Deadwood Dead Men

by Bill Markley

  When he reached the theater, the show was over and a happy throng emerged from the front entrance. He waited until most had come out, and then he slipped in while the front doorman was busy talking to one of his cronies. Inside, Jack made his way to the front, where a few people were still there conversing. John Langrishe was on stage talking with a few actors about the evening’s performance. Jack spied an actress who was rearranging a few props.

  “Excuse me, miss,” Jack said.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Can you tell me where I might find Miss Rochelle?”

  “I believe she is in the back,” the actress said, “removing makeup and changing clothes from tonight’s performance. Third room on the right.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said. He walked back behind the stage where there were several small dressing rooms. He found the room he was looking for and knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” Lil’s voice asked.

  “It’s Jack.”

  “Go away. I don’t care to talk to you right now.”

  “Lil, I apologize. I was going to come to your performance tonight, but my interview with Texas Jack took longer than I thought. I am very sorry.”

  There was a long period of silence. Finally, the door slowly swung open. Lil stood before him. She had been crying.

  “Jack, I have strong feelings for you, but it seems that you are so reserved, that you don’t want to get close.”

  “No, that’s not it, Lil.”

  “Then what is it, Jack?” said one of the actors who was standing close by. Jack glared at the man, who smirked and left.

  “Lil, can we go for a walk?” Jack asked.

  “I suppose,” she said. “Let me get my shawl.”

  Jack borrowed a lantern from the theater. They walked out and headed uptown, with Lil holding on to his arm. As they slowly picked their way between stumps, rocks, and the ruts, they talked.

  “I was so disappointed when I did not see you in the audience,” Lil said.

  “I understand,” Jack said.

  “You could have at least come in for the end of the show.”

  “I tried, but your guard wouldn’t let me by.”

  “He takes his job too serious. Some people like it when they get a little power.”

  “Again, I do apologize.”

  “Jack, sometimes I feel—well, I feel that you are standoffish. I try to get close, but you seem distant.”

  “I don’t mean to be.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “I feel very close to you. I want to be with you all the time. You make me happy. When I think of you I always smile.”

  “But still, I sense there is something dark there. Something you won’t share with me.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to share it. I just don’t know how. I’m afraid of it. I’m afraid that if I share it with you, you will think less of me. I try not to think of it myself, but it always resurfaces.”

  Lil stopped dead in the street and removed her hand from his arm. Facing him, she said, “Jack, you can tell me. I will not think any less of you whatever you tell me. That is my promise.”

  Jack stood for the longest time, staring at her. Finally, he said, “All right.” He stood silent, trying to formulate his words.

  “I was married and I have a daughter,” Jack blurted. Lil was silent for a moment, then said, “‘married.’ You use the word ‘married.’ Does that mean you are no longer married?”

  “That is correct. I was married. My wife, her name was Mary.”

  “I see,” Lil said.

  Neither said a word for a long time.

  “She is dead,” Jack said.

  “Oh, Jack, I am so sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you. It’s hard. I think of her every day.”

  “You said you have a daughter. What about her?”

  “Mary died in childbirth. A little girl was born to us. My sister took her in and named her Sarah. She has raised her as her own child.”

  “Have you helped raise her? Does she know who you are?”

  “I have seen her on occasion as she grows up. I send money to help my sister’s family. My job as a reporter keeps me traveling, just the way I like it. Keep active—try not to think too much. Sarah knows me only as Uncle Jack.”

  “Do you think you will tell her someday?”

  “I don’t know. I feel so ashamed about it all.”

  “In what way? Why?”

  “You see, Lil, I was away when the birth and death occurred. I was in the army during the war. I found out about Mary’s death just before the fight at Chancellorsville. Our regiment’s time was up. We were to go home, but the fight was on and we fought anyway. I was numb. I didn’t care if I lived or died. I should have been by Mary’s side. I fought with no thought of my own preservation. All I could think of was Mary dead.” He paused for a long time. “I returned home to Pennsylvania, but there was no joy. I was ashamed and heartsick that I had not been there with Mary. My sister was happy to raise Sarah as her own. I sold my farm and began traveling. I eventually found a job as a reporter. I just keep moving and try not to make any close human attachments.”

  “I see,” Lil said, looking away from Jack. There was a long moment of silence.

  “Until now,” he said.

  “Oh, Jack!” she said, looking back at him. “Don’t think you are the only one who hurts. I too have loved and lost. Only my story is pitifully plain and not as heartbreaking as yours.”

  “Tell me, if it is not too painful,” he said.

  “A year after I had joined my uncle and aunt in the theater troupe, a handsome actor joined us. He was pleasant and enthusiastic. He helped me learn my lines for the plays and taught me all the latest melodies. He was always happy and interested in my accomplishments and me. We went for long walks, horseback rides, and picnics. I was in love with him and he professed his love for me. Since we were in Colorado and my father and mother were so far away, Uncle and Auntie stood in their stead as my guardians. He asked Uncle for my hand in marriage, which Uncle agreed to. He then asked me and I jumped at the chance. We were so happy together until about a month before the wedding, when Uncle happened upon him and one of the actresses in a dressing room, completely undressed and … Oh I can’t go on.” Lil paused for a long time. “Let’s just say Uncle let them go then and there. That was the end of the engagement, and that was the end of my happiness.” Again, a long pause. Lil looked up at Jack. “Until now,” she whispered. They touched and they kissed—long and deep.

  “Oh Jack, I love you.”

  Jack looked up into the night sky at the waxing moon. He felt at peace.

  “Lil…” A long pause, then a sob. “I love you, too.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Thursday Morning, August 24, 1876—Jack sipped his coffee as he reviewed his notes from the day before. Male patrons filled the Grand Central’s dining room. Lou and her assistants were busy in the kitchen cooking, bringing out breakfast foods, and clearing plates from those finished with their meals.

  Pounding hoof beats sounded outside the building. Shots rang out in the street. No one looked up from what he or she was doing. Pistol shots in the street were a normal occurrence in Deadwood.

  Probably some exuberant young buck excited over some eureka moment. Jack thought. He smiled. Exuberant, that’s me. I have not felt this whole, this complete since…since Mary. I do love Lil.

  Jack went back to reviewing his notes and making corrections. He heard rapidly approaching leather boots striking wood flooring and coming down the hallway, a jingling of spurs and raucous laughs and curses as a mob of men shoved their way into the dining room. All conversations and movement ceased. Jack looked up from his notebook.

  Poncho stood in front of the mob, grinning from ear to ear. Carlos stood slightly behind Poncho, with his hand on Poncho’s shoulder. He, too, grinned.

  “Amigos!” Poncho shouted. “Gaze upon the face of my new Indian friend!” Holding a sack in
his left hand, Poncho reached in with his right hand and pulled out a human head. He held the grizzly remains aloft by its long black hair. The diners looked in horror at the sightless, glazed eyes. The men behind Poncho started to laugh, started to make their crude comments. One diner gagged, then retched.

  A deep, guttural scream, followed by a crash of dishes hitting the wood floor, startled all to speechlessness. Lou stood in the doorway of the kitchen. A large knife lay with other utensils on a table near the door. Lou picked up the knife and rushed the mob, shouting, “Get out of here! Get that man’s head out of here. Get out, you animals! Now!”

  The mob turned tail, rushing out of the room, out into the hallway and back into the street, followed by Lou, wielding her knife. The diners heard Lou shouting, “I don’t want to ever see any of you ever again in my dining room. Do you hear! Don’t ever return!”

  The men in the dining room sat silent. No one moved. Lou appeared in the doorway, knife hanging limp in her hand. She faced the diners and said, “Gentlemen, I apologize for the intrusion of those reprobates. Please try to enjoy the rest of your meal.” And to her staff she said, “Scrub the floor where those men stood, make sure it’s clean, and please clean up my mess by the kitchen. I need to see about the food on the cook stove.” Someone began to clap, and all the men and the help joined in. They stood and gave Lou three cheers. She nodded acknowledgement and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Jack sat stunned by what he had seen. He had witnessed plenty of carnage during the war, every conceivable aspect of man butchering man, but he had never been in a relatively civilized, relatively peaceful setting eating a quiet breakfast and had a severed human head thrust unexpectedly into that setting. Lou had acted heroically, charging those men and throwing them out. He made note of it in his book, finished his meal, and left the dining room.

  The regulator clock showed that the time was approaching ten a.m. He was getting a late start today, and there was much to do: check on his horse, see about renting mules, track down Laughing Sam and California Joe, check in with Star and Bullock on his supplies, observe the setup of the court and jury selection, and above all, make sure to attend the play tonight. With Stonewall by his side, Jack stepped out of the hotel onto the front porch. He looked up at a partly overcast sky. He looked across the street to see if there were any goings on at the Deadwood Theater, but none of the theater people were to be seen.

  “Good morning, Jack!” Pete said, standing up. He had been sitting on the edge of the front porch, whittling a stick.

  “Good morning to you, Pete!”

  “I was waiting for you. You said you wanted me to report on the doings up at Lead.”

  “That’s right! Sorry I forgot. Things got a little busy yesterday. Let’s just sit right here and you can tell me your information.”

  “Sure thing,” Pete said as they sat side by side. Stonewall saw another dog and chased after him. Men going about their business walked past. Workers were unloading freight from a bull train down the street.

  Jack pulled out his notebook and pencil and said, “I’m ready.”

  “There’s lots going on up at Lead,” Pete began. “They say that’s the source of all the placer gold being found in the streams here. Men are digging adits all over the hillsides there and a few true hard rock mines have started up. Some think these mines are going to be big bonanza moneymakers.”

  “I can’t remember, who did you work for up there?”

  “Why, none other than Mister Smokey Jones himself at his Golden Star Mine. He sure is a nice fellow. He treated us kindly as we loaded the ore into the wagons, paid us well, and when we were done, gave us each a half-cup of whiskey and treated us to his wolf howl,” Pete said and laughed. “That man sure can howl! Anyways, they have over ten thousand pounds of ore they are hauling back to Omaha to be smelted.”

  “What about the Manuel Brothers, Fred and Mose? I hear they have a mine that shows a lot of promise, The Home Stake.”

  “They have mined over fifty tons of rock, but they have no way to reduce it until a stamp mill is built. People say it could yield up to $500 in gold per ton. They left their claim to look for better prospects until stamp mills are built.”

  “Interesting,” Jack said, writing down everything Pete said.

  “Anything else?” Jack asked.

  “No, I think that covers it.”

  “What are your plans today?”

  “It’s getting rather late in the day to find a job now. I might try to get a job as a pitman for the day at one of the sawpits.”

  “That’s a dirty, strenuous job, sawing upwards through logs all day.”

  “That’s for sure. If I don’t find a job today, I think I might sit in on the Harry Young trial. That should be quite interesting.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you there then, as that’s where I’ll be, reporting on the trial for the paper. By the way, I don’t suppose you found time to put those greenbacks in the bank. You can’t be too careful around this town.”

  “Thank you, Jack, I may do that. As I said, I have an aversion to banks, but I did buy a little protection with yesterday’s earnings.” Pete unbuttoned his coat, revealing an old army waist-belt and holster. Out of the holster, he pulled an old cap-and-ball Navy Colt.

  “I was able to pick this up from Star and Bullock for a few dollars,” Pete said. “This will provide me protection better than any old bank.”

  “Suit yourself,” Jack said.

  “Have you found any more information on Bummer Dan or Laughing Sam?” Pete asked.

  “I haven’t been able to locate Laughing Sam yet. Hopefully he’ll be at the Young trial. I found out Laughing Sam and Bummer Dan were partners. They were not the most likable men in town. Bummer Dan’s haversack is still missing and someone ransacked his shanty, most likely looking for valuables.”

  “The oddest thing about your story is why did Bummer Dan wear Laughing Sam’s clothes into Saloon Number 10?”

  “Especially if those two were in cahoots,” Jack said. “Bummer Dan should not have worn Laughing Sam’s clothing into Saloon Number 10, a place where he had to know that Harry Young might shoot Laughing Sam on sight. Why would anyone in their right mind want to walk into a situation such as that, knowing it could amount to suicide?”

  “There had to be some angle to it,” Pete mused. “An angle that would be to their advantage so much so that Bummer Dan was willing to risk his life.”

  “That’s a good point. I hadn’t considered that.”

  The sounds of the street changed. Pete and Jack looked up. Jack recognized a familiar sight from yesterday.

  The two Cantonese men were again carrying the Asian beauty. But now he knew her name, Di Lee. Both Pete and Jack stood as one and swept the hats off their heads. Di Lee was dressed in a blue robe, girded by a white sash. She lowered the fan as she smiled and spoke in perfect English, “Good morning, Captain Jones. Good morning, young sir.” She gave a light chuckle, brought the fan back up to her lower face, and spoke a command to the men to proceed on. Pete and Jack put their hats back on their heads and watched as the two men and woman disappeared into the crowd.

  “Who was that?” Pete asked.

  “Her name is Di Lee. I don’t know much more than that except I hear she is single and rich,” Jack said. “How does she know my name?” he asked himself more than Pete.

  “Di Lee,” Pete spoke the name slowly. “She is so beautiful. She could be a doll.” He paused and then said softly, “A china doll.”

  “Humph, maybe so,” Jack said. “In any event, I need to get moving. I have a few errands I need to finish today, and I need to make sure I don’t miss the play tonight.”

  “Sure thing, Jack, maybe I’ll see you later at the trial,” Pete said.

  “And thank you again for the information concerning the hard rock mining in Lead. I need to ask Colorado Charlie if he’s seen a fellow called California Joe.”

  Jack stood up and walked to the corner of Main and Gold.
Colorado Charlie was not in the street. Jack poked his head in the Lee & Brown Store but did not see him there. He turned left onto Gold Street. Stonewall caught up with him by the time he reached the Montana Feed, Livery, and Stable. Paco nickered a welcome as he entered the building. Jack walked over to Paco and rubbed his forehead and scratch behind his ears.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur Jack!” Old Frenchy said.

  “Good morning, Old Frenchy. How are you this fine morning?”

  “Good, Monsieur! And you?”

  “I haven’t felt this good in years, Old Frenchy,” Jack said. “Years!”

  “Ah, very good, Monsieur!”

  “Any news on my horse?”

  “Ah Monsieur Jack, I am afraid I will make you less happy. One of the herders arrived this morning with a count and listing of the horses. Your horse unfortunately is counted among the missing, but we are still looking for him.”

  “Thanks, Old Frenchy. He is a good, solid horse. I bought him in Fort Pierre for the journey here. He and I became close on the trail. I’m still hopeful he will be found so I can ride him when I leave to find General Crook.”

  “The herders are still searching for any horses that may have scattered that were not run off by the Indians.”

  “I leave in several days, whether my horse is found or not. If he is not found I’ll need to rent a horse from you, and I’ll also need to rent two mules and packs for carrying supplies.”

  “That can be arranged, Monsieur Jack.”

  “I don’t suppose you have heard anything about Laughing Sam Hartman?”

  “No, mon ami.”

  “Or that you have seen California Joe?”

  “I have not seen him, but I hear he is in town.”