Deadwood Dead Men

by Bill Markley

  Jack sat on an empty crate and slowly went over the items on the list, making a few additions and corrections as he thought about what he and California Joe would need for their trip.

  The buzz of male voices subsided. Jack looked up from the list to see why. Twirling a parasol on her shoulder, Dirty Em strolled into the store, wearing a dark blue ankle-length dress and a short-brimmed matching hat. Most likely the latest fashion shipped by rail straight from New York to Cheyenne, then by wagon to Deadwood.

  “Good morning, Ma’am,” Star said.

  “Guten Morgen, Herr Star. Good morning, boys.” Dirty Em greeted the crowded room and smiled. “Go on about your business. I’m just perusing the new bolts of cloth Monsieurs Star and Bullock received.”

  Jack went back to reviewing his list. Dirty Em moved among the various goods and worked her way close to Jack who looked up and smiled.

  “Good morning, Em.”

  “Good morning, Captain Jones,” she said, flashing him a smile. “I can tell from your breath, you’ve been imbibing ale already this morning.”

  “Only to entertain our friend California Joe Milner and get him to agree to help me find Crook,” he said, standing up.

  “A disgusting fellow! He needs to soak in a hot tub for a good hour and then be scrubbed until his skin glows red.”

  She examined the bolts of cloth laid out on a table next to Jack. Her floral scent was faint, but noticeable. She held up a bolt of purple cloth saying, “Captain Jones, does this appear to be too rich a fabric for your tastes?”

  “I have to admit, I haven’t paid much attention to high fashion.”

  “Oh, you men are all alike!” she said in a voice louder than it needed to be. Moving closer and in a low whisper meant for only him, she said, “I’m going to pass some information to you, but I’m afraid if others find out, I may be hurt or worse, so play along with me when I need you to.”

  Jack nodded.

  “If you go to the trial today, watch Swearengen,” she whispered. “I overheard him and Johnny Burns talking. Swearengen plans to rig the trial.”

  “What?” he said in surprise, loud enough for several men to turn in their direction. She glided close to him and whispered, “Place your arm around my waist.” He complied.

  “I said it’s twenty dollars and no less!” Dirty Em stated loudly. The men chuckled and turned back to their examination of the store’s goods.

  “How does he think to rig the trial?” Jack whispered.

  “He plans to have jurors selected who will vote the way he and his friends want the verdict to go,” she whispered drawing nearer. He sensed the closeness of her well-formed body. His pulse raced.

  “Which way, which way do they want the verdict to go?” Jones said, losing himself in her dark brown eyes.

  “I wasn’t able to hear that part,” she whispered, her breath sweet, her lips inches from his.

  “Have you heard about a criminal ring in town?” he said, his eyes now drawn to her glistening lips.

  “Yes, I’ve heard rumors of such,” she softly spoke. “If it’s true, I wouldn’t put it past Al and Johnny to be a part of it. Other than that, I really don’t know much.”

  “Thanks.” He was perspiring.

  “You’re welcome,” she murmured, pressing her body firmly to his. Her essence was overwhelming. He felt he was losing control.

  She laughed and drew away. “Oh, it’s no use, Captain,” she proclaimed loudly. “I’ll not go lower than twenty dollars. But if you’re interested in a little game of chance, stop by my faro game at the Cricket Saloon this evening.”

  “I’ll do that,” Jack croaked. Dirty Em moved away to examine other items. Jack composed himself, then finished reviewing and making minor changes to the list before returning it to Star.

  “If California Joe wants to add to the list, that’s fine with me,” Jack said.

  “Sure thing, Jack,” Star said, gazing past him. Jack turned to see what Star was looking at and saw Dirty Em walking out the door.

  “Dirty Em sure does have a well-turned ankle, does she not?” Star said.

  “She certainly does,” Jack agreed.

  “Well, back to the business at hand. When do you want the supplies ready by?” Star asked.

  “I’d like them by Saturday. If you could have the items delivered to the Montana Livery, I’ll also pay for the delivery. I plan to hire two pack mules, and so I’ll need to spend the time sorting and distributing the loads for the mules’ packs.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” Star said.

  “Thanks, Sol,” Jack said and left the store.

  The temperature was increasing and so was the cloud cover. He turned left on Main Street and began walking toward the Deadwood Theater. He had lots to consider. There might be a ring of criminals who had Wild Bill Hickok assassinated, killed Preacher Smith for his money, and killed who knows how many other unknown victims for their gold. Then Harry Young kills Bummer Dan in a case of mistaken identity. Al Swearengen wants to rig the jury for a verdict, but I don’t know in which direction or why.

  Stonewall ran off to join California Joe’s hound. They were having a great time roughhousing. California Joe’s mule was gone from the hitching rail, indicating that California Joe must be on the move. A good thing, Jack thought.

  “Well, lookee thar!” An inebriated loafer shouted to his bummer friends. The drunk stood in the middle of the street looking up at the sandstone cliffs to the west. “Look at that big buzzard!” Jack looked in the direction the drunk was pointing. A large golden eagle soared out from the cliffs and over the street. “Two bits says ya can’t hit him, Jeb!” one of the loafer’s friends shouted. Jeb, the loafer, shouted back, “I’ll take that bet!” Men were quickly making side bets around Jeb as he pulled out a pistol, took an unsteady aim, and started blazing away at the eagle. Untouched, the bird banked and soared back the way he had come. Jeb continued blasting holes in the sky until his gun was empty. The friend who had made the bet pounded Jeb on the back saying, “That was mighty fine shootin’, Jeb. You sure did show that buzzard a thing or two,” as Jeb handed him a coin.

  Bullock is right. There needs to be some law and order in this town, Jack thought.

  The drunks stumbled and continued to weave their way down the street, clogged with humanity and bull wagons. Two familiar figures trotted their horses toward Jack. It was Poncho and Carlos, minus the head. Carlos laughed as he held up his Lakota possible bag.

  “Gracias, Deadwood!” Poncho shouted.

  “Gracias for this fifty dollars of gold dust!” Carlos shouted, lifting the possible bag high over his head. Grinning, Carlos lowered the bag, then pointed the pistol in his left hand over his head and shot straight up into the air.

  “We celebrate your good fortune and our good fortune, amigos!” Poncho shouted. “One less Indian for you to worry about, and fifty more dollars for us to worry about!”

  They laughed and shot their pistols again into the sky as they trotted north past Jack, down Main Street.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Thursday Afternoon, August 24, 1876—Stopping in front of the Deadwood Theater, Jack looked at his pocket watch. The time was half-past noon. He had a dilemma, either find something to eat and possibly miss some of the court proceedings, or eat later. He decided to eat later and joined the throng pushing to get inside.

  Men were rapidly filling up the benches. Langrishe had ingeniously built a large seating capacity by driving rows of wooden posts into the ground then nailing wooden planks across the tops of the posts to create benches for theatergoers to sit upon. Instead of boards, the floor was made of graded placer mine tailings covered with sawdust. The stage at the far end of the building was built of wood and raised off the floor to create a better view for the audience. Curtains were suspended at the front of the stage for scene changes and back curtains hid props and dressing rooms. The theater’s walls were frame, but the roof was canvas which had been partially rolled back to let in more
light for the court proceedings. Jack looked for an empty place to sit.

  “Ah, Captain Jones,” a voice behind him said. Jack turned and there stood John Langrishe.

  “Welcome to our humble theater, Captain,” Langrishe said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Jack responded. “This is quite the theater you have here.”

  “Thank you. We have tried to create at least one establishment where folks can enjoy good clean wholesome entertainment in Deadwood Gulch.”

  “That is quite admirable, sir.”

  “I now have enough funds to construct a proper roof for the building before cold weather sets in. I’m just waiting for a builder to roof it over for me. There are several building projects ahead of mine it seems. After the roof, I’ll have a floor and then it will be just like any theater in Cheyenne or St. Louis. Once people enter and the show begins, they can transport themselves anywhere we create the illusion to take them.”

  “Very good, sir, but if I might ask, how is Miss Lil today?”

  “She is well. Lil and the other actors have left for the afternoon to practice elsewhere for tonight’s performance so the business at hand can be attended to. She is excited you will be here tonight to witness her acting. If you are unaware, she is playing the part of Lucy in The Streets of New York, a modern adaptation of the classic The Poor of New York. Have you seen the play, Captain Jones?”

  “Yes I have, but it was a long time ago. It does have a good moral to it.”

  “Yes, even though for a time greed appears to triumph over virtue, good will always trump evil!”

  “I wish it was that way in real life,”

  “Oh it is, Captain, it is. It may not come about for years or even in this lifetime, but good always trumps evil!” Langrishe said and then changed subjects. “I spy Mr. Merrick sitting in the crowd. He is now standing and beckoning you to join him at his bench, and I have to go on stage and start this real-life performance.”

  “Thank you, sir. Give Lil my best and tell her I look forward to seeing her performance tonight.”

  “I will, Captain, I will,” Langrishe said and began making his way through the crowd toward the stage.

  Jack walked down the aisle several rows until he reached the one where Merrick sat. Merrick had saved a space for Jack between himself and Bullock.

  “Glad you finally decided to join us. I was just about ready to give up the place I was saving for you here, but Mr. Bullock was certain you would not miss the festivities,” Merrick said as Bullock grinned.

  “I thank you both,” Jack said as he opened his notebook and found his pencil. He scanned the crowd to see if Laughing Sam Hartman was in the audience, but if he was there, Jack did not spot him. Jack opened his penknife and sharpened the point of his pencil.

  Langrishe stood in the middle of the stage. Behind him, Keithley sat at a small table that must have been a stage prop. At stage left, two men sat on stools at another small table, and at stage right sat three men on stools behind a third table.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Langrishe shouted. The buzz of voices in the theater subsided only slightly. “Ladies and gentlemen!” Langrishe shouted stronger, and the buzz died down.

  “Where are the ladies?” a man shouted from the crowd. “I don’t see no ladies!”

  “From a back row a woman roared, “Come up here and say that, ya bastard!”

  Jack turned and saw Calamity Jane standing, hands on hips, glaring at the speaker. On each side of her sat Tid Bit and Kitty Arnold.

  “Sorry, Calamity Jane!” the man apologized.

  “Well, all right then,” she said and sat back down to the laughter and increased buzzing in the theater.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Langrishe shouted. “Let us proceed with this trial! I have a show to perform tonight, so much as I would like to have this merriment continue, we must begin. And by the way, I suggest you return this evening for a stellar performance of The Streets of New York. I promise you will not be disappointed. And now, I think the best way to proceed in our nation’s most democratic manner—and since we do not have an established form of government—is to vote. Yes, vote for our temporary representatives to carry out justice on behalf of we, the people. Since this is my establishment, I propose we vote for the officers of the court. Do I hear a motion to that effect from the floor?”

  “I make that motion, that we the citizens of Deadwood elect the officers of the court,” a voice shouted.

  “And for the record, who, sir, makes this motion?” Langrishe asked.

  “It is I, Johnny Varnes who makes this motion.”

  Jack saw that Varnes was sitting several rows from the front at an aisle position.

  “Very good, sir!” Langrishe said. “And do I have a second?”

  “Second!” shouted a voice from near the front.

  “And again for the record, sir, who are you?”

  “Swearengen, Al Swearengen.”

  Jack saw that Swearengen sat at an aisle position directly across from Varnes.

  “Very good, sir!” Langrishe said. “Now for the vote! All in favor signify by saying aye.”

  The crowded theater erupted with shouted ayes.

  “And those opposed signify by saying nay.”

  “Nay!” shouted one lone voice.

  “What’s wrong with you?” shouted the man’s partner, who was sitting next to him.

  “Aw, I just didn’t want it to be unanimous!” the naysayer explained. The crowd roared in laughter.

  “Order! Order!” Langrishe shouted. The crowd noise subsided and Langrishe continued. “Tuesday evening, the evening of the loss of life, W. R. Keithley agreed to act as judge. But to confirm that and give these proceedings legality, we the people need to elect a judge. Is there a motion to nominate W. R. Keithley as judge?”

  “I make that motion!” a voice shouted.

  “And for the record, sir, your name?”

  “Charlie Walker!”

  “Very good. And is there a second in the house?” Langrishe asked.

  “Seconded by Tom Short!”

  “We have a nomination by Mr. Walker and a second by Mr. Short to elect W. R. Keithley as judge. Are there any more nominations in the house?”

  Silence.

  “Hearing no further nominations, I rule the nominations be closed. All in favor of electing W. R. Keithley judge signify by saying aye!”

  “Aye!” roared the crowd.

  “Opposed signify by saying nay.”

  “Nay!” shouted the same man who had shouted nay earlier. His partner hit him with his hat. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I still don’t mean nothin’ by it. Just don’t want nothin’ being unanimous!”

  The crowd roared in laughter. “Order! Order in the court!” Langrishe shouted. He produced a Bible. Keithley rose and stood to the right of Langrishe. Langrishe held out the Bible, Keithley placed his left hand on it, and held up his right. Langrishe did likewise saying, “In the name of the people of this community, the Territory of Dakota, these United States of America, and under the direction of the Lord Almighty, do you, W. R. Keithley, solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the Territory of Dakota and the United States?”

  “I do with the help of God.”

  The crowd roared its approval again as the two men shook hands.

  “I turn the rest of these proceeding over to Judge W. R. Keithley!” Langrishe shouted. The crowd clapped and hooted its approval.

  “Looks like Old Necessity is judge,” Merrick muttered to himself shaking his head.

  Jack glanced at him and said, “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Keithley. That’s his nickname, Old Necessity. For a lawyer, he is so ignorant of the law. Remember the old saying ‘Necessity knows no law?’ That’s Keithley. He’s not well-learned in the technicalities of the law.”

  “Humph,” Jack grunted and turned back to the stage.

  “Thank you, John,” Keithley said to Langrishe, and then to the
crowd he said, “I humbly accept your vote of confidence in me to uphold the rule of law. I will hold court until the case has been tried and then like Cincinnatus, I will withdraw and retire from this judgeship. I have a copy of the laws of Dakota Territory which we will use to guide us through these proceedings.”

  The crowd murmured its approval. Merrick and Jack began to scribble furiously in their notebooks.

  “Mr. Whitehead and Mr. Simington have volunteered to represent the people in the prosecution of this case against Mr. Harry Young. Unless I hear any dissension, in the name of the people, I will accept them as the people’s prosecutors.”

  Jack looked over at the man who had dissented before and found that his friends were restraining him. One had his hand over the man’s mouth. Jack smiled, nudged Merrick to look, and continued to write.

  “Hearing no dissent, I recognize Mr. Whitehead and Mr. Simington as representing the people. And as for the defense, Mr. Young has asked for Mr. McCutchen, Mr. Miller, and Colonel May to represent him. And I do so accept their representation.”

  There was a buzzing murmur of approval through the crowd.

  “Now we will begin to impound the jury and begin our selection of its members. Please bring in the defendant.”

  From stage right Harry Young, hands bound behind him, walked onto the stage. Two heavily armed men guarded him. One of them, carrying a double-barreled shotgun tucked under one arm, was Old George, whom Jack had met yesterday. Old George’s eyes scanned the stage, obviously looking for a place to spit excess tobacco juice. He finally saw the sawdust on the floor beyond the stage, and he shot out a stream in its direction, although most of it hit the stage and some stayed in his beard.

  “Gentlemen, please unbind the prisoner,” Keithley said.

  “What?” Old George shouted.

  “I said release the prisoner!” Keithley shouted. The other guard had already started untying the rope binding.

  “Why didn’t you say so!” Old George shouted as the crowd roared in laughter.

  “Silence!” Keithley shouted as he reached for a hammer and pounded on a block of wood he had placed on the table. The hall quieted down.