Deadman's Revenge (The Deadman Series Book 3) Page 12

  Approach with extreme Prejudice!

  $1000.00 Reward

  There was also a rather well done rendering of Matthew on the sheet. Roy figured that an enterprising artist had lifted a photo of Sheriff Wilcox from a book about the Granville Stand-off.

  “Roy?” Chance’s voice trembled. “You don’t think…”

  Roy stood up. “NO! There’s no way your pa would have raped any woman. The killing part…” he hesitated for a moment. “I’ll just have to see what’s happened, before I can know for sure.”

  Roy moved to the hat stand and put his fedora on his head. Then he donned his warmest coat and turned to look at Matthew’s son. Putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder he said, “Chance, I’ve got to go find your pa, now. Something… or someone is after him and I think he may need my help.”

  He noticed that the youngster was fixing to complain or plead to come along and he added, “Now, I need you to head back home to Spokane, okay? I want you and Abby to stay buttoned up at home—don’t go to school or hang around outdoors, got it?” Chance’s eyes were growing shiny with frustrated tears and he shook his head in denial.

  Roy shook the boy’s shoulder. “Chance! You’ve got to believe me when I say that not only do outlaws use family members as hostages, lawmen do it too! One of the first things a U.S. Marshal will do to gain leverage in apprehending a fugitive is seize his family and property!”

  “If you stay home, like I ask,” the sheriff continued, “I can place a district attorney on your doorstep. This will keep you and Abby safe—at least, for a while, and free me up to find your pa before anyone else gets to him, first.”

  The look in his Godson’s eyes broke Roy’s heart and he pulled Chance in to his arms. Hugging him close, Roy whispered, “Just give Dicky and me a little time, son. We’ll find your Pa and bring him home, safe and sound. I promise!”

  Roy could only cross his heart and pray that he wasn’t too late.

  Chapter 15

  The Good Doctor

  Matthew and Lincoln traveled the miles between Patty’s place and the town of Walla Walla, slowly. Small, hard flakes of snow were sailing out of the lowlying clouds to the North and the marshal shivered. He had decided to make a cold camp earlier, both to rest his gelding and to let his nerves settle after what had happened the day before. He felt chilled now, though, and he wished for a crackling fire to warm his hands and feet. He acknowledged, with a sigh, that it wasn’t only the brisk weather of late autumn but a coldness that was growing in his own soul.

  He might have killed men before in his life as a lawman, and seen enough death to satisfy a mortician, but he had never grown used to it. He was uncomfortable over killing the four young cowboys that had accompanied Atkinson on the raid. Despite what they had done, they were too young to die and Matthew worried that his own dark demons had put a sudden and irrevocable end to souls that might have been saved… with time and maturity.

  It didn’t bother Matthew in the slightest, however, that Miles Atkinson had gone on to meet his maker. He fervently hoped that, even now, Atkinson stood waiting on Purgatory’s crossroads and he would, eventually, be forced to turn left toward the gates of Hell.

  Matthew had often teased Iris about going to church. He simply couldn’t imagine some giant, old man sitting on a golden throne up in the clouds, observing—and judging—his many minions here on Earth. Since his wife had been murdered, however, Matthew found himself wishing for such places as Heaven and Hell. Places where a human being’s actions on Earth were judged… and either rewarded … or punished.

  He had no doubt that if Heaven was real his beloved Iris was probably cavorting amongst heavenly horses and celestial cows on weekdays and singing with the angel’s choir on Sundays. By the same token, he hoped that if there was such a realm as Hell, Atkinson was even now being poked at and prodded by the devil’s own pitchfork!

  Sighing, Matthew rubbed at his sore arm. So much had happened yesterday, the bullet that killed little Hildy and passed through her body to graze his left arm seemed like nothing more than a mosquito bite. He had woken up this morning, though, realizing that the bullet wound was more than just a graze.

  After peeling off the crusty neckerchief he had used to staunch the flow of blood, he saw that the bullet had plowed a six-inch long furrow in his upper arm. The wound cut into the muscles as well, which was causing his arm to swell and the fingers of his left hand to tingle and burn. Luckily, Murray had put a small, blue bottle of mercurochrome in his saddlebags, along with clean bandages.

  The wound would heal, Matthew knew, but right now, it was aching something fierce. Staring down the road, he wondered how he was going to find Iris’ killer. The only thing he could think of was to go back to the prison and search for more clues. Maybe, if he could find that Josh kid’s whereabouts, he would find the Irish man as well.

  Matthew gave Lincoln’s belly a light squeeze. They were walking so slowly the gelding was nipping at weeds growing alongside the road. At his rider’s prompt, the horse dropped the weeds that hung from the sides of its mouth and started trotting up the road. Matthew figured it was about thirty miles to Walla Walla. If they made good time, they would arrive back at the prison by late afternoon.

  They trotted along for a while, until Matthew’s arm throbbed so badly he thought he might faint. Clicking his teeth, Matthew said, “Let’s run for a minute, Lincoln… Go!”

  The horse snorted and dug his back hooves into the packed dirt. Then, man and horse flew up the road in an easy canter. The gelding’s ears pointed forward and Matthew could feel Lincoln mouthing the bit. Knowing the horse wanted to gallop, Mathew said, “Whoa, Son. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves! Whoa…”

  Lincoln fell back down into a trot. They were approaching a blind corner and Matthew heard a donkey bray. This caused his horse to crow-hop a little, and Matthew pulled the reins taut. They stopped by the side of the road and waited. A minute later, a tall, skinny man with iron-gray hair and a lantern jaw hove into view, pulling a recalcitrant donkey behind him. “Come on, Lewis, goddammit!” he swore.

  The donkey saw the man and large gelding standing on the road in front of him and immediately set all four hooves on the road, pulling the reins of his bridle backwards. The man almost went flying face first, but let go of the reins, instead. Cursing, he shook his leather-burned palms and turned around to face Matthew and Lincoln with a rueful smile of greeting.

  “Good morning,” he called. “Guess this is all the animal I deserve for only five dollars! Still, for the most part, Lewis is a friendly enough fella. He’s just scared of his own shadow!” The man walked forward a few paces and held his hand out to shake. “The name’s Lawrence Talbot… Doctor, Lawrence Talbot. How do you do?”

  Matthew smiled and stepped down off his horse. “Matthew Wilcox… pleased to make your acquaintance.” He made no mention of his status as a lawman, or the star that was hidden in his saddlebag.

  The men shook hands and eyed each other in a friendly manner. One never did know what or whom they might meet on the road—friend or foe—but both men were at ease as they seized their animal’s reins and moved off the road onto a grassy clearing.

  “Where are you headed, Doctor?” Matthew asked after they had settled their mounts down. He was starting a small fire to make a pot of coffee and put a little more medicine on his arm.

  Talbot was feeding his donkey a handful of oats, but he turned to the marshal with a smile. “I’m heading out to a pig farm about fifteen miles down the road. I take care of the women who reside there. You know what I mean, I suppose.”

  Matthew did know, and he was thankful that Patty had found a physician who was willing to tend to her whores. Those women were prone to all sorts of diseases and unwanted pregnancies. Some folk might think that a doctor who performed abortions was the very devil… he, himself, would rather those girls be looked after by a good doctor than risk the sharp implement of a traveling huckster.

  Matthew nodded. “I do, an
d I appreciate your efforts, doctor.”

  Talbot looked pleased, and Matthew continued, “I just came from there, in fact. Patty is good people. There has been a sad change of circumstance, however…”

  Talbot took a tin cup of coffee from Matthew with a look of concern and said, “What has happened?”

  “I stayed there for a few days after my gelding got scratched up by a cougar. Their man, Murray, took care of my horse, while I helped do some chores around the place. More specifically, Patty asked me to run point on a certain problem she has been having with a cattle rancher named Miles Atkinson.”

  The doctor looked affronted. “Why, that old bastard! He has been systematically running one family after another off their own properties for a few years now! I didn’t realize that he was after Patty’s holdings, too.”

  The marshal nodded. “Well, he’s not doing it anymore, Doctor. I killed him and the four other men he rolled in with.”

  Dr. Talbot eyed the man with whom he was sipping coffee with the new eyes and his heart started thudding hard in his chest. This was one of those times he wished he didn’t have to risk life and limb on the open road. You just never could tell whether a stranger was good or bad until it was too late to do anything about it!

  Matthew could feel the change in the air as the older man tried to decide whether he was an upright citizen or an outlaw. “Don’t worry, Sir. I am a Washington State marshal and I was well within my rights to shoot those men down. They not only shot Patty in the shoulder, they raped and killed her daughter Hildy.”

  A strange expression crossed Talbot’s face but then he glared. “Blast their hides! Patty’s a good woman and Hildy is… was a doll! Why did they have to shoot them?”

  Matthew shrugged. “Sheer meanness, I suspect. At any rate, I’m glad you’re heading there now. Yesterday, it looked to me like Patty’s shoulder wound would be all right, but I’m no doctor. I would feel better knowing that you were there to help, if she takes a turn for the worse.”

  Talbot stood up and tossed the dregs of his cup away. “I had better not dawdle then, Marshal, if my services are required.”

  Mathew stood as well. “I wondered if I could bother you with a little stich work before you go. Shouldn’t take long and I would pay you for your time.”

  Talbot had heard that before but he remembered his oath, even if his pocketbook was as skinny as a willow switch.

  Staring at the marshal, the doctor said, “Sure. Let me have a look-see.”

  Matthew peeled off his shirt and the clean cloth on his upper arm. Talbot whistled. “Why, that wound never would have healed up proper without sewing! Sit down, please.”

  Matthew sat while the doctor pulled a large black case from one of the bags on his donkeys back. Then he knelt down and poured some foul-smelling concoction over the injured flesh. The marshal gritted his teeth against the fire as the liquid soaked into his skin and then the doctor started sewing.

  “There you go… I think you only need a few stitches and the rest of the flesh will knit itself closed. Still, it’s a good thing I could help, because you were really risking infection with this wound gaping open… what’s this?” the good doctor cried out in exasperation. He had apparently found the second bandage that was still stuck on the back of Matthew’s neck.

  “Well,” Matthew winced as Talbot lifted the crusty cloth and snorted in disgust. “Remember that cougar I mentioned… he took a swipe at me before he decided to chew on my horse, instead.”

  Talbot lifted the day-old bandage and threw it into the fire. “Well, both of these wounds need tending to, Marshal. Just let me do my work.”

  It sounded to Matthew as though the doctor thought he would not be compensated for his time and medicine, and Matthew held up his right hand. “Hold on a minute, Doctor.”

  “What!” Talbot complained, and stood back as Matthew got to his feet and rummaged around for a minute in his money-belt. Handing the doctor two twenty-dollar bills, he smiled and thanked the man for his help.

  Talbot eyes gleamed and he grinned in return. “Too many folks these days think that doctors can live on air alone, Marshal. It reminds me of a couple of men who came along about two months ago. One man, a young simpleton, said the other was attacked by a bear… and would I come and help?”

  Talbot ran a warm washcloth across the still painful cat scratch on Matthew’s neck. “I admit to feeling ashamed by what I did, then, Sir. I took one look at the man’s wounds and knew that they weren’t bear claws—it was a dog bite… or maybe a wolf that almost tore the man’s nose from his face.”

  Matthew sat up straight and his nerves tingled with excitement. His painful wounds forgotten for the moment, he listened as Talbot continued his story.

  The doctor sighed. “Well, thinking the two men were at worst a couple of liars and at best a couple of crooks, I asked them for a lot of money for my services…more than was proper, really. But I’ve been wanting to get out of town for a while now… maybe even out of this state and open up a nice new practice, in a new place… get a fresh start.” The doctor’s face was red with shame and self-loathing.

  “Did you happen to catch the crook’s names?” Matthew asked through numb lips.

  “Yeah… kind of. The older man’s name was Earl, I’m sure, and the younger fella was named Josh. Those boys sure proved my suspicions correct, though. No sooner did I patch Earl’s face up, he knocked me over the head and tied me up in a closet!”

  Matthew turned to look the doctor in the eye. “You didn’t happen to catch which way they were headed?”

  Talbot stared at Matthew for a moment and said, “Do you know these men, Marshal?”

  Matthew shook his head. “Not personally, no. But if my suspicions are correct, I think my wolf, Bandit, did the damage to Earl’s face… after the man killed my wife, Iris.”

  The doctor saw the marshal’s wide, green eyes and the grief that lingered in them still. “I can’t be sure, Sir, but the young one stepped back in the room after I thought they were gone for good. He was muttering to himself about not wanting to go to Billings, Montana.”

  Matthew’s lips peeled back in savage smile. Somehow, through sheer luck or maybe, God’s providence, he had found his clue. He didn’t know who Earl was or why he had killed Iris, but he aimed to find out… right before he filled his body full of holes.

  Chapter 16

  The Big Show

  Allen stood at the window and gazed at the activity below him on the streets of Billings. It was unbelievable. A huge wagon train was moving like a parade through town. There was everything from small buggies to huge covered wagons, fancy broughams, and run down whiskey wagons. There were rodeo clowns and mimes, actors dressed up as all manner of western characters, and street vendors selling caramel apples and popcorn.

  Many of the wagons were gaily painted and some barred, like patty wagons. Wild-looking Indians cavorted inside them brandishing tomahawks and beating authentic-looking war drums. A large, flatbed wagon carried a number of dancing girls, who swept their ruffled skirts up in unison, giving the cheering crowds a glimpse of forbidden pleasures.

  It seemed to O’Donnell that half of the town’s citizens had come out to cheer and gawk at the strange assembly. The town father’s had decided to build a new, covered barn for Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show. They figured that not only would this large, new building shelter this season’s smash hit, but it would also serve in the future as a meeting hall, and a rodeo grounds.

  Train car after train car had arrived daily, disgorging horses, cattle, sheep, dogs and even an exotic zebra, to the fascination of the watching citizens. More than one fistfight had erupted in debate over what manner of creature the zebra was or if it was just a pony, embellished with black and white stripes.

  O’Donnell’s saloon had been filled to overflowing for the last two weeks, and he could only smile and rub his hands together in greedy delight. Staring at the crowds that milled below him, though, he was beginning to wonder ho
w he was going to house the growing masses. He had already suffered losses that were beginning to cut into his profit margin. Three nights ago, an angry gambler had picked up a heavy glass pitcher and shattered one of the saloon’s largest and finest marbled mirrors.

  A week earlier, a frustrated patron had taken offence at one of the whores… an attractive but none too bright blonde, out of Missouri. Before he was through, the cowboy had torn two of the whore’s rooms to bits and injured the prostitute… to the point she might never work again. The building repairs and doctor’s bills stole that week’s income.

  He hoped that his idea of opening four beer gardens inside the new building would ease the burden on his establishment. Maybe, if the citizens got drunk enough outside of the saloon they wouldn’t bother coming inside the Little Haymaker to wreck additional havoc. It was his product, after all, so his pockets would still feel the weight of success.

  A gaudy, painted wagon approached now and Allen could hear the crowd roar. A tall man with a fancy white suit and long, golden brown hair was standing at the front of the wagon, bowing and throwing candies to the children in the crowd. There were two women with him, standing in back. Glancing down at one of the flyers that had been circulating all over town for the last two weeks, O’Donnell realized that he must be looking at the sharpshooters, Annie Oakley and Lillian Smith.

  They were both attractive women, if a little care-worn. The female facing Allen was dressed properly with a high collar and a fashionable, feathered hat. Annie Oakley, he thought. The other woman was dressed more provocatively with a red satin, low-cut blouse. As O’Donnell watched, she twirled around and shook her bosom at the men in the crowd… who crowed appreciatively.

  The show was scheduled to start tomorrow afternoon, but O’Donnell could already hear a crowd gathering downstairs in the bar. The saloon was open for business and he could only pray that it would still be standing by tomorrow’s opening performance. Oh well, he mused. The girls are ready and waiting, and we have enough booze to fill the Missouri River. Bring ‘em on!