Deadwood Dead Men

by Bill Markley

  Kuykendall sipped his brandy and drew on the cigar before he began. “Wednesday, August second, I returned to Deadwood from some business I had conducted up in Lead when I met a friend who told me Wild Bill Hickok had been assassinated and the murderer had been caught. We ran down to Saloon Number 10, where a mob was congregating. A rope was found and the mob was about to string up Jack McCall, the murderer, when up the street galloped two Mexicans with the severed head of an Indian. The mob forgot about hanging McCall and cheered on the Mexicans with their trophy. Cooler heads took McCall away and placed him under guard in a storeroom.”

  “Yes, of course, there is no jail in town,” Jack mused.

  “Correct,” Kuykendall said. “So a group of businessmen met in Langrishe’s Deadwood Theater that night to establish a proper trial for McCall. To make a long story short, they elected me judge and others as court officers. The next day we held the trial at the Deadwood Theater. All officers of the court and the jury were armed with revolvers to ensure a fair trial. The theater was packed. The prisoner entered a plea of not guilty. The evidence showed McCall was a cowardly, cold-blooded killer, but he did tell a convincing tale that Hickok had killed his brother. The jury left to determine his fate. I believed the verdict would be death. We selected the same ponderosa pine across from Saloon Number 10 to hang McCall from that the mob had originally chosen and we made the hanging rope ready.

  “The prisoner was led back into the theater when the jury was ready to pronounce its verdict. McCall was terrified. His teeth chattered and he shook the entire time. When the jury foreman read the verdict, I couldn’t believe my ears. They acquitted McCall because he had avenged his brother’s death! It was a travesty of justice!

  “McCall was released. He loafed around town for a few days until his friends told him he had best leave before Hickok’s friends decided to take matters into their own hands. I’ve heard rumor he’s in Cheyenne these days.”

  “So you obviously don’t agree with the verdict,” Jack said.

  “Absolutely not! It was a travesty of justice!”

  Muffled shouts and the sounds of running boots on pine flooring made them turn their heads toward the hallway. A breathless man rushed in shouting, “There’s been a killing at Saloon Number 10!”

  Kuykendall and Jack quickly downed their brandies.

  Jack turned to Lou, who stood there drying her hands with a dishtowel. “Aunt Lou, would you watch Stonewall while I head down to Saloon Number 10?”

  “Certainly, he’ll be no problem,” she said, reaching down to hold the hound dog’s collar.

  “Thanks,” Jack said and then followed Kuykendall into the lobby and out the door.

  They hurried down the street, avoiding stumps, rocks, and other men making their way to see what had happened at Saloon Number 10. A crowd gathered at the saloon’s entrance. Jack and Kuykendall pushed their way through to a small clearing in the forest of human bodies. Coal oil lanterns illuminated the scene.

  Lil sat on the ground cradling the head of a lifeless body. Jack recognized Laughing Sam’s flamboyant coat. Harry must have made good on his threat, Jack thought.

  His eyes shifted to the man’s face, illuminated by the lanterns’ light. Comprehension flooded Jack’s mind, then a flash of horror. The body was not Laughing Sam. It was Bummer Dan.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tuesday Night, August 22, 1876—“Lil,” Jack said. There was no response. “Lil!”

  She looked up at Jack as he spoke her name the second time, her eyes moist with tears. Jack sat on his heels in front of her, with Bummer Dan’s body sprawled in the street.

  “Lil, what happened?” Jack felt Bummer Dan’s wrist for a pulse—nothing.

  “Oh Jack!” Lil cried. “The Professor, and I had finished making our rounds and we were on our way back to the Deadwood Theater when we heard two shots, then we saw Bummer Dan stagger out Saloon Number 10’s door and collapse. They say Harry shot him!”

  “That’s right,” said the Professor who knelt at Bummer Dan’s left side holding a lantern.

  “What! Why?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lil said. “Bummer Dan never hurt anyone.”

  “This just doesn’t make sense,” Jack said. “And why is he wearing Laughing Sam’s coat?”

  “I heard two shots,” said a man standing behind Jack. He turned and saw E. B. Farnum, who owned a store next to Saloon Number 10. He was talking to Tom Short, another storeowner from across the street. “I was closing my shop when I heard two shots,” Farnum continued. “I ran out the door and heard someone say, ‘I’m murdered!’ It was this poor fellow here.”

  The crowd was becoming agitated. “Where’s the son of a bitch who shot poor Bummer Dan?” a man shouted.

  “He’s still in the saloon,” a grizzled old-timer said.

  “Let’s get him and string him up,” a young well-dressed man shouted.

  “Yes!” someone else said as more shouts came from the crowd.

  “Find a rope,” the young well-dressed man yelled.

  The mob pressed toward Saloon Number 10’s door.

  “Careful boys, he’s got a gun,” a miner warned.

  Jack stood as the crowd pressed around Lil and Bummer Dan’s body. He moved with the mob into the saloon. Harry Young, pistol in hand, stood behind the bar. The crowd quieted down when the men saw his pistol.

  “Harry,” Farnum said. “Did you shoot that fellow, Bummer Dan?”

  “Bummer Dan?” Young questioned. “I didn’t shoot Bummer Dan. What are you talking about?”

  “Someone shot and killed Bummer Dan in this saloon,” Farnum said. “And folks say you did it.”

  “I didn’t shoot him. But I did shoot at that no good son of a bitch Laughing Sam, who ran out of this place.”

  “That wasn’t Laughing Sam. It was Bummer Dan,” Farnum said. “It looks like he was wearing Laughing Sam’s coat and hat.”

  “What?” Young appeared visibly stunned. “Bummer Dan walked in here wearing Laughing Sam’s hat and coat? Why?” he asked.

  “That don’t matter none,” the old-timer said. “What matters is you’re going to pay for killing old Bummer Dan.”

  “If I’m the man you’re looking for, I deliver myself up,” Young said as he laid the gun on the top of the bar.

  “Did you shoot your pistol twice?” Short asked.

  “I did, and all I want is a fair trial. If I’m found guilty, I’m willing to suffer the consequences.”

  “Boys, bring him outside and let’s give him a necktie party!” the young well-dressed man shouted. The crowd roared in agreement. Men grabbed Young, pinning his arms behind his back and leading him outside. The mob shouted, laughed, and cursed. Across the street stood a ponderosa pine with a substantial limb, which Jack McCall was rescued from being hung upon several weeks earlier. A stout miner tossed the rope over the limb. Another man fashioned a noose on one end of the rope. The crowd manhandled Harry toward the tree. Men roughly placed the rope around his neck and pulled up tight. Harry’s eyes bulged and he gasped for breath.

  The crack of a pistol shot rang out, ending the mayhem. Men grabbed their weapons. Jack instinctively reached for his Army Colt revolver, realizing he had left the gun with the Grand Central Hotel’s proprietor for safekeeping.

  “Thank you boys for your undivided attention,” Johnny Varnes said, holding a smoking pistol in his hand, with his arm extended straight over his head. “Are we a passel of heathens or are we civilized men? You just can’t hang a man without a trial. We need to have a legal way of doing things around here or else the federal government will never recognize Deadwood as a legitimate city. If we are not a legitimate city, your mining claims are not legitimate. Now let’s hold a regular trial by jury.”

  The crowd was silent.

  Varnes continued, “Why, is that you, Henry? Is that my brother Henry there with the rope around Harry Young’s neck?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” answered one of the men holding Young.<
br />
  “Don’t you think Ma would be ashamed at your actions tonight?”

  Henry looked at the ground, not saying anything. The men around him glanced around.

  From out of the dark, someone shouted “He’s right!” and others joined in agreement. Henry removed the rope from around Young’s neck, which Young slowly rubbed.

  “Judge Kuykendall can preside,” Varnes said.

  “No!” Kuykendall said. “I’ll not participate in another travesty of justice.”

  “Judge, please, we need a man of integrity,” Varnes said.

  “Find another judge. I’m done!” Kuykendall roared, pushing out of the crowd and stomping away from the scene.

  “What about W. R. Keithley?” Varnes asked. “He can act as judge. Where is he?”

  “I’m here,” Keithley said, stepping forward into the lantern light. “I’ll act as judge. Let’s hold Harry for the night, meet tomorrow to establish the court, then pick a jury, and hold the trial.”

  The crowd shouted and cheered in agreement.

  “Judge! Judge!” Tom Short shouted. “We can hold Harry in my fireproof building. It’s about the safest place in town.”

  “All right then,” Keithley said. “We’ll need men to stand guard during the night.”

  Several men volunteered to take turns guarding the prisoner.

  “Follow me up the street to my store,” Short said as he pulled a ring of keys from his coat pocket. “We’ll lock him in my storeroom.” Young’s face appeared more relaxed as a man on each side of him held his arms and led him up the street. Most of the mob followed along. Men talked about what they had seen and heard. Some shouted at Young that he would soon be returning to the tree to receive his justice.

  Jack and Lil stood by Bummer Dan’s body with a few others.

  “Where’s Laughing Sam?” Jack asked. “I’d like to talk to him.”

  “I haven’t seen him,” Lil said. Several men positioned themselves to lift Bummer Dan’s limp body off the street.

  “Wait a minute,” Jack said. “Where’s Bummer Dan’s haversack? I don’t see it slung on him.” They rolled the body over. The haversack was not lying underneath.

  “I never saw it on him,” Lil said.

  “You were with him the whole time after he was shot and never left sight of his body?” Jack asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Humph, I wonder what he did with that haversack.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, just a little matter I might need to check on,” Jack said, then turned to the men who were about to haul the body away. “Could you fellows check his pockets? I want to see if there is anything on him that would tell us how to contact his next of kin.”

  The men searched Bummer Dan’s pockets but found nothing. They picked up his body and carried him off into the dark.

  What did Bummer Dan do with that haversack? Jack thought. And the gold?

  Out of the dark strode John Langrishe, the theater owner. He was a tall man, wearing a cape and a stovepipe hat that accentuated his height. An equally long nose adorned his face.

  “Lillian—Professor,” Langrishe said. “Due to the unfortunate circumstances of this evening, Deadwood’s populace is in no mood for light entertainment, so I am canceling tonight’s performance. We will resume tomorrow evening. I need to press on to tell the others. If you see any of the troupe, let them know,” Langrishe tipped his hat to Lil. “Good night, Lillian, gents.” He strode off into the darkness, his cape flowing behind.

  Lil was now shaking. The reality of Bummer Dan’s death had hit home. Jack put his arm around her. “Want to grab a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  “We’ll head up to the Grand Central Hotel, and see if Aunt Lou still has a pot on the stove.”

  “Lil,” the Professor said, “I’ll be heading home for the night. Here’s the lantern. I can find my way in the dark. Goodnight.”

  “Thank you, Professor,” Lil said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jack and Lil walked up the dark street, passing small groups of men discussing the murder and what would become of Young.

  “Mr. Jones!” It was Pete Adams breaking away from one such talkative group. “Were you there? Were you at the scene of the murder?”

  “No, Pete, I wasn’t, but Lil here saw Bummer Dan stagger into the street and die. Lil, this is Pete Adams, and, Pete, this is Lillian Rochelle.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, miss.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Sorry to hear you had to be present for such an awful event, Miss Rochelle.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Adams.”

  “Pete, we’re headed up the street for some coffee, if you’re interested in joining us,” Jack said.

  “I’d like that, Mr. Jones.”

  “And it’s Jack. Just call me Jack.”

  “Sure thing, Jack.”

  “Jack, what do you think of Johnny Varnes firing his gun and calming down the crowd?” Lil asked. “That certainly seems out of character, doesn’t it?”

  Jack chuckled. “You mean after his little gunplay a few days back?”

  “Yes.”

  “What gunplay are you talking about?” Pete asked.

  “Four days ago, Johnny Varnes and another gambler named Charlie Storms got into an argument over a card game. They decided to settle the dispute by dueling on Gold Street. Varnes has a Whistler double-action English pistol that…”

  “What’s a double-action?” Lil asked.

  “A double-action means you don’t have to pull the pistol hammer back to cock the gun,” Pete answered. “By pulling the trigger back, it self-cocks the gun and then fires. After pulling the trigger, it’s ready to fire again.”

  “I never knew there was such a gun,” Lil said.

  “The British have had double-action guns since the ‘50s and used them in the Crimean War,” Jack said. “They haven’t caught on yet here in the United States because they’re a little temperamental and aren’t as reliable as the single-action Colt.”

  “Jack, please continue with the Varnes and Storms gunfight,” Pete prompted.

  “Varnes and Storms squared off in Gold Street at 6:00 p.m. and began shooting at each other,” Jack said. “One of Varnes’s bullets hit an innocent bystander, Joe Ludwig, in the thigh while he was standing in the Wertheimer and Company store. Varnes ducked behind a wagon as he fired at Storms, who remained standing exposed in the street. Several of Storms’s shots from his Colt pistol hit the wagon Varnes was hiding behind. When Varnes was out of bullets, he shouted to Storms he was giving up and threw up his hands.” Jack chuckled, then continued. “When Storms heard this he shouted back, ‘Go get a better gun. You can’t hit a barn door with that one.’ At this point, their friends intervened. They sat down to a few drinks and were soon on friendly terms.”

  Pete laughed. “That would have been some fight to see.”

  The three of them reached the Grand Central Hotel and entered. Charlie Wagner was behind the counter.

  “Does Aunt Lou still have coffee on?” Jack asked.

  “She surely does,” Wagner answered. “Horrible news about Bummer Dan. Any idea why Harry Young shot him?”

  “Harry claims he didn’t know it was Bummer Dan,” Jack said. “He told the mob he thought he had shot Laughing Sam.”

  “We need some law and order around here,” Wagner said shaking his head.

  “That we do,” Jack agreed.

  The three entered the dining room. Stonewall ran up to Lil whining, his whole body wiggling in happiness. Lil scratched him behind the ears. He moved on to Pete, sniffed him, and timidly allowed Pete to roughly rub his head. He greeted Jack last, panting and wagging his tail.

  The room was empty except for Lou, who was mopping the floor, and one of her helpers, who was clearing tables.

  “Ah, I see you brought guests back with you, Captain Jones,” Lou said.

  “Good evening, Aunt Lou,” Lil said.

&nb
sp; “How are you, Miss Lil?”

  “A little rattled after seeing Bummer Dan die.”

  “Bummer Dan killed! So that’s what all the commotion’s about. Well, just sit down here, honey, and I’ll get you some coffee and add some nice cream and sugar to it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And who is this fine young gentleman?”

  “I’m Pete Adams, ma’am,” Pete said.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Pete Adams, have a seat,” Lou said and left to get the coffee pot and mugs.

  They sat at a clean table. Lou returned with the pot, poured coffee into four mugs, and joined them at the table. Lil was visibly shaken. Her hands trembled when picking up the coffee mug and raising it to her lips.

  I need to ask Lil again about Bummer Dan’s haversack, Jack thought. But she’s shaken. I’ll wait until she is better composed. What happened to that haversack and more importantly that gold nugget?

  “Miss Rochelle, please tell me about yourself and how you come to be out here on the frontier?” Pete asked.

  Lil took another sip of coffee, sat the mug on the table, and stared at it for a moment.

  “Well I’m from a small farm in Iowa,” she said, looking up straight into Pete’s blue eyes. “Ma and Pa didn’t have much. It was a hard go. I’m the oldest of eight children. It was difficult for Pa and Ma to try to keep that many mouths fed. I just always loved singing whenever I did chores and especially when we went to church down the road.

  “One day Uncle Jack Langrishe showed up for a visit. He’s my ma’s older brother. After supper, while he and Pa were smoking cigars on the front porch, and Ma and me were in the kitchen washing the dishes, I started to sing. Uncle Jack stopped his talk with Pa and walked into the kitchen behind Ma and me listening, without us knowing he’s there. When I was done, he clapped his hands and shouted ‘bravo.’ He said I had a magnificent voice and he wanted me to join his troupe. We would see the world, and I would have the opportunity to become rich and famous. I told him I would think about it.