Deadman's Lament (The Deadman Series Book 1) Page 8

  The doctor stood up and said, “I’ll let you men talk to the boy for a few minutes but no longer than that, hear? If old Scotty hadn’t stumbled across him when he did, you’d be standing by a grave instead of this sick bed. The child is not out of danger, though, so don’t wear him out more than necessary.” With those words, he picked up his travel kit and stepped out of the room.

  Mattie lay on the bed, overwhelmed. His grandfather sat down at his side, trying to soothe his grandson with large, clumsy hands. He talked about how he and his one remaining son had packed up the family farm and come as soon as they could after hearing about what happened to Robert and his family.

  “There were more problems than you can shake a stick at!” The old man exclaimed. “I honestly don’t know how so many people have found their way West! Anyway, we’re here now…and guess what?”

  Mattie shook his head as his grandfather stared down at him with joy. “We found little Maudie! She is just fine and settling into our new home in Spokane.”

  Mattie opened his mouth but no words came. Thinking back on what had happened since his ma and pa died, and seeing his little sister packed up and hauled off to parts unknown, had set Mattie’s soul adrift on an unfamiliar sea.

  Even now, as he gazed back and forth at the two familiar strangers, he felt alone and lost without a friend in the world except…“Bandit, where’s…”

  “So that’s what you call this tough, little customer,” Jon murmured.

  Mattie’s uncle had left the room for a moment but he stepped back in leading the baby wolf on a long, fine rope. The pup stared up at Mattie, gave one excited bark, and leapt onto the bed.

  The two travel-weary but triumphant men stood by the bed and watched Mattie bury his nose in the wolf’s soft fur. Sobs wracked the boy’s frail shoulders, but a smile was etched across his face.

  Robert Wilcox’s twin gazed down at his nephew. He saw how thin and sick the boy was but his brother’s physical beauty was reflected in those large green eyes, long straight nose, and wide finely-etched lips.

  Praying to heaven one last time for his dead sibling, Jonathon vowed to do everything in his power to make his brother’s son as safe and secure as he possibly could.

  Part 2

  Chapter 12

  Thirteen years later, and knee deep In A Pig Wallow

  Matthew took off his hat and hung it on a post, then removed his vest and placed it on the ground next to his gun belt. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he observed his quarry with narrowed eyes.

  “Sure you want to do this, Boss?” Matthew’s deputy, Bob Higgins, couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for what was about to happen to Clancy Jones once Sheriff Wilcox got his hands on him. Rules was rules though, Bob thought, and Clancy had broken one of the sheriff’s cardinal rules when he beat his wife and kids senseless after drinking it up at the saloon last night.

  “It’s alright, Bob,” Matthew murmured. “This is going to be fun.”

  Climbing the split-rail fence, he leaped into the pigpen screaming like an angry Indian. The sty housed about thirty hogs, big and small, and shit was knee-deep but Matthew plowed through the brown muck as if he was strolling through a field of daisies. Clancy, who had tried to escape the sheriff’s wrath by jumping into the pen, backed up with terror in his bloodshot eyes.

  Meanwhile, Bob, Evan and Murray—Matthew’s three deputies—whooped and hollered, laughing while some of Granville’s good citizens drawn to the ruckus collected impromptu wagers on the brawl’s outcome.

  “Now, now, Sheriff,” Clancy pleaded. “Calm down, son, afore someone gets hurt…EEEEE!”

  “Whoa, that’s gotta smart a bit, I reckon.” Bob grinned as Matthew launched his body in the air and drove Clancy straight down under the ocean of mud. Hogs squealed and snorted and one old sow lunged at Clancy’s boot that waved enticingly in the air as he fought against Matthew’s grasp. The sheriff turned around, shooed the pig away, then hauled Jones up and shook him like a terrier with a rat.

  Normally a kind and soft-spoken man, Matthew could not abide a bully. “If I EVER hear about you hitting your wife and kids again, EVER…,” he snarled, “I will cut you up in little pieces and feed you to these swine!”

  Clancy squirmed and squealed almost as loud as the pigs. “No, Mattie! I won’t do it never again, I swear!”

  More violent shaking and Matthew growled, “What did you call me?”

  Clancy groaned and whimpered, “Uh…oh! Sheriff! Yeah, I’m sorry, Mat…I mean, Sheriff Wilcox…Sir!”

  He hurled Jones down in the mud again with a splash and said, “Don’t you forget it either!”

  Matthew sauntered back toward his deputies as Clancy wept in the hogwash. Although the young sheriff was slick and brown with filth from hair to heels, the way he carried himself spoke of a grace not often seen in these parts. Shoulders back and head held high, Matthew signaled to Evan and Murray with a grin, then stood still as they tossed a bucket of water at him, washing most of the muck away.

  “Hold on for one more dousing!” Murray laughed and scooted back to a nearby horse trough. Turning around, the sheriff lit a cheroot and waited for the water to clean his backside.

  “Ready, sir?” Evan inquired. Although twice as old as his boss, Evan held the young man in respectful and almost superstitious awe.

  “Hold on a minute,” Matthew said. “Here, Bob. Keep this dry for me, will you?”

  Bob took the lit stogie and stepped away with a grin as the water splashed over the sheriff’s back and legs. Clancy was getting the same treatment from his family on the other side of the pen.

  Finally, soaking wet but dignity intact, Matthew said, “You boys head on back to the jailhouse. Make sure the prisoners are fed and, Bob, be sure to fetch the minister to the jail so those boys can hear the word of God before Saturday, okay?”

  Bob’s smile fell flat but he nodded in obedience. Once every three months or so, the circuit judge came to town. For the most part, Judge Watkins was lenient but, occasionally, a “bad” outlaw was imprisoned here. Although Watkins was not considered a hanging judge, he also did not believe in tarrying once he tapped his gavel. Last week, he had come through and announced his judgment upon a train robber and a horse thief. Since there was a loss of life during the perpetration of both crimes, these two men would hang.

  Matthew continued, “My uncle is coming to town today. Evan, would you please light the woodstove in the shack so Jon and I can talk privately?”

  The shack was actually a lean-to that Matthew had built snugged up next to the jailhouse. It had two windows and contained a small couch, a table and two chairs, and the stove. This was the place the sheriff took visitors and assorted dignitaries. It was a private place away from prying ears and eyes, removed from the prisoners whose fate was decided by their peers.

  Evan donned his hat and said, “Sure thing, Boss.”

  He and Murray walked away as Bob said, “I guess I’ll go talk to the preacher then, Matthew. Where will you be if we need you?”

  Matthew grinned and said, “Taking a bath!”

  Whistling to Bandit—his friend and companion who had stayed on an abandoned porch across the street away from the smelly pigpen and his master’s antics—Matthew walked up the dirt road toward Madame Chang’s bathhouse. He walked quickly but many citizens called out greetings as he went by. Most of them grinned at the sight of him and the wolf although a couple of kids held their noses, smirking, until Matthew roared and threatened to chase after them.

  He stopped for a moment and watched as the widow Imes stepped down off her wagon and waited on the boardwalk for her two children to climb off from the back. As always, his heart skipped a beat when he saw her coppery-red hair, large amber eyes, and ginger freckles that dusted her creamy skin. Although she was tall and lean, her breasts stretched the fabric of her dress and Matthew’s knees went weak with longing.

  Iris Imes saw the young sheriff gazing at her and she turned away quickly so he could not see th
e tremors that shook her limbs or the blush staining her cheeks red. “Blast that boy!” she murmured under her breath. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t given him enough encouragement, after all. It was two years now since her husband had been killed in a rockslide and a year since she had put away her widow’s weeds.

  Four months ago, she had danced with Matthew at the Mayor’s Ball and the heat between them almost cast sparks in the air to the amusement of the gossips in town. Then, just last month, she and her children were the last ones in the sleigh when over two feet of snow stranded Iris’s neighbor, Betsy Williams, as she went into labor.

  Matthew had fetched the doc from town and brought him to Betsy’s house in the blizzard and, later, took Iris and her children home. Sending the kids inside, Iris reached over and took Matthew’s hand. “Won’t you come in?” she had asked as bold as brass.

  The sheriff held her hand for a moment and looked deep into her eyes. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I…can’t. I’m sorry, Iris, but I just can’t.”

  Iris took a deep breath. “Well, you let me know when you can, Matthew. I’m not getting any younger, though…” Dashing a tear out of her eye, she gathered up what was left of her dignity and scrambled down from the sleigh.

  Although Iris still dreamed of the beautiful young sheriff, she would not embarrass herself again. She nodded at him now with cool detachment and herded her kids ahead of her into the mercantile.

  Matthew sighed and continued down the street. He knew he had hurt Iris and sometimes wished he could just put his memories away in a box and never chance upon them again. However, another girl’s image haunted him, one with black hair and blue eyes. Marie…

  In the twelve years since Matthew Wilcox had been kidnapped and almost died from pneumonia, he often dreamed of finding Marie, rescuing her and getting revenge upon the outlaw known as Top Hat. Yet, when rescued by his beloved uncle and grandfather, it was all Matthew could do to regain his health.

  Pneumonia turned into scarlet fever and, for months, the boy was confined to his sick bed in his grandfather’s opulent home. Mattie might have gone crazy with boredom but Peter and Jonathon wasted no time in furthering his education. Tutor after tutor came in to teach Matthew everything from arithmetic to Latin, the art of warfare, and the beauty of poetry.

  Maude often joined her brother and soon they re-established their bond, becoming friends as well. Finally, Matthew regained his health and was allowed outside. He played, rode horses, and learned to shoot his uncle’s rifles and pistols.

  Jonathon had been a captain in the confederate army during the War of Northern Aggression, but now he yearned for peace and quiet. He was a pragmatist, however, and knew that pacifist leanings were just wishful dreams, especially in the rough, unsettled Northwest Territories. He became a sheriff and helped keep order in the booming new city of Spokane.

  However, he did not intend to let his nephew and foster son go untrained into the unruly landscape. So he set to teaching Matthew everything he knew about defending himself and others from hostile intentions. The boy was taught gunplay, sword work and hand-to-hand combat; he was also taught animal husbandry, smithy work, and how to sew.

  When he wasn’t training with his Uncle Jon, Matthew read the law with his grandfather, Peter. He learned how to manage the family’s wealth and studied the finer art of politics and governance. Matthew actually hated these lessons but he smiled through them because he adored his grandfather and uncle equally and would do anything to please them.

  When Peter passed away soon after Matthew’s twenty-third birthday, Jonathon took over his father’s law office as an attorney and Matthew stepped into his uncle’s shoes as a sheriff. He took the place of Marty Wiscomb in Granville—a smaller township just outside of Spokane’s city limits—while Marty took Jonathon’s place.

  Now, two years later, Matthew hurried into the bathhouse to wash up and put on clean clothes. He had not seen or talked to his uncle in over a month and was anxious to once again clasp Jonathon’s hand in love and friendship.

  Chapter 13

  A Chance at Justice

  A few hours later, Matthew sat at his desk in the jailhouse going through paperwork and listening to the Presbyterian minister speak to the two condemned men. Pastor Cook was a young fellow with a kindly manner and he sat on a straight-back chair in front of the adjacent cells. The sheriff could not hear what was being said to the prisoners but he saw that both men were studying the pastor’s face as if the secrets of the universe were written on his countenance.

  Matthew’s deputy, Bob Higgins, was cooking venison stew across the room and the other two deputies were outside fixing broken tack and brushing down the sheriff department’s horses. Then he heard a wagon pull up and cries of welcome…his Uncle Jon had arrived.

  Standing up and walking outside, Matthew greeted his foster father with affection. “Why don’t we go into the shack?” he said.

  Jon, who had admired his nephew’s idea of a separate meeting room, had ordered a similar structure built next to his own jail. Nodding in agreement, he said, “Let me use the facilities first, nephew. I’ll just be a minute.”

  As Jon moved around back to the outhouse, Matthew went inside to get coffee and food but Bob was ahead of him. Holding a tray with two bowls of stew, a loaf of bread, spoons and cups, he grinned at his boss and said, “Got you covered, sir!”

  “You sure do,” Matthew replied. “Thanks…let’s head in.”

  They stepped into Matthew’s private sanctuary; the room was warm and inviting and the young sheriff gazed around with pride while Bob set the refreshments on the table. “There you go, Sheriff. Call if you need anything else,” he said and walked out the door just as Jon entered.

  Bandit got up from his place close to the woodstove and lifted his muzzle to smell the stew. Matthew put a small amount of his own dinner down on a plate and watched, smiling, as the wolf gobbled up the warm meat and vegetables. Then Bandit turned and wagged his tail at his master’s foster-father.

  There were two people in the world that the wolf loved with all his heart: Matthew and Jonathon. He grinned as the older man bent down to scratch his ears and then curled up on his blanket again.

  Taking off his hat, Jonathon smiled and said, “You run a tight ship, son.”

  Smiling, Matthew said, “Learned it from you, Uncle. Sit down, please. Bob made us lunch.”

  The two men sat and ate while exchanging news about the family, local politics, budget cuts, and the latest criminal cases in and around the Spokane area. Jon informed Matthew that his sister Maude—who had married a wealthy cattle rancher—was expecting her second child. They made tentative plans to ride the train to the Ellensburg area for a visit.

  On a sour note, it sounded like Ronald Whittaker, a Union sympathizer from New York, was on the fast track to be elected mayor. This was bad news for the local sheriffs as it was well known that Whittaker was as tight as a tick with municipal funds.

  Finally, Jonathon pushed his bowl to the side and opened his leather satchel. It was time to talk about the job and, for some reason, Matthew’s uncle suddenly looked old and worn out. He was over fifty now and his hair carried more salt than pepper, but there was something gray and tired in his uncle’s normally youthful carriage.

  Jonathon took a stack of papers out of the satchel and placed them neatly on the table. Matthew noticed that his uncle placed one of the papers upside down and out of the way of the other stack.

  Looking up, Jonathon asked, “Mind if I have another cup of that coffee, son?”

  Shaking his head, Matthew said,” Of course not, Uncle. Help yourself…there are some cookies there, too. Little Maggie from the bakery brought them down today when she heard you were coming.” Matthew watched his uncle pour a cup of coffee and consider the cookies before walking back to the table.

  Jonathon smiled as he sat down and said, “You give that gal a hug and a kiss for me, Mattie.”

  Now Matthew was beginning to worry. U
sually his uncle was a no-nonsense, taciturn man who was not the type to use nicknames or lavish affection on others, not to mention the fact that Jonathon had not called him Mattie since he was fourteen years old.

  “Uncle, is there something wrong?” Matthew inquired.

  Jonathon looked at the young man he thought of as a son and smiled again. Dodging the question, he asked, “I’m fine, son, just fine. But what about you? When are you going to settle down and make an honest woman out of one of these gals in town?”

  Matthew felt his cheeks warm. I’m only twenty-five, for pity’s sake! He thought defensively. Why are folks always trying to hitch me to the marriage wagon?

  He stared his uncle in the eye and said, “There’s plenty of time, sir. Right now, though, I have things to do.”

  Jonathon nodded. “Of course you do, Matthew. You’re new at this job and the county election is just next year. You will win it though, of course. The people in this town love you and won’t let you get away easy. What else is stopping you?”

  Matthew squirmed, uncomfortable under the weight of his uncle’s regard. He knew that in order to move on with his life he had to try to find Marie and—if possible—bring his old enemy, Top Hat, to justice. He was embarrassed now to think that he had allowed himself to be lulled into a state of calm complacency. He was embarrassed and filled with shame that he was letting Marie down.

  In addition, Matthew hadn’t heard a thing about his old nemesis in over five years. Randall Penny’s cousin could be anywhere by now and, although wanted posters had circulated as regular as clockwork for a while during Matthew’s adolescence, it had been at least four years since the man had either died or went to ground.

  Still, he thought, I can’t move on until I find out what happened to Marie and Top Hat.

  Jonathon studied his nephew’s face and sighed. He knew exactly what tormented the young man and drove him away from hearth, home and the love of a good woman. It was guilt, plain and simple, and a massive sense of duty to the ghosts of his past. Knowing he was possessed of the same personality quirks, Jonathon tried a different tack.