Deadman's Revenge (The Deadman Series Book 3) Page 5

  Satisfied, Earl asked, “When can I travel, Doc?”

  The physician stared down at Earl’s face for a minute. “I think you can get up and go anytime you’re ready. I scraped away the inflammation, and I no longer see any sign of fever. You do need the keep the bandages clean, though, and apply this ointment once in the morning and once at night until it’s gone.” Talbot held a blue jar in the air, and then slid it into his coat pocket.

  Earl nodded and started to sit up. Then he heard the doc say, “About my payment…”

  Earl grinned and said, “Yes, about that.” He winked at Josh, who suddenly darted away from the door and grabbed Talbot up by his grimy lapels. He hit the doctor hard, two times in the face and then let him fall to the floor in a faint.

  “Check his pockets for the cash… and grab that goddam ointment,” Earl muttered as he got slowly to his feet. Josh rooted around in the doctor’s coat and trousers until he finally pulled a wad of bills and the blue jar from Talbot’s person.

  Handing the goods over, Josh asked, “What do you want me to do with him, Earl?”

  Studying his reflection in the dirty mirror above a chest of drawers, Earl knew that the old man had done a good job on his ruined face. His once, rather sharp and pointy nose was smaller now and flatter, but the stitch work was good and he could feel fresh blood bonding the torn flesh.

  The smart thing to do, he knew, was kill the old man, leaving no witnesses behind. But… Earl owed the doctor a debt. Leaving Talbot no cash, much less a horse when they left, would serve as a guarantee. Talbot was a wanted man, after all. He wouldn’t be getting a hold of a lawman over an unpaid doctor’s bill anytime soon.

  Peeling a ten-spot off the wad of bills in his hand, he stooped over and put the bill in the doctor’s vest pocket. Then he said, “Truss this man up good and proper. Gag him and put him in the closet. Then I want you to go get the wagon and the rest of the cash. Meet me back here in an hour. We’re leaving town now.”

  After tying the old doctor up and stuffing his mouth with a wad of bandages, Josh put him in the coat closet and left. Then Earl bent down and pulled a large, leather satchel out from under the bed.

  Holding his breath, he opened the flaps and saw that everything was still there. It could have gone worse, he knew. The old man could have gotten the drop on Josh and stolen everything while Earl slept but, luckily, good fortune had prevailed. (It never occurred to Dickson that Josh had spent the last forty-nine hours holding Talbot at gunpoint and that luck had nothing to do with the stolen fortune being intact.)

  Sighing with relief, he poured water from a pitcher into a stained porcelain bowl, and commenced to washing sweat and dried blood from his face and body. He had worn his old clothes to the Imes ranch in anticipation of red-work and he was happy enough to discard them now. Pulling on his new duds, he studied his reflection in the mirror.

  He had been clean-shaven in prison (Warden’s orders) and continued to scrape his whiskers off since his release, more out of habit than anything. Now, he thought, a beard was in order. For one thing, he saw that his thick, dark beard helped cover the teeth mark and puncture holes on his face, which was good.

  Also, if he was going to change how he looked, he might as well start now. Fancy new clothes, a heavy beard, maybe a… monocle! Earl grinned. Yes, he thought. A fancy walking stick (like many a fine gent he had seen over the years), a monocle, a beard, fancy suits… all of these things would serve to disguise who he really was—both from the law and from the rarified society he hoped to enter soon.

  Three and a half hours later, a gentleman and his all-around man stepped on to a coach heading eastbound toward Montana.

  ~

  Matthew slipped away in the early hours of morning, the day after the funeral. Chance had gone to Spokane to stay with his sister and her family, and although Sam had leave to stay longer, he had chosen to return to base, rather than stay with his stepfather.

  Good, Matthew thought, as he loaded the last of his supplies into the back of his wagon. He had no desire to explain his position to the young man and knew that no matter what he said, Sam would disagree on general principal. He was heading up into the hills, to an abandoned cabin he owned, and planned to base his hunt from there.

  He had befriended an old miner, once, many years ago. The prospector, named Smiley Hawkins, has run afoul of an unscrupulous banker and had been taken by said banker for over a thousand dollars in gold nugget and dust.

  Smiley, not knowing what else to do, had packed up everything he could carry on his back and hiked fourteen miles into the town of Colville to file charges. Matthew happened to be in the sheriff’s office the day the old man walked in complaining of devils dressed up like preachers, who were preying on honest folks, like him.

  It only took a couple of days for Matthew to find the fake banker. He saw a fancy black carriage with the words NORTHWEST BANK, spelled out on the doors in gold paint, by the side of a rushing stream. Two matching geldings were taking water and their owner was washing his face and arms on the rocky shoreline.

  When the marshal walked up and said howdy, the fat little crook had jumped six inches into the air. His shirt was beside him on the rocks, and damned if there wasn’t a white paper collar lying in amongst the folds.

  “My name is Matthew Wilcox, US Marshal Service,” he called out.

  Guilt was written all over the man’s face and he hollered, “Don’t shoot! You caught me red-handed!”

  Matthew’s guns still rested, peacefully, in his holsters, but he obliged the crook by saying, “Okay then, put ‘em up.”

  He found out that William Moran was a retired preacher who had gotten the bright idea of offering false promissory notes from the fictional Northwest Bank, in exchange for the much more cumbersome minerals in many prospectors’ possession. It might have worked too, but for the man’s fear of his own horses, his tendency toward getting lost in the woods and his own guilty conscience.

  After handcuffing Moran and placing him on the front bench of his own wagon, Matthew had found almost five thousand dollars’ worth of gold in back, all of which he returned to the jailhouse in Colville, along with the thief who stole it.

  A couple of years later, he talked to the Colville sheriff and found out that Smiley had died after leaving the cabin and all his worldly possessions to Matthew Wilcox in his will, along with about three hundred and fifty dollars in gold bullion.

  Matthew was mystified… why did the toothless, old miner leave him his property, he asked the sheriff. The middle-aged man scratched his head, and said, “Well, Matthew, for some reason, Smiley said you reminded him of his own son, dead over twenty-years ago. Don’t complain now… it’s a nice piece of land with some decent ore along the creek beds.”

  Now Matthew smiled, although no one looking in his direction would call the expression on his face—happy. That was where he headed to now… to that old cabin high up in the Saddleback Mountains. He would reconnoiter there, in relative obscurity and fan his search out in a wide radius.

  Reaching into his pants pocket, Matthew pulled out a battered silver-chained necklace. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that the medal depicted St. Patrick… the patron saint of Ireland and its people.

  There had been so many thieves, outlaws, rapists and murderers in his life since he first picked up his deputies star, they all blended—together in a mad hodge-podge in his mind, and plenty of those outlaws were, originally, from the Emerald Isle. But, one name still stood out clearly. Patrick Donnelly.

  Knowing that the man was long dead did not stop the thrill of anticipation in Matthew’s heart. There had been many men and women involved in the prostitution/slavery ring in King County that almost stole Iris’ niece, Amelia Winters, away from her family for good. And although Matthew had done his best to see the perpetrators jailed for their crimes, some of them had gotten away clean.

  Rubbing dried blood away from the chain that Matthew had pulled from the teeth of his dead wolf, he grinned
again. At least now, he had a trail to follow.

  He tied Lincoln to the back of the wagon and whistled to the puppy that he had decided to keep out of Bandits found litter. He waited as Trickster jumped up on the wagon and then, snapping the reins over the packhorse’s rumps, Matthew left Granville to hunt down his wife’s murderer.

  Chapter 6

  Earl and Josh

  Earl and Josh stepped down from the coach in the small town of Orofino, Idaho. According to the driver, Orofino (meaning “fine gold” in Spanish) was experiencing a boom. Not from gold so much (that ship had sailed in the late 1860’s), but from the tracks being laid for the Great Northern Railroad.

  The driver, a smelly old coot by the name of Dave Spiles, bemoaned the rail lines, ascertaining that train travel would bring an end to independent coach lines in the high northern states. Earl had hired the man and his coach for the long trip from Ellensburg, Washington to Billings, Montana.

  It had been an arduous journey, so far, and there was still another three hundred miles to go. Earl would have preferred to take a train but the anonymous old coach suited his needs much better. Train travel required tickets, which required names… something Earl was unwilling to divulge at this stage of the game. Tiring, in turns too hot or too cold, dusty and bone jarring as the coach ride had been so far, it had also been profitable.

  Each time they pulled into a town, Josh (after careful coaching) had gone into one of the local banks and turned Donnelly’s gold coin into paper money. Just small amounts, here and there, was turning into a fortune.

  Earl spent most of his time inside the coach recuperating from his injuries. He used the ointment had had taken from Dr. Talbot and was careful to keep his wounds clean and the bandages fresh. Whenever he did step out of the coach, he used a bandana over his face, telling Spiles that he had the flux and was trying to keep infection at a minimum.

  His torn eyelid had healed by now, and it looked like nothing more than a simple rash, or a case of Pinkeye. Earl was pleased to see that the stiches around his nose (which had loosened and come out of their own accord) were sealing properly and his face, although different, looked almost normal but for some residual bruising and a few remaining puncture holes.

  He thought that by the time they reached their final destination, he would emerge from the coach a new man… perhaps not an attractive man but a man of wealth and means with a few scars to mark his progress in life. Earl had spent the better part of his life in the company of wealthy men. Not as a peer but in their employ, and he knew that a handsome countenance could be bought.

  He had a good start. His eyes were still as blue as robin’s eggs, and his thick, black hair only lightly streaked with gray. Earl frowned, he would need to find a dentist and see if his missing incisor could be replaced. If not… he shrugged. Not too many people he knew had a full set of teeth and one missing fang would not set him apart from the society he sought.

  Staring about, he smiled. The small town was nestled amongst high piney woods, and bustled with people, mainly Irish and Chinese workers who were laying tracks for the new railroad. Besides a smattering of crude houses there were a number of bars, a livery, a dry goods store, a couple of restaurants, a bathhouse, a solicitor’s office, a funeral home, a post/telegraph office and a hotel.

  Eying the solicitor’s office, he turned to Spiles and said, “Take this money and see to any repairs the coach may need. Change the horses out, if necessary, and get yourself a bath and a good meal. Don’t get drunk though… we may need to leave at a moment’s notice.”

  Spiles stuck a dirty finger in the bag and stirred the heavy gold coins around. Looking up, he stared at Earl and mumbled, “I never seed so much dough. You sure you want to hand over this much?”

  Earl’s blue eyes glittered, and something in their depths made the old man step back in alarm. “I will pay you, handsomely, for a trip to Billings. I intend to get there and I am simply guaranteeing we make it there in one piece. So far, I am satisfied with your services, but don’t think that if you try to rob me, my friend and I won’t hunt you down.”

  Staring back and forth at the two men, Spiles suddenly understood that he must have a couple of crooks onboard his coach. He didn’t care, overmuch, as long as they paid for his services but he didn’t like the look in the older gent’s eyes. Now that he was getting a good look at his mysterious passenger, he realized that this was one tough customer, and the old man knew that his life would be forfeit if he didn’t do as ordered.

  Tipping his dirty felt hat, Spiles said, “No problem, boys. I’ll take the coach to the livery, buy a couple of extra horses to change out, and get some victuals. I’ll be…” he stared across the street. “Right there, at that café when you need me.”

  Earl nodded and said, “Remember, take a few hours for yourself, but be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

  “Got it,” Dave said and climbed back on the wagon. Earl and Josh watched as the driver pulled up in front of the livery and spoke to one of the hands.

  Then Earl turned to Josh. “You do the same, Josh. You stink and need a change of clothes. Go and get a bath and take this money for some new duds. Nothing fancy, but buy a warm coat, some new boots and a couple of warm, wool hats. Dave said it’ll be getting colder, the further we get to the Rockies, so we need to be prepared.”

  Turning around, Earl spotted another restaurant up the street. “Meet me over there in a couple of hours for dinner. I might have some work for you to do, later on this afternoon.”

  Josh pulled his hat from his head and shuffled his feet. “Aw, Earl,” he whined. “Do I have to take a bath?”

  Earl glared. “You will do as I say or be on your way. Is that what you want?”

  Josh blushed. “Nah… I’ll do it. No need to be so touchy!”

  “Meet me over there in two hours.” Earl growled.

  After Josh scampered off, Earl sauntered down a boardwalk and saw a middle-aged woman step out the front door of a building with a large pan of water in her hands. Watching for a moment as she heaved the water onto a muddy side street, he called out, “Ma’am—is this a bathhouse?”

  She turned around and answered, “A dime for a bath, two-bits for a load of laundry. Clothes will be ready to wear by tomorrow morning.”

  Earl had a change of clean clothes in his carpetbag, and although the garments he currently wore would wash up fine, he didn’t want to be forced into waiting for them to dry. He smiled at the woman and said, “Just a bath, thanks.”

  The woman eyed the kerchief Earl wore over his nose and mouth. “What’s wrong witcha?”

  Earl shrugged. “I have had the flux, but I think I am past giving it to anyone else…” He tugged the bandana down, watching the woman’s reaction as his face was revealed.

  She studied him for a moment and shrugged, “Guess you weren’t too sick to get in a fight, though, eh?”

  Earl sighed with relief. He had thought his face was much improved and this woman’s opinion reinforced his belief. Nodding with humility, he murmured, “Yes, an unfortunate disagreement a few days ago.”

  She smirked, “Oh well… a good bath will fix you up. Come on in and I’ll get a tub ready for you.”

  A couple of hours later, Earl sat down in the restaurant. After scrubbing his body and hair clean, he had donned a fresh set of clothes and set out for the solicitor’s office. He stepped up to the front window and peered inside. There were two gentlemen working side by side on matching desks and one old woman who seemed to be sorting through paperwork at a long table in back of the room.

  Earl frowned and stepped away. This place will not do, he thought and walked across the street toward a grimy tent he had spied earlier. NOTARY! TITLES and DEEDS was painted on a board hanging in front above the tent’s flap.

  Taking a deep breath, Earl stepped inside. Smiling, he reached out his right hand to shake and said, “Howdy, I wonder if you could help me?”

  A scrawny, middle-aged man stood up from where he
sat at a long table. Smiling, he answered, “Howdy to you too, sir. The name’s Howard Stapleton. How might I be of service?”

  Earl spent the better part of an hour inside Stapleton’s tent. When he emerged, he no longer sported the handle, Earl Dickson, but the loftier title, Allen O’Donnell. (Earl had wanted to get rid of the O’Donnell name, entirely, but Stapleton assured him that brand new papers would raise more suspicions than a simple rearrangement on the original documents.) It took some convincing and a lot of money, but the name change was accompanied by a transfer of signatures, entitling the wealthy O’Donnell to all of (the long deceased) Patrick Donnelly’s properties in Ellensburg, Wenatchee and King County.

  Earl put his newly signed papers in his bag and handed the nervous notary five thousand dollars for his part in the fraud. “If I were you,” he told Stapleton, “I would head out of town as soon as possible. I doubt if we will ever meet again, but just in case someone does get on to me, it would be better for you if you were long gone, right?”

  Stapleton wiped sweat from his balding pate and nodded in agreement. Opening his lockbox and staring at the crisp new banknotes, he said, “Right you are. The lawyers down the street beat me here by two weeks and my business never got off the ground. Now I have enough money to start up new… maybe back home in California! My wife and kids are still there and have been waiting to follow me north but I have, until now, been unable to send for them.”

  The man’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and Earl smiled. Perfect! He thought, and shook the crooked notary’s hand. Wishing him farewell, he walked to the restaurant and sat down by a window where he had a good view of the notary’s tent.

  A few minutes later, Josh walked in the front doors and stared over at where Earl sat. He had taken a bath and, apparently, gotten a shave and a haircut as well. His light brown hair was slicked down and oily with pomade, and his new leather boots creaked as he walked up.