Deception Creek

by Ned Oaks

  ‘Any suggestions?’ Blayloch asked dejectedly.

  Burton turned and watched the rain fall into the muddy street outside. He had spent much of the previous night awake, turning the case over in his mind.

  ‘I think our best bet is to start putting men out at night to keep a watch for him,’ Burton said finally. ‘The reason he’s been able to get away with this is that once he gets the people tied up, he’s in the clear. He can stay as long as he wants and then leave without anyone trying to stop him. But if we have men hidden in the trees, we’re bound to catch him roaming around sooner or later.’

  Blayloch leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desktop as Burton spoke.

  ‘We should get some men together and get our plan organized by tomorrow night,’ Burton said. ‘Me, you, and at least one other man who’s good with a gun and a horse. Two or three men would be even better.’

  ‘I’ll find some men,’ Blayloch said.

  ‘We’ll have to be in position by midnight tomorrow. He seems to strike mostly after two in the morning, but I think he spends a lot of time just watching the houses before he breaks in. This guy’s a planner – he’s real careful. He’s probably got a bunch of houses already staked out that he could attack on any given night.’

  ‘Like he did when the Bickhams chased him out.’

  Burton nodded. ‘Like I said – he’s a planner. That’s how he got away with it the first time ’round. We just have to cut him off at the pass.’

  Blayloch was excited, his confidence bolstered by Burton’s suggestions.

  ‘I’m going to ask Hank Kirby if he can help out,’ he said. ‘He can shoot and he can ride, no question about it. He’ll be glad to help. Hell, he has a wife and daughters – he doesn’t want this Phantom running loose. And I’ll do some asking around this afternoon for more volunteers.’

  ‘We have to figure out where to post ourselves. If we’re out every night, we’ll run into him. We’re bound to. He’s on a spree right now. He’ll be ready to do it again real soon, you can bet on it.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Blayloch said. He squeezed his hands together with tension as he thought about the Phantom.

  Burton rubbed his beard. ‘I had another idea, too. We need to hold some kind of town meeting to inform the locals that the Phantom is back. People need to know to be vigilant with him on the prowl again.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Blayloch said. He removed his watch from his pocket and examined it briefly. ‘It’s just after noon right now. I can spend the afternoon spreading the word about the meeting. When you think we should hold it?’

  ‘As soon as possible. Tonight, if we can.’

  ‘We can,’ the deputy said with a grin. His spirits were clearly rising now that a plan was being formed. ‘We can use the Episcopal church; I’m good friends with the vicar.’

  ‘That’d be fine,’ Burton said.

  ‘I think I’ll tell people the meeting starts at seven o’clock.’

  Blayloch stifled a yawn. ‘You hungry?’

  ‘Getting there.’

  ‘Let’s get something to eat before I hit the trail,’ Blayloch suggested.

  They ate a large meal at a nearby café before Burton left to return home. He agreed to stop by his neighbors’ homes and tell them of the meeting.

  Blayloch spoke with the local Episcopal priest and quickly gained permission to use the church for the meeting. The clergyman promised to have the church ready by the designated time. Then Blayloch spent nearly five hours riding hard, visiting more than two dozen homesteads, farms, and ranches from Oakridge to Deception Creek. He barely had time to get back to Oakridge before the meeting started.

  When Burton rode up to the church it was quite dark out. The air was crisp and a fog was rolling in, as it usually was at that time of the year in this mountainous, heavily forested terrain. The lanterns were bright inside the church and Burton could see a large crowd through the windows. Several horses were tied to the hitching posts outside the church, and at least a dozen wagons and buggies were parked nearby.

  Burton climbed the stairs and was reaching for the door handle when Maynard Blayloch opened the door from within.

  ‘Evening, Maynard,’ Burton said. ‘I see you really spread the word.’

  Burton closed the door and surveyed the room. Men, women, and children were everywhere, sitting in pews or standing in small groups, talking amongst themselves. He was pleased to see several of his neighbors among the crowd.

  ‘I didn’t have to do much more than tell them the Phantom was back,’ Blayloch observed, his face still red and shiny with perspiration after his arduous ride. ‘Lot of folks around here are still scared of him.’

  ‘And rightly so.’ Burton noticed the elderly vicar emerge from a door behind the altar and look toward him and Blayloch. ‘I think he’s ready for us to start.’

  He followed Blayloch up the aisle between the rows of pews. The priest sat down in a chair near the altar, before which Burton and Blayloch stood. Blayloch gripped his hat nervously.

  ‘Evening, folks,’ he began, his voice faltering at first but gaining strength as he spoke. ‘I want to thank y’all for coming tonight. I think most everyone knows why we’re here.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Well, just in case you don’t know, we’re here because the Phantom is back.’ There was murmuring through the crowd, although presumably everyone there had already received the news. Burton could sense a genuine fear within the room. The local residents had clearly not forgotten the Phantom’s earlier reign of terror.

  A man in the front row raised his hand and Blayloch pointed at him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the man said, looking around apprehensively at all the eyes that had turned toward him. ‘I only moved here two years ago. Who is this Phantom character?’

  ‘That’s a good question,’ Blayloch responded. He was quiet for a moment, thinking about his response. ‘The Phantom is a masked rapist who breaks into people’s houses in the middle of the night. He holds people at gunpoint and ties them up. Then he . . . violates the woman while her husband is tied up.’

  Again the murmur spread across the people like a wave. Blayloch swallowed nervously. Public speaking wasn’t his strong suit, but Burton thought he was doing well.

  ‘In the summer of 1874, he carried out four of his attacks, at least that we know of.’ His eyes again scanned the faces before him. ‘Some of us are pretty sure that he committed more of these heinous acts at that time than just the four we know about.’ He hesitated. ‘Can’t say I blame folks if something like this happened to them and they didn’t want to tell the law about it.’

  Blayloch ran his fingers through his hair and paused for a time. Then he continued.

  ‘He was gone for five years. Lot of us thought that he maybe moved somewheres, or got sent to jail. Maybe even died. But he’s broke into three houses in the last forty-eight hours. He’s not just back, he’s back with a vengeance. Now the reason I wanted to get everybody together is to make sure y’all are vigilant. Keep a gun right near your bed. Lock all your doors and windows. Keep a lantern lit so he can’t sneak up on you in the dark.’ Blayloch turned to Burton. ‘Marshal Burton, you got anything you’d like to add?’

  Burton coughed. ‘A few things, yes,’ he said. ‘First, I don’t think this feller ever left Oakridge. I think he’s been here the whole time, watching and waiting.’ Out of the corner of his eye, Burton could see Blayloch nodding in agreement. ‘Why he didn’t do this for five years, I don’t know. But you got to bear in mind that we think this varmint could end up killing someone. He’s mean as a snake. He’s told almost all of the victims that he’s going to kill them and he’s come close once or twice now. I think if he’s cornered, he’ll do whatever it takes to get away.’

  A tired-looking middle-aged man in the second row stood up and spoke. ‘Anyone ever got a look at him?’

  Blayloch shook his head. ‘Not even once. He wears some kind of sack over his head. He seems to be in hi
s twenties or thirties, about average size. Only thing people have seen is his eyes. They’re blue, in case you’re wondering.’

  Burton gestured toward the crowd. ‘He could be here right now, in this very room.’

  The murmur began again, louder than ever this time. Heads turned as every young man was examined by his neighbors in the pews.

  ‘This Phantom’s a right smart feller,’ Burton said. ‘He watches these folks before he attacks their homes. I’ll bet he knows when they come and go. He might even go in the houses when the people are gone. He’s real careful.’

  A young man at the back of the room rose. ‘I just got to say something.’

  Blayloch raised a hand for silence, then allowed the young man to speak.

  ‘I just can’t believe any grown man would let this little bushwhacker rape his woman in front of him.’ Several others nodded in agreement. ‘By God, I’d like him to try that on me sometime. I’d blast his ass straight to hell before he knew what hit him.’

  The vicar’s face flushed with disapproval, as did those of many of the wives and mothers.

  Blayloch smiled awkwardly, but Burton was irritated.

  ‘That’s all well and good when you’re standing here in the church with half the town,’ he said. ‘When some madman in a mask is holding a pistol in you and your wife’s faces and threatening to kill your whole family, the perspective might be a little different.’ The young man smirked as Burton went on. ‘Lord knows I’d be happy if he breaks into the wrong house and someone is quicker on the draw than he is. That’s why you have to be alert. He takes people by surprise.’

  The young man sat down. A few men patted him on the back as he did so.

  ‘Marshal Burton is right, everybody,’ Blayloch said. ‘These people who were attacked – the husbands weren’t cowards. Some of these folks had children in the house, too. He promised to kill the kids if he didn’t get what he wanted.’ Blayloch gave some details of the recent attacks, although he was deliberately vague about who the victims were. He assumed many in the room already knew.

  As Blayloch spoke, Burton’s attention shifted to a young man standing across the room from him, leaning against a post by the front door. He hadn’t noticed him before, but Burton found something about his affect disturbing. The man was of average height and build, clean-shaven with short, dark brown hair. He wore the clothes of a ranch hand, with a large Stetson pulled down low over his face. He was glaring at Blayloch, his mouth set in a sneer of contempt or hatred, or both. He didn’t blink as he fixed his hard eyes on the deputy sheriff. Burton had an urge to find out what color his eyes were.

  Minutes passed, and still Burton watched the man glare at Maynard Blayloch. Then he abruptly shifted his gaze from Blayloch to Burton himself. Their eyes locked and Burton’s heart began to beat faster. He became aware that someone was saying his name, too.

  ‘Marshal Burton?’

  Burton turned to Blayloch. He realized that everyone in the room was looking at him.

  ‘Sorry, Maynard,’ he said, his face reddening. ‘What were you saying?’

  ‘I was just asking if you had anything else you wanted to say about the Phantom. . . .’

  ‘Um – did you mention the nightly patrols we’re going to set up?’

  ‘Nope, I plumb forgot.’ Blayloch looked back at the crowd. ‘Everybody, we’re planning on organizing nightly patrols in shifts in and around Oakridge, and as far west as Deception Creek. Figure we’re going to need three or four men at a time, along with Marshal Burton and myself. Make it that much harder for the Phantom to play his little games. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be on guard.’

  Burton looked quickly toward the other side of the room. The door was shutting and the man who had been staring murderously at Blayloch was gone. Burton took a step toward the door as Blayloch wrapped up the meeting.

  ‘Before everybody heads home,’ the deputy said, ‘I’d like to see any man above sixteen years of age. We need as many men on patrol as we can get.’

  Burton continued down the aisle as the men in the room moved toward where Blayloch was standing. One man stuck out a hand in greeting to Burton, who smiled quickly and patted the man on the arm without stopping to exchange greetings. The women and children were leaving to wait outside for the men. They formed a large, slow-moving crowd at the door of the church. Burton pushed his way through as gently as he could, finally making it to the doorway and stepping out into the cold night air. His progress had been significantly impeded.

  The man was nowhere to be seen. He could have been on a horse and halfway out of town by the time Burton made it out of the church.

  Burton waited more than a minute for the crowd to dissipate around the door, then went back in and stood by until Maynard Blayloch had finished writing down men’s names and the evenings on which they preferred to participate in the patrols.

  ‘Now, fellers – remember, I’m going to do my best to accommodate your preferences, but I can’t make any promises,’ Blayloch said. ‘The four who volunteered for tomorrow night should meet me outside my office at eleven. We’ll need a little extra time to get everybody set up where we want them.’ He saw the impatience on the men’s faces and concluded quickly, ‘All right, men. Thank you kindly. Don’t forget to lock all your doors and windows, now, y’hear?’

  The men began to disperse and Burton walked up to Blayloch.

  ‘Maynard, did you happen to notice the young man at the back of the room?’

  Blayloch knitted his brow. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Dark hair, clean shaven. Wearing a big Stetson.’

  After a moment, Blayloch remembered. ‘Yeah – standing by the door? That guy?’

  ‘Yep, that’s him.’ There was an urgency to Burton’s tone.

  ‘Why, that’s Emerson Dodge.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Not real well. He lived here when he was younger, then left. He just moved back maybe six months ago. His uncle left him a little land a few miles past Deception Creek.’

  ‘Was Buck Dodge his uncle?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s Buck’s nephew. Buck died just before you and Annie moved back here, if I remember right. . . .’

  ‘He was watching you real hard,’ Burton pointed out.

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘He was. He have any reason not to like you?’

  Blayloch shrugged. ‘None I can think of.’

  Burton walked over near a window and looked down the street outside. It ran west, leading eventually out of town, through the mountains toward Eugene. That was the direction Emerson Dodge must have ridden.

  ‘You know, I think I’m going to take a little night ride out toward Deception Creek.’

  Blayloch raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘That right?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing too important,’ Burton said with a nod. ‘Just take a little look around.’ He looked again out into the foggy blackness of the Oregon night. Apart from a few stragglers, most of the townspeople who had attended the meeting were either gone or in the process of leaving. He turned back to Blayloch. ‘I’ll be at your office tomorrow night at eleven,’ he said. ‘If I find anything interesting on my ride tonight, I’ll let you know.’ He paused. ‘You make sure to get some rest. You look real tired, Maynard.’

  They shook hands and Burton walked rapidly out of the church and down the steps out front. He untied his horse and pulled its reins in the direction of Deception Creek.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  About forty-five minutes later, Burton halted on the dark, muddy road and looked down at Deception Creek. It was a glimmering trickle in the moonlight.

  A narrow, rutted trail branched off from the main road. There were only a few homes in this area, and Burton was pretty sure he knew where Emerson Dodge lived. He remembered the young man’s uncle, a kindly bachelor who owned a few acres tucked in the wooded hills just west of Deception Creek. If Burton was right, this trail led out to the Dodge place. He turned and started up the trail. He took hi
s time, because he remembered the little cabin wasn’t far off the road.

  He observed the cabin ahead to his right. It was in a small clearing, and a thin wisp of smoke drifted up from the chimney. A lamp was burning behind the smudged, dirty windows, but he couldn’t see anyone moving inside.

  He sat for about ten minutes, just watching. He assumed someone was in there, although he couldn’t be sure given the lack of movement inside. He dismounted and moved his horse several yards into the trees, where he picketed it. He moved stealthily toward the edge of clearing. Some light spilled out from a window in the cabin. Burton was careful to stay in the shadows.

  He stopped behind a massive fir, no more than ten feet from the window. He was perfectly still, eyes riveted on the cabin. Another half-hour passed with no sign of life in the small dwelling. Burton knew Dodge could be lying down, or sitting somewhere out of his line of sight. He dared not get closer to confirm one way or another, since doing so would inevitably expose him.

  Finally Burton decided he had had enough. He cat-footed back through the trees to his horse, which he led back to the trail. He mounted and rode back to the main road. He turned toward Oakridge.

  He had ridden a little over two miles when the rifle sounded. The bullet tossed mud into the air a few feet ahead of Burton. His horse whinnied loudly and side-stepped away from where the bullet had hit. It lifted its front legs and pawed at the air. Burton struggled to stay in the saddle, gripping the reins hard with his left hand while his right moved like lightning toward the Navy Colt strapped to his hip.

  He had almost gotten the animal under control when another shot exploded from the darkness of the trees above him. This time the shooter didn’t miss. The bullet entered the horse’s head just behind its right eye, killing it instantly. Its body collapsed on the ground, tumbling toward its left side as all four legs buckled simultaneously. Burton barely had time to get his leg out of the stirrup before the horse hit the ground.

  As the animal fell, Burton used his right leg to push himself away from it. He rolled down an embankment on the far side of the road and took cover behind the base of a tree. His pistol was still in his hand as his eyes scanned the hillside across the road.