcox had fallen to one knee and was staring at the ground with his eyes half closed.

  The marshal held both hands on his chest and horrid choking noises were issuing from his mouth as he tried, in vain, to draw air into his lungs. Earl grinned, even as he heard the sound of many men running down the street. Knowing it was this man’s words against his, Earl lifted his little shooter and started to squeeze the trigger.

  That’s when he heard a hideous growl. He turned to see what was behind him, and then he felt himself hit so hard from behind, he was thrown off balance and landed five feet away on his back, with a grunt. Then, to his absolute horror, he saw the beast of his nightmares crawl on top of him and stare, snarling into his face.

  Earl tried to lift his pistol but he realized that the 22 had flown out of his hand when he fell. Then, as if his recurring nightmare had become reality, the marshal rose slowly to his feet, stared past the animal’s shoulder into Earl’s eyes and smiled.

  Matthew was still as gray as a ghost, but his right hand was steady as he lifted his big gun and pointed it at Earl’s murdering head. Earl struggled and groaned in fear, knowing that his life was just about to end, when he heard the marshal say, “Trickster, get down off the man now… that’s a good dog.”

  Then, as Dickson lay wallowing in the mud and the refuse of the alleyway two streets away from the Little Haymaker saloon, Sheriff Parker and the rest of his deputies came running up the street, guns lifted and voices raised.

  “Marshal Wilcox, do not shoot that weapon!” Parker yelled and watched in amazement as Matthew fell over backwards and landed on the ground in a dead faint.

  There was a certain amount of confusion then, especially since that horrible big dog wouldn’t let anyone near his master except for one of the worst miscreants in town, Calamity Jane. Once she checked the US marshal out and said, “He’s alive!” the deputies marched Earl Dickson down the road and into a jail cell.

  Matthew, on the other hand, landed in the local hospital. He was diagnosed with pneumonia, and spent almost a week los
t between the dead and the living. No matter how hard he tried, or how many potions Dr. Talbot forced down his throat, Matthew burned with fever and his lungs didn’t work.

  It wasn’t until a couple of weeks had passed and his high fever started to cool that a familiar and beloved face swam into view. Chance was sitting on the edge of his bed. The boy held one of his hands and was whispering things like, “… and we had a good foaling season, too, Pa. Ma would be proud! We sure could use a hand, though.”

  The boy took a breath and continued, “Sam wants you to come back home before he hires any extra hands, though… you know, he wants it to be your decision. But, I sure hope you choose Abner. He’s tired of being a lawman and I think he would make a fine ranch hand, don’t you?”

  Matthew squeezed his son’s hand, and murmured, “Sure, I would like that.”

  Chance’s eyes got big. “Roy! Dicky, come here… Pa’s awake!” Matthew’s son turned back to face him. “Pa! Oh my goodness, I thought you were going to die!” Then, he threw himself on Matthew’s chest and wept with relief.

  Epilogue

  Two months later, Matthew was mucking out stalls in the barn, when the postmaster pulled up in his wagon. “Hallo, the house!” he called.

  Matthew put his pitchfork against the far wall and stepped outside. “Hello, Bernie. How are you today?”

  Bernie Hammond grinned and said, “Well, if the weather could just stay like this all the time, I would be a happy man!”

  Matthew smiled and nodded in agreement. The weather was fine, all right. Warm days and balmy nights had brought in a bumper crop of wheat and corn. The sky was as blue as a robin’s egg and plump, billowy clouds sailed across the sky like matrons on parade.

  His health had improved and he grew stronger every day. The hurt and sorrow of the last year still snuck up on him sometimes, and he knew he would miss his Iris forever, but his sons and his good friends kept him company. Finally, the sharp edge of his grief was growing less keen.