by Bill Markley
“Are you sure you want to tell him this, boss?” Texas Jack said.
“Shut up, it won’t hurt. It’s nothing compared to the boneheaded moves you’ve been making!”
Texas Jack spat and growled, “Whatever you say, boss.”
“Jones, it was a classic story of greed and retribution,” Varnes began. “Bummer Dan was part of your so-called criminal ring. We found out he was withholding a portion of his ill-gotten profits that belonged to us all. We decided to set him up, recover our rightful share, and kill him, making him an example to anyone else who might think of double-crossing us. To do this we set up a fake feud between Laughing Sam and Harry Young.”
“A fake feud?” Jack said.
“That’s right, Laughing Sam and Harry Young are actually good friends.”
“What!”
“That’s what I said—good friends,” Varnes continued. “Even though they were partners, Laughing Sam was furious that Bummer Dan was skimming off and keeping part of the take for himself. We concocted the fake feud over that Tid Bit whore. Laughing Sam told Bummer Dan he needed to kill Young, so he told Bummer Dan what he wanted to do was divert Young’s attention by having Bummer Dan dressing in Laughing Sam’s clothes as a distraction. Laughing Sam then told Bummer Dan he would sneak into the saloon and shoot Harry when he was distracted by looking at Bummer Dan wearing Laughing Sam’s clothes. We knew Bummer Dan had the nugget in the haversack and that he had his secret stash buried in his shanty. Do you follow me so far?”
“Yes, so I assume Bummer Dan agrees to wear Laughing Sam’s hat and coat and trustingly hands Laughing Sam his haversack for safekeeping.”
“Right you are, Jones!” Varnes said. “Then after Harry shoots Bummer Dan, Laughing Sam runs back to Bummer Dan’s shanty, rummages about the place until he finds the poke sack and has to quickly get out of there before your Celestial friend, what’s his name, Wong, runs him off.”
“Why would Harry take such a risk?” Jack asked. “He must have known people would come after him and possibly hang him.”
“Good point, Jones,” Varnes said. “The first reason is money. We paid him very well, and we had our plans set to protect him. When the mob came for Harry, we made sure that my brother Henry and,” Varnes turned to Texas Jack.
“And me!” Texas Jack said.
“We made sure they were the ones closest to Harry and were the ones to place any noose around his neck. If you remember, I was the one who did my civic duty to stop the mob and call for law and order. Fortunately, the sheep heeded my call to civility and ended their call for a hanging.”
“What if they hadn’t?”
“Ah, yes—our backup, we had several men stationed in the dark with rifles. If need be, they would have attempted a rescue of Harry, but again all went well according to plan.”
“And then what about the trial?” Jack asked, thinking that the light was beginning to fade. If he could keep delaying them, maybe he could make a break for it when it gets dark. He couldn’t think of anything else.
“The trial was almost a masterpiece of deception. I say almost. It would have been perfect if it wasn’t for that stupid kid, Adams,” Varnes said. Jack fought to keep control of his mouth.
“We were able to select just about everyone we wanted to be on that jury,” Varnes continued. “As I said, Miller is not part of our so-called ring. He’s new to town. I told him we knew who were reputable Deadwood citizens. We would let him know by nods and shakes of our heads who was a solid citizen and who was not. He bought it. Ha! Ha! That was so much fun. None of those fancy lawyers had a clue that we were controlling what was really going on, and so we got good old Harry off. We’re going to have to get him out of town. There’s still a few people sore about him shooting Bummer Dan.”
“Let’s shoot this reporter now, boss,” Texas Jack said. “It’s getting dark.”
“Don’t interrupt me!” Varnes growled. “I’m not ready for any shooting just yet.” Jack’s eyes glanced to the right, then to the left, looking for which direction might give him more cover and a better chance to get away.
“Don’t think about trying to escape, Jones,” Varnes said. “Step a few feet closer where I can keep a better eye on you.”
“Why did you have to kill Pete?” Jack asked, a lump rising in his throat as he slowly moved a few steps forward.
“That was an unfortunate incident,” Varnes said. “He died of his own stupidity. He flashed those greenbacks of his during the jury discussions.”
“Me and Henry seen that kid’s bills ripe for the plucking,” Texas Jack said, grinning.
“I walked up to him in the dark and asked him politely to hand over the greenbacks,” Varnes said. “Texas Jack snuck up and stood behind him. The kid refused to cooperate and started to go for his gun.”
“I whacked him good on the side of the head,” Texas Jack said. “Ha! Ha! Too good.”
“As I said, it was unfortunate,” Varnes said. “If he had only cooperated, he would still be in this world.”
“You bastards!” Jack said, taking another step forward.
“Hold it right there, Jones,” Varnes growled. “If you know what’s good for you.”
Jack stopped, his face flushed with rage, his fists balled at his sides.
“It’s time to end this part of our little drama,” Varnes said, cocking the hammer on Jack’s pistol. “Goodbye…” and he swung the pistol to his left, pulling the trigger, firing it into Texas Jack’s stomach, “Texas Jack!”
Varnes swiveled back, leveling the pistol at Jack. Texas Jack stood both hands holding his gut, shock and pain etched into his pale face.
Terrified, Paco reared back, snapping the leather lead line. Bucking and kicking, he raced down the trail, back towards Lead.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” Varnes said to Texas Jack, not taking his eyes off Jack. “I’ve had it with your idiocy. You’ve brought us nothing but trouble and made it too hot for me in Deadwood. If the likes of Jones can start to figure things out, then others smarter than him will also. So now, because of you I have to leave.”
Texas Jack dropped to his knees, blood streaming out of the wound, his hands unable to staunch the flow.
“You bastard,” Texas Jack cried as he tried to reach for one of his pistols. Varnes turned, kicking Texas Jack’s hand while pulling back the hammer on Jack’s pistol again. Varnes, aiming at Texas Jack’s head, pulled the trigger, blasting a hole through his forehead and out the back. Texas Jack’s body slumped to the ground. Jack, shocked, could not move. Varnes swung the pistol back around to Jack, cocking the hammer and barking, “Do not move!”
Jack stood frozen. A little winded from the effort and excitement, Varnes stared at Jack, then not taking his eyes off him, he walked over to Texas Jack’s body and removed one of his pistols. He cocked back the hammer, pointed the pistol off into the trees, and shot it twice. He then placed the pistol in Texas Jack’s right hand.
“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing,” Varnes said. “Wondering why I haven’t killed you yet. Well, I’m not going to kill you. I like you.”
Jack’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t talk. Stonewall padded over to Texas Jack’s body and sniffed it.
“So what am I going to do with you?” Varnes continued. “How am I going to make sure you don’t bring your so-called honorable friends after me and my ring? Well, this is what I’m going to do. The news will leak out that you and Texas Jack had this little shootout. He shot at you twice, missing, but you were the better shot, blowing two holes into him. That’s why I shot him with your pistol and fired off a couple of rounds from his pistol. A very convenient story for you and me. Don’t you think?”
Jack didn’t answer. Stonewall walked away from Texas Jack and disappeared behind Jack.
“All right, Jones. If you write about or tell anyone about the truth of this incident or about the so-called Deadwood ring and what we have done, it will not go well for your Deadwood friends. It would be a sh
ame if they found Old Frenchy stomped to death by a horse in one of the stalls. It would be a loss to the Celestials if poor Wong were to slip in Whitewood Creek and crack his head open on a boulder. Oh, what would the poor, famished workers of Deadwood do if Aunt Lou were to be found asphyxiated in her boarding room?”
Jack felt the anger rising in him again and subconsciously moved closer to Varnes who backed up a couple of steps.
“Hold it, Jones! And finally, wouldn’t it be a shame if a certain actress was found floating face down in Whitewood Creek? What’s her name, Lillian Rochelle?”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, yes I will!”
Jack glared at Varnes.
“I want you to promise on the life of Lillian Rochelle that you will not tell a soul about me, the ring, the actions of the ring, and what happened here. If you tell anyone, anything about any of this, Lillian Rochelle forfeits her life. There are plenty of people in Deadwood who will carry out my orders. You have guessed one or two, but there are many more, and you do not know who they are. Now promise me on her life!”
Jack’s mind was racing. He could not let anything happen to Lil or his friends. If he wrote about his accusations in the paper, it would not lead to anything. If he told the people in Deadwood, nothing would happen. Even if they believed him, there was no law in town. No one would go after Varnes or his ring.
“Come on, Jones,” Varnes said. “I don’t have all night.”
Stonewall growled behind Jack. There was the sound of something striking the hound and a high-pitched yelp. Jack instinctively began to turn.
“Don’t move, Jones!” Varnes said. “Promise me, on the life of your sweetheart.”
“I promise,” Jack said.
Varnes’s face broke into a large grin.
“Good, Jones. I like that. I want someone to know the whole story and to have to live with it. It might as well be you. I need to head further down the trail this evening. Any final questions before I leave you?”
Jack thought and decided he might as well ask one last, nagging question.
“Yes, what about Laughing Sam? Where is he?”
“Why, he’s right here!” Behind Jack a voice recognizable as Laughing Sam’s spoke.
Severe pain and brilliant light flashed through Jack’s brain.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saturday Night, August 26, to Sunday Afternoon, August 27, 1876—Nothingness.
Wet tongue on face. Dog? Pain in head.
Nothingness.
Soft muzzle on face. Hot horse breath? Pain in head.
Nothingness.
Being lifted? Is that a man? Pain in head.
Nothingness.
Sensation of warm liquid with a pleasant taste in his mouth. Aware of voices, male and female. Cannot make out what they say, he thought. Why can’t I understand their words? Attempt to open eyes. A vision of a beautiful, smiling Asian woman. Pain in head.
Nothingness.
Voices… male and female.
“Will he recover?” a female voice asked.
“Yes,” a male voice answered. “He has quite a nasty wound on the back of his head.”
Both voices sounded familiar.
Sensation of cool, wet cloth on forehead.
“Oh, Jack!” the female voice spoke. “I love you so much! Please stay with me.”
He attempted to open his eyes. He saw a beautiful face, a face he knew.
Name? What is her name? Pain in head.
Nothingness.
He felt a cool, wet cloth on his forehead. His mouth felt dry. A throbbing pain coursed through his head. Jack thought this was the worst hangover he’d ever had. He could tell he was lying on his back. He felt covers over him, and realized he was naked and thirsty. “Water,” he croaked.
“Ah!” the familiar male voice said. “Miss Lil! Miss Lil! He awakes!”
Jack heard the scrape of a stool on wood flooring and the rush of a human body toward him.
“Jack! Oh, Jack! You’re awake!” the familiar female voice said. That voice is Lil, Jack thought. The other is Wong. This is a horrible hangover. Jack attempted to open his eyes. He was inside a building and even though the natural light was subdued, it still hurt his eyes. But he did not care as he gazed into Lil’s smiling, concerned face.
“Jack, I am going to lift you into a sitting position so we can give you something to drink and eat,” Wong said. Strong arms lifted him up into a sitting position and laid him back, propped against the wall, with pillows and quilts cushioning him. Lil held a tin cup to his lips as he slowly sipped water. “Would you like to try a little beef broth?” Lil asked. Jack nodded his head.
He stared at her. She is beautiful, he thought.
Lil was waiting with a spoon of broth poised in front of his mouth. “Jack, open up.” He obeyed, opening his mouth and tasting the warm liquid, then letting it slide down his throat. He allowed her to feed him the entire bowl. The pain in his head was not as great as it had been. Questions formed in his mind and he gave voice to them.
“What has happened? Why am I in bed? Why do I feel so bad?”
Lil looked up at Wong, who was standing beside her.
“We are not certain what happened to you, but we can tell you what we know.” Wong said. “What do you remember?”
“I don’t remember much of anything right now,” Jack said. “Where am I?”
“You are a guest in my house,” Wong answered. “It is best you stay here until you are better.”
“Why?” Jack asked.
“We will tell you after we piece together what might have happened to you,” Wong said.
“Why does my head hurt, why am I weak?”
“Someone hit you on the back of your head. You have been in and out of consciousness for a day.”
“I have?”
“Yes,” Lil said.
“What happened?”
Lil looked at Wong, who said, “Two Cantonese were bringing a wagon of goods toward Lead Saturday night. As they came to an abandoned cabin, a dog barked and a horse whinnied. They stopped to see what was going on and found you lying on the ground, hurt. They recognized you…”
“Do I know them?” Jack interrupted.
“No, but your good reputation and friendship with me has quickly spread with the Cantonese people in town.”
Jack repositioned himself on the bed. “Go on, Fee Lee,” he said.
“The men said your horse and Stonewall stood guard over you. Near you lay the body of Texas Jack, with two bullets in him. There was a gun in his hand and a gun in your hand. Both guns had fired two bullets. It appears the two of you had a gunfight and you were the winner. The men placed you in the wagon and brought you to me.”
“I see,” Jack said. He looked at Lil. Memories flooded back to the forefront. He had hurt her. “Lil, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”
“No, Jack,” Lil said. “I’m the one who needs forgiving. I should have trusted what you were trying to tell me. The faro dealer, Dirty Em, explained it all to my aunt and uncle. Let us put all that behind us.”
“Those are the most wonderful words I can hear,” Jack said.
“More wonderful than the words, I love you?” she said bending over and kissing him on the lips.
“You’re right. Those are the most wonderful words, and I love you, Lil.”
His head was throbbing. His memory rushed back to him, up to the moment when he must have been struck on his head. He remembered Varnes’s threats against Lil and his friends. Then he knew that he couldn’t write about any of what had happened. He couldn’t tell the law, as there was no law. Who in any authority with the territorial government would believe him? It was his word against all the others who know the truth. And if he did tell the tale, Lil and his friends would be killed. His brow furrowed.
“Jack, what’s wrong?” Lil asked.
“Oh, my head hurts,” Jack said, which was the truth.
“We should stop talking and let you rest,�
�� she said.
“Just a couple more questions. Lil, how did you come to be here at Fee Lee’s home?”
“Jack,” Fee Lee answered, “you told me about Miss Lil, and while you were out, you repeated her name again and again. I went to the theater and asked for Miss Lil and explained what had happened.”
“I came immediately,” she said.
“While I was out, I saw the face of a beautiful Chinese woman,” he said. Then it dawned on Jack. “It was Di Lee. She was here too.”
“Jack, you were delirious at times,” Wong said without further comment.
“Jack, you need to rest,” Lil said.
“You’re right,” Jack said. “I need to rest and then head out as soon as I can to find Crook.”
“You’re not leaving until you are healed up,” she said.
We’ll see, Jack thought and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tuesday Morning, August 29, 1876—The early morning sun peaked over Hebrew Hill. Deadwood bustled with its internal business—miners extracting gold from the gulch and others extracting the gold from the miners.
Jack stood, a solitary figure in Ingleside Cemetery. He was bareheaded, with his hat held in his left hand at his side. A clean linen bandage wrapped round his head covered his wound.
Jack glanced over at Wild Bill Hickok’s headboard, Preacher Smith’s cross, the headboards for Carlos, Poncho, and Bummer Dan. His eyes returned to the wooden cross in front of him. Carved in the boards were the words, “Pete Adams, died August 26, 1876, at peace in the arms of the Lord.”
A cool, gentle breeze brought the fragrance of pine.
“You shouldn’t be here, Pete,” Jack said. “You had so much to live for.”
As soon as he was done here, he was leaving with California Joe in their quest for General Crook. He reached for his Elgin pocket watch to see what time it was. Then he remembered, his watch was gone. Varnes must have stolen his watch after Laughing Sam knocked him on the head. Varnes did not take anything else, only his watch.
“Pete, I can’t tell anyone about what happened to you or the others here,” he said. “There are no authorities to tell the tale to. If I did tell people about it, what could they do? And the most important thing is if I told people, Lil, Aunt Lou, and other lives would be in danger.”