Deadwood Dead Men

by Bill Markley

  “Not bad for a Gentile,” Star said. Jack had a quizzical look on his face.

  “Oh, if you didn’t figure it out, Jack, Mr. Star is of the Hebrew persuasion, late of Bavaria,” Bullock said.

  “Oh, that explains the star on your sign,” Jack said.

  “Actually the star on the sign is not the Star of David. That has six points. This one has only five points,” Star said, grinning.

  “Deadwood certainly is an international town, if you ask me,” Bullock said. “Not only is my partner here originally from Bavaria, but I’m from Canada, and there are probably people here representing nations from every continent.”

  “I’ve learned much here this afternoon,” Jack said. “I thank you gentlemen for agreeing to provision me and for the thought-provoking information. I’m going to have to be on my way. I still want to track down Laughing Sam and California Joe, if I can today. I think I’ll see if they are in the Senate Saloon.”

  “Well, Jack, I don’t want to tell you what to do with your business, but since you are here and you are on your way to the Senate Saloon, maybe you should stop in Tom Short’s store and see if you can get any additional information out of Harry Young,” Bullock said.

  “I like that idea very much,” Jack said. “I think I’ll take you up on that and visit him.”

  “Don’t forget to stop back tomorrow and we’ll have your list of supplies together for you,” Star said.

  Closing the door behind him, Jack stepped out into the bright sunshine. The temperature had continued to climb. It hadn’t rained for a few days and the constant beating of the ground by wheel, man, and beast churned dust into the air. Jack gave a short, soft whistle and Stonewall, who had been snooping about the side of the building, came bounding up to Jack, who rubbed the hound behind his ears.

  “Let’s go see Harry Young,” Jack said. “Humph, on second thought, you stay out here in the street and rummage around, since you’re not fond of Mister Harry Young.”

  It was not much of a walk to Tom Short’s store, built on the same side of the street as Star & Bullock’s. Short’s building was probably the most substantial building in town, being of brick manufacture from the new brickworks located at the north edge of town. Short’s emporium sold crockery, furniture, hardware, tools, and more.

  Jack stepped through the open door and saw Tom Short sitting in his rocking chair, while a customer stood discussing the price and attributes of the tools he had on hand. Short was the proud owner of the only rocking chair in Deadwood, and he kept it for his exclusive use. Turning at the sound of Jack’s entrance, Short said, “Captain Jones! It’s nice to see you. Can I interest you in a nice pickax, shovel, or sluice box?”

  “Not today, sir,” Jack said.

  “But I can guess what you’re interested in seeing,” Short said with a smile.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Why, our prisoner of course!” Short answered rocking back and forth in his chair.

  “What a fine idea. I’ll take you up on that,” Jack said grinning.

  “Old George! Let the good Captain Jones in to see our guest!” Short shouted to an old bewhiskered codger who sat on a stool, his back resting against the closed storeroom door and a double-barreled shotgun propped up against the wall within easy reach.

  “What?” Old George said, looking up from his project. He had been intently whittling the end of a stick into a sharp point.

  “I said,” Short shouted, “let Captain Jones into the storeroom!”

  “Why didn’t you say so? Don’t be mumbling! You got to speak up!” Old George shouted back. He stood up and attempted to spit his chew into a nearby spittoon, but some of it did not make it past his tobacco-stained chin whiskers. Pushing away the stool with his foot and opening the door, Old George shouted into the room, “Harry, you got a visitor!”

  There were no windows. A solitary coal-oil lamp sitting on top of a crate provided feeble light. Jack entered the room and Old George slammed the door behind him.

  “Good day, Captain Jones,” came Harry’s voice from a dark corner of the room. “At least I think it’s day.”

  “It is, Harry. It’s…” Jack pulled out his pocket watch and held its face up to the lamp, “It’s half past one in the afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “How are you holding up, Harry?”

  “Fine.”

  Jack heard rustling sounds and Young appeared in the light.

  “Do you care to talk about what happened last night?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, I have nothing to hide,” Young said as he dragged a crate over to the one with the lamp.

  “Have a seat,” he said as he pulled up a second crate across from Jack and sat on it.

  “Do you mind if I take notes?” Jack asked.

  “Not at all,” Young said. Jack brought out his notebook and pencil and leaned closer to the coal-oil lamp.

  “So what happened last night? I saw the incident between you and Laughing Sam, when you threw him out of the saloon. I don’t know if you saw him, but earlier that night Bummer Dan was in Saloon Number 10,” Jack said, then he thought, Let’s see what he says about Bummer Dan.

  “I saw that old weasel, too. He wanted free drinks from me. He had a good-sized nugget he showed me that he thought would be good for many drinks. I was glad to accommodate him, but I told him I would have to hold the nugget as collateral or something else of value, which I’m sure he doesn’t have. He said no, that he would not let me hold it for safekeeping and I told him fine, then get out, no drinks for you. I saw he came over to where you were sitting and he must have connived a drink out of you.”

  “That he did,” Jack said with a chuckle. “So tell me what happened later. I wasn’t there. I had left to grab my supper.”

  “Yes, I remember you brought your bottle back to the bar. We talked, and then you left. Later that evening, I was washing and drying glasses behind the bar toward the back of the building where the light is dim. Anson Tipple was working up at the front. I looked up from the tub and I saw someone who I thought was Laughing Sam walking toward me. Laughing Sam had been making threats against me for some time, and when I saw the hat and the checkered coat, I thought it was Laughing Sam come to do me in. I had a pistol and before he could get any closer, I pulled it up from behind the bar and shot once, pulled the hammer back, cocking it again and shot him a second time because he was still advancing toward me. He then turned, ran out of the saloon along with everyone else. That was the last I saw of him. The way he was moving, I thought sure I missed Laughing Sam, and I prepared for him to come back and try to attack me again.”

  “Wait a minute, Harry, I need to catch up with my notes,” Jack said. When he was done writing Jack said, “So then what happened?’

  “Well, those fellows came back to me and said I had shot Bummer Dan. I said no, I had shot at Laughing Sam. It was only when they were hauling me outside and people were wanting to string me up did I realize I had shot the wrong man. I am truly sorry for that. If I am to die, my only wish would be that I had shot and killed that bastard Laughing Sam Hartman.”

  “What happened? Why the bad blood between you and Hartman?”

  “Hartman has a mean streak in him. I’ve become very much in love with one of the working girls in town here. Hartman used her poorly and I told him as much. She is such a sweet beautiful girl.”

  Jack looked up from his note taking. “You’re talking about Tid Bit, aren’t you?”

  Young’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  “Just an educated guess,” Jack answered.

  “She has a special dress where she embroiders the names of those she cares about and even those she don’t, only lower down.”

  “I know, she showed me the dress as she was working on it this morning as we sat with her friends and talked about last night’s happenings,” Jack said.

  “She’s placed my name close to her heart,” Young said. “Humph, well you’ll be h
appy to know that she has placed Hartman’s name on her bottom.”

  “Ha! Ha! That’s the first thing that’s made me laugh since this whole mess started,” Young said. “It angers me that Hartman is still out there walking the streets.”

  “No one has seen Hartman since last night. Any idea where he might be?”

  “Have you tried the Senate Saloon?”

  “That’s my next stop to look for him. So after Hartman tried to swindle Tid Bit, what happened?”

  “I confronted Hartman, told him he was a lowdown skunk and then I put my fist into his face. The boys pulled me off him before I could do any real damage. Hartman swore he was going to get even. I heard from several people that Hartman told them that he planned to hurt me real bad. I tried to ignore it, but he tried to aggravate me whenever he saw me. You saw what he did last night.”

  “Yes, I did see him in action. Now, changing focus a bit, I keep asking myself, why did he give Bummer Dan his clothes, and why did Bummer Dan wear them into Saloon Number 10, knowing he was entering a bad situation?”

  “Those two were always up to no good, always bamboozling someone. There must have been some flimflam going on, but I’m not the one to ask that. Hartman is the one to find and ask.”

  “What do you know about the status of your trial?” Jack asked.

  “From what I’ve heard from Tom Short and a few visitors, some of the more influential businessmen are trying to form a court. It’s been difficult so far. They’re saying the jury selection won’t begin until tomorrow. I have three good men who will represent me—Mr. McCutchen, Mr. Miller, and Colonel May.”

  Jack finished writing and said, “Anything else you can tell me that might help me understand what happened?”

  “No. If you have to write this for your paper, please let your readers know I was scared. I thought Hartman was coming to shoot me, and I shot in self-defense.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks, Harry.” They shook hands and Jack walked to the door.

  “Old George, let me out,” Jack said, banging on the door. There was no response. “Old George!” Jack banged louder. An uncontrollable, claustrophobic wave swept through Jack.

  “Ha! Ha! The second thing today for me to laugh at,” Young said.

  “Yes,” Jack said, then yelled, “Old George! Open this damn door!” as he continued his pounding. The door swung open.

  “Oh, you want out?” Old George shouted.

  “Yes! Thank you!” Jack shouted and stepped into the main room.

  “Get what you came for?” Short asked, smiling as he rocked back and forth.

  “Yes, as much as I could. Say, by the way, you haven’t seen Laughing Sam or California Joe, have you?”

  “Sorry, can’t help you there.”

  “Thanks again,” Jack said and left the building, stepping into the busy street and bright sun. It was a short walk up the street to the Senate Saloon.

  Stonewall took off after another dog. Jack lost sight of him, as the dogs wrestled and chased each other. Good thing, a sign on the door of the Senate read, No Dogs Allowed. The saloon was filling with men, priming themselves for the next day’s jury selection. The general gist of the conversations Jack overheard was divided on whether Harry should hang or walk. Jack approached the bar. The barkeep was busy pouring shots of whiskey.

  “Excuse me,” Jack said, “I just need to ask a few quick questions.”

  “And people in hell need ice water,” the barkeep said as he walked off to deliver the whiskey. He soon returned and leaned forward, his elbows on the bar.

  “Go ahead,” the barkeep said.

  “Thanks. Is this where Laughing Sam runs his faro game?”

  “Yes. Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m a reporter for the Chicago Inter-Ocean and I’m writing a story about the shooting last night. I’d like to talk to Laughing Sam to add to my story.”

  “I haven’t seen him since last night.”

  “Do you happen to know where he lives or where Bummer Dan lived?”

  “Sorry, can’t help you there either.”

  “A different set of questions. Do you know who California Joe is and if so, have you seen him?”

  “I know him, but haven’t seen him.”

  “Thank you, much obliged,” Jack said as he turned from the bar, and left the Senate for the street. That was a dead end. One thing was certain. It looked to Jack like Laughing Sam was lying low for now. Jack scanned the street for Stonewall but did not see him. He gave a low whistle, and Stonewall came bounding around the corner. “Ha! There are you are, fellow!”

  Standing as a rock in the middle of the flow of humanity dividing and passing around him was one of the strangest human beings Jack had ever met—Fat Jack. Fat Jack stood over six feet tall and wore a tall stovepipe hat, giving the perception that he was even taller. His girth was the opposite of his name. Fat Jack was thin as a rail. His face gaunt as if his skin was stretched over a skull. His threadbare frock coat hung limp on his scarecrow body. In each upheld hand, he held a pair of cotton socks. In his hatband was tucked a sheet of paper that read “Socks 15 Cents.” He sang out at the top of his lungs, “S-Socks! Socks for S-Sale! Who wants a p-pair!”

  If anyone knows where I can find Laughing Sam or California Joe, or where Bummer Dan lived, I bet it’s Fat Jack, Jack thought.

  “Fat Jack! How are you doing this fine afternoon?” Jack asked.

  “F-Fine, Captain. H-How are you?” Fat Jack replied.

  “Good! I’m wondering if you could help me? Have you seen California Joe? Or Laughing Sam? I’m also wondering if you could tell me where Bummer Dan lived?”

  “D-Don’t, d-don’t you need a pair of s-socks?” Fat Jack said holding out the two pairs of socks.

  “Humph, I suppose,” Jack said, digging out coins equaling thirty cents and handing them to Fat Jack, who pocketed the coins and pushed the two pairs of socks on Jack.

  “A-Ain’t seen C-California Joe for some d-days. And I a-ain’t seen Laughing S-Sam since yesterday.”

  Jack was disgusted, and he was wondering how he was going to wrestle his money back from Fat Jack.

  “B-But I do know where B-Bummer Dan lived. He lived a-across Whitewood C-Creek in the c-camp over there. C-cross over the new bridge, t-turn left, wander through the camps about a h-hundred yards n-north. He had a l-little shanty there and h-had his name on a sh-shingle.”

  “Much obliged, Fat Jack!”

  “Th-th-thank you c-captain. I must be off!” With that Fat Jack fished the coins out of his pocket and raced toward the nearest outdoor faro game.

  “Well, this certainly is good news, Stonewall!” Jack said, looking down at his dog. “Let’s go find Bummer Dan’s shanty.”

  Banjo and fiddle music started up in front of the Deadwood Theater. As Jack walked toward the theater, the sound of a tambourine added to the musical mix. The tune was a rousing rendition of “Rose of Alabama.” Two longhaired, bearded banjo players, one being Banjo Dick Brown, and the Professor stroking his fiddle, sat on stools with their backs to the Deadwood Theater, and a beaming Lil stood beside them, tapping her foot and maintaining the tune’s beat with her tambourine. She wore a powder blue ankle-length riding habit, with a small matching hat pinned to her hair. The men broke into the song’s lyrics:

  Away from Mississippi’s vale

  With my ol’ hat there for a sail

  I crossed upon a cotton bale

  To Rose of Alabama

  I landed on the far sand bank

  I sat upon the hollow plank

  And there I made the banjo twank

  For Rose of Alabama

  Oh brown Rosie

  Rose of Alabama

  Sweet tobacco posey

  Is my Rose of Alabama

  Sweet tobacco posey

  Is my Rose of Alabama.

  The men sang several verses. A small crowd of men gathered round, tapping their feet and clapping their hands. Some joined in when they knew the words. Stonewall
, with tail a-wagging, ran up to Lil. She searched the crowd until she spotted Jack, waved and broke into a big smile.

  The musicians ended the song with a final flourish. John Langrishe, wearing his top hat and cape, and flourishing a cane in his right hand, stepped forward with arms upraised, “Citizens of Deadwood,” he shouted. “This is just a sample of the musical delights and fine theatrical entertainment awaiting you this evening within the Deadwood Theater. We have the finest musicians and actors this side of Denver. It’s a first-class male-and-female comedy company. Doors open at 9:30 p.m. and the festivities begin at 10:30. Tonight, we bring you that timeless drama, The Streets of New York! And now, maestros, please continue!” Langrishe stepped away with a flourish of his cape as the musicians began a fast-paced “Soldier’s Joy.”

  Lil set her tambourine down by Banjo Dick and ran to Jack, throwing herself into his arms as the men closest to them hooted and whistled at them.

  “Jack! Oh, Jack! I can’t believe it’s only been a few hours but I feel like I haven’t seen you for days!” Lil said, ignoring the onlookers.

  “I’m extremely happy to see you too, Lil,” Jack said. They finished their embrace but held on to each other at arms’ length.

  “Jack, will you be able to attend the show tonight? I very much hope you can make it.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Lil.”

  “What have you been up to?” Lil asked.

  “Yes, do tell us,” said one of the nosey lookers-on. Jack glared at him and said to Lil, “Care to take a short walk with me?”

  “I would love to,” she said, taking his arm. They moved slowly up the street, finding a less crowded lane to walk and talk.

  “I’ve been trying to track down Laughing Sam,” Jack said.

  “I assume no luck, since you used the word ‘trying,’” she responded.

  “That’s right. It seems that no one has seen him since last night. The other interesting piece of information is that Laughing Sam and Bummer Dan were partners in a faro game.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Lil said. Neither spoke for a long distance. “Surely Laughing Sam will show for the trial to testify,” Lil said. “After all, you would think he would want justice for his friend.”