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

  Lincoln lifted his head and nickered as Matthew approached. His ears stood at attention as if he sensed Matthew’s excitement, and no sooner had his rider landed on his back, the gelding gave a little kick and headed out of town to where Calamity Jane and Trickster were holed up, hiding.

  ~

  By the time Allen returned to his saloon he was smiling widely, despite the fact that he had been robbed. There wasn’t too much cash in the wallet, but he had finally found the hotel the marshal had stayed in and the proprietor said that the marshal checked out in the wee hours, saying that he was on his way to Tombstone on official business.

  Not sure whether he should believe his good luck, Allen then visited the two main liveries in town. There were actually more than two but he could see no reason why a traveling marshal would board his horse in one of the more out-of-way stables. Again, Allen lucked out… at the first and biggest of the two of the two liveries, the stable master said the big, strawberry roan had ridden out about 5:00 that morning.

  He had thought about stopping in at the livery that Spiles ran and checking on his own horseflesh but he was tired from his restless night and ready to take a nice long nap. Allen decided to have a stiff drink in celebration, and then head upstairs for a much needed rest. He still planned on pulling up stakes, but at least it wouldn’t need to be at a dead run!

  He drank a couple of whiskeys and… feeling his oats for the first time in weeks, he called out to one of the new whores and told her to head up to his office. A few moments later, he walked up himself, smiling with relief and anticipation of tasting this newest flower’s sweet nectar.

  Young Freddie was still aglow at what Mr. O’Donnell had just suggested. He had thought long and hard about quitting work as the Little Haymaker’s bartender. The atmosphere here was something he had not counted on when he first started. He had thought it was the prettiest and nicest place in all of Montana but now he knew it was nothing but a den of inequity and O’Donnell was a horrible beast of a man. The pay was good, though and day by day, it became harder to give up the steady salary on moral grounds.

  Now though, he thought, maybe as the saloons new manager, I can wrestle it back into respectability! He smiled as he dreamed of making something out of the place and becoming the successful businessman he had always wanted to be!

  Just as soon as he saw Mr. O’Donnell and Josh’ backsides for the last time!

  Chapter 28

  Making Plans

  Matthew knelt by a small stream that ran in front of the ramshackle cabin Martha Jane occasionally called home. He ran a washcloth over his dirty face, neck and hands while Martha dabbed at his numerous flea-bites with witch hazel.

  “I got an old duster you can use, Marshal, if you want.”

  Matthew nodded. “That would be fine, Martha. I don’t feel like being assassinated tonight.”

  After he finished washing up, the marshal stood and put on his best shirt, his vest, his badge and a necktie. He figured there was no way he would be taken seriously by the local authorities if he didn’t present himself as a proper lawman. Then, he sat down at a board that Martha had placed between two old barrels for a quick bite to eat.

  Feeding Trickster a piece of rabbit meat, he said, “So, we’ll go into town looking like a couple of drunks. On foot and staggering around we should avoid any confrontations from Dickson’s men… agreed?”

  Martha smirked. “Yeah, I agree. I have firsthand knowledge that the drunker I am, the more folks avoid me.”

  Grinning, Matthew asked, “Do you really think that the stable master will give us a hand?” he asked. “All my plans, at this point, depend on Spiles’ cooperation.”

  Martha stared into space for a moment and then she replied. “Marshal, you never can tell what a man is made of until he’s tested but I believe, deep in my soul, that Dave Spiles would do just about anything to bring his boss down…” she paused and gazed into his face. “I hope that we can keep him from being hurt.”

  The marshal said, “I see no reason why he would be hurt in any way, Martha. I might need to call him in as a witness but by then, any threat Dickson poses should be neutralized.”

  “Okay, Marshal,” she replied. “It’s just that Dave Spiles ain’t no crook. He is getting on in years, though. His only crime was deciding to take what the new boss offered so’s he could feather his nest a little before he got too old to support hisself.”

  She shook her head. “But, he has told me that sometimes the horses brought into the stable… O’Donnell’s horses, are covered mane to hock in blood and half the time, some of O’Donnell rough-riders don’t even bother to hide what they stole off of folks they robbed, including ladies jewelry, and little girl’s poppets!”

  She stared into Matthew’s eyes. “I’d bet my life that Spiles will agree to help. Please, just promise me that he don’t go down with the rest of those outlaws!”

  “I’ll make sure of it, Martha.” Staring out the door, he said, “Why don’t we catch a little nap and head in at dusk?”

  Nodding, she answered, “I don’t have a proper bed but you’re welcome to my pallet. I ain’t tired, but I’ll keep an eye out while you catch a few winks.”

  Smiling, Matthew stood up. Groaning a little at the fatigue that was still sapping his strength, he held out a hand. “Martha, I want to thank you, again, for helping me.”

  Calamity Jane shook the marshal’s hand and blushed. Never in a hundred years would she have thought she would be helping a lawman out, but after hearing why the marshal was hunting O’Donnell (or Earl Dickson, according to Matthew) she was itching to lend a hand.

  “Right… I’ll wake you up about 3:00, all right?”

  She watched as the man sat down on her rumpled blankets and pulled his hat down over his eyes. He was so handsome… but he also looked as if he had been ill. His pretty, green eyes were sunk in shadows and there was a frailty about him, Martha worried about. Hopefully; the marshal knew what he was doing or she, and all of her friends, would find themselves dead by tomorrow afternoon.

  ~

  Dr. Lawrence Talbot stepped down off the train, stretched his arms over his head and started walking to the first livery he could see. He had spent many a year (way too long, actually) being a traveling doctor and he had learned that a town’s stables contained some of the best intelligence in town… along with the busiest restaurants.

  Stable hands were often overlooked as real people with actual ears… as were waitresses, and many a customer, whether boarding their horses or filling their bellies talked openly about where they were going and whom they were going to see, unmindful of the eager ears that were soaking up their words.

  It was a sunny day, although mud-puddles reflected the blue skies all up and down the street. Talbot hopped here and there, avoiding the potholes as much as possible and then he stepped inside the livery office. No one was inside, so he stepped through the back door leading into the barn and called out, “Hello… is anybody here?”

  An old man came through one of the open stalls and walked toward him from the back of the building. “What can I do fer ya?” he asked.

  The doctor took his hat off and smiled. “Hello, my name is Talbot… Doctor Lawrence Talbot. I just arrived in your fair city and I wondered if you knew of a man named Earl Dickson? He may have been traveling with a young man named Josh.”

  Dave’s eyes grew sharp. He had never heard of an Earl Dickson, but the name Josh was sure familiar… of course, there were probably a hundred Joshes in town. “Well, I don’t know about Earl Dickson but I do know a Josh… what does he look like?”

  Talbot scratched at his balding head of gray hair. “I remember him as being tall… and stout, too. Scruffy, black hair… he was a bit simple.”

  Spiles ears perked up. Feeling a tingle of excitement, he looked around to make sure no one was lurking in one of the stalls. Then he said, “Follow me into my office, Doctor. We’ll have us a chat.”

  ~

  Talbot and
Spiles traded stories and drank strong, black coffee until late in the afternoon. Once Spiles realized that Josh might recognize the doctor, he kept a weather eye on the street—looking for the young man to come this way. It was unlikely though… Josh and the tough boys he hung around with rarely darkened the stable doors.

  The doctor told Dave that the man he knew as Allen O’Donnell was more than likely, Earl Dickson out of the Walla Walla State pen. Talbot also told Spiles what he knew about the murder of Matthew Wilcox’ wife, Iris. He asked Spiles if his passenger, seven months earlier, had wounds on his face when he had bought the stage ride into Montana.

  Dave nodded vehemently. “That is for sure,” he said. “He hardly came out of the coach, at all, until we come into Orofino, Idaho and then, I saw that his face was all tore up. Once we got to Billings, he allowed that his name was Allen O’Donnell and did I want a job working for him?” He shook his grizzled head in self-disgust. “What I would give to have said no to that sorry, sonofabitch!”

  The evening’s shadows were growing long and Talbot stood up to leave. “Listen, Dave,” he said. “I made a vow to let the authorities in this town know about Dickson and what I heard he did to that marshal’s wife… and, just as soon as I get situated, I will… mark my words. Thank you for your… Say!” he exclaimed. “I almost forgot! You didn’t happen to see that marshal and his big red roan?”

  Spiles shook his head. “Nah, I never seen him or his hoss. A friend of mine, Martha Jane, has though. If he shows up, do you want me to let him know you’re here?”

  Right at that moment, two drunken figures lurched down the boardwalk and into the big barn’s double-doors. Spiles heard Martha Jane cackle with laughter as she fell out of the equally inebriated arms of her fellow drunk. Falling on the floor, she hollered, “Davey, why is you still open fer business, eh? Close yer friggin’ doors and we’ll tip a cup or two!”

  Glancing down at his pocket watch, Dave saw that it was, indeed, far past closing time. He pulled the doors shut, secretly mourning the fact that not only did he have one drunk on his hands who was more than willing to nozzle up all of his booze, she had brought a friend along to help. Sighing, he put the bar across the doors and turned around to face his guests.

  He was shocked, therefore, to see that Martha Jane was standing upright now and staring in perfect sobriety at her companion who had shed his long, dirty duster and was shaking the doctor’s hand in welcome.

  “Marshal Wilcox! I am so pleased to have found you! I have news, sir, about that rascal Earl Dickson!” Talbot was grinning from ear to ear and Spiles stared at them in confusion.

  Matthew smiled warmly and looked at the stable master. Walking over, he held out his hand and said, “How do you do, Mr. Spiles. My name is Matthew Wilcox. Martha tells me you have some information that might help me put Mr. Allen O’Donnell away for good!”

  ~

  The next morning dawned bright and clear. It was about 10:00… early enough to find most of O’Donnell’s crew milling about the saloon but no so early as to invoke Allen’s wrath. Spiles wanted to be cheerful, respectful and on top of his game. He had pondered long and hard about how to separate Josh from his master and thought he had come up with a good plan, as long as he played his cards right.

  He stepped inside the saloon and saw Josh standing by the bar with a bunch of his cronies. He smiled and called out to the bartender, “Is he up yet?”

  Joey Landraith nodded and said, “Yeah, I already brought him up a pot of coffee.”

  “Well, I need to have a private word with him. Can I head up on my own, or should I ask Josh to go with me?”

  Spiles knew that Allen had gotten pretty, paranoid lately and didn’t welcome guests upstairs to his office unless accompanied by one of his guards.

  Joey looked at Josh and frowned in distaste. Spiles knew at that moment that the young bartender didn’t care for Josh one bit. Dave thought that Joshua was malleable like soft dough. If good and proper people had raised him up, he might have become a decent soul. Instead, he had turned just as rotten as the man he had attached himself to.

  Joey said, “Nah… I don’t think that’s necessary, Davey. Just go on up.”

  Spiles nodded and walked upstairs. Knocking on the door, he heard O’Donnell say, “Come!”

  Dave Spiles plastered a big grin on his face as he prepared to ask his boss if he could spare Josh for a little while. He needed an inside man, he said, to help clean the blood and guts off some beautiful, but certainly stolen, tack down at the stables.

  O’Donnell smiled in appreciation. Spiles had turned out to be a great addition to his staff. Quiet, hardworking and most of all, discreet, the old man kept the mobile part of his operation running as smooth as silk.

  Sitting back in his chair, he said, “I have some work for him later on this afternoon, but I can spare him for a few hours.”

  Spiles nodded agreeably. “Sure thing, boss… it shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to get that tack in top-shape.”

  Allen looked down at his ledger book and mumbled, “Tell Josh I want to see him here in my office at noon, sharp.”

  “Okay, Allen, I’ll tell him. Thanks!” Spiles backed out the door with his heart in his mouth. He knew that by evening, all hell would be breaking loose in Billings but he didn’t care. He had done a few shady things in his life but he, by God, had never signed up for the kind of evil shit O’Donnell demanded of him.

  He hoped and he prayed that by the time Marshal Wilcox had gotten the info he needed out of young Josh, he himself would be long gone. Wilcox had written him a pardon for inadvertently being an accomplice to O’Donnell’s crimes, and he had even given Spiles about fifty dollars in cash (O’Donnell’s own pocket change, according to the marshal) in which to make his escape!

  My hope, he thought, as he tapped Josh on the shoulder and told the young man to come along with him to the livery, is that Marshal Wilcox won’t be murdered by Allen and his men while trying to seek justice for his poor, dead wife.

  Chapter 29

  The Round-Up

  The minute Josh stepped inside the livery, Dave Spiles disappeared and a number of rough hands seized his arms and shoulders. Bushwhacked! he thought, hysterically, but before he could call out for help, he was hauled into a stall and thrown, face first, against the far wall.

  A sharp, heavy knee landed in the small of his back and he moaned against a gag thrust between his teeth. “What’s going on!” he cried, but his words were nothing more than grunts in the oppressive silence.

  Scrambling around on the straw and hay covered floorboards, Josh managed to turn his body right side up and face his captors. He saw a tall, well-dressed man sitting on a stool at the front of the stall. The man was staring down at him with cold, green eyes… eyes that both pierced Josh’ soul and made him squirm with fear.

  “Who are you? What do you want!” his voice bleated against the cloth that stopped his tongue.

  “My name is Matthew Wilcox,” the serious man said, softly.

  It took a few moments but, suddenly, Josh knew who this hard-looking man was. He bucked against his restraints in terror and squealed inarticulately like a trussed pig. Then, he saw an all too familiar figure step into the enclosure.

  Calamity Jane stood in front of him. She looked clean and sober… almost pretty in the gloom. She glared at him as she held a bullwhip in her left hand and made a show of studying the toes of her boots. “Well, I don’t wear those pointy-toed boots like our young friend here has on but I guess these’ll do the trick. What do you think, Marshal?”

  “I think you’re probably right, Martha,” the man said. “Please commence.”

  Grinning, Martha reared back and landed a swift kick in Josh’s ribs. He howled with pain and rolled away from her to the back wall. She approached again and kicked him on the thigh as hard as she could.

  “Ow! Stop kicking me you bitch!” Josh screamed, but even he knew that his screams were meaningless.

  Ma
rtha spat. “You and your boys have been kickin’ the shit out of me for months now!” She reared back and lashed out, this time with her whip. She missed, mostly, but the tip of the whip caressed his neck with a fiery kiss.

  Josh stared up at his tormentor with tears leaking from his eyes. “I’m sorry… ma’am. So sorry!” he mumbled. Although the gag in his mouth made it almost impossible to talk, the woman seemed to understand his words.

  Martha rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I guess you are… now!” She lifted her whip again.

  Matthew said, “Let’s hold off for a minute, Martha…please?”

  She turned around and stared at the marshal for a moment. “You know, that ain’t even a fraction of what him and his boys done to me!”

  Matthew nodded. “I know, but remember, we need this young man to talk. In addition, giving this young man a few licks might make you feel good, but he, and his cohorts, will be suffering far worse before too long!”

  It looked, for a moment, like Martha Jane would argue, but she sighed and murmured, “Sorry Marshal. You’re right, of course.” Stepping back out of the stall she added, “He’s all yours!”

  Matthew stared down at Josh and said, “Dr. Talbot, would you come in here and see to this man’s injuries?”

  Another familiar face suddenly loomed above Josh and he quaked in his boots. It seemed to him that every single ghost of his recent past had come for a visit and he didn’t know what to make of it. “Hey! I didn’t hurt you! Leave me alone!” Again, he should have saved his breath because his words were unintelligible.

  Talbot knelt down by his side with a bottle of unguent in his hand. Dabbing a little cream on Josh’s neck, he smiled and said, “Yes indeed, Marshal. This is the man who knocked me over the head and stuck me in a closet after I fixed up his partner’s broken nose.”