Deadman's Revenge (The Deadman Series Book 3) Read online

  Her husband, Joseph, stood by the front door with an empty bucket in his hands. He was watching his wife carefully and seemed anxious for her welfare. Matthew looked down and saw that, except for his long johns, he was sitting naked on his own cot. All of the blankets had been removed, and the sheet he sat on was completely soaked with moisture.

  “Joseph… Ann, what are you doing?” he croaked.

  Ann’s voice cut off abruptly. She moved around the bed of hot rocks and leaned over the cot. Peering into his face, she put her hand on his forehead and grinned. “You have come back to us, Mr. Wilcox, and I am glad.”

  Matthew felt bewildered. “Come back?” His throat was scratchy and he felt weary to the bone, as though he had run a long, grueling footrace.

  Joseph moved into Matthew’s line of sight. “Hello, Matthew. You’ve been ill. We found you like this yesterday, and have been trying to help you get better. Sorry—my wife has a different way than most doctors.” Matthew’s neighbor gestured toward the hot rocks and shrugged. “She said you needed to sweat the bad spirits out before you could truly heal. I hope you don’t mind…”

  Matthew had nothing but the deepest respect for most Indian cures and potions. Their way seemed a mite more humane than what white docs were prone to do for sick folk. Staring up into Joseph and Ann’s faces, he nodded and said, “Thank you for helping me. I didn’t realize how sick I was…”

  He shook his head as images of the last couple of weeks ran through his mind. He didn’t remember too much, but he recalled Roy trying to take him back to the Imes ranch in Granville, and how he had screamed, “No! Anywhere, but there!”

  He vaguely remembered the long and dreadful trip to the cabin. He was lying in the back of a wagon, while Dicky tried to give him a sip of medicine. Matthew thought that, at one point, he had taken the young deputy by the collar, shook him violently and demanded another shot of heroin.

  He felt ashamed as he remembered his own, wretched behavior. Matthew realized now that not only had he sustained a serious injury—possibly a cracked skull—when the doctor and his orderlies seized him from the jailhouse, he had also become addicted to the medicine they had used to keep him sedated.

  He knew about heroin, morphine and cocaine; and those opiates’ addictive properties, but only as a lawman being trained to recognize the symptoms. Never, in his wildest dreams, did Marshal Wilcox think he would become one of those addled souls who would do anything and everything, including theft and murder, to get his hands on more drugs.

  Feeling a wave of nausea as the memories coursed through his mind, and realizing he was still as weak as a newborn kitten, he said, “I am so hot… could I have a drink of water?”

  Ann turned to Joseph. “Husband, please bring Mr. Wilcox some fresh water, and ask the children to help you take the rocks away. We no longer need them.”

  Joseph nodded and opened the front door. Immediately, Trickster nosed his way through Joseph’s legs and ran over to where Matthew sat on the cot. The large wolf-like dog jumped on the cot and stared into his master’s eyes. Letting out a whine, his jaws hung open in a happy grin as Matthew slowly reached up and scratched between his ears.

  Joseph approached with a mug of water and Matthew took a number of small sips to slake his thirst, knowing he would founder if he drank too much, too soon. Feeling better, he watched as Joseph and his kids pulled the large piece of tin and the hot rocks out through the front door. The room cleared of smoke and steam, and the pungent smell of the herbs Ann had been holding in her hands, dissipated.

  Even as Matthew shivered in the sudden chill, Ann held a blanket up in the air. Looking past it at him, she said, “Please stand up and remove your underwear, Mr. Wilcox. You have sweated out most of the poisons in your body, but it will not do to develop a chill now that you’re finally getting better.” Her head disappeared behind the blanket again, giving the marshal privacy.

  Matthew’s neighbor held a pair of his clean long johns in her hand. Matthew grabbed them and turned around to face the wall. As he peeled the seat-soaked under garments off, he thought, Ann turned my cabin into a sweat lodge…Clever!

  He had to hop around on his right foot to insert his left into the underwear and he felt one of Ann’s strong hands hold him steady as he huffed and puffed, his meager efforts bringing stars to his eyes. Once he was decent, Matthew sat down on the bed again with a weary sigh. He felt so tired…

  As if she had heard his thoughts spoken aloud, Ann said, “Mr. Wilcox, you must understand. You have been gravely ill. You took a terrible blow to the head. Plus, your body was filled with toxins… I don’t know what you have been taking, but it was very hard on you.”

  As Ann spoke, she bustled about the room, piling blankets around him on the clean cot, building a fire in the woodstove and putting a pot of water on the stove to heat. Her daughter, Susan, was pulling food from a basket and placing a loaf of bread, a jug of milk and a small hunk of cheese on the rickety table in the corner.

  Ann continued talking, even as Trickster followed her here and there around the room. “In addition, I believe you had the flux, which was eventually burned out of you by fever. That, alone, might have turned into pneumonia and carried you off, but, luckily, you have a strong constitution.”

  She stopped moving and stared down at him. “Still,” she said, “Now is the time for you to rest, to reflect, and to grant your spirit time to heal.”

  Somehow, when he wasn’t looking, the woman had managed to comb her hair and wind it into a tidy knot behind her neck. She had also put her medicine robes away and looked like a prim and proper lady again, complete with a heavy gingham skirt and high, white collar.

  Matthew marveled—she had saved his life using the tools of her heritage and yet, because she was an Indian, Ann knew, instinctively, that her very nature posed a threat to the safety and happiness of her family.

  “You are very lucky, Mr. Wilcox,” she continued. “Not only because my children found you in time, but that you have such good friends. Sheriff Smithers is on his way back here with your children—who love you, and miss you!” She added, severely.

  Ann sat down on the edge of the cot and took his hand in hers. “Mr. Wilcox, I didn’t mean to pry into your personal affairs, but I needed to understand what was making you so sick—what demon I was fighting against. Mr. Smithers told me about what happened to your wife…”

  Matthew cursed himself, but suddenly his eyes filled with tears. Blinking, he said, “It wasn’t Roy’s place to say anything…”

  Ann squeezed his hand. “Shhh, please, Sir. Let me finish.”

  Struggling against his own weakness, Matthew shuddered and stared at the far wall in silence.

  “My people believe that when a loved one passes on, their spirit lingers—at least for a while—to make sure those they left behind will be all right. It is imperative that the living allow those who have passed to enter the spirit world as quickly as possible, lest they become lost.” Ann watched as her words sunk into Matthew’s heart like a knife.

  Seeing the stricken look in Matthew’s large green eyes, she patted his hand again. “Your sorrow and hatred is not only making you sick, Mr. Wilcox, but it might be keeping your wife from entering the spirit-world. You must let go of your anger and grief, so she can find peace.”

  She smiled. “That being said, my people also believe in bringing justice to their enemies—both to please the spirits and to balance the scales of right and wrong in this human realm.” She stood up and gestured to her little girl. “Susan, please bring Mr. Wilcox some bread soaked in milk.”

  Turning back to him, Ann said. “Take time to rest, sir. Sleep… eat well, and heal… both your body and your soul. Then, once you have a clear head… and a clean heart, go and vanquish your enemies.”

  After Ann left the cabin, Matthew ate a little soft bread and slept. He slept like he hadn’t slept in years. Occasionally, he would rise to consciousness long enough to smell meat cooking, or coffee brewing on the
stove top, but then his eyes would close and he slept some more.

  Once, he awoke long enough to see his next-door neighbors sitting down at his dinner table, saying their prayers and once, he felt Trickster snuggle up next to him in the darkness.

  Later, he saw Iris running through a field of wildflowers. Catching his breath with joy, Matthew called out to her and watched as she turned around and waved at him with a mischievous smile. He begged her to stop and wait for him and he saw her pause, pensively, as though reluctant to stop her headlong dash.

  She did stop, though, and face him again. Although he yearned to take his wife in his arms and run with her through the wildflowers, Matthew remembered what the Indian woman had said. Reluctantly, he smiled and waved her on, although his heart ached so fiercely he thought it might crack in two.

  His beautiful wife stared into his eyes for a moment, and it looked as though she might weep, but then she grinned with joy. Waving at him one last time, she blew him a kiss and took off running toward the horizon… a horizon that was so beautiful, so un-earthly; he understood that he was catching a glimpse of something not meant for mortal eyes.

  Iris ran until she disappeared into the radiant purple, red and gold of a distant lands setting sun, and… finally, Matthew said, goodbye.

  ~

  The next morning, he awoke to the smell of bacon, and the joyous shouts of children’s laughter in the front yard. Sitting up, he realized that for the first time in weeks, he felt like his old self. The back of his head still ached a bit and there was a lingering heaviness in his lungs, but the heroin had worked its way out of his blood, and the sorrow that was killing him had left, leaving his heart and soul free to heal.

  Ann Ferguson glanced his way. “Good morning, Mr. Wilcox. Are you feeling well enough to eat with us this morning?”

  Matthew nodded. “Yes ma’am… thank you.” There was a fresh set of clothes at the end of the cot and a bowl of warm water for washing. It took more time than normal but, after a few minutes, he was washed up, and dressed in clean clothes.

  He stepped out on the front stoop and saw little Toby and Susan playing, Catch the stick with Trickster. He also saw Joseph sitting on the back of his wagon, mending tack and chewing on a long piece of grass.

  Then his eyes landed on his son Chance, who stood looking at him from the shade of a Tamarac tree. The boys’ wide green eyes, so like his own, were glued to his face in anxiety and hope.

  Abby was there too, along with Roy, and Dicky. They were all staring at him as if he might dry up and blow away. (Indeed, Matthew thought, in a way that was just what had happened, as far as his children were concerned.)

  Although it shamed him to know that his children were seeing their pa at his weakest, he smiled and held his arms open wide in greeting and felt the warmth of their love as they flew to side in joy.

  Chapter 24

  Dr. Talbot—Still Mad as Heck

  It was a warm and brilliant May morning. The sky was like a giant, blue bowl overhead and the sun’s warmth had finally dried the mud in the streets. The Granville jailhouse was free of prisoners and Sheriff Smithers had decided it was high time to do some heavy, spring-cleaning and repair work on the jail and the sheriff’s office next door.

  Abner was crawling around on the roof taking down old, broken shingles and replacing them with new. Bean Tolson was inside, oiling the iron cell doors, the locking mechanisms and even the wood stove door, which screeched like a banshee every time it opened or shut.

  Dicky was sweeping clots of mud and piles of dust off the boardwalk. It was hard work—especially since the sheriff’s department had been asked not to sweep the leavings out onto the street. Apparently, Granville’s main street was about to be paved in cobblestones… after an electrical line was placed on tall poles, overhead.

  The deputy shook his head in amazement and sneezed. Wiping his runny nose, Dicky thought… This is sure becoming a modern place! I wonder what Mr. Wilcox will think once he comes back home?

  Dicky smiled. About three weeks after they had fetched Matthew’s children up to the cabin in the high hills above Colville, the marshal had driven a wagon back to Granville. His horse Lincoln was tied on back and his dog Trickster sat next to him on the front bench.

  For the first time since they had found Iris and her farmhand murdered, Mr. Wilcox looked healthy, and… if not happy, at least, accepting of what life had thrown his way. He stayed in town for a while that afternoon, catching up with the latest news and sitting with Roy and his deputies out on the boardwalk.

  Matthew had smiled and waved at passers-by and made a show of eating the fresh cookies brought over by the ladies auxiliary club. It was almost like old times and Dicky felt certain that his idol was finally on the road to recovery.

  Marshal Wilcox left later that afternoon and met up with his kids at the Imes ranch. Dicky had no idea how that meeting went, but Chance had dropped by the next morning and seemed content. He was also happy to report that Samuel Imes had come back home for the meeting.

  Everyone knew that Sam blamed his stepfather for what had happened to Iris. At first, Dicky felt angry with the kid and wanted to give him a piece of his mind. But, Roy had intervened, saying that each heart grieved in a different way. He had reminded his deputy that Sam was a good boy who just needed time to get past his sorrow. Now, Dicky was happy that he had kept his big, fat nose out of a private, family affair.

  According to Chance, Sam planned on spending most of the summer at the Imes ranch, getting things in order and continuing on where his ma had left off. For a while there, he had threatened to make a career of soldering, but it seemed that Matthew had asked his son to reconsider, and Sam had accepted. The young man had one more year left of service to the Army, but Matthew had promised to pick up the slack until Sam’s return.

  All’s well that ends well… Dicky thought and sneezed again. Now, if Mr. Wilcox would just finish his business, and get back home!

  Sheriff Smithers stuck his head out the door of his office and said, “You boys take a break and come inside for lunch.”

  Dicky heard Abner scrambling down off the roof, and he placed his broom against the front of the building. Slapping at his clothes to rid himself of dust and dirt, Dicky didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching. He was surprised then, to turn around and see a tall, thin scarecrow of a man standing behind him on the boardwalk.

  The man took off a derby-style hat and smiled. “Hello!” he said. “My name is Talbot… Dr. Lawrence Talbot. I came to see Marshal Matthew Wilcox.”

  Dicky was about to reply, when Sheriff Smithers asked, “What do need the marshal for?”

  The doctor turned around in surprise. “Oh! You must be Matthew’s friend, Roy!” He turned back to the deputy with a grin, adding, “And you must be Dicky McNulty… also Marshal Wilcox’ good friend.” He stuck out a hand in greeting.

  Dicky shook the man’s hand, looking past him to his boss for further instruction. Roy was not a big man, or tall, but there was something about him that gave a person pause… he was tough as an old boot, for sure, and quick to take offense but there was also a streak of protectiveness in the sheriff that was showing itself now as he appraised the doctor with critical eyes.

  “I asked, why are you looking for Marshal Wilcox?” Roy growled.

  The doctor blushed. “I can see that you’re being careful for your friend, Sheriff Smithers and I can appreciate that. But, although you don’t know me, I wish you would consider me a friend, as well. Let’s sit a spell and I’ll tell you how I met Marshal Wilcox and what happened after that, all right?”

  Roy studied the older man for a moment and then he sighed. “Dicky, why don’t you grab the doctor and I, a cup of coffee and a couple of sandwiches?”

  The deputy nodded and walked into the sheriff’s office. The other deputies followed him in and he grabbed Roy and his guest some lunch. Then, Abner, Bean and Dicky joined the two older men out on the boardwalk and listened as Talbot spoke.
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  “I met the marshal out on the prairie between Patty Hanson’s place and the town of Walla Walla.” Lawrence explained. “He was pretty beat up, you know. He had been attacked by a wild cat… and shot in the left, upper arm. I helped to patch him up and he told me about what happened to Patty and her little girl, Hildy.”

  “Yeah,” Roy grumbled, sarcastically. “I thought you were supposed to come back and help exonerate the marshal, but I didn’t see hide or hair of you.”

  Talbot cringed. “And I am sorry about that, Sir. I had one more stop to make before I headed back into town. An old hermit lives another twenty miles, or so, from Patty and I was heading out to his place with a bottle of ointment for his rheumatism. That’s when my donkey stumbled over a pile of rocks and fell over an embankment. Never underestimate the stupidity of some of God’s creatures, Sheriff….” he sighed.

  “Anyway, I had to put the poor critter out of its misery, and then hike the rest of the way to Fitzgerald’s place on foot with all of my supplies. I made it, eventually, but then a big snowstorm moved in. I was stranded for about a week, and by the time I walked back to Patty’s house, she had already gone in and sworn testimony to the marshal’s innocence.”

  He stared into Roy’s eyes and said, “Sir, had I been able, I would have been only too happy to see justice served on Matthew’s behalf.”

  Dicky saw Roy relax as he listened to the doctor talk, and he felt relieved. Sheriff Smithers pissed-off, was a force to be reckoned with, and it was too fine a day to ruin with a dust-up.

  “What are you doing here today, Dr. Talbot, and why are you searching for Matthew?” Roy asked mildly.

  “Well,” the doctor grinned. “About two weeks ago, a parcel came to Patty Hanson’s house. It was from Marshal Wilcox and it contained cash—both for Patty and for me!” Looking pensive, he added, “There was no call for it, you understand… at least as far as I was concerned. Matthew already paid me for my services. Still, I appreciated the gesture and I just wanted to come by and say, thanks.”