Deception Creek

by Ned Oaks

  Emerson Dodge spat on the floor. ‘These are lies!’ he screamed. ‘You’re a goddamn liar, Maynard!’

  Judge Gilman pounded his gavel as a murmur spread through the spectators.

  ‘Silence!’ he growled. The response was immediate. His eyes swiveled to the prisoner. ‘One more stunt like that from you and I’ll have you removed.’ He pointed his gavel at Dodge. ‘This is a court of law. Don’t forget that.’

  Tyler Hatch concluded his examination of the witness. Nickson rose and asked a few perfunctory questions, then sat back down.

  Hatch called Burton to the stand and Gilman swore him in.

  ‘Mr Burton, can you say a little something about your experience as a lawman?’ Hatch asked.

  ‘I was the town marshal in Fillmore, Oregon for fourteen years,’ Burton said. ‘In that time I handled hundreds of investigations, from horse theft and arson to rape and murder.’

  ‘And why are you no longer the marshal in Fillmore, Mr Burton?’

  Burton’s face darkened. ‘I – uh, I decided to resign last year after a real ugly murder investigation.’ He shrugged. ‘Had enough, I guess you could say.’

  Hatch opened a valise on his desk, every eye in the courtroom riveted on him. He reached inside the valise and carefully removed the Phantom’s mask. A gasp went through the crowd, and several people stood up to get a better look. Even Emerson Dodge leaned forward to look at it. Then he sat back and shook his head.

  Hatch walked Burton through his involvement in the Phantom investigation, including his part in the organization of the nightly patrols. Burton recounted his suspicions about Emerson Dodge, the attempt on his life near Deception Creek on the night of the community meeting, and the sudden reappearance of the Phantom at his home after a year without any attacks.

  Hatch went over the shooting of Maynard Blayloch and the subsequent escape by the Dodge brothers. Then he asked about the mask.

  ‘I found the mask just before me and the posse headed into the mountains,’ Burton explained. ‘The back door to the Dodge cabin had been left open and I decided to take a quick look around before shutting it. It was on a chair in one of the bedrooms. They must have been in such a hurry to get out of there that they forgot to take it with them. Or at least Emerson forgot. I don’t know that his brother had anything to do with the Phantom attacks.’

  ‘You’re a liar, too, Burton!’ screamed Dodge, who spat again on the plank floor.

  Burton stared back at him, his face impassive.

  Judge Gilman pounded the table once, this time with his fist rather than his gavel.

  ‘Deputy Winstan,’ he said, his voice loud and authoritative. ‘Take this prisoner back to his cell. He can remain there for the rest of the day’s proceedings.’ His frigid eyes were locked on Dodge.

  Matt Winstan rose from his chair in the front row. His big hand gripped Dodge by the back of the shirt and yanked the man to his feet.

  ‘C’mon, smartass,’ Winstan said.

  Dodge didn’t say anything more; instead, he glared hard at Burton until the deputy got him outside and closed the door.

  ‘Mr Hatch, do you have any further questions for the witness?’ asked the judge.

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘Very well, then – Mr Nickson, what about you?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said the elderly attorney.

  Burton thought he looked like he regretted coming out of retirement for the case.

  Gilman dismissed Burton from the witness chair. As there was no further evidence to present or any further witnesses being called, the judge moved to closing arguments. Hatch addressed the court for nearly a half hour, making an eloquent and at times passionate case for conviction and execution.

  Nickson followed and spoke very briefly. He was resigned to losing the case and probably thought his client was guilty anyway. However, Burton found the man’s arguments more persuasive and effective than he had anticipated, although he remained unconvinced. Finding the mask in Dodge’s cabin had sealed the deal for him.

  Judge Gilman announced that he would have a verdict ready in the morning and adjourned the court. Burton went home that night and spent a quiet evening with Annie. She had chosen not to attend the trial. The details were too disturbing for her. After supper, Burton stoked the fire. He couldn’t help but look out the living room window to the spot in the trees where he had spotted the Phantom lurking in the shadows. It had been less than two weeks ago, but for Burton it felt like a lifetime. He felt a deep sense of relief knowing that the man responsible had been captured.

  The next morning he was in the front row again when Judge Gilman started the proceedings. He had several sheets of paper on the desk in front of him – his verdict. He had written it down in his room at the boarding house the night before. He read it aloud, and the tension in the room was almost palpable.

  ‘. . . and therefore,’ he concluded, ‘this court finds the defendant, Emerson Farnsworth Dodge, guilty of the crimes of murder and rape. The sentence is death by hanging, to be carried out within the town limits of Oakridge no later than seventy-two hours from the present moment. That concludes this trial.’

  Gilman hit the table one last time with his gavel and left the room, taking his written decision with him.

  Emerson Dodge stared silently ahead, his face inscrutable.

  Men began constructing the scaffold that same afternoon.

  The sound of the steadily pounding hammers was ominous. Burton had stayed in town for a few hours after the verdict, talking to Blayloch and Winstan. Tyler Hatch stopped in Blayloch’s office and shook hands with Burton and the deputy.

  ‘Thank you, men, for your invaluable testimony,’ he said. ‘Justice has been served, in no small part thanks to your help. No longer will the women of Oakridge have to fear a madman.’

  Burton and Blayloch acknowledged his thanks. The prosecutor rode out of town soon after, accompanied by Matt Winstan. Maynard Blayloch had assured the latter that he felt well enough to handle his duties without assistance. Winstan had been skeptical but he didn’t want to argue.

  ‘Suit yourself, Maynard,’ he said. ‘But you take it easy, y’hear?’

  Judge Gilman stayed in Oakridge for the hanging, which took place two days later. The scaffold had been completed with the help of four skilled carpenters from the local area. It stood in a vacant field at the end of Main Street, about a hundred yards from the drunkards’ shack.

  Burton rode into town to witness the execution. It was another overcast and windy morning in the late Oregon fall. He was startled by the size of the crowd, which seemed to include every single resident of Oakridge and the surrounding area, including children of various ages. Their faces were somber as they stood in the muddy lot. Burton spotted Judge Gilman standing at the front of the crowd.

  Heads turned as Maynard Blayloch rode toward the scaffold. Emerson Dodge, hands tied, was on a horse beside Blayloch, who led the condemned man’s mount by the reins. When they pulled leather behind the scaffold, Hank Kirby stepped forward and assisted the deputy in taking Dodge down from his horse.

  They tied the horses to a pole on the scaffold and led Dodge up the stairs to the platform. The wind was blowing hard as he stood there, his predatory eyes scanning the faces below him. His thick, straight hair was swept down over his forehead in the gusty air.

  Kirby and Blayloch took Dodge by the shoulders and moved him atop the trapdoor.

  ‘Do you have any last words before your sentence is carried out?’ Blayloch asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Dodge said, his tone defiant. ‘I want to say that this was a crooked trial and I’ve been falsely convicted. So y’all can go to hell!’ He spat one last time, for emphasis. He twisted around to face Maynard Blayloch. ‘Let’s get this over with, you pious son of a bitch.’

  Blayloch nodded to Kirby, who pulled a hood over Dodge’s head. The deputy slipped the noose over the man’s neck, then tightened it behind his right ear. Kirby and Blayloch stepped back from the trapdoor.
r />   Dodge stood shivering in the wind, which sent ripples across his shirt. Burton knew it wasn’t the cold that caused the man’s shivering.

  Maynard Blayloch pulled the lever and the trapdoor fell open. Dodge fell through and the rope was suddenly taut, breaking his neck with a loud snapping sound. The rope creaked as his body swung back and forth, the head lolling first sideways and then forward at an unnatural angle.

  The crowd began to disperse after a minute. Burton helped Kirby and Blayloch cut down the body, which they put over the dead man’s horse for the brief sojourn to the cemetery behind the church.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  There were no more Phantom attacks after the execution of Emerson Dodge.

  Life returned to normal in Oakridge. No longer did families barricade themselves in their homes, guns at the ready. No longer were men looked at with suspicion by their neighbors.

  Ed and Annie Burton’s lives settled down to a placid routine. Burton was able to devote more time to managing the property. As during the period following the end of the patrols, he saw much less of Maynard Blayloch.

  Burton was chopping wood on a cold January morning when he observed Hank Kirby emerge from the forest and ride across the yard. Burton wiped sweat off his brow and stood watching the rider approach.

  ‘Hello, Hank,’ he said. ‘What brings you out here?’

  ‘Morning, Mr Burton,’ Kirby said. Burton still hadn’t been able to talk the rancher into calling him by his first name. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine, fine.’ Burton sighed and put his ax down. ‘I have a feeling we’re going to have snow before too long.’

  Kirby glanced at the forested ridges that surrounded Burton’s property.

  ‘I hope not,’ he said. ‘I’ve got too much work to do without having to deal with a bunch of snow. But I reckon you’re right.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I came out to ask if you would like to do some hunting this weekend. Me and Maynard were thinking about spending a couple days in the mountains south of the Dodge place.’

  Burton’s face reflected surprise. ‘Have you been there since the posse brought Emerson Dodge back?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. It’s good hunting, though. Maynard was going to come and ask you if you’d like to come along, but he got called to Eugene for some kind of official business.’

  ‘What day you two planning on heading out?’ Burton asked.

  ‘Saturday morning. It might be just one night, maybe two. Depends on how lucky we are.’

  ‘Sure, I can do that. Wouldn’t mind getting me some fresh venison.’

  ‘Good,’ Kirby said. ‘We’re planning on meeting at my place around seven.’

  The men chatted for a few more minutes and then Kirby rode out. Two mornings later Burton met Blayloch as he turned to ride up the private trail to Hank Kirby’s property. They greeted each other and rode parallel through the trees toward the large cabin up ahead, quickly catching up on what they had been doing since the last time they spoke.

  Kirby met them on the porch and invited them in for breakfast and coffee. Burton had already eaten, although he somehow found room for a few of Mrs Kirby’s waffles and two cups of coffee. Blayloch was ravenously hungry, as usual. It was almost half after eight before the three riders headed west for Deception Creek. Kirby brought along a pack mule.

  They turned south on to the trail leading past the Dodge property. They pulled leather in the yard, feeling mixed emotions. The cabin seemed more run down than it had just a few months before, and someone had thrown a rock through the grimy front window.

  ‘Either of you been out here lately?’ Burton asked.

  Kirby and Blayloch shook their heads.

  ‘I guess Dalton Dodge’s widow owns it now,’ said Blayloch. ‘Don’t look like she’s taken much of an interest in it.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Kirby. ‘Buck Dodge would have been real broke up to know no one wanted his spread.’

  A few minutes later they rode on across the pasture toward the mountains.

  ‘You know, I haven’t mentioned this to anyone yet,’ Blayloch said suddenly, ‘but I’m thinking I might want to move on, find myself a new line of work.’

  Burton and Kirby looked at the deputy with surprise.

  ‘Well, I’d never have figured,’ Kirby remarked. ‘How long you been thinking like that?’

  ‘For a while now. You know, I can handle the routine aspects of keeping the peace, but when you have to deal with rapes and murders it sometimes makes you wonder why you picked this job.’

  Burton chuckled sympathetically. ‘Believe me – I know what you’re saying. I don’t think there was a single year that went by in Fillmore when I didn’t swear I was going to quit.’

  ‘What would you do instead?’ Kirby asked.

  ‘Don’t know yet,’ said Blayloch. ‘Got a couple things in mind as possibilities. I’d kind of like to get out of Oakridge and see the world a little. You know, I’ve never been to San Francisco. I thought maybe I’d go there and check things out, see what life is like in a big city.’

  ‘You wouldn’t regret visiting San Francisco,’ Burton said. ‘I’ve only been there once but it’s quite a place, Maynard.’

  ‘It was just an idea. I got some money saved up, so I could do a lot of different things. I just got to pick something.’

  ‘So you’re pretty sure you are going to quit?’

  Blayloch nodded. ‘Yeah, I think so. The job just ain’t much fun anymore. But who knows – maybe I’ll get the itch to be a lawman again someday, after I’ve had a break and done something else.’ He gestured toward Burton. ‘Look at you, Mr Burton. You still got the bug.’

  ‘Quitting is harder than it looks,’ Burton admitted. ‘At least it was for me.’

  The trio rode at a moderate pace, not wanting to labor the horses. They began the ascent into the mountains shortly before dusk and then made camp in a clearing off the trail. Normally Kirby and Blayloch, both of whom had done some hunting in the range in years past, would have wanted to hole up in the first of the mountain caves, but that convenient shelter was no longer an option. Instead it had become a tomb for what remained of Dalton Dodge.

  Kirby made a fire and boiled coffee. They had decided to rough it with only dry meat and cold biscuits on the first night. Burton had eaten so much that morning that he still wasn’t particularly hungry.

  After eating supper and drinking a little whiskey from a bottle in Blayloch’s saddle-bag, the men rolled up in their blankets and swiftly fell asleep, lulled by the warmth of the fire.

  The next morning they broke camp early and soon had luck finding prey. Kirby took down a deer before noon and Burton stalked a large buck for more than an hour before shooting it not far from the cave where Dalton Dodge had died. Blayloch trailed along with Burton while Kirby took his own deer back to the camp.

  The sun was starting to set on the horizon when Burton and Blayloch returned to camp. Burton had bagged his quarry and Blayloch had a small deer to show for his efforts. They quickly field dressed the animals.

  ‘Annie’ll be happy to see me when I come home with this,’ Burton said proudly.

  Kirby had already begun cutting poles to make a travois to haul the dead deer back to Oakridge. They had just completed that task when Blayloch stood up, feeling the pockets of his coat with a frown. Then he looked around the camp.

  ‘What the matter?’ Kirby asked, finishing up with the travois poles.

  ‘Left my damn field glasses up by the cave,’ said Blayloch, irritated with himself. ‘I’m going to have to go back for them.’ He frowned. ‘I’m sorry, fellers – you go on ahead of me. I got those field glasses from my pa and I can’t leave them behind.’

  Burton waved an understanding hand and said, ‘Don’t worry about it, Maynard. We’ll wait for you.’

  ‘I’ll make it real quick,’ Blayloch said, already mounting his sorrel.

  Kirby was ready to tie the travois poles together.

  ‘We got any mor
e rope?’ he asked. He put his hands in the small of his back and leaned backward, stretching his tired muscles with a groan.

  Blayloch pointed at his ditty bag, which lay on the ground beside his bedroll.

  ‘I got rope in there,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back quick as I can.’

  Burton and Kirby waved at Blayloch and the deputy rode out of camp. He spurred his horse and picked up speed, soon disappearing in the trees as the trail turned a corner.

  Burton walked over to the ditty bag and opened it. Inside was a long coiled rope, with shorter lengths of rope underneath. He pulled the coiled rope out of the bag and suddenly felt a cold shock run through his body. His scalp tingled and a feeling of dread filled his throat and stomach.

  He held up the end of the rope and looked at the knot that Maynard Blayloch had tied there. Only once in his life had he seen that specific knot. It was distinctive, tied from multiple loops that formed a diamond shape when pulled tight. He could remember the precise moment he had seen it. A diamond knot had been used to bind Bob and Cindy Ballard in their bed, just before the Phantom crushed their skulls with a large chunk of firewood.

  Maynard Blayloch was tired by the time he rode back into camp.

  The travois had been completed and placed on the pack mule. The three deer were loaded on to it and tied down for the trip back to Oakridge. Burton and Kirby were standing near the fire, drinking coffee.

  ‘I found them!’ Blayloch announced.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Burton said.

  Kirby said nothing.

  Blayloch rode over to a small sapling, to which he tied his reins after dismounting.

  ‘Boy, I can already taste that venison!’ he said, looking eagerly at the travois. ‘You got any more of that coffee?’ After a moment he realized that neither Burton nor Kirby had answered him. He turned toward them and froze where he stood.

  Ed Burton was holding his Navy Colt at waist level. It was pointed directly at Blayloch’s chest.