Deadman's Lament (The Deadman Series Book 1) Page 9

  “I heard that the widow Imes was seen on Whittaker’s arm two weeks ago at the spring dance in Spokane Falls.” He smiled as his nephew’s green eyes widened. He added, “I think she is a sweet thing, don’t you, son?”

  Looking away, Jonathon added, “Margaret tells me that a number of boys are showing up at the Imes farm lately. A woman like that—beautiful and well-to-do…well, they don’t grow on trees…”

  Matthew thought about his uncle’s wife and frowned. Marge was the sweetest woman in the world but she was also the town’s biggest gossip and matchmaker. She was the one who had urged him to dance with Iris at the Mayor’s Ball in the first place and he still hadn’t gotten over that experience.

  Swallowing his displeasure at the thought of that weasel, Whittaker, putting his sweaty paws on Iris’s body, he asked, “Shouldn’t we be talking about work, Uncle?”

  Jonathon grinned, knowing he had gotten the boy’s goat, but complied. Turning a number of posters over, Matthew started taking note of the outlaws displayed on paper and wrote down how much money each arrest would earn his office. There were logistics to consider, like the time and distance the sheriff and his deputies would need to travel, the food and supplies needed for the chase, and how much firepower the outlaw’s possessed. All these factors weighed against the bounty on each criminal’s head.

  Jonathon’s experience as sheriff had placed him in a unique position as the current District Attorney for Spokane County…a position both Matthew and his counterpart, Marty Wiscomb, were grateful for. Jonathon was able to peruse the newest wanted posters and determine, through wisdom and experience, the most likely candidates for each assignment. He would consider manpower, funds available and the fighting capabilities of each sheriff and then divvy up the criminals, accordingly.

  He also had a knack of getting his hands on reports of the worst—and, therefore, the most highly sought after and rewarded—criminals, long before anyone else in power even saw them, including bounty hunters who seemed to have an underground network all their own.

  Finally, when the men had gone through the small stack of posters and split up the duties between the two sheriff’s offices, Matthew sat and stared at the one remaining which was face down on the table. Nodding at it, Matthew asked, “So, what are you hiding from me, Jonathon?”

  He was half-joking but his uncle’s reaction was not funny. The man sat up straight and glared, “Mattie, if it was up to me, I would never show you this face at all.”

  Matthew sat up as well and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Suddenly, he knew what was hidden from his eyes. He reached over, grabbed the poster and drew it close. His uncle made a half-hearted attempt to snatch it back but gave up with a grunt of resignation. Standing, Jonathon walked over to the woodstove for one final cup of strong black coffee.

  Bandit, sensing his master’s tension, arose from his bed and went to Matthew who sat reading the poster. The wolf whined once and nosed the young man’s arm in anxiety but was ignored. Sitting down, the animal’s piercing eyes studied Matthew’s face as he finally spoke.

  “How long have you had this, Uncle?” Mattie’s voice, as always, was respectful but anger simmered under his words.

  “Not long, son…it came in a couple of days ago. I figured it could wait until I came to visit.”

  “I have been waiting for years, Jonathon!” Matthew exclaimed. “There could be a hundred bounty hunters hot on Top Hat’s trail by now!”

  “There might be a few, son, but not that many yet. Remember, so far, only my eyes have seen this,” Jonathon responded.

  Matthew jumped up, his chair creaking noisily across the wooden floorboards. “Sir, I would like to resign my position as sheriff and go after this snake!”

  With a soft growl, Bandit stood as well. Glancing back and forth at the two men he loved, he whined anxiously in confusion.

  Jonathon looked at his foster son with sorrow. “Did you read the whole thing, Mattie?” he asked. “The man is called Razor Head now. I hear it’s because he likes to slit the throats of the men and women he rapes!” The big man paced in agitation. “Not to mention that he has a whole gang backing him! They call themselves the Mad Hatters after some fairy tale book.” He paused and took a breath. “Each and every one of those men is the worst kind of criminal…and they are all murderers, every one of them.”

  Matthew just stood there, lips set and green eyes as hard and cold as emeralds. There was a tension-filled silence in the room and Jonathon’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He had lost the battle of wills yet he knew that Matthew would have eventually found out and left—with or without—his family’s blessing. At least this way, Jon could do something to help…give money maybe, or extra firepower, swift horses, anything!

  His eyes filled with tears of loss and fear for the boy he loved. Silently, he nodded and opened his arms for an embrace. Matthew hesitated a moment, studying his uncle’s eyes, and then stepped into the hug. Jonathon held his son for a moment and prayed that he had taught the boy enough to survive the contest.

  Chapter 14

  Posse

  Two days later, Matthew, Bob, and another Spokane Falls deputy named Roy Smithers mounted their horses in the early dawn. They were equipped with three additional horses, one mule, extra firearms, ammunition, grub and arrest warrants.

  Jon had done everything in his power to enable his foster son’s safe return, including moving his law office into Matthew’s shack and taking over the duties of Granville’s sheriff while Matthew was gone. Evan McCauley and Murray Kotes were put out that they were told to stay behind but Jon needed their support…besides, they were both too old to undertake the task.

  Jon studied the three men on horseback and sighed. These men were far too young yet there was no stopping them. Matthew—Jon’s son for all intents and purposes—was only twenty-five years old and Bob was barely out of his teens. Roy Smithers, though, was a little older than the others at twenty-nine and Jon hoped that the family man, who had a wife and three sons at home, would temper the two hotheads in the upcoming conflict.

  “Sir,” Matthew said, startling Jon out of his worries. “I just wanted to thank you again for all your help. I never expected such a smartly outfitted posse.”

  Nodding, Jon said, “All I want is for you to come home in one piece. That means, go about this the smart way. Try to pick ‘em off one by one. Do not go after the whole gang at once, you hear me?” He glared up at them.

  “Yes sir,” they answered in unison.

  “Good,” Jon replied. “Now remember, every chance you get, I want you to report in. The gang is mainly holed up in the North Idaho territories although I heard that a couple of those skunks like to party in the saloons around Kellogg and Wallace…lots of gold and silver there.” He took off his hat and scratched at his thinning gray hair.

  “Also, you will pick up some tag-a-longs on the way and I want you to make them welcome. The Mad Hatter gang has killed a lot of good people around that area, folks who made an honest living from mining precious metals. So…” Jon stared his nephew in the eye. “You are not the only man with an ax to grind, son.”

  Matthew looked down at the pommel of his saddle in consternation. He did resent the fact that their posse was going to grow larger—thus slower and more cumbersome—the closer he got to the gang. He hadn’t really given much consideration, however, to all the other people whose lives were ruined by the man he knew as Top Hat.

  Nodding, he said, “You’re right, Uncle. We will make the other posse members feel at home.”

  “We sure will, sir,” Bob agreed with a grin.

  Jon sighed. The daylight made Bob Higgins look about thirteen years old with his long, wavy brown hair, freckles and puckish smile. The boy had not stopped grinning since he was informed he would accompany his friend and idol, Matthew, along on the scout.

  Feeling Mr. Skeleton tickle his breastbone, Jon scowled and said, “Well, Bob, you stay sharp and listen to what these older, wiser m
en tell you. Just because you can shoot a running jackrabbit between the ears doesn’t mean that you can stop a bad outlaw who is out to kill you. I don’t want to see any of you coming home in a box!”

  Bob’s eyes got big and round. He was unaccustomed to seeing Jon Wilcox mad and wished he had kept his big mouth shut. But since the old man was still staring at him with scary-looking eyes, he mumbled, “Yessir, I will.”

  Matthew nudged his horse forward and held out his hand for a shake; Jon reached up and said, “You keep me in the loop, son.”

  He started to reply but his foster father had already turned away and stepped onto the porch with Evan and Murray. Bandit paced nervously back and forth, nipping at the heavy rope holding his body captive and whining as he stared at his master. Usually the wolf went everywhere Matthew did but he didn’t want to worry about the animal this time out.

  Glancing around, Matthew noticed a few other citizens had awoken early and come out to pay their respects. There was Dish, the blacksmith, and Maggie, the baker’s daughter. The town doctor, Tim Dearbourne, was there too, along with Pastor Cook. They all looked at the posse with solemn expressions on their faces, as if mentally saying goodbye. It sent chills up Matthew’s spine.

  “Hup-Hup!” Roy clicked his teeth and brought his horse up to a trot. Matthew and Bob waved at the small crowd as they followed Roy with the pack mule and extra horses in tow. They heard the town folk cry, “Goodbye, boys! Give ‘em hell!” and “You come back safe now!”

  Soon, they were out of town and headed east toward Idaho Territory.

  They had ridden about five miles when Matthew saw a plume of dust rising up from an adjacent road to his right. He stopped his horse and took out his monocular but then he spied a spectacular roan pulling a buggy. The woman driving the fancy carriage snapped her whip in the air above the horse’s backside and her long, copper-penny hair sailed behind her in the bright, sunlit morning.

  “Here comes the widow Imes, Matthew,” Bob said.

  “When are you going to do something about her?” Roy drawled. “I’ve been hearing about this thwarted love affair clear into Spokane Falls lately.”

  Iris had rounded the corner onto the main road and pulled her mare into a trot as they approached. Usually the woman wore her hair in a sedate bun and her skirt and waistcoats were modest, buttoned up tight and designed to cover every square inch of her arms and bosom.

  This morning, however, it looked like she had stepped into her skirt while still wearing her nightgown. Matthew saw tiny pearl buttons and lace peeking out from under her oilskin coat. Her bootlaces were untied and her hair hung down past her hips in fiery disarray. Her brown eyes and pale, freckled skin seemed to shine with a light of their own as she stared at Matthew from the buggy’s seat.

  “Holy shitfire!” Roy breathed. “No wonder every buckaroo from Canada to Montana is in the courtin’ game these days. What in the hell is the matter with you, Matthew?”

  He glared at the man but turned to watch as the carriage skidded to a stop in front of them. Iris climbed down and stood in the road, staring up at Matthew.

  “May I have a word with you, Sheriff?” she asked.

  Matthew’s heart suddenly thundered in his chest. He had admired Iris from afar for many years and thought she was pretty in a proper, mature sort of way. But now he understood that this was a twenty-seven-year-old woman in her prime, full of energy and sexy beyond belief. Dismounting, he took off his hat and walked up to her.

  Her eyes snapped with anger. “Did you really mean to ride off without a fare-thee-well?”

  Behind them, Roy smirked and young Bob Higgins blushed. “I sure am glad that lady ain’t mad at me,” Roy muttered. “She looks like a regular hellcat.”

  Meanwhile, Matthew studied the ground at his feet. He had meant to send word to the widow Imes via his Aunt Margie, but time had slipped away from him in the mad race to find Top Hat before a bounty hunter got to the outlaw first. He looked up and saw that her beautiful eyes were brimming with tears. It seemed he had hurt her again.

  He opened his mouth to apologize but she said, “Oh, shut up.” Then she took a step toward him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him on the mouth.

  It was no chaste peck goodbye as Iris poured every ounce of passion she possessed into her kiss. Her tongue explored Matthew’s lips and her body pressed up against his with sensual intimacy. It was if she knew how well they would fit together…like two puzzle pieces meant to join as one.

  Although the sheriff knew his deputies were watching his every move with barely restrained hilarity, he couldn’t help but return the kiss. His body responded to Iris from head to toe, including a more unruly part of his anatomy. Cheeks flushed with desire, Matthew allowed the embrace to continue for a few more moments and then he stepped away.

  Iris stood in front of him and reached up one hand to put pressure on the place where her heart resided. Her chest heaved with longing, her cheeks flushed red. Her eyes, however, were filled with sorrow and Matthew could see she was struggling to find composure.

  Finally, she whispered, “Well, young man. Look me up when…and IF…you find your way back home.” She walked back to her buggy, jumped in and yelled, “Ha!” to her showy mare. The horse took a little hop then responded to its master’s steady pressure on the reins, pulling the buggy in a loop on the road before heading back the way it came and down the access road leading to the Imes’s farm.

  Matthew slapped his hat against his thigh for a moment as he watched Iris’s retreat. Mountng his gelding, he ignored his deputy’s loaded silence and knowing glances. Then he growled, “Let’s head out!”

  Jon had stepped into the jailhouse to do some paperwork and prepare for the hanging that would take place in two days. Evan McCauley and Murray Kotes were gone, looking into the reported theft of four sheep from the Martinez farm.

  Bandit sat still, studying the wooden shutter that took the place of a glass window in the back of Matthew’s business shack. There was a long dowel driven through the latch that kept the shutter closed and the wolf stood up on his two back legs to get a closer look. Large, golden eyes took in the security measure and the animal bared his long, white teeth…then he placed those fangs on the dowel and pulled.

  Chapter 15

  Bullies

  The posse made good time and decided to stop for the night next to a large river. They could see a town in the distance and Matthew realized they were close to the settlement of Schee-Chu-Umish. Named after a fierce tribe of Indians known as sharp traders, the French called them Hearts of Awls…Coeur D’Alene. Sadly, many of those natives had been pursued by military forces and eventually subdued, making room for the ever increasing influx of white settlers.

  The sun was just starting to set in the crook of two lowlying mountains and the sky was lavender in the falling dusk. Matthew stretched his long legs and took a brush out of his saddlebags. Lifting the saddle and blanket off his gelding, the sheriff brushed the horse and picked some burrs out if its tail as it fed on green shoots of wild grass by the riverbank.

  His two deputies followed suit and, for a moment, Matthew felt peace descend upon his heart; a peace he had rarely experienced since his father died on the dusty streets of Pinckney City, leaving his family destitute and alone. As always, those memories filled his heart with grief and troubled his thoughts with a yearning for revenge.

  If it wasn’t for Randall Penny and his cousin Top Hat, Matthew thought, things might have gone differently for me. I could have been happy with the Dupre’ family and, by now, Marie probably would have presented me with many fine children.

  However, Top Hat had killed the Dupre’s and Matthew’s own dreams the day he rode in to the trading post to steal what was not his. Good mood in tatters, he lightly slapped his horse’s rump and let the gelding wander un-hobbled for a while before darkness settled in.

  Grabbing a metal pot and three cups out of his bags, Matthew walked down to the river to fetch water for
coffee. That’s when he heard the sound of voices raised in excitement and the startled, frightened cries of someone being struck. He stood still for a moment, listening, and then he walked over to where his pistol, a Colt-Paterson five-shot, was tucked into his bedroll.

  His two deputies picked up their guns as well, stiffening in alarm when they realized that the screams they heard were feminine. Someone out there in the deepening dusk was setting to in a harsh manner with their womenfolk and both men knew that was something the sheriff would not abide.

  They joined Matthew where he stood staring up at the slope of a small hill. “We’ll stalk up there real quiet…” he whispered. “Bob, you go that way.” He pointed right. “And, Roy, you go left and loop around. We’ll take a look but you two don’t do anything until I say so.”

  Bent over in a crouch, the three men ran up the hill and lay on their bellies at the crest, looking down. It was hard to see what was actually happening because of the failing light, but Matthew lifted a spyglass to his eye and observed the activities in the small clearing below them. Gritting his teeth against the rage rising in his chest, he made a conscious effort to calm his breathing.

  Six U.S. soldiers were holding a small band of Indians captive. The natives were bound to one another with metal wrist cuffs and a long iron chain. They were seated together on the opposite side of a bonfire though it was obvious that a few of the female prisoners had been freed.

  The soldiers, all of whom appeared to be falling-down drunk, surrounded the women. They were cavorting around, taunting and laughing, while their fellow soldiers were taking turns raping the females.

  Matthew’s mouth sagged open in shock as he realized that many of the women appeared to be quite elderly with wrinkles, frail bones and long, white hair. As if rape was not bad enough, the soldiers hit, bit and kicked the women when they finished.